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Just Skin [DISCONTINUED]

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It’s all because of Seokjin’s housewarming party.

If it was anyone else, Yoongi would be asking what the fuck kind of college student throws a housewarming party, but the answer to that question would be Kim Seokjin, so Yoongi doesn’t ask. The guy is middle aged on the inside and would probably be married with a cat and waning sex life by now if he didn’t have the friends he did. Luckily for him, he does have his friends and they know how to keep him away from the edge. As Namjoon (who is technically co-host of the occasion, though no one expects Seokjin allowed him to have anything to do with it) says when he hands Yoongi his verbal invitation, ‘Hyung, you know this housewarming thing’s gonna be less canapés and good wine, and more straight liquor and cheap beer, while all the surfaces get christened in bodily fluids.’

Namjoon,  of course, is right. When Hoseok and Yoongi arrive at their friends' new place – a swankier apartment building closer to the centre of Hongdae – an hour late, the party has already escalated from sophisticated gathering of mature young adults to full-blown rager. Outside, someone is throwing up into a neatly trimmed shrub, his friend standing next to him in fits of laughter.

‘Just because they told you to drink it out of the bucket,’ the friend is slurring, as Yoongi follows Hoseok past the pair, ‘doesn’t mean you should drink it out of the bucket, dumbass.’

Inside, the music is loud enough that they hear it as soon as they step out of the elevator. The front door of the apartment is open, lights flashing into the corridor as a couple stumble out, locked at the lips, looking a lot like they're about to fuck right up against the opposite wall. Hoseok catches the front door before it shuts again and they slip into the madness. The impressively large apartment is packed with at least double the amount of people Seokjin probably invited, every inch of the place heaving with bodies. There are empty cups everywhere, puddles of liquid on the pretty mahogany floors, a suspicious amount of toilet paper strewn up the hallway and over the furniture. Glancing around at the chaos as they push towards the kitchen, Yoongi knows they’re going to be met with one of two Seokjins: a Seokjin who is pacing around the kitchen, ready to kill anyone who comes near him because who the fuck threw up on his scatter cushions?! Or a Seokjin who has already passed through that state of blind rage and scatter-cushion-induced anxiety with the help of too much vodka and is now trashed out of his head.

‘Jung Hoseok!’

‘Uh-oh,’ Hoseok murmurs, just as Seokjin appears, the arm not clutching the vodka bottle winding around his neck to pull him into a sloppy hug. 'Hi, there, hyung,' he says carefully, his voice edged with laughter. 

Pulling back, Seokjin squints at his younger friend. ‘I can’t decide if I wanna dance with you or throw up on you,’ he slurs.

‘Hot,’ Hoseok remarks, torn between amusement and concern. ‘You holding up okay, hyung?’

‘Oh, I’m good,’ Seokjin drawls, but his smile is a little psychotic. ‘We’ve got one cracked window, four burst cushions and six puddles of vomit, but we also have lots and lots of vodka, so hyung is just fine.’ Seokjin’s woozy gaze drifts over Hoseok's shoulder. ‘Yoongi-ah! You came!’

And then Yoongi is being hugged as well and the smell of alcohol is so strong that he can taste it at the back of his throat. ‘You look...’ Seokjin frowns, clutching Yoongi’s shoulder with one hand and taking a swig of vodka with the other as he eyes him up and down (he doesn’t even wince as he swallows the mouthful). ‘Far too sober. You both you do. Let’s get you wasted.’

Yoongi could not agree more.

 

It’s the first party Yoongi’s been to since he arrived back in Seoul, after spending most of the summer at home in Daegu, torn between slaving ungodly hours at the bar where he managed to get a night shift and working at a small recording studio for job experience. He didn’t exactly have a lot of time for partying the summer away, which led to a pretty lonely couple months under the watchful eyes of his parents. So, between his eight-week deprivation and the alcohol streaming into his veins, it doesn’t take long for that gentle burn to flare up low in his stomach, a hot simmering under his skin that sends a warm flush into his cheeks and has his eyes wandering around the room.

Dozens of bodies writhe together on the makeshift dancefloor, narrow hips clad in tight denim, thin cotton clinging to skin with sweat, everything that bit prettier under the neon glow of rainbow-coloured lights. There's a lot to look at, but Yoongi doesn't find his gaze lingering on any one thing for too long, his attention being tugged easily away by Namjoon's priceless drunken rants or Hoseok trying to drag him out to dance. Yoongi doesn't dance, much to Hoseok's dismay, but later, once the party has turned into a blur of noise and faces that Yoongi can’t deal with anymore, he finds himself holed away in a tiny, but relatively quiet space with his younger friend. He thinks they're in a room just off the kitchen, nothing much in it apart from a washer and dryer and a length of marble counter. A utility room, Yoongi supposes. Only Kim Seokjin could afford an apartment with a freaking utility room.

Yoongi watches from his perch on the counter as Hoseok rolls a joint with deft fingers which suggest he’s probably still sober. Yoongi can’t quite say the same thing for himself, though he’s not quite wasted yet. He’s just at the stage of drunk where he’s warm and kinda dizzy and really wants to make out with something.

‘Yeah, so anyway, he’s fucking adorable, hyung, I swear to God,’ Hoseok is saying, his words a little muffled as he lights up, sucking in deep. He exhales heavily in a cloud of sweet smoke, a dreamy look in his eyes that has less to do with the weed and more to do with his latest conquest, who he has not shut up about for the past ten minutes. ‘But he’s also... hot, you know? He has arms and abs and shit. Like, I’d trust him to protect me in a dark alley, but I also wanna buy him flowers and those cute chocolates shaped like bears because I know he’d really like them.’ He shakes his head, tendrils of smoke drifting from the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s so weird, hyung. I’ve never met anyone like—‘

Hoseok cuts off as the door to the utility room opens, bringing with it a blast of noise from the kitchen and a person that Yoongi doesn’t have a chance to process properly before he’s launching himself at Hoseok with a delighted cry of, ‘Hyung!’

‘Taetae!’ Hoseok practically coos, wrapping the boy up in a hug, careful not to burn his clothes with the joint in his hand. ‘I missed you, kid, where you been? Also, shut the door before someone smells this. I don’t feel like sharing.’

‘Just got here this morning,’ “Taetae” replies, releasing Hoseok and moving to close the utility door. ‘But, hyung, I’ve been hearing things...’

Yoongi gets his first proper look at the boy as he leans back against the wall of the cramped room, an eyebrow cocked as he smirks at Hoseok and—oh... okay, then. Yoongi feels that soft fire in his stomach burn a little brighter as his eyes take their time giving the boy a once-over. Tousled brown hair, just a few shades darker than his skin which literally looks like it was painted by a sun god, all golden in a way that makes Yoongi feel like an actual ghost. Younger than them, Yoongi reckons, but probably not by much, and taller than Yoongi, though that’s not hard. He’s wearing a light denim shirt over a white t-shirt, jeans with rips in all the right places, slivers of tan thighs and knees that have Yoongi taking a slow breath to steady himself. He’s only just managed to tear his eyes away when he hears his name.

‘Yoongi, this is Kim Taehyung,’ Hoseok introduces, kicking Yoongi’s dangling foot to get his attention. ‘I adopted him last year, since my parents forgot to supply me with a cute dongsaeng. Isn’t he adorable?’

Adorable is not quite the word Yoongi would use to describe Kim Taehyung as he meets his gaze. His eyes are long and slender, huge and dark in a way that makes Yoongi pretty sure you could lose everything from your soul to your car keys in them if you stared for too long. He bows a little in greeting and Yoongi inclines his head just enough to be polite.

‘And this is Min Yoongi,’ Hoseok goes on. ‘Roommate, been stuck with him and his grumbling since high school, but he gives good blow jobs, so I’m not complaining.’

Yoongi rolls his eyes and kicks out at Hoseok’s thigh as the younger chuckles lightly, settling the joint between his lips again for another lengthy drag. And it’s during those few seconds, after the eye-roll and while Hoseok’s still preoccupied with getting the most out of his lungful, that Yoongi catches the look the boy gives him. It’s the kind of slow up-and-down appraisal Yoongi gave Taehyung just moments ago. And judging by the faint smirk he gives Yoongi when he finally meets his eye – he likes what he sees.

Oh, Yoongi thinks again, his teeth snagging on his lower lip as he looks away, his stomach doing something hot and insistent. Okay, then.

‘Hyung, what is that?’ Taehyung asks suddenly, and Hoseok grins at him, slow and lazy now that he’s had a few decent hits.

‘I’m experimenting,’ Hoseok says, handing Taehyung the joint. ‘Wanna taste?’

‘Thought you weren’t sharing tonight,’ Taehyung reminds him, a cheeky quirk to his mouth.

‘I’ll always share with you, Taetae,’ Hoseok coos, his voice full of mock emotion, his smile more genuine. ‘You haven’t been drinking, though, have you?’

‘Only a little,’ Taehyung replies, smiling as he takes the joint in long fingers, a few thin silver rings glinting under the light. ‘Don’t worry so much, hyung.’

Yoongi can’t help but watch as Taehyung takes the end of the joint between lips too full and soft looking for this world, cheeks hollowing out and wow, those are cheekbones. Taehyung’s eyes widen impossibly as he hands it back to Hoseok, breathing out a cloud of the sweetened smoke and yeah, okay, maybe Yoongi can see where Hoseok got adorable from now.

‘It tastes like cupcakes,’ he says, nothing short of awestricken.

Hoseok nods, grinning. ‘Vanilla flavoured,’ he explains. ‘Cool, right? You wanna try, hyung?’

Yoongi shakes his head. He’s curious, but he’s not curious enough to spend the night throwing up somewhere, which is what he did last time he smoked after drinking too much. ‘Another time,’ he says, and Hoseok nods, understanding.

After that, the conversation is mostly Hoseok relaying the same summer tales he already told Yoongi, but to Taehyung now and Yoongi pretends to listen, while actually becoming mildly obsessed with Taehyung’s mouth. The way it narrows out when he smirks, stretches into a wide, boxy grin as Hoseok tells him about the antics of the kids from the dance workshops he helped with – Yoongi is fascinated. When he’s listening intently, his lips part, go all pliant and soft in a way that makes Yoongi itch to know what they taste like, which in turn leads him to frown at himself because what the fuck? How sappy is he going to get tonight? He must be more drunk than he thought.

‘Wait—' Hoseok says, after a while, so suddenly that even Yoongi drags his gaze away from Taehyung’s mouth to look at his friend. ‘Is he here?’ he asks Taehyung, eyes wide, joint dead and forgotten between his fingers.

‘Jimin?’ Taehyung nods. ‘Yeah, last I saw him, he was being low key suffocated by Seokjin-hyung, so he’s probably—‘

‘Here, have this,’ Hoseok cuts across him, shoving the near finished joint into Taehyung’s hand as he heads for the door. ‘You two will be fine, right? Don’t let Yoongi-hyung scare you. He only feeds on the souls of the innocent on Thursdays.’

Taehyung frowns. ‘It is Thursday.’

Hoseok pulls a face of mock horror. ‘Well, shit, it was nice knowing you, Taetae,’ he says, and with that, he’s gone, leaving nothing behind him but a soft chuckle and the click of the door closing.

Taehyung eyes the joint he’s been given and pouts a little. ‘It’s out,’ he observes, eyes flicking around the room for a lighter. It’s on the counter next to Yoongi. Taehyung only has to take a step to cross the narrow space, reaching out to snatch up the lighter, which is when Yoongi’s body goes rogue, fingers catching at one side of the open front of Taehyung’s shirt. Immediately, the boy’s eyes slide to meet his and there’s a split second where nothing happens, both of them still and neither of them breathing.

-    -    -    -    -

He is beautiful and he is terrifying and Taehyung feels every nerve ending in his body spark with excitement and fear and want when he feels those long, pale fingers tangling into his shirt. He slides his gaze up to meet Yoongi’s, the elder's eyes dark and dangerous and disarming on his. Taehyung wastes only a fraction of a second commending himself for thinking of three ‘d’ words in a row before he drops the lighter and the burnt out joint on the counter, only too willing when Yoongi’s other hand snags his shirt as well, tugging him closer. He is gentler than Taehyung expected; Taehyung could pull away if he wanted to, but why the hell would he want to?

‘Hi,’ Taehyung whispers, when his legs meet the cupboards below the counter and he can be reeled in no further.

‘Hey,’ Yoongi says quietly, and Taehyung’s stomach flips at the sound of that voice, holy shit. It practically makes his mouth water, his tongue slipping out of its own accord to wet his lips.

Taehyung laughs a little, and maybe it does sound kinda nervous because he’s used to feeling a lot more in control of these situations, used to being the one with the sultry looks and the daring hands. ‘You are kinda scary,’ he admits, his gaze roaming over Yoongi’s face, a canvas of contrasts: sharp, slender eyes, his nose soft, almost button, his mouth a simple work of art, that cupid’s bow so perfect Taehyung has to stare as Yoongi curls it into a smirk.

‘Yeah?’ he asks, barely more than a whisper. ‘How so?’

‘Thought you were pretty,’ Taehyung murmurs, noting the glint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, but Taehyung has always found it easy to compliment people in the most honest ways he can, ‘—with your pink hair and your beanie,’ he continues, his hands settling on Yoongi’s hips, albeit a little hesitant, ‘all small and cute and stuff, but then your voice is like a bag of rocks and deeper than the freaking Pacific and now your eyes look like they wanna eat me and watch me while I scream.’

Those eyes narrow a touch and Taehyung feels a thrill of something like fear humming through his veins. He’s not sure—actually, he knows he’s never been so scared of someone he’s wanted to kiss him so bad before. Sitting on the counter the way he is, Yoongi is a few inches taller and Taehyung almost shivers when he feels a cool hand slip under his chin, tilting his head up a little.

‘Maybe I do,’ Yoongi suggests in a low voice, and Taehyung swallows hard against a soft curse, his hands tightening on Yoongi’s hips.

He can’t help the way he stretches onto his toes, nose brushing against Yoongi’s as he screams it loud and clear with his body – KISS ME ALREADY, DAMMIT. He almost groans aloud when Yoongi pulls back just out of reach, his teeth snagged on his lower lip and mischief glinting in his eyes and Taehyung’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything so freaking hot in his life.

There's no stopping the small moan that rises against the barriers in his throat when Yoongi finally kisses him. It’s light, just a taste, but either Yoongi was just testing the waters before diving in, or something inside him snaps and banishes all thoughts of teasing, because the next kiss is harder, longer, more insistent. Yoongi’s tongue wastes no time in skimming along Taehyung’s lower lip and Taehyung’s mouth practically falls open for him, fingers digging into Yoongi’s hips as the kiss deepens.

Yoongi’s tongue slips in like it owns the place, curling against Taehyung’s, flicking over the roof of his mouth, tracing the uneven ridges of his teeth, and Taehyung doesn’t even care. He’s practically got the deeds to his mouth in his hand, ready to hand them right over to Yoongi because holy hell, he knows how to use his tongue. Taehyung can feel his bones turning to butter as Yoongi slides his fingers into Taehyung’s hair, tilting his head to pull him in even deeper.

Carefully, Taehyung lets his thumbs sneak under Yoongi’s t-shirt, tracing the hard lines of his hipbones and Taehyung has no idea why he’s being careful at all because it’s not something he does. Yoongi’s skin just looks so soft and delicate, he feels he needs permission to touch it. The hitch in Yoongi’s breath, however, is all the permission he needs, his palms flattening against Yoongi’s stomach, fingers roaming over the soft bumps of ribs. And Yoongi must like that, his grip tightening in Taehyung’s hair, his heels pressing into the backs of Taehyung’s thighs, which seems to remind him that Taehyung can’t get any closer than this, not yet.

‘Do you—‘ the older boy manages to breathe between kisses, his voice even rougher than before, making the hairs prickle on the back of Taehyung’s neck. ‘—you wanna go—somewhere else?’

Taehyung’s stomach does something strange, plummeting like it did that time he went bungee jumping for his birthday, but blooming with heat at the same time, a burning ache so strong and sudden it’s almost painful. The suggestion surrounding the 'somewhere else' is enough to let Taehyung know Yoongi means somewhere private and preferably with a soft surface and Taehyung would like that. Taehyung would like that a lot.  ‘Yeah—yeah,’ he whispers, pulling his hands out from under Yoongi’s t-shirt and curling them into the front of it, savouring the last few kisses he’ll get before they have to fight through the party still raging beyond the door. Then that turns less into savouring the last few kisses and really just initiating the kissing all over again, Yoongi’s fingers not bothering to untangle themselves from his hair as Taehyung drags him back in.

‘You know,’ Yoongi manages to mumble against his lips, a hint of what might be laughter colouring his tone, ‘you’re gonna—have to move for me—to get down.’

‘Let go of me, then,’ Taehyung shoots back, his voice a breathless disaster that would make him blush if he wasn’t already so flushed. Without giving Yoongi any time to reply, Taehyung’s hands move to the small of his back, sliding him forwards on the counter until his chest is pressed against Taehyung’s. Yoongi doesn’t complain, his arms crossing behind Taehyung’s head as he sinks further into the kiss, his tongue hot and wet and twining with Taehyung’s in a way that makes him certain he should not still be conscious. His hands slip underneath Yoongi’s t-shirt again, sliding up the warm, smooth skin of his back and god, it really is as soft as it looks. Taehyung barely allows any pressure into his fingertips, scared he’ll tear it or something with his clumsy touch.

He has to pull back for breath. He doesn’t want to, but he has to, white spots bursting behind his eyes from oxygen deprivation. Yoongi, on the other hand, is not human. He continues along Taehyung’s jaw, nipping at the skin, Taehyung’s toes curling in his sneakers at the sting. It’s quickly followed by a lick of damp heat over what will no doubt be a bruise and—that’s it. They need to go now or it’s happening right here, under the judging black stare of Seokjin’s washing machine.

Taehyung pulls away, running his fingers along Yoongi’s arms and tugging him down with him. Yoongi’s lips are flushed a dark pink, his cheeks almost matching and he doesn’t look real as he presses Taehyung up against the opposite wall, eyelids low and hands sliding into Taehyung’s back pockets as he kisses him again. It’s a peck that’s really more teeth than lips and Taehyung is kind of starting to fear for his life, but also totally down for dying tonight if it’s with this guy’s hands on his ass because yes.

‘Come on,’ Yoongi says, low and a touch raspy and Taehyung wonders if the kissing affected him as much as it did Taehyung. The older boy pulls away and opens the door, Taehyung quickly following him out into the noisy mess of the party.

They tumble into the first bedroom they come across, barely remembering to shut the door behind themselves. Before Taehyung has time to breathe, he is on the bed, stripped from the waist up and gasping as Yoongi’s lips suck at the sensitive skin of his neck. It takes Yoongi no more than two seconds to find that one spot just underneath his jaw that draws something dangerously close to a whimper from Taehyung’s throat, heat flooding through his body. Lips press gently against his Adam’s apple, soft as velvet, teeth snag viciously at his lower lip, and that tongue has already secured Taehyung’s tongue’s hand in marriage. They’re going to elope and move to Venice if Taehyung doesn’t keep himself in check, remember how breathe, reel his tongue back before it tries to move in with Yoongi’s on a permanent basis. He thinks of what Hoseok said, about Yoongi giving good blowjobs, and he doesn’t doubt it in the slightest, but Jesus Christ, those teeth are sharp and Yoongi likes to use them. The prospect of letting his mouth anywhere near Taehyung’s second favourite body part makes him feel faint – he can’t decide whether it’s in a good way or a bad way.

Taehyung’s hands tug at Yoongi’s hair, noises of encouragement slipping past his lips as Yoongi mouths down his chest—and there go the teeth again, grazing over one of Taehyung’s nipples and it seems like Yoongi’s about to move on until he notices the way Taehyung’s hands fist tight in his hair.

Oh, god,’ Taehyung whispers, his back arching off the bed as Yoongi locks his lips around the hardened nub, his tongue doing unbearable things that have Taehyung biting down on the inside of his cheek to stifle sounds that he may never live down. It’s just as he’s tasting copper in his mouth that Yoongi shows a little mercy, his lips travelling up along Taehyung’s collarbone, a sigh rushing out of his lungs as Yoongi rolls his hips down, grinding them against each other through their jeans. Taehyung’s already hard, and so is Yoongi, and this friction is nowhere near enough, but just for now, it’s good, and Taehyung lets his head fall to the side, giving Yoongi’s lips more room to work on his neck.

Yoongi’s hair is still threaded through his fingers, the soft, pink strands making Taehyung think of candy floss as the older boy's lips find his again. But Taehyung is not thinking of candy floss when Yoongi sits up, pushing his hair back off his forehead as he straddles Taehyung’s hips. It’s dark in the room, save for the white glow of the streetlight outside the window, washing over the pale expanse of Yoongi’s chest, the lightly muscled arms. He looks ethereal. His eyes meet Taehyung’s, deep black and hooded.

‘How d’you wanna do this?’ he asks, his voice oddly soft considering the gravelly edge, words dripping from his tongue like honey. His fingertips skim over the skin above the waistband of Taehyung’s boxers and Taehyung shivers a little. The light touch tickles, but it also makes heat pool somewhere deep inside him, his hips circling up, desperate for friction. Yoongi indulges him, a hand braced on Taehyung's chest as he rolls down against him with what looks a lot like the faint beginnings of a smirk curling his mouth.

Taehyung knows exactly how he wants to do this.

‘I want—‘ Taehyung manages to grind out, his hands moving to grip Yoongi’s hips, stilling them so he can try to speak in coherent sentences. ‘—want you to ride me.’

Yoongi’s gaze is unwavering, hard on Taehyung’s in a way that makes him wonder if he's offended him in some way – until the smirk becomes more pronounced, a flash of teeth.

‘Was kinda hoping you’d say that,’ Yoongi murmurs, eyes darkening, all of a sudden looking distinctly more predatory than they did a second ago.

Taehyung exhales shakily – was he really just thinking of candy floss?

-    -    -    -    -

It happens in between one whispered curse and another. One minute, Yoongi's riding Taehyung for everything he's worth, the boy's eyes gleaming in the half light as he lies back and watches with his teeth snagged on his lip, fingernails digging into Yoongi's thighs. The distance is familiar and something close to comforting, and if Yoongi closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was alone, cool air from the cracked open window rushing over his skin. But Yoongi doesn't close his eyes and he thinks that's probably where the problem starts. He keeps his gaze trained on Taehyung, watching every flicker of pleasure that passes across his face with each slow grind of Yoongi's hips, and Taehyung's an eye contact sort of guy, so maybe there's some intense staring. Maybe.

Next thing Yoongi knows, his body is on fire, wrapped up in Taehyung’s and he's not entirely sure how it got like this. Their chests are flush, Taehyung’s hands scorching up his back, the heat of his lips on Yoongi’s throat, sucking at his collarbones, licking the sweat off the skin of his neck and holy shit, that’s actually kind of hot. Yoongi’s fingers curl into the pretty wooden headboard behind the younger boy to steady himself as he rolls his hips, lifting halfway off Taehyung before slamming back down, the new angle ensuring he hits his prostate with almost every stroke. Yoongi’s breaths are so loud and ragged now they’d almost be embarrassing if Taehyung wasn’t moaning softly into every kiss against Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s never liked the vocal ones, but these moans are small and breathy and low, rumbling softly in Taehyung’s chest – Yoongi likes this, the quiet appreciation without the porn star yelling. He wants to taste them, the small noises, his fingers fisting in Taehyung’s hair, tilting his head back to kiss him, licking into his mouth, vanilla and soju. Taehyung’s hands skim hot down his sides, light as fucking feathers. A moan tingles against Yoongi's lips, this time in the shape of his name, just as Taehyung starts thrusting up with own hips, meeting Yoongi halfway with a dizzying slap of skin-on-skin.

Fuck,’ Yoongi swears harshly into the younger's mouth, teeth knocking and really neither of them is functional enough to be kissing right now, but it’s hard to tear his mouth away when Taehyung tastes like the vanilla donuts from his favourite coffee place.

Taehyung jerks his hips up again, slamming into Yoongi’s prostate so hard he sees stars, tastes blood in his mouth and oh, shit, that’s not his blood. He’s about to apologise, but judging by the groan Taehyung lets out when Yoongi clenches around him, he didn’t even notice. His fingers still on Yoongi’s hips to grip with bruising force, his forehead falling into the crook of Yoongi’s neck and Yoongi knows he must be close. He can feel it tightening low in his own stomach, too, every spike of pleasure when he hits that spot just right so intense it almost hurts. He stifles any noise against Taehyung’s head, lips pressed into dark, damp hair, his fingers clutching at the sweaty strands as his other hand drops between them, wrapping itself around his own cock. He gets one, maybe two strokes in before he feels his hand being batted away, a larger palm curling into a fist around him, just the right amount tight, if a little too slow, but better, definitely better.

Both of them are borderline desperate now, hips stuttering, falling out of rhythm, fingers dragging on skin and tugging at hair. The heat clawing through Yoongi is horrible and perfect; he needs it to stop and never wants it to end and maybe he moans Taehyung’s name as the younger thumbs at the leaking slit of his cock, but he kind of hopes he didn’t. Yoongi’s pretty surprised when he doesn’t come first, when he feels the shudder running through the boy below him, feels Taehyung’s heavy gasps of yesyesfuckyes against his neck. And it must have something to do with that or the way Taehyung’s hand tightens reflexively around his cock, speeding up his strokes, but next thing Yoongi knows, he’s hit with an orgasm the size of Seoul, eyes forced shut, a groaned curse fighting its way out of his mouth through clenched teeth as he comes over Taehyung’s hand, wet streaks up both their stomachs. Taehyung gasps at the tightness around his now sensitive cock, his teeth scraping along Yoongi’s collarbone, his hand still fisting Yoongi as he rides out his orgasm with a hissed stream of the filthiest language he knows – which is pretty filthy, so bad in fact that Taehyung lets out a small, breathless laugh against Yoongi’s chest.

‘Wow,’ he whispers. ‘Those are words.’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi murmurs, sarcasm lost in how wrecked his voice sounds. ‘Well done.’

He feels dizzy. As the last of his orgasm ebbs away, leaving nothing but a hot tingle and a clammy mess in its wake, he actually feels dizzy. His eyes are shut, but he still thinks the grip he has on Taehyung might be the only thing keeping him upright.

He doesn’t remember the last time he came that hard - if ever.

He takes a few slow breaths, smells sweat and an unfamiliar sweet soap, which is what jolts him into realising what he’s doing right now. His face is still pressed into Taehyung’s hair, his fingers still tangled, and he’s panting into the soft, damp locks, his other arm slung around Taehyung’s neck and—wait, what? Is he--? He’s not... he is not.

Oh, but he is.

His fingers are stroking up and down the side of Taehyung’s neck with a gentleness that makes him recoil. The whole situation is too close, too... tender. Yoongi needs out.

Without another word, he lifts himself off Taehyung and flops onto the other side of the bed, still breathing hard and not confident in his ability to walk straight.

‘Fuck,' he whispers, having trouble keeping his eyes open now that he's horizontal and so, so comfortable.

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung agrees, his voice rough, and Yoongi feels the mattress bounce as he rearranges himself to lie down as well, looking spent. Yoongi is relieved when he doesn’t try to do anything weird, like cuddle or something. They both just lie there bonelessly for a while, side by side and panting at the ceiling.

When Yoongi has sensation in his toes again and doesn’t feel like his heart is going to force its way out through his ribs, he peels his eyes open, locates a box of tissues on the bedside locker and starts cleaning himself up. When he’s done with that, he gets up on legs still a little shaky and drops the box onto the elegant black comforter next to Taehyung. He really hopes this isn’t Seokjin’s room, but considering they only have one spare room, the chances are high.

‘Here,’ he grumbles, and Taehyung makes a sleepy noise that Yoongi assumes is a thank you.

He drags his clothes back on, minus the t-shirt because it’s over by the door and he can grab it on his way out. He sits on the bed to tug on his shoes and makes the dumb mistake of casting a glance over his shoulder at Taehyung before he gets up. The boy is clearly half asleep, his hair a ruffled tangle against the pillow, his lashes low and casting light shadows over his cheekbones and dammit, Yoongi doesn’t want to admit it, but he is cute.

Yoongi hates cute.

He doesn’t, however, hate the vanilla donuts from his favourite coffee place and he finds it easy to convince himself that this is why he leans over the bed and kisses Taehyung again, licking as much of the taste off those sinfully soft lips as he can. They respond, slow and lazy, a gentle hum against Yoongi’s mouth. When he pulls back, Taehyung’s eyes slit open.

‘You shouldn’t fall asleep,’ Yoongi says. ‘You don’t want Jin-hyung to find out about this.’

His smile is full of mischief as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, hair flopping over his forehead. ‘You mean, you don’t want Jin-hyung to find out about this.’

Preparing to get to his feet, Yoongi casts a dark look over his shoulder at him. ‘No one wants Jin-hyung to find out about this,’ he murmurs ominously, and Taehyung chuckles. Actually, it’s more of a giggle. It’s enough of a giggle that Yoongi pauses a moment, mildly alarmed – did he just get fucked by something that could make that noise? Holy shit.

‘Hey, wait,’ Taehyung says, as Yoongi’s about to escape. Before he has a chance to turn around, he feels long fingers catch his bicep, holding him still as something cold and faintly wet presses against this shoulder blade.

‘Yah, what’re you doing?’ he sighs, still too wrecked to really care.

‘There’s my number,’ Taehyung says, finishing whatever he’s writing with a flourish and leaning in to press his lips the side of Yoongi’s neck, his fingers trailing down his arm. His voice is low when he speaks again, right by Yoongi’s ear. ‘We should do this again sometime.’

Yoongi can’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder, finding Taehyung’s face inches from his. His eyes are blacker than black, his swollen lips parted and turned up in the threat of a smile and the whole picture is so damn sexy, Yoongi has to wonder how the hell this person just giggled like a five-year-old girl. He gets a lot of numbers, but generally doesn’t call them, deletes them after a while, aims the slips of paper at the basket ball hoop over the wastepaper bin in the studio. The same thing will probably happen to this number, washed off in the shower and forgotten, but Yoongi doesn’t say that.

For a moment, he gives into the pull and he’s kissing Taehyung again, a firm hand behind the younger's neck, tongue skimming over the split his teeth left in his lip, tasting a bitter tang in amongst the vanilla and soju. Then Yoongi is tugging his t-shirt over his head and heading out the door without looking back.

Chapter Text

Taehyung opens his eyes when the light coming in through the window is still the dull white it is before the world is a habitable place for awake humans. He whines softly into his pillow as the light pokes at his aching skull. When he arrived back in Seoul yesterday, he spent the day catching up with Jimin instead of settling into their new apartment. His room is still strangely empty, the walls bare, the window wide and gaping without any curtains. There’s a stack of boxes in the corner that he almost attacked last night, thinking it was a person. As a result of that, half his manga collection is now strewn across the floor amongst the clothes he tore off before falling into bed.

He sits up with a wide yawn, wincing and shutting his mouth immediately at the sharp sting in his lip. He reaches up with his fingers to poke at the slightly swollen flesh. He remembers Yoongi’s teeth sinking into the soft skin, and it hurt a lot, but Taehyung was quickly distracted by everything else that was happening – Yoongi’s warm breaths against his forehead, his nails digging into his shoulder blades, his skin under Taehyung's lips and the horrible, terrible things that he could do with his goddamn hips

Taehyung yanks his pillow around and groans into it as he hugs it close to his chest. He can feel warmth rising in his cheeks just at the thought.

Taehyung likes sex. He likes it a lot, likes it to the point where (Jin-hyung) a lot of people think he likes it a bit too much, but he doesn’t care about them. He’s been told he’s pretty good at it, too, and has been with many other people who also seem to be pretty good at — but last night? Taehyung’s never had sex like that. He’s not even sure that was sex. Sex feels good, but it’s never felt that good. Sex can been intense, but it’s never been that intense. Sex is hot, but holy hell, it’s never been that hot.

He whimpers into his pillow some more. Just the memory of Yoongi maybe possibly moaning his name that one time, his voice all rough and breathless, will fuel a hundred jack-off fantasies on its own. When you factor in the one million other things – the gasped curses and grazing teeth and sweat-slick skin sliding together, the long, thin fingers caught his hair, the glazed look in Yoongi’s eyes right before he kissed him that last time – Taehyung will probably never leave his shower again.

Finding it hard to breathe, he unburies his face from the pillow, rests his chin on it instead. He can feel his heart beating harder just thinking about all this. Jimin’s going to want details later and he doesn’t even know how he’ll give them to him. He doesn’t have the words to explain to himself what happened, never mind to another person who wasn’t even there, who didn’t see the things and feel the things.

Thinking of Jimin convinces Taehyung to get out of bed. His room is cold and empty and he doesn’t see the sense in staying in it when there’s a perfectly huggable source of heat right on the other side of this wall. Shivering in nothing but boxers and a single sock, Taehyung goes to the kitchen first, downs a glass of water with some ibuprofen, then brings some of the same in for Jimin. As he eases open Jimin’s bedroom door, he’s hit with the smell of alcohol so strong he thinks he could probably get drunk again on this alone.

Jimin groans when his door hinges creak. He never sleeps heavy when he’s hungover. ‘Taetae?’ he asks, without emerging from under his duvet, his voice hoarse.

‘I brought water and painkillers in exchange for warmth,’ Taehyung says, keeping his voice low because when Jimin decides to party, it’s a case of go home or go hard, and judging by the pitiful edge to his voice, Jimin did not go home.

Muffled, Jimin groans. ‘Leave them there and get in,’ he grumbles. ‘I can’t swallow anything right now.’

Taehyung does as he’s told, practically nose-diving under the covers once he’s set the glass and tablets on the bedside locker. Jimin’s room is blissfully dark and Taehyung can already feel sleep eyeing him up as Jimin curls an arm around his waist, his forehead pressing into the back of Taehyung’s neck. Despite being one of the tiny humans, Jimin has a thing for being the big spoon. Luckily, Taehyung has a thing for being the small spoon – they make the ultimate cuddling team.

‘How you holding up?’ Taehyung asks in a whisper, his eyes already shut.

Jimin whimpers a little. ‘There was so much vodka, Taetae,’ he says, practically whining, ‘and soju and some American liquor that was freaking lethal. I think I did body shots at some point, too...’ There’s a pause. Taehyung can hear the alcohol rusted cogs in Jimin’s memory struggling. ‘Okay, no, I definitely did body shots. And there was somaek and that was horrible.’

‘Why do you keep trying that, Jiminnie?’ Taehyung sighs, rolling his eyes behind his lids.

‘I don’t know. I keep expecting it to be less horrible and it never is.’ He sniffs softly. ‘It’s always disappointing. But I only fell over once and Hoseok thought it was cute, so whatever. I’ll live.’

Taehyung smiles to himself at that. He likes this thing – whatever it is because they swear it’s not dating – that’s happening between Hoseok and Jimin. Taehyung was friends with both of them last year, but somehow Hoseok and Jimin managed to not meet until this summer. Taehyung believes they’ll work. Hoseok likes to think he’s kind of a badass when he’s actually the guy who cries at the drop of a hat and smiles like it’s Christmas everyday. Jimin likes to think he’s manly and tough and not cute at all when he’s actually a walking ray of sunshine with the face of a middle-schooler who cries when he gets tickled and giggles behind his hands when he’s drunk. If that’s not a match made in heaven, Taehyung doesn’t know what is.

‘What about you?’ Jimin mumbles, his fingers poking into Taehyung’s stomach, tickling slightly. ‘How you holding up?’

At this, Taehyung’s eyes open because if he keeps them shut, he’ll start reminiscing and he doesn’t think Jimin would appreciate him popping a boner right now.  ‘I think... I think I have a crush,’ he says softly.

Jimin sighs, warm breath against his back. ‘You get a crush on everyone you sleep with, Taetae.’

‘No, but really, Jiminnie.’

‘You say that every time, too.’

‘No, but really really.’

There’s a pause.

‘Okay,’ Jimin murmurs, slowly. ‘You only say that sometimes, he must be kinda something. Did you remember to give him your number? Because I’m not stalking social media like last time to find—‘

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Taehyung grumbles, scowling into Jimin’s pillow. Really, there was no need to bring that up. That guy could’ve been the love of Taehyung’s life. It was still a delicate subject for him. ‘I wrote it massive in purple Sharpie on his back. He can’t even lose it.’

‘Oh...’ Jimin sounds like he’s frowning. He doesn’t always approve of Taehyung’s impromptu methods. ‘Well, I guess that works... You think he’ll call?’

Taehyung’s brow furrows as he stares blindly at the signed poster of a shirtless Taeyang on the wall. ‘I don’t know,’ he says quietly, and that thought is a little unsettling.

Taehyung’s always been good at reading people. When he does hand out his number, it’s almost always accepted with a smile and nod. He can tell the difference between the genuinely interested smile and nod, and the smile and nod people use when all they wanted was a quick fuck and will more than likely delete the number in the morning. Admittedly, he’s seen a lot more of the latter, but that’s not what he saw with Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t give him a smile or a nod. He remembers Yoongi looking at him over his shoulder, face flushed, eyes dark, sweat-matted hair falling over haphazardly his forehead. Even though Yoongi’s glistening lips were threatening to distract him, Taehyung didn’t let them. He remembers scanning Yoongi’s face for something – anything... but there was nothing. Nothing that Taehyung could read. Yoongi was written in a totally alien language and when he kissed him right before he left, Taehyung tried to think through the melting sensation in his bones, to taste the other boy’s intentions, but... he couldn’t. Taehyung likes it when he thinks someone might be interested, he’s learned to deal with the disappointment when they’re clearly not, but now he’s been totally left in the dark.

Taehyung doesn’t like the dark.

Jimin seems to sense his unease, nuzzling into the back of his neck. ‘He’d be a fool not to, Taetae,’ he murmurs. ‘Let’s get some sleep now, okay? Otherwise, I’m gonna throw up on you.’

‘Okay,’ Taehyung says softly, letting his eyes slip shut again. ‘Night.’

Jimin laughs a little at that, tightening his arm around Taehyung’s waist. ‘Night, Taetae.’

Pasted to the backs of Taehyung’s eyelids is the image of his number scrawled in purple over Yoongi’s pale shoulder blade, and as he falls asleep, maybe he hopes.

A little.

-    -    -    -    -

Yoongi forgot to close his curtains when he stumbled in at ass o’clock and now the afternoon sunlight is pissing him off immensely. He sits up in bed, scowling at the happy yellow rays that stretch across his bed as he cradles his tender skull in his hands. His skull’s not the only part of him that’s tender, though, which turns his scowl into something more like a smirk because guess who finally got laid. Yoongi rakes his hands back through his hair before he stretches, easing out some of the aches in his muscles as his mind wanders back to what he hopes was not (but really suspects might’ve been) Seokjin’s bedroom. Around about the time his breath starts to sound a little heavy, he drags his mind back from that place, chewing on the edge of a thumbnail as he tries to think about how dead he is if Seokjin finds out he fucked some guy in his bed and trying not to think about his inexplicable craving for vanilla donuts. Once he’s done that for a while, he hauls himself out of bed, tugs on a t-shirt for decency and leaves his room to hunt down some caffeine and ibuprofen.

When Hoseok rises like a member of the walking dead, he finds Yoongi in the kitchen, sitting in his usual spot on the counter near the coffee machine, messing with his phone.

‘I don’t get why you can’t sit on a chair like normal people,’ Hoseok grumbles, rooting around the cupboard for a mug. ‘Just because you’re small doesn’t mean you can sit wherever the fuck you want.’

‘Morning, sunshine,’ Yoongi deadpans, trying not to grin because that could get him punched in the dick. Hoseok is usually a morning person so bright that Yoongi refuses to have a conversation with him before midday. Hungover Hoseok, however, is a whole other creature. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘I will break your tiny stick arms, don’t even—‘ Hoseok cuts off suddenly and Yoongi looks up to find the younger man squinting at him, a spoon in one hand, sugar in the other. ‘Is that...?’

‘What?’ Yoongi asks, frowning as Hoseok steps towards him. He shrinks away, his back touching the wall, watching with dread as Hoseok’s face cracks into a smug smile.

‘Well, well,’ he drawls, going back to his coffee. ‘It’s been actual years since I’ve seen a decent hickey grace that pretty skin of yours, hyung.’

‘Wait—what?’ Yoongi demands, hand going to the side of his neck as Hoseok snickers.  He picks up his phone, angles it to see the skin of his throat and, wow, yup, there it is. Even in the darkened screen, Yoongi can see the mark on his neck, stark against his skin. ‘Ah, shit.’

Hoseok smirks, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip of his coffee. Yoongi hopes it burns his tongue. ‘So, who’s the lucky guy and when do I get my wedding invite, hyung?’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Yoongi mutters, scowling. ‘I didn’t know he was doing it. You know I hate hickies.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Hoseok murmurs, an eyebrow raised. ‘Whatever you say, hyung.’

‘I hate you.’

‘Love you too,’ Hoseok replies, ‘but you still haven’t told me who he is.’

Yoongi shrugs. ‘Unimportant,’ he mumbles around his own mug. ‘What about you? How’s... whatshisface?’

Hoseok’s face darkens. ‘Jimin. His name is Jimin. I’ve been talking about him for weeks--you met him two days ago.’

Yoongi grunts dismissively. ‘You fuck him yet?’

‘No.’

Yoongi almost chokes on his coffee. ‘No? It’s been weeks, Hoseok.’

Hoseok shrugs. ‘And?’ he counters, rolling his eyes at the dumbstruck look on Yoongi’s face. ‘We were just friends at the workshops. It’s only been, yanno, like this for about two weeks and there just hasn’t been a good time. Last night, we were both drunk. You don’t fuck someone you actually like for the first time when you’re wasted, hyung.’

Yoongi stares for a moment longer before shaking his head. These words don’t compute with him.

Hoseok sighs. ‘Whatever. You’ll understand when you grow a heart. We need to feed you more veggies or something.’ He takes a gulp of his coffee, eyeing Yoongi with a look that Yoongi does not like at all. ‘We made out a lot, though, and there were body shots, so we can talk about how good Jimin’s abs taste, or you can tell me his name.’

Yoongi unlocks his phone, tapping things idly. He knew he wasn’t going to like this. ‘So, you were gonna tell me about Jimin’s tasty abs.’

Hoseok smirks. ‘Funny you can remember his name when you want to.’

‘I know, it’s so weird,’ Yoongi deadpans, dropping his empty mug into the sink and slipping down off the counter. ‘I’m going for a nap.’

‘You just got up, you lazy shit!’ Hoseok calls after him.

Yoongi flips him off instead of replying, before shutting himself away in his room with a groan. He pauses on his way to the bed, catching sight of his ruffled reflection in the mirror by the door. Grimacing, he leans into it, poking gingerly at the reddish mark on the side of his neck. The brat got him good, he has to admit. Curious now, Yoongi yanks his t-shirt off. There’s another dark one on his left shoulder, lighter marks that will be gone by tomorrow scattered across his collarbones, but Yoongi’s eyes are drawn immediately downwards, to the matching bruises blooming in the shape of thumbprints on his hipbones. Yoongi smirks because that’s pretty funny and they can be well hidden, but the monster on his neck? Yoongi glowers at that. It’s not small or discreet by any means and Yoongi’s not even sure it’s low enough to hide with a shirt collar or something. Since he started college, he’s had a strict no marks policy – he doesn’t want trophies to take home, what he did last night painted onto his body for friends and lecturers and bosses to see. Usually, he catches them in the act, distracts them before they can leave anything that will last beyond a few hours, but he didn’t even notice this happening.

Could’ve had something to do with the fact you were having the fuck of your life, his mind suggests in a drawl that sounds annoyingly like Hoseok’s. Turning away from the mirror, Yoongi casts that thought aside. It probably wasn’t even that great a fuck. It’s just been a while – a decent handjob would’ve had him wrecked. A few more hook-ups and he won’t even be thinking about this anymore, he’s sure of it.

Too wound up to nap now anyway, he grabs a towel and heads for the bathroom. He brushes his teeth while he’s waiting for the water to heat up and as he’s staring contemplatively into the plughole of the sink, a memory wanders back to him, the cool press of a marker against his skin. Toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, Yoongi twists his body to reveal his shoulder blade in the mirror, the purple scrawl still big and bold, not even smudged. The number is pretty clear, the two syllables of his name a little less so, but Yoongi’s not going to forget that one in a hurry.

He rubs at it experimentally with his fingers, but the ink doesn’t budge.

Whatever, he thinks, leaning down to spit into the sink, it’ll scrub off in the shower.


1 Week Later:

‘Hyung, this is a bad idea.’

They are in Yoongi’s bedroom, Namjoon lounging on his bed, frowning at Yoongi’s latest plan which is held in his hands. It’s the four millionth time in the past half hour that Namjoon has said that exact sentence and Yoongi is ready to punch him in the throat, rap career be damned.

‘Namjoon, I swear to god,’ he mutters, currently on his knees in front of his desk drawers, rooting around for the cotton balls he definitely used to have in here.

‘No, but hyung, really,’ Namjoon goes on, sitting up to better brandish the bottle at Yoongi, the liquid inside sloshing. ‘This isn’t meant for humans.’

Yoongi rolls his eyes, tossing several packs of old gum and what might be an empty lube bottle into the wastepaper pin under his desk. He really needs to spring clean (or rather, get Hoseok to spring clean). ‘The fuck are you now, a doctor?’ he demands.

‘No, I’m dating one,’ Namjoon reminds him, tone dry as paper, ‘and even if I wasn’t, this has the dead fish symbol on the back. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t think it’s good.’

‘I’m not a fish.’

‘It’s also corrosive to metals.’

Yoongi sighs, sitting back on his calves as he shuts the last drawer, unsuccessful. ‘I’m not made of metal either,’ he informs the younger man, ‘contrary to popular belief.’

Namjoon makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, still scanning the bottle’s label. ‘No, but you have freaking daisy petal skin that’s going to peel off if we do this and—IT SAYS IT CAUSES SEVERE SKIN BURNS AND EYE DAMAGE, HYUNG, I AM SO OUT.’ With that, Namjoon tosses the bottle to the end of the bed, but this is Namjoon, so naturally the bottle flies across the room and hits the door with a clatter instead, taking a dog-eared gig poster with it as it drops to the floor.

‘Namjoon, calm the fuck down before you kill us all,’ Yoongi mutters, shuffling over on his knees to try his nightstand drawers instead. ‘WikiHow says it’s fine if you dilute it.’

He can feel Namjoon staring at him, wide eyes on the side of his face. ‘You realise what you’re saying, right, hyung?’ he asks, disbelief lacing his tone. ‘You want me scrub your skin with bleach because WikiHow says it’s okay. That’s what you’re saying.’

Diluted bleach,’ Yoongi corrects.

Namjoon sighs, flopping back onto Yoongi’s pillows. ‘You sound like a crazy person, hyung,’ he says. ‘I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with getting rid of it. It’s on your shoulder, no one can see it.’

‘The guy I fucked last night did,’ he mutters. ‘Imagine explaining that one.’

‘So, that’s what this is about?’ Namjoon asks, staring over at Yoongi with huge, incredulous eyes. ‘You’re gonna burn your skin off to avoid awkward conversations during sex?’

‘It’s not about anything, Namjoon,’ Yoongi says, finally locating the bag of cotton balls under some essays from sophomore year. ‘I just want it gone.’

‘But no one can actually—‘

I CAN SEE IT!’ Yoongi cuts across him, the bag rustling as his hands curl into fists. Scowling at Namjoon, he takes a few calming breaths through his nose before he speaks again because Yoongi knows damn well he just kind of overreacted. ‘I can see it, Namjoon, okay?’

Namjoon’s eyes widened a little at the sudden outburst, but he looks more amused than shocked now as his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Okay,’ he says, carefully, like he’s talking to a temperamental animal that may claw him to bloody ribbons at any moment. ‘Okay, hyung, we’ll fuck your skin up with bleach, just...’ His expression turns to one of mock desperation. ‘Put the cotton balls down before you do something you’ll regret, yeah?’

Yoongi sets his jaw in indignation, glowering from the floor. ‘You mean like this?’ he snaps, firing the bag to hit Namjoon square in the face. But Namjoon is laughing now, even as a small shower of cotton balls spills out over him and the bed. He flicks them off himself, a couple hitting Yoongi before Namjoon seems to realise his life is growing considerably shorter with each cotton ball that finds its mark. He starts tossing them sheepishly back into the bag instead, mumbling an apology.

‘So, you’re still not gonna tell me whose number it is?’ he tries after a moment, while Yoongi stuffs all the crap he dug out of his drawers back in. ‘I’ve been helping you with this for almost a week now, hyung, I think I deserve some details.’

Yoongi shuts his drawer with a snap. ‘Nope.’

Namjoon sighs heavily. ‘Well, last night I had this genius idea, right...’

‘Well done,’ Yoongi mutters without much enthusiasm, yawning as he gets to his feet. He probably shouldn’t have stayed up till seven in the morning working on some of his new tracks, but he didn’t get back from work till after four and he’s hoping to start circulating the clubs in Hongdae again soon before winter exams get in the way of—

‘I ran that number through my phone, just to see if I knew this person.’

Yoongi freezes mid-stretch, eyes sliding over to Namjoon who is doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk. The damn dimples give him away every fucking time.

‘And now I’m really intrigued,’ Namjoon goes on, ‘as to why you’re so desperate to get rid of Kim Taehyung’s number.’

Yoongi’s shoulders slump and his arms drop with his heavy exhale. Of fucking course Namjoon knows the guy. Everyone he knows probably knows the guy the way his luck’s going lately. ‘How do you even know him?’ he asks, trying to sound demanding and assertive, but he's so done with this entire situation that it comes out as more of a whine.

‘Taehyung?’ Namjoon’s smirk intensifies. ‘I’ve know him since he was, like, fourteen.’

Yoongi frowns. ‘What—how?’

Oh...’ Namjoon says, long and drawn out, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. ‘Oh, god, you really have no idea who he is, do you?’

‘Should I?’ Yoongi asks, not liking where this is going at all. ‘Hoseok’s friends with him, I know that much.’

‘And how do you think Hoseok came to befriend a random freshman?’ Namjoon asks, the smirk creeping back. ‘Taehyung is Jin-hyung’s much adored cousin, basically his baby brother.’

Yoongi stares at his friend, slowly sagging to lean against his desk. ‘You have got to be fucking kidding me,’ he mutters.

Namjoon shakes his head. He seems to be enjoying this rather a lot. ‘You’ve been friends with hyung for three years – how have you never met Taehyung?’

Yoongi groans into his hands. ‘I don’t fucking know, Namjoon.’

He didn’t make the connection through the alcohol haze at Seokjin’s party, but in the past few days, Yoongi’s managed to match Taehyung up to the strange lilac-haired kid who he found sleeping on their couch a couple times last year. He’s dyed his hair again since then, obviously, and he’s taller too and broader... not that Yoongi’s been thinking a lot about it or anything. He just knows for a fact that Taehyung was never properly introduced to him before Seokjin’s party.

He rubs his face before dropping his hands, staring forlornly at his wardrobe doors. So, so done. ‘This is fucking fantastic.’

Namjoon is still smirking. ‘You slept with him didn’t you?’

Yoongi shifts his gaze to give the younger man a dangerous look. ‘Not a word of this to Seokjin, I swear to god, Namjoon,’ he mutters, low and threatening.

‘I won’t tell him,’ Namjoon says, though he’s all dimples again at the indirect admission of guilt.

‘Good,’ Yoongi mutters, pushing away from his desk to head for the door. ‘Now, let’s get this thing off me. Please.’

And yeah, okay, maybe Yoongi does realise that bleach sounds a bit drastic, but since last Friday, he’s tried baby oil, sunscreen, butter, olive oil, hand sanitiser, hairspray, Vaseline, fucking banana peel, not to mention the countless showers filled with traumatic scrubbing. He’s tried everything WikiHow had to offer him and none of it has fucking worked. If there was ever a time for desperate measures, Yoongi reckons it’s now.

 

 

34 Minutes Later:

‘Hyung, I told you this was a bad idea.’

Yoongi is currently standing shirtless in their small bathroom, hands braced either side of the sink as Namjoon scrubs at the ink on his back with the cotton balls. The back of the bleach bottle warned that appropriate safety apparel should be worn when dealing with the substance. Namjoon deemed the “appropriate safety apparel” for this situation to be a pair of baby blue rubber gloves, an apron left over from Hoseok’s painting phase, a face mask and a pair of Yoongi’s larger glasses. Hyung, you know how clumsy I am, was his excuse and Yoongi couldn’t really argue with that one. Namjoon does, however, look absolutely ridiculous when Yoongi glowers at him in the medicine cabinet mirror.

‘Is it coming off?’ he demands.

No, that’s what I just said.’ Namjoon’s brow furrows as he studies Yoongi’s back. ‘Your skin’s getting kinda pink, though. Does it sting?’

‘Of course it fucking doesn’t!’ Yoongi snaps. ‘It said one part bleach to seven parts water. You only let me put a dribble in!’

‘Yeah, and I saw that extra splash you threw in when I was looking for the gloves,’ Namjoon mutters, giving him a pointed look in the mirror. ‘This looks painful, hyung.’

‘It’s not,’ Yoongi lies. So, maybe it burns a little, but only a little. It’s fine. Yoongi can take it. ‘Has it even faded?’

‘No, hyung,’ Namjoon sighs, poking at the skin with a gloved finger. ‘The name is fully gone...’

Yoongi rolls his eyes at his own reflection. The two scrawled syllables of his name have been gone for days now. They washed off with the baby oil he borrowed from Seokjin on Sunday evening, but the name was not the problem. The number has remained perfectly legible for the past week and Yoongi’s not sure how that’s even fucking possible.

Namjoon sighs heavily, tugging the mask down around his chin. ‘I think we should stop, hyung. It’s not working.’

‘Just put more bleach—‘

No, hyung,’ Namjoon says flatly, tossing the cotton ball into the bowl. ‘I don’t wanna have to take you to Jin-hyung and explain how you got chemical burns on your back, okay? He’ll tear us both new ones.’

‘Give it to me, then,’ Yoongi sighs, reaching for the bowl perched atop the laundry basket, but Namjoon lifts it out of his reach before his fingers so much as brush it. He whips around to glower at the younger man. ‘Namjoon—

Hyung, just listen to me for a sec, okay?’ Namjoon says, raising his eyebrows in a sort of silent plea. When Yoongi sets his jaw and holds his tongue against whatever threats he had lined up, Namjoon continues. ‘Maybe you’re supposed to call the damn number, hyung. Let me just throw that suggestion out on the table.’

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. ‘What, you think this is Fate or something?’ he asks in a monotone. He is not drunk enough to humour Namjoon and his philosophical bullshit.

Namjoon shrugs, reaching around Yoongi to empty the bleach water into the sink. ‘I dunno, hyung, but remember my birthday when I passed out and you guys wrote DICK MONSTER on my forehead with Sharpie?’

Yoongi smirks slightly at the memory and Namjoon throws him a dark look as he tugs off his gloves. ‘Yeah, well that came right off the next morning with baby oil,’ he goes on. ‘This isn’t normal Sharpie behaviour, hyung.’

‘I know it’s not normal Sharpie behaviour,’ Yoongi mutters, dampening a washcloth under the cold tap to clean the bleach off his back. ‘I have been the victim of a rabid fucking Sharpie. You think I should see a doctor or something?’

‘No, hyung,’ Namjoon sighs, finally done with removing all his safety gear, folding the glasses up in his hands as he gives Yoongi a look. Yoongi doesn’t like this look at all. ‘I think you should do what you’ve wanted to do this whole time and just call him.’

Yoongi’s eyes widen. ‘Are you really encouraging me to further violate Jin-hyung’s baby cousin?’ he demands, trying not to groan in relief as the washcloth soothes his tingling skin.

Namjoon shrugs. ‘Hyung won’t care. If he got mad at everyone he knew that Taehyung slept with, he’d have no friends left.’

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that and Namjoon seems to realise that he basically just called Taehyung the campus fuckboy.

‘Okay, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration,’ he amends quickly, ‘but when it comes to that stuff, Taehyung does what he wants and even Seokjin doesn’t bother trying to rein him in. He just judges from afar and fixes the broken hearts and stuff – you know, the way he does.’

‘But it’s me,’ Yoongi reminds him, leaning back against the sink. ‘You don’t think he’d be pissed about one of his best friends screwing his cousin-that-may-as-well-be-his-baby-brother behind his back?’

Namjoon makes a face as he considers this. ‘You don't need to do it behind his back,’ he says. ‘I think that you'd be more a relief than anything else. You’re probably better than most of the assholes Taehyung's ended up fucking and if you’re not—‘ He grins a serial killer sort of grin. ‘—hyung knows where you live.’

Yoongi frowns, mildly disturbed by that thought, though he tries not to let it show, shrugging as he tosses the washcloth into the sink. ‘Whatever,’ he mutters, reaching for his t-shirt. ‘I’m not calling him anyway.’

‘Suit yourself, hyung,’ his friend sighs, ‘but I’m taking the bleach with me when I leave.’

‘I hate you,’ Yoongi grumbles, from inside his t-shirt.

Namjoon chuckles lightly. ‘Love you, too, hyung.’

 

 

2 Hours Later:

Yoongi is trying to nap on the couch when Hoseok bursts loudly into the apartment, his voice irritatingly high-pitched as he calls out, ‘Honey, I’m hooome~!’ Yoongi hears the thump of his book bag dropping on the floor by the door, two more thumps as he kicks his shoes off and both hit the wall, adding to the mosaic of scuff marks above the skirting from him doing exactly that. Every. Fucking. Day. At least the footsteps are softer now as he pads across the living area in socks.

‘Oh, shit, are you asleep?’ he asks, his voice back to its lower timbre, thank fuck.

‘Yes,’ Yoongi grumbles, sinking further inside his oversized hoodie – or Hoseok’s oversized hoodie. Honestly, he doesn’t even try to remember what clothes actually belong to him anymore.

‘Liar,’ Hoseok says, then Yoongi feels a knee nudging his arm. ‘Move over.’

He groans. ‘Hoseok, fuck off.’

The knee nudges again. ‘Move over.’

Yoongi slits his eyes open to glare at his roommate, but Hoseok’s grin is at full wattage and it hurts too much to look at. With some muttered cursing, Yoongi shifts in closer to the back of the couch, ending up lying half on top of Hoseok by the time he squishes onto the space that has never been big enough for both of them and never will be, despite Hoseok’s eternal optimism.

‘How was your day?’ Hoseok asks.

‘Shit,’ Yoongi grumbles.

‘Why do you smell like bleach?’

Yoongi sighs. ‘You don’t wanna know.’

There’s a pause, but Yoongi doesn’t bother opening his eyes to see what sort of look Hoseok is giving him. Hoseok, however, seems to decide that Yoongi is probably telling the truth. ‘Well, I had a nice day.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi mumbles, already feeling woozy, Hoseok’s warmth next to him doing nothing to help him stay awake.

‘Yeah.’

‘What’d you do?’

‘Some of my lectures were cancelled, so I went to the park with Jimin.’ Hoseok laughs suddenly and Yoongi blinks a few times in surprise before shutting his eyes again with a sigh. ‘Get it, hyung?’

‘No,’ he mutters.

Park with Jimin.’

Yoongi lets the silence drag on for just long enough that it’s uncomfortable. ‘Oh, is Park his surname?’ he asks, and Hoseok immediately jabs a toe into his shin.

‘You asshole!’ he snaps, while Yoongi chuckles quietly. ‘You know his fucking name!’

‘You make it too easy, Hoseok,’ Yoongi tells him, through a yawn.

Hoseok makes an irritated sort of noise. ‘Yeah, well, you need to start being nicer to him, hyung,’ he says, his tone bordering on serious. ‘He likes you a lot, you know? But he thinks you don’t like him.’

Yoongi frowns, pushing himself up on an elbow to squint at Hoseok. ‘Where’d he get that idea from?’

‘He said he was in the kitchen yesterday morning when I was in the shower and he said hi to you and you just grunted and left,’ Hoseok explains, an eyebrow raised because he knows it sounds exactly like something his older friend would do.

Yoongi groans a little at the memory. ‘But he was smiling so bright, Hoseok, I couldn’t do it,’ he says, in pain just thinking about it. ‘It was too early.’

Hoseok rolls his eyes. ‘He’s sunshine, hyung, what d’you expect?’

‘I thought you were sunshine,’ Yoongi points out. ‘How do you two even coexist?’

Hoseok grins. ‘Very brightly,’ he replies, and now it’s Yoongi’s turn to roll his eyes. The younger man chuckles as Yoongi settles back down, cheek pillowed on Hoseok’s shoulder because there is nowhere else to put it. ‘What were we talking about anyway?’

‘You were telling me about your day,’ Yoongi reminds him, sighing deeply as he tries to get back to that soft, warm near-sleep place where he was a few minutes ago.

‘Yeah, so when we were in the park,’ Hoseok goes on, ‘this girl came up to us and it was one of the kids we had at the dance workshops in the summer and you’ll never guess what.’

‘What?’ Yoongi murmurs.

He can hear the beaming smile in Hoseok’s voice when he replies. ‘She got signed by a company!’

‘No way,’ Yoongi says, genuinely impressed, though that doesn’t fully come across in his weary tone. ‘Which one?’

‘It wasn’t one of the bigger three...’ Hoseok says, clearly trying to remember. ‘I think she said BigHit. I can’t really remember. I’m pretty sure I was screaming.’

‘You probably were,’ Yoongi agrees.

‘But she said she doesn’t think she’d have gotten it if it wasn’t for the extra help I gave her.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ Hoseok says, a faint hint of pride in his voice, though that pride is well-earned. Yoongi has been to a countless amount of Hoseok’s showcases and even quite a few of the showcases run by the dance school he works with part-time. Waiting on Hoseok to finish, he’s sat in on some dance practices and the classes that Hoseok helps teach. Hoseok is a brilliant teacher, a better dancer and Yoongi doesn’t doubt the girl’s claim for a second.

‘You think if I told my parents that, would they let me ditch my degree?’ Hoseok asks, his tone a touch wistful now.

But there’s no point giving the guy false hope. ‘No chance in hell,’ Yoongi grumbles.

‘Yeah, I know,’ Hoseok sighs, then nudges his shoulder a little to get Yoongi’s attention. ‘But you’re proud of me, right, hyung?’

‘’Course I am.’

Hoseok pats his head and Yoongi rolls his eyes behind his lids. ‘Thanks, hyung.’

‘So, is that where you’ve been all day?’ Yoongi asks him.

‘In the park? No,’ he replies. ‘We went back to Jimin’s after to help Taetae unpack his stuff. He’s been in that apartment over a week now and only got round to unpacking his manga collection and his Totoro onesie. He’s adorable and all, but sometimes you have to poke him a few times to remind him he’s an adult.’

And Yoongi, who had been dozing off nicely against Hoseok’s shoulder, is now wide awake. ‘Taetae?’ he echoes, struggling to keep his voice the same sleepy monotone.

‘Taehyung,’ Hoseok says. ‘Kim Taehyung. You remember him, right? He was here a lot last year. Didn’t I introduce you guys at Jin-hyung’s party?’

‘Uh... yeah, I think so,’ Yoongi mumbles, his brain still on other more worrying matters. ‘But, uh... doesn’t Jimin live upstairs?’

‘Yeah,’ Hoseok replies. ‘Taehyung’s his roommate. They’re best friends or soulmates or something. Kind of like us, but back in our honeymoon phase when we still liked each other.’

Yoongi manages a faint grin at that so as not to arouse Hoseok’s suspicions, but he does not feel like grinning. He feels kind of like screaming. Or punching something. It’s probably a good thing that Hoseok gets up, hauling himself to his feet with a groan.

‘You hungry, hyung? I’m gonna make dinner.’

Yoongi isn’t listening. Yoongi is sitting on the couch with his skin feeling hot and his fingers twitching, wondering why the fuck today has decided to be so awful to him.

‘Hyung?’ Hoseok says again, and Yoongi blinks, looking up to find the younger man staring at him. His mouth is quirked up in something that’s half amusement, half worry. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi says, a little vaguely. ‘Fine. Dinner. Yeah, sounds good.’

Hoseok nods, continuing to watch him a moment longer before turning away with a light chuckle. ‘Okay, hyung,’ he sighs.

As soon as Hoseok is busy in the kitchen, Yoongi heads for his bedroom, peeling off the hoodie and flopping down onto his bed, the cool sheets welcome against his burning skin. Part of him wonders if he could be running a fever all of a sudden, but the rest of him is only too aware that that is wishful thinking. The heat crawling under his skin isn’t a sickly heat. It’s softer, slow and demanding and creeping further south with every second he spends thinking about the pleasure-filled haze that was Seokjin’s party. Yoongi hasn’t really wanted to admit to himself that the new TA he hooked up with last night almost bored him to death before could finish. He hasn’t really wanted to admit to himself that pretty much everything about that encounter has already faded to the back of his mind, while Seokjin’s party is still vivid, every stuttered breath, every moan gasped against his chest, the sting of fingernails biting into his skin, the smell of sweat and sex and the smoky hint of fucking vanilla on his breath. Yoongi might’ve jacked off to the memory a couple times in the many, many showers he’s taken of the past week, a certain two syllables that faded from his back only to end up caught in his throat instead.

Do what you’ve wanted to do this whole time and just call him.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi whispers, because his jeans are a tight in places they weren't and his fingers are itching to uncurl themselves from the bedsheets to do something about it.

He lives upstairs. This whole fucking time, he’s been one short elevator ride away and all Yoongi wants is to not care about this fact, to shrug it off like he would if he found out that TA lived nextdoor, but the world is not on his side today. He’s frustrated and not because he may have some awkward lobby run-ins to deal with, but because he wants an awkward lobby run-in to deal with. He wants to haul the little shit into the elevator and just fucking—

Yoongi groans, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow, but at the same time, his fingers uncurl themselves from the bedsheets  and they do something about it.

He tugs his phone out of his pocket, turning his head just enough to the side so he can see the screen with one eye. He unlocks it with hot, twitchy fingers, taps on the phone icon, sending up a silent prayer for his soul as he realises that in his various attempts to scrub the damn thing off, he accidentally memorised the number. He types it in without having to think. His thumb hovers over the call button for a moment, hesitant, because for some reason, he just fucking knows this is a bad idea. One slight shift of his hips later, however, and the friction of his jeans shatters any doubts he was having. Yoongi taps the button, brings the phone to his ear and listens to the silence for a moment, punctuated only by his own measured breaths.

The dial tone picks up, so loud and sudden that it almost startles him. Yoongi rolls onto his back and chews distractedly on his lip as he waits...

And waits...

And—

The dial tone cuts off, followed by some rustling on the other end of the line.

‘Dude, I know I said I’d pick up the food, and I will, but there’s nearly no one up here tonight and I need some inspiration for this dumb assignment—Jiminnie, what kind of sadist hands out an assignment like this in the first week back? This is horrible. I don’t even remember what stars are, never mind—okay, okay, sorry, rambling, I know, I’ll stop now. What did you want again? Kkanpunggi, right? Or was it the gross soup that you like? Or were we going Thai? I really can’t remember. And you better be recording that Tokyo Ghoul re-run or I'll delete all the Unpretty Rapstar I kept for you, I swear to god.’

Yoongi is currently staring at his ceiling and questioning all of his life choices.

‘Yo, Jiminnie?’ Taehyung’s voice calls, a touch exasperated. ‘You better not be making out with Hoseok-hyung while on the phone with me again. We talked about this, it's not cool, bro.'

Fuck it.

Yoongi clears his throat, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as wrecked as he feels. ‘Taehyung?’

A sudden clattering sound crashes down the line, making Yoongi wince as he pulls the phone a little away from his ear. He shoots the screen the judging look he wants to give the other boy right now. Did he just drop his phone? Seriously?

-    -    -    -    -

Sitting by the wall on the floor of the university observation deck, Taehyung stares at his phone where it’s lying on top of his scattered cosmology notes. His eyes are round and his stomach is probably somewhere downstairs in the Biochem department by now. That low rumble with its Daegu twang was not the soft and sweet and comforting Jimin voice he was expecting. Taehyung does not feel comforted. Taehyung feels terrified.

And also horny.

Very, very horny because fuck if he hasn’t been thinking of that voice all week.

Pulling himself together, he scrabbles for his phone again, taking a deep breath before he brings it to his ear. ‘Uh... hi?’ he says, wishing he could sound more confident – he usually sounds more confident, what the hell is this?

There’s a beat of silence and Taehyung wonders if he hung up. He wouldn’t blame him.

‘Hey,’ comes the reply, a split second later, and Taehyung grins at his sneakers, fingers clutching tighter around the phone.

‘Hey.’

Chapter Text

About an hour later:

The cramped room is filled with the sounds of their breaths, heavy and staggered, the wet noise of mouths colliding and the slap of skin on skin. Taehyung’s teeth sink into Yoongi’s lower lip, sucking hard on the caught flesh and Yoongi can’t put into words how good that feels, a rough gasp escaping his throat as he presses hungrily into the kiss. Somewhere between seeing Taehyung come rushing around a corner in the corridor, cheeks already flushed and eyes already gleaming, and hearing him groan quietly as Yoongi slid inside him, Yoongi forgot what words were. Now all he can think about is the heat of Taehyung pouring into his bones, the faint, low moans against his mouth, the pull of Taehyung’s legs dragging him in deeper with every roll of his hips.

Taehyung is half lying on a scorch-marked table, pushed up on his elbows, his bare legs locked around Yoongi’s waist as he leans over him, one hand braced on the tabletop, the other steadying Taehyung’s hips as he thrusts. The urge to shut his eyes grows stronger with every wave of pleasure up his spine, but Yoongi makes a point of keeping them open between rounds of rushed kissing because Taehyung’s cheeks are flushed dark, sweaty bangs shoved back off his forehead and on the rare occasions he does manage to slit his eyes open too, they’re glazed and burning. It’s a sight that has Yoongi’s few meagre shower fantasies slinking away in shame because they did not do this justice.

‘Isn’t that—really—fucking—uncomfortable?’ Yoongi manages to pant out, somehow noting that the way Taehyung’s brow is furrowed looks faintly pained. Words might be hard right now, but he’s not a total asshole.

‘Uh-huh,’ Taehyung mumbles, voice a tad strained. ‘Pretty sure I’ve—oh, god—k-killed several vertebrae in my lower back, but w-whatever.’

‘You wanna move?’ Yoongi asks, slowing his hips, and immediately Taehyung clenches around him, dragging a hissed curse from Yoongi’s throat.

‘Don’t you dare stop right now,’ he groans, his head falling back between his shoulders as Yoongi starts moving again. ‘I’m so close, just—yeah, yeah, like that—oh, fuck...’

Yoongi groans low as Taehyung tightens around him again, and he feels it start to pool in his  stomach, the hot prickle rushing up through him, dizzying and demanding. As Yoongi picks up the speed of his thrusts, he moves his hands to grip Taehyung’s thighs, angling his hips to try and drag against his prostate with every stroke.

Oh, god,’ Taehyung moans, letting his elbows give out underneath him to lie on the table. His back arches, the lean muscles of his abdomen taut and really that sight on its own is all Yoongi needs to send him crashing over the edge.

His hips stutter and slow as it hits with a force that sends him reeling, rushes through him, hot and hard, tingling under his skin, bursting white behind his eyes. He gasps as he releases into the condom, his fingers more than likely leaving bruises on Taehyung’s thighs as he grips them just to stay grounded, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him. After a moment, he slumps forward, hands braced on the table to stop him collapsing on top of Taehyung. He takes a few deep, shaky breaths before he pulls out with a soft curse from the younger boy and drags him up into a hard kiss. Yoongi licks into his mouth as he wraps his fingers tight around Taehyung’s neglected cock, rumbling moans against Yoongi’s lips. He moves to mouth down along Taehyung’s jaw and sets a pace his wrist is going to hate him for later, urged on by the way Taehyung’s hips jerk up to meet him, fucking himself into Yoongi’s hand as Yoongi sucks at the damp skin of his neck. He’s intent on paying the brat back in full for last time.

Taehyung’s so close it barely takes more than a few tugs before his fingers are clawing handfuls of Yoongi’s t-shirt, the heels of his sneakers digging into the backs of the older boy’s still bare thighs. He comes over Yoongi’s hand with a wrecked sigh of, ‘Holy shit,’ and Yoongi strokes him through it, nipping at the abused skin of Taehyung’s throat to add the finishing touches to his masterpiece. When the other boy’s body finally relaxes against him, they’re both gasping for air, hot, sweaty and sticky, and it’s gross, but Yoongi can’t move. Not yet. Removing his lips from Taehyung’s neck, he kisses him again, breathy and deep. Taehyung’s nails rake lightly along his scalp as he slides his fingers into Yoongi’s hair and a shiver of pleasure runs down Yoongi’s spine. He smooths his hands up the hot skin of Taehyung’s waist underneath his t-shirt, torn this way and that during their tryst, though it still managed to stay on his body, just barely.

Honestly, when Yoongi called Taehyung tonight, he didn’t expect to find himself, less than an hour later, in a dimly lit room of the university’s science building with his jeans around his ankles – not that he’s complaining. Yoongi feels so perfectly fucked out and sated that he really can’t understand why it took him so long to call. He might remember later and regret everything all over again, but for now, he’s content with letting Taehyung rest his forehead on his shoulder while they both catch their breath.

They’re in some kind of storeroom, Yoongi can see now that he’s less distracted. The only light comes from a nearby window, outside of which they sky is the darkening blue of dusk. Luckily, they’re four or five floors up, so there’s no chance of anyone catching them that way. The door, on the other hand, had no key, but the whole building seemed pretty deserted when Yoongi arrived, just some harried looking postgrads wandering around.

‘I’m guessing we’re not supposed to be in here,’ he murmurs, eyeing the shelves stacked with dusty boxes, old lab equipment and glassware, tables and chairs that look like they’ve been in here since the middle of the last century.

‘Nope,’ Taehyung confirms, sitting up with a slight grimace as he stretches out his back. ‘But no one comes in here unless they want to smoke or...’ Taehyung trails off with a slight smirk, meeting Yoongi’s eye and it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he means by that.

‘Right,’ Yoongi murmurs with a knowing nod, before moving back for Taehyung to get off the table.

They dress with clumsy fingers, elbows knocking into each other as they look around the dark floor for discarded clothes. It’s when Yoongi’s shrugging on his shirt and Taehyung’s zipping the fly on his shorts that the opening lines of a popular girl-group song Yoongi feels proud to not know the name of starts drifting brightly from Taehyung’s pocket. Yoongi doesn’t bother trying to keep the judgement off his face as Taehyung takes out the ringing phone without batting an eyelid, as if it’s totally normal for a twenty-something guy to have the ringtone of twelve-year-old girl.

‘Uh-oh,’ he mutters, hanging up without answering. He shoves the phone back where it came from with a sheepish look. ‘I was supposed to pick up dinner an hour ago. Jimin’s probably faded to nothing on the kitchen floor by now.’

‘You should probably get back then,’ Yoongi says, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets.

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung agrees, grabbing his hoodie from the floor near his feet and hastily pulling it on.

‘Well...’ he murmurs, once they’re standing awkwardly in the corridor outside the storeroom, ‘this was nice, I guess.’ Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that and Taehyung’s face splits into a grin, his short laugh low and full of mischief as he shrugs. ‘I can’t think of any other words right now, okay? It was... it was... yeah.’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi agrees, kind of enjoying the way Taehyung’s cheeks are distinctly more flushed than they were. He bites back a smirk. ‘We should do it again sometime.’

Taehyung looks up to meet his gaze, eyes bright though he doesn’t say anything.

‘You have my number now,’ Yoongi says, before turning and heading down the corridor. ‘Don’t be afraid to use it.’

-    -    -    -    -

Jimin is lying under the coffee table. He ended up there sometime after leaving Taehyung that fourth voicemail message where he whipped out his best (kind of but not really) fake tears and sobbed down the phone about how he was hallucinating as his body shut down from malnutrition. If there’s one thing Jimin can’t stand, it’s being hungry. He searched the entire kitchen for something remotely edible, but they’re still getting used to living off campus and neither one of them remembered to buy groceries this week. The cupboards were bare save for six boxes of Taehyung’s gross strawberry Pepero that he brought from home. In the fridge, Jimin found a bottle of soju and a half empty can of Rockstar, along with a bruised avocado and a petri dish in which some strange orange mould seemed to be thriving. With his phone at his ear again, he stared at that for a moment, wondering what the fuck. Is Taehyung even taking a biology module this year? Jimin has no idea. He shut the door with a sigh, though he considered going back for the soju to at least numb the pain as Taehyung’s phone went to voicemail – yet again.

That time, all he did was make choking noises down the phone in the hopes that Taehyung would think he was being murdered and hurry the hell up. Once he was back on the couch, it did dawn on him that Taehyung probably wouldn’t stop for the food if he actually thought Jimin was being murdered, so he left another message explaining that those noises were the noises Taehyung will be making when Jimin finally gets his hands on him. He realised, of course, after he’d tossed his phone to the other end of the couch, that Taehyung will turn that into a filthy joke, but by that stage, Jimin was too weak to care. He played Assassin’s Creed for ten more minutes until the rumbling in his stomach made a game he was already crap at impossible to focus on. At this point, he rolled around on the couch so much, venting his frustration on the cushions, that he fell to the floor and ended up underneath the coffee table, which is where he is now, poking buttons on the controller to make Edward repeatedly leap off tall buildings and tumble to his death.

Jimin has no idea why he even plays this game. He hates this game. He hates PlayStations, they should’ve bought a Wii. He hates this carpet and why did they choose an apartment with green doorframes? He hates green. He hates this goddamn coffee table, too, come to think of it. He hates everything and he’s still thinking about how much he hates everything, spiralling into some dark and horrible place where there is only hunger and hate, when he finally hears a key scrape in the door.

He lies still for a moment, wondering if he really is hallucinating this time, but no. Next thing, the door is being shoved open and Jimin peers out from under the coffee table to see Taehyung’s legs enter the apartment.

‘Jiminnie?’ Taehyung calls, toeing off his shoes. ‘You still alive?’

‘Where have you been?’ Jimin whines, rolling over a couple times, so he’s lying out in the middle of the floor instead, gazing up at Taehyung and—holy hell.

Jimin jack-knifes upright, his earlier weakness forgotten as he stares at his friend with widening eyes. It’s not windy out by any means, but Taehyung’s hair looks like it was just blow-dried in hurricane. His cheeks are flushed the kind of healthy pink that you sure as shit don’t get from a gentle walk home and he has what looks like the mother of all bruises peeking over the neck of his t-shirt. So unless he was sprinting at full speed through a bush when he tripped and fell on his neck, it looks a helluva lot like Taehyung was doing more than just homework this evening.

Kim Taehyung,’ Jimin drawls quietly, watching with narrowed eyes as Taehyung lays the cartons out on the coffee table. The boy has his lying face on and he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet. ‘Did you let me starve, so you could get laid?’

Licking sauce off his thumb, Taehyung doesn’t meet his gaze. ‘Nope. Homework.’

Immediately, Jimin points an accusing finger at him. ‘Kim Taehyung, you are a filthy liar! Who was it? That weirdo Biochem major from last year? Is that why you’re growing mould again?’

‘It’s bacteria.’

‘Same thing.’

‘Mould is a fungus.’

You are a fungus!’

Taehyung pauses laying out the food to frown at Jimin, but Jimin stands his ground, jaw set defiantly. ‘Only a fungus would let his best friend starve while he got down and dirty with a dumb Biochem major who wasn’t even that good a lay, if I remember right.’

That seems to wipe the frown off Taehyung’s face and he goes back to peeling lids off cartons, head low. ‘It wasn’t the Biochem major,’ he mutters.

Jimin narrows his eyes, dragging the sweet and sour pork over to his side of the table. He wracks his brains for anyone else Taehyung could’ve randomly come across in the science building, but he comes up blank. Which leaves booty call, though Taehyung hasn’t mentioned any…

Jimin gasps softly, glancing up at his friend. ‘He called you back.’

‘Who?’ Taehyung asks, but at that very moment, Jimin shoves some sweet and sour pork into his mouth and sees God. He has to lie down again, weak and whimpering a little as the flavour bursts over his tongue, washing down his throat like cold water after dancing for six hours straight. Is this what heaven feels like? If it’s not, Jimin doesn’t want heaven, he wants to stay right here on the floor with the sweet and sour pork. ‘The guy who left you looking like you’d been jumped,’ he manages to say, propping himself up on his elbows as he chews. ‘At Jin-hyung’s party.’

‘It wasn’t that bad,’ Taehyung says, a touch defensive.

Jimin rolls his eyes. ‘You had a split lip, Taehyung-ah. You couldn’t eat salty food for—wait, can you eat salty food yet?’

Taehyung says nothing as he snaps his chopsticks apart and digs them into his noodles. Plain noodles with no sauce to speak of, probably bland as hell. When Jimin continues to watch him, eyebrows raised, Taehyung gives him a sheepish sort of look through his lashes.

Jimin grins a smug grin. ‘That’s what I thought,’ he says, sitting back triumphantly on his calves. He leans his elbows on the edge of the coffee table, snatching up some more pork while he eyes his friend. ‘So. Details, Taetae, let’s have ’em.’

Taehyung gestures to his mouth with his chopsticks, cheeks bulging like chipmunk’s, and he chews on those damn noodles for so long they must be liquid by the time he swallows. ‘Dunno,’ he finally mumbles with a shrug, poking at a chunk of veg. ‘Isn’t much to tell.’

‘Well, I call bullshit on that one,’ Jimin announces through a mouthful of rice, because when it comes to dishing dirt, he’s not the type to waste time chewing. Neither is Taehyung, so this must be good. ‘Let’s start with a name. I don’t think you told me his name, did you?’

Taehyung shrugs. ‘You didn’t ask.’

‘Well, now I’m asking,’ Jimin says, throwing him a pointed look.

Taehyung reaches across to steal some of Jimin’s pork, carefully avoiding the healing cut on his lip as he drops it into his mouth. And while he’s taking several centuries to chew that and avoid answering, Jimin collects the clues: The pink flush spreading to the tips of Taehyung’s ears, the shifty eye movements, the way he’s fiddling with his chopsticks – he adds them up and his jaw drops, both from shock and excitement.

‘I know him!’ he realises aloud, food forgotten for the moment, a hunk of fried egg caught in his chopsticks. ‘Don’t I? It’s someone we know.’

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, but the coy smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth says it all. ‘No,’ he mutters, pulling his knees up to curl himself protectively around his carton of noodles. This is a classic Kim Taehyung defensive position. This Kim Taehyung is hiding something.

With a grin spreading across his face, Jimin grabs his carton of sweet and sour pork and bounds over the table to sit next to Taehyung on the couch. Taehyung keeps his eyes on his food, even when Jimin gets as close as he can without sitting in the other boy’s lap.

Taehyungie~’ he sings quietly, stuffing the chunk of egg into his mouth, so he can poke at Taehyung’s cheek with his chopsticks. ‘Come on, you know you’re gonna tell me anyway. Let’s just get this over with so we can talk about the fun stuff.’

‘You won’t wanna talk about the fun stuff,’ Taehyung says cryptically, and Jimin frowns. These words do not compute with him – he always wants to talk about the fun stuff. He points this out, but Taehyung only shrugs, swiping a few more pieces of Jimin’s pork.

‘Well, now you have me really intrigued,’ Jimin tells him, though he’s not going to pretend he isn’t worried. They don’t have the hugest amount of friends, there aren’t a lot of people to choose from, so unless it’s one of their few sworn enemies or (Jimin’s stomach plummets) a teacher

‘Min Yoongi,’ Taehyung says quietly, in his this-is-not-a-big-deal-I-swear-to-god-don’t-make-it-one voice. He quickly fills his mouth with food afterwards, gauging Jimin’s reaction from the corners of his eyes.

Jimin’s jaw stills its chewing, brow furrowing as he stares at his friend and tries to understand what he just said. Min Yoongi… Min Yoongi… Min Yoong—holy shit. ‘WHAT?’ he demands, after swallowing in such a rush that he chokes a little, a fist flying up to cover his mouth. ‘YOONGI-HYUNG? YOU’RE HOOKING UP WITH YOONGI-HYUNG?’

Taehyung scowls at him. Jimin knows this is not not making a big deal out of it, but Jimin made no goddamn promises. ‘Better scream it louder, Jiminnie, I don’t think they heard you in China,’ he mutters.

Jimin’s eyes are so wide his head is starting to ache a little, but he can’t relax them. He also can’t help the grimace that starts to twist his mouth as he stares at Taehyung, trying to imagine how that could even work.

Taehyung is walking enthusiasm. Taehyung is summer and warm blankets and fireflies at dusk. He is the fireflies, the little pinpricks of light in the dark. Although Jimin has had several conversations with Min Yoongi, Min Yoongi has spoken to Jimin exactly twice. The first was to tell him to move because he was standing in front of the coffee machine, the second was yesterday morning, a grunt that sounded kind of like Piss off right before he shuffled sleepily out of the kitchen. Jimin still likes Yoongi a lot because the way Hoseok talks about him would make anyone think he was the cutest small creature on the entire planet and also kind of a god. But when you bring Taehyung into the equation, that changes everything. Taehyung is a gentle soul, too precious for this world. He tries so hard to see the good in everyone that he usually overlooks all of the bad, no matter how bad. He’s fireflies – they’re bright and beautiful, but easily squished. And Yoongi? Jimin’s not sure what Yoongi is. He knows that Hoseok is telling the truth when he says there’s a lot more to Yoongi than first meets the eye, but still. Taehyung is Taehyung and Yoongi is the suspicious dark lump in the corner of your room; when you turn on the light, it might just be your favourite plushie, but what if it’s not? What if it’s a goblin?

‘Are you gonna say something else, Jiminnie?’ Taehyung asks, snapping Jimin out of his uneasy daze. ‘Or are you just gonna keep staring at me like you’ve got some dramatic inner-monologue going on?’

‘I did, actually,’ Jimin informs him, still frowning as he drops his gaze to his pork.

‘Cool,’ Taehyung murmurs. ‘What was it about?’

‘There were goblins.’

There’s a soft laugh from Taehyung and Jimin glances up to see him shaking his head. ‘Yoongi’s not a goblin.’

‘How did you know I was thinking that?’

Taehyung looks over and stares at him, munching silently.

After a moment, Jimin shrugs. ‘Fair enough,’ he concedes, and it’s quiet for a moment while they both focus on their dinner.

‘I did warn you that you wouldn’t wanna hear about the fun stuff,’ Taehyung says, once he’s annihilated his entire carton of noodles and a solid portion of Jimin’s pork. ‘Once you found out who it was, I mean.’

Jimin wrinkles his nose as he pokes at the last of his rice. ‘It’d be weird, right, talking about Hoseok-hyung’s best friend like that?’

Taehyung nods. ‘Yeah…’ he sighs. ‘Kinda weird.’

‘Mm…’ Jimin agrees, watching Taehyung slide his carton onto the table and settle back into the cushions. There’s more silence. Jimin chews and Taehyung leans his head against the back of the couch, fingers tapping on his bare knees and—

Jimin is weak.

Jimin is so very weak.

‘Fine, just tell me!’ he groans, shoving his carton onto the table as Taehyung straightens up, a grin spreading across his face. He reaches over and grabs the bag of prawn crackers they both forgot about because, come on, junk food is required for conversations like these, then leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

He takes a cracker and shoves the bag to Jimin, eyebrows doing something unholy.

‘So,’ he says, voice low – his dirt dishing voice. ‘What d’you wanna know?’


It’s messy and it’s rushed and it’s hot. It’s tables and chairs and couches, since there never seems to be any time to find a bed – or maybe they’re just not making the time to find a bed, all but clawing at each other the moment they’re alone. The same old storeroom in the science building becomes a popular haunt, as do the usually empty dressing rooms in the university’s theatre, conveniently attached to the music building. It’s a week, then two, almost every other day, sometimes twice in one day if their schedules and stress levels match up enough. With every hook-up, Yoongi keeps waiting for the novelty to wear off, for that intensity to fade, for Taehyung’s skin to stop feeling like fire under his hands, but it doesn’t. If anything, it gets worse, it gets hotter, louder, more desperate and the release hits harder every time.

It’s not just the actual sex part either, Yoongi discovers, when he’s pressed up against the thin wall of a library bathroom stall, Taehyung’s fingers making quick work of the fly on his jeans. Yoongi’s not going to pretend that Taehyung’s slightly bumbling dominant streak doesn’t turn him on, but it never fails to amuse him either. There’s a switch that flicks with Taehyung the moment his blood starts pulsing south. He’ll greet Yoongi with the borderline terrified doe eyes, babbling nervously until Yoongi shuts him up with his tongue. It’s soon after that that Taehyung relaxes, the terror being replaced with something dark and hungry as he tries to take control of the situation. Sometimes Yoongi lets him, like today, allowing himself to be dragged unceremoniously into a bathroom stall and pushed against the wall with the kind of starving kiss that would have anyone convinced they didn’t just fuck last night on Yoongi’s couch.

Last night, incidentally, was something of a milestone. Yoongi was kneeling with his elbows braced against the back of the couch, Taehyung kneeling behind him, scattering marks along his shoulder blades. ‘Another, Yoongi-ssi?’ he asked, his breath ghosting hot over Yoongi’s ear and Yoongi almost laughed out loud, realising that it’d been almost a month since Seokjin’s party and they still hadn’t gotten round to dropping formalities.

‘Taehyung,’ Yoongi said, his voice only a touch strained, ‘see when you have two fingers knuckle-deep in someone’s ass?’

‘Mm-hm,’ Taehyung replied, wiggling said fingers a little as if to emphasize his understanding.

‘That’s a pretty—fuck—in-informal situation,’ Yoongi pointed out in a near gasp, because the little shit’s knuckles were pressing right into him. ‘You need to start calling me h-hyung or something – seriously.’

‘Hyung?’ Taehyung echoed softly, and Yoongi almost rolled his eyes at the clear joy colouring his tone. Of course he’s the kind of person to get excited by that shit.

‘Yeah,’ he sighed.

‘Okay, then,’ Taehyung murmured, pressing a third finger in alongside the first two, making Yoongi’s back arch, ‘hyung.’

Greeting him today, he made the mistake again, but Yoongi was quick to correct him and it seems to be starting to sink in.

‘Hyung?’ Taehyung whispers against the skin of his neck, kissing and sucking his way down to the loose collar of Yoongi’s shirt.

‘Mm?’ Yoongi replies, because Taehyung’s fingers are currently wrapped around his cock and words are difficult.

‘Can I—‘ Taehyung’s thumb presses into his slit, making his hips snap forward, Yoongi biting on the inside of his cheek against a groan. ‘Can I suck you off, hyung?’

Shit,’ Yoongi hisses, wary of the bathroom’s acoustics. ‘Was that really a question, Taehyung?’

Taehyung pulls back to give him a serious look, totally at odds with the unholy flush of his lips. ‘Consent is important, hyung,’ he says, and Yoongi wants to slap him upside the head, but he holds himself in check. He’s not sure he’d still get the blowjob afterwards – it’s not worth the risk.

Yes, Taehyung, you may suck me off,’ he growls out.

Taehyung grins, the usual boxy innocence swallowed up by the way he runs his tongue out along spit-slicked lips. Then he’s on his knees, Yoongi’s jeans and boxers yanked down around his thighs, one hand gripping his hip, the other curled around the base of his cock. Taehyung looks up at him through lashes and mussed up bangs as he licks up a bead of precum with the flat of his tongue.

Yoongi swears softly again because fuck. Taehyung hasn’t stopped surprising him with this shit, how he can turn from the clumsy idiot with the nervous word vomit to this—this thing, this thing with the bright lips and filthy smirk, burning hands, eyes blacker than the darkest pit of Yoongi’s own soul. It’s prey to predator so fast Yoongi’s neck aches from the whiplash. But he’s not about to complain as his fingers tangle in Taehyung’s bangs, serving the dual purpose of lifting them off his face and giving Yoongi something to hold onto instead of scraping uselessly at the stall wall. He watches with a moan caught in his throat as Taehyung takes more of him in, lips stretching around his cock and—holy shit, what is he doing with his tongue?

Yoongi allows himself a sharp gasp, ignoring the way it bounces off the tiled walls for anyone to hear. He likes blowjobs like any guy likes blowjobs, they’re hot, they feel great, but they’re foreplay, they’re part of what you do before you get to the actual good stuff. That’s how he thinks of blowjobs. That’s how he used to think of blowjobs, but in the men’s room of the university library when he should be studying for his test in psychoacoustics, Yoongi’s pretty sure he’s having some serious opinions changed by the mouth of a certain Kim Taehyung.

Yoongi knows he’s good at this – he’s been told often enough – and wonders idly if this is what it would feel like to get a blowjob from himself. Or is Taehyung better? He can’t be better. No one’s better. Yoongi’s entirely not okay with that thought, but before any major doubt can set in, Taehyung swallows, the smooth muscle of his throat contracting around the head of Yoongi’s cock. He stops thinking about anything other than the heat of Taehyung’s mouth, the slick slide of his lips around Yoongi’s length, the smoothness of his tongue and tightness of his throat. Taehyung pulls back at one point to play with the head, tongue running along the slit and swirling around the tip before he takes Yoongi back into his mouth again, so deep that Yoongi’s head falls against the wall with a dull thud. The noise echoes around the bathroom, soon followed by Yoongi’s badly muffled groan but he can barely hear it past the blood pounding in his ears.

His hands fist tight in Taehyung’s hair as he feels the other boy’s nose brush against the skin of his stomach, his eyes all but rolling back in his head when Taehyung moans softly, the vibrations wracking through Yoongi. Somehow, he’s still managing to work wonders with his tongue along the underside of Yoongi’s shaft, sliding his lips back up till only the tip is left in his mouth before going down on Yoongi again, throwing in a rumbling moan here and there to really fuck him up.

He comes almost embarrassingly fast, tugging on Taehyung’s bangs and mumbling something barely coherent in warning, but Taehyung doesn’t stop. Instead, he loosens his grip on Yoongi’s hips, letting him thrust forward a little, fucking himself shallowly into Taehyung’s mouth as he comes with a gasp that he muffles against his own forearm. When Yoongi slumps back against the wall, eyes shut, lips parted, spent and panting, Taehyung gets up to mouth at his throat, breathing hard himself.

‘Do you have a gag reflex?’ Yoongi demands in a broken voice.

Taehyung hums with soft laughter against his neck. ‘Not really,’ he admits, with a shy sort of smirk. ‘Never have. They used to get me to swallow small toys in kindergarten and everything.’

Even in his low key wrecked as fuck state, Yoongi rolls his eyes. Of course they did.

‘So, Hoseok-hyung said you give good blowjobs,’ Taehyung murmurs, his lips brushing over the skin near Yoongi’s ear, and Yoongi can hear the smug grin in his voice. ‘Think you can beat that, hyung?’

Yoongi laughs low in his chest, zipping up his fly and catching hold of Taehyung’s hips. ‘Was that a challenge, you little shit?’ he asks, teeth grazing Taehyung’s jaw as tugs him in for a kiss.

‘Might’ve been,’ the other boy says with a sly smile against Yoongi’s lips, ‘but it’s gonna have to wait. I was supposed to be in class ten minutes ago.’

Yoongi frowns. ‘Class?’ he echoes, as Taehyung pulls away to reach for the lock. ‘It’s nearly ten p.m.’

‘That’s the point,’ Taehyung replies cryptically, grabbing his book bag from where he dropped it outside the stall. He grins again, cheeks flushed, hair still mussed as he rushes towards the main bathroom door. ‘I look forward to your, uh... counterattack, hyung,’ he says, and then he’s gone, leaving Yoongi leaning against the stall doorway, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

Counterattack? Seriously?

He does spend a lot of time after run-ins like this wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into, but he quickly reminds himself it doesn’t matter. Apart from the mindless babbling that Yoongi sometimes has to put up with before he finds someplace private where he can put Taehyung’s mouth to better use, they haven’t talked much. This isn’t about the fantastic conversation, it’s about the mind-blowing sex, so Yoongi is quick to shake off whatever questions roll to the tip of his tongue when Taehyung says something fucking weird – which is often.

 

Over the weeks, Hoseok gets pretty curious. It seems mostly spurred on by the increasing number of small marks appearing on Yoongi’s body because the kid is like a leech, sucking at every piece of skin he can get at, and Yoongi might feel inclined to stop him if it didn’t feel so damn good while he was doing it.

‘Is it the same person?’ Hoseok asks, one Saturday morning when Yoongi is sitting in his usual perch on the countertop. The heat in Seoul has been infernal and their AC is on the blink, so Yoongi’s body outright rejected the idea of pulling on a t-shirt before he came out for coffee. Hoseok’s been eyeing him for the past five minutes, gaze raking over the fading marks on Yoongi’s chest, last night’s a stark red just under his jaw.

‘Huh?’ Yoongi grunts, reading through lyrics he wrote in the small hours.

‘Is it the same guy this whole time?’ Hoseok asks again, rolling a bottle of water against his cheeks in an attempt to cool down.

Yoongi looks over at him, frowning. ‘What does it matter?’

Hoseok shrugs. ‘I dunno,’ he says. ‘I just... I think it’s interesting, you and this mystery guy. You’re not usually this sketchy with the details, hyung. I’m thinking he must be something special if you’re keeping it all to yourself like this.’

‘He’s nothing special,’ Yoongi says, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip of his coffee. It’s pretty awful drinking something hot when he’s already frying in his own skin, but he needs his morning hit or everyone dies.

Ah,’ Hoseok drawls, wearing his signature Cheshire grin. ‘But it is the same guy.’

Yoongi just sighs, tossing his notebook onto the counter and dropping himself back down to the floor.

Hyung~’ Hoseok whines, his gross aegyo turned on in full force – Yoongi can hear the pout and refuses to look over as he drains the last of his coffee. Hoseok uses his momentary weakness to trap him, arms wrapping around Yoongi’s chest from behind, chin resting on Yoongi’s shoulder.

‘Hoseok,’ Yoongi mutters, scowling as he sets his mug down. ‘Unhand me.’

‘Just tell me that one thing, hyung,’ he says, still pouting. ‘You don’t even need to tell me his name, just that one thing.’

‘Why do you even want to know?’ Yoongi sighs.

Hoseok tightens his arms around Yoongi. ‘Because my tiny hyung is coming home covered in bruises and that’s unlike him, so I’m allowed to be concerned,’ Hoseok replies, bringing back Yoongi’s scowl in full force. He jabs an elbow into his stomach, but Hoseok is tensed and ready and it has zero effect. ‘I just wanna know if the asshole is one or many.’

‘And you really think that calling me your “tiny hyung” is gonna get you answers?’ Yoongi mutters, glowering over his shoulder.

Hoseok grins. ‘Used to make you blush.’

‘It was cute when you were sixteen and shorter than me, now get off me.’

‘I’m still cute, fuck you, hyung,’ he grumbles, then nuzzles his face into Yoongi’s neck. ‘Now tell me~

‘Oh, my god, it’s the same fucking guy, Hoseok, okay?’ Yoongi bursts out. ‘You happy now? Am I free to go?’

Hoseok tries the puppy eyes. ‘You’re not gonna tell me his name?’

‘No!’ Yoongi snaps, starting squirm out of his grip.

Hoseok is pouting again. ‘We can’t at least cuddle some more?’

‘Jesus Christ, I’m telling Jimin you’re groping other guys when he’s not around,’ Yoongi mutters, finally breaking free and stalking off towards his room.

‘He’d love it, hyung!’ Hoseok calls after him, and Yoongi rolls his eyes – of course Jimin would. ‘He ships us, calls us Yoonseok or some shit. It’s really cute.’

Yoongi has no idea what he’s talking about, so he ignores him, shutting his bedroom door between them with a groan.


A week into October and Professor Song is already breathing down their necks, threatening them with their first portfolio assessment of the year and muttering ominously about winter exams. Yoongi’s eyes hurt from staring at computer screens, squiggly soundwave lines practically pasted across his vision even when he’s not on his laptop or in the studio. He hasn’t slept more than a couple hours in the past few days and none of that sleep actually happened in a bed. There are cricks in his neck and knots in his back and goddammit, he needs to get laid. To put the cherry on top of the massive stress pile, he’s not the only one who’s been swamped with work, but instead of schoolwork, Taehyung seems to be busy with his actual job. Yoongi keeps meaning to ask what it is he does because his hours are weird as fuck, but he tends to have other things on his mind when he meets up with Taehyung.

For the past week, anytime Yoongi’s had a free window, Taehyung’s been off campus and anytime Taehyung’s had a free window, Yoongi’s been locked in a studio with his phone on silent. This is why, when Yoongi steps out of the elevator to find Taehyung leaning against his front door, he barely checks to see if there’s anyone else in the hallway before he’s pressing him back into the door with a rough kiss.

Taehyung doesn’t even have the restraint left to be shocked by the sudden attack, his arms winding quickly around Yoongi’s waist, gripping the back of his shirt, his tongue racing out to meet Yoongi’s in record time. Taehyung tastes like fresh strawberries and Yoongi has hated strawberries his entire life, but he hasn’t eaten anything save for bland, store-bought noodle cups in five days – he’ll take anything he can get right now. He licks into Taehyung’s mouth, sucks at his lips, lapping up every small moan that rises up from the other boy’s throat. In no time, he has fistfuls of Taehyung’s jacket and Taehyung’s hands are in his back pockets, pulling their hips together and—fuck, they’re both half hard already.

Yoongi gathers up a few of his wits from where they’re scattered all over the floor of his mind and reaches blindly over Taehyung’s shoulder to where he thinks the lock should be. He finds it after poking the key into thin air and blank patches of wood for a bit, and shoves the door open, dragging Taehyung inside before they get caught dry humping in the hallway at dinnertime.

Yoongi’s not sure when Taehyung managed to get at the buttons of his shirt, but as he presses Yoongi into the now shut door, his hands are already sliding hot down Yoongi’s bare chest. They settle at the small of Yoongi’s back, lips sucking at skin free of marks for the first time in weeks – though not for much longer.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi groans quietly, because god, does he need this. He shoves Taehyung’s jacket off his shoulders, finds he’s wearing one of those dumb t-shirts he bought ten sizes too big and butchered with scissors till it was more slashes than material. Yoongi has learned to like those t-shirts a lot and remembers exactly why when the loose neck slips down over Taehyung’s shoulder, leaving a tan collarbone exposed and vulnerable. Yoongi traces the length of it with his tongue, his mouth finding its way back to Taehyung’s as he hooks his thumbs into the younger boy’s belt loops, grinding their hips together again as the heat in his jeans grows more insistent. Taehyung gasps softly into his mouth at the friction, his nails scraping the ski of Yoongi’s back, hard enough to sting. It’s an unusually rough move for Taehyung and it only serves to send the fire in Yoongi’s veins blazing.

He uses his grip on Taehyung’s hips to push him back further into the room, keeping one eye open for obstacles because the kid could be a klutz and they’ve already had more than their fair share of falls doing exactly this. He has to admit Taehyung’s pretty efficient in these situations, though; by the time Yoongi is straddling him on the couch, his jeans are already undone and Taehyung’s hand is busy down the front of his boxers. Yoongi lets his head tip back as Taehyung’s lips attach themselves to his throat, working their way down over his shoulder as he jerks him off with slow, teasing touches.

‘Hyung,’ he whispers, looking up, his breath hot on Yoongi’s lips, eyes glazed. He pecks lightly at Yoongi’s slack lower lip. ‘Hyung, I wanna fuck you.’

Heat coils low in Yoongi’s stomach at the words, his mouth curling into a smirk because it’s unusual for Taehyung to be so crude and maybe Yoongi feels kind of proud to be such a bad influence. ‘Let’s do that, then,’ he says, a little breathless as he leans in to kiss him again, his fingers dropping to catch at the hem of Taehyung’s t-shirt.

Skin on skin makes it worse. The burning heat of Taehyung’s chest against his has something a lot like desperation, but not desperation (it’s not desperation), flaring inside him, his hips rolling down hard against Taehyung’s, a faint moan lost in the kiss. The leaking head of his cock presses into the hot skin of Taehyung’s stomach, and god, they both feel it. Taehyung’s groan is a hum against his lips, the younger boy’s hands skimming down his back almost shyly to grip his ass through his jeans, but Yoongi’s not about to stop him. He slides his hands up Taehyung’s neck, into his hair, tugging to tilt his head back so he can graze his teeth light up the skin of his throat.

Hyung…’

Taehyung’s moan is weak and rough and so deliciously needy that heat bursts low in Yoongi’s stomach and he realises with a touch of shock that he’s close already, just from this. What is he now, fucking fifteen? But the tension building inside him doesn’t lie and Yoongi is already panting against Taehyung’s neck. The younger boy’s fingers digging suddenly into his ass, nails all but piercing through the denim, do nothing to help the situation, and Yoongi’s about to growl some kind of a warning when Taehyung beats him to it.

‘Hyung, you gotta stop—I’m so—I’m gonna—‘ His voice is low, breathless and desperate to the point of almost sounding pained and Yoongi struggles to think through the need to just keep searching for that friction.

‘What day is it?’ he manages to say, a touch raspy.

What?’ Taehyung’s voice is high with exasperation as Yoongi sucks gently at the skin just below his ear. ‘Hyung, I-I don’t—Tuesday maybe? I think it’s Tues—oh, godyeah.’

‘Hoseok has dance practice till late,’ Yoongi murmurs, his lips still brushing along Taehyung’s jaw, pausing at the corner of his mouth, just barely touching. ‘You wanna come like this?’ he whispers, rolling his hips down for emphasis, the slow grind of denim nowhere near enough, but still so good. ‘Then we can move to the actual bed for once.’

Taehyung’s reply is less verbal and more shoving his tongue into Yoongi’s mouth, but Yoongi’s not about to complain, sinking into the kiss as his hips start to move with purpose now, no teasing.

It doesn’t take long before it’s not enough, before Yoongi’s hands are dropping between them, pulling Taehyung’s jeans open with fingers that don’t quite know what to do with themselves. He needs more, he needs skin, he needs Taehyung to never stop moaning like he does when Yoongi tugs his cock free of his boxers, setting an urgent pace from the start. He pulls Taehyung’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue licking hungrily across skin already bruised from his teeth, his thumb running over the head of Taehyung’s cock to coax another sharp gasp from him. When Taehyung follows Yoongi’s lead, hand slipping into the older boy’s boxers, Yoongi’s forehead falls to rest on his shoulder, his other hand curved around Taehyung’s neck to steady himself. He feels Taehyung ghosting clumsy kisses over his shoulder before his head tips back against the couch and Yoongi knows Taehyung’s close by the way his fingers dig into his back, nails biting just slightly. Taehyung’s touches are always feather light, fluttering over Yoongi’s skin like he thinks he’s made of fucking bone china – except for when he’s about to come.

So, Yoongi is just dragging it out a little for him, building up to the part where he flicks his wrist in that way he knows will have Taehyung falling to pieces underneath him. He’s lost in the damp heat of Taehyung’s breaths against his neck, the light saltiness of his skin when Yoongi’s tongue flicks out to tease at the sensitive spot just under his jaw. He’s caught up in Taehyung’s hand sliding tight around his cock, blunt nails scraping at his back, shivers running  up and down Yoongi’s spine from the pleasure mixed up in that dull sting. His head is drunk on it all and the only sounds that matter right now are the low ones Taehyung is making right by his ear – which is probably why Yoongi doesn’t register the scrape of the front door being unlocked, not until it’s too late.

‘REALLY, YOONGI?’ Hoseok’s voice rings loudly through the apartment, though they’re both too far gone for the haze to be more than half shattered. ‘REALLY?

Yoongi lifts his head from the crook of Taehyung’s neck to stare at the door with dazed eyes, his vision still blurred from how close he was. Hoseok is standing there seeming only mildly pissed until his eyes fall on Taehyung’s face and almost drop right out of his head. This is all Yoongi gets to notice about him before he hears the second voice and the panic finally starts to hit him, heart rate kicking up, face flushing even hotter.

‘What is it?’ Seokjin asks, right as he appears at Hoseok’s shoulder, gaze falling immediately on the couch and—‘OH MY GOD!’ he gasps, almost falling backwards out of the apartment, his voice echoing down the hallway for the whole damn building to hear. ‘OH MY FUCKING GOD!’ Seokjin never swears. Never ever. ‘HOLY SHIT. NO NO NO. I DID NOT JUST SEE THAT. TELL ME I DID NOT JUST SEE THAT.’

Hoseok is making noises that sound faintly reptilian, a hand half covering his eyes as he drops some grocery bags onto the floor and quickly follows Seokjin. ‘NOT ON THE COUCH!’ he yells, right before he pulls the door shut hard behind them, the force of it rattling the entire apartment.

There’s a still moment while they both sit there, stunned into silence, listening to Hoseok’s scandalised pterodactyl screeching fade down the hallway. Once that’s gone, the only sounds in the apartment are their own laboured breaths. Yoongi can hear his heartbeat in his ears, Taehyung’s pulse thudding just as hard under his hand.

‘I thought,’ Yoongi says eventually, tearing his gaze slowly away from the door to look at Taehyung, ‘you said it was Tuesday.’

Taehyung’s eyes are wide, his teeth snagging on his bottom lip as he frowns. ‘It might be Monday… now that I think about it,’ he admits in a whisper.

‘Shit,’ Yoongi says softly, though he’s still too far gone to quite care yet and Taehyung’s lips are still glistening, cheeks flushed a deep pink, eyes dark and glazed from before, fixed on Yoongi. And their hands still happen to be around each other’s cocks.

‘Did they wreck the mood?’ Taehyung asks carefully, the rough edge to his voice hinting that he might actually cry if Yoongi says yes. But Yoongi does not say yes. Yoongi leans forward and catches Taehyung’s lips in his again, his grip tightening around Taehyung’s cock to make him whine low in his throat.

‘No,’ Yoongi rasps, words spoken right into Taehyung’s mouth. ‘No, they definitely didn’t.’

He doesn’t give Taehyung a chance to reply before he’s kissing him again, but Taehyung’s agreement is pretty clear in the way he comes all of thirty seconds later, bruises in the shapes of fingerprints left along Yoongi’s shoulder-blades.

‘So,’ Yoongi whispers, once he can see straight, heat still coiling through his body as the aftershocks die down. His eyes rake hungrily over the arch of Taehyung’s neck as he leans his head against the back of the couch, eyelids low, breath coming rough through parted lips. Yoongi brushes his lips along the line of Taehyung’s jaw, the younger boy’s head tilting in response. ‘You ready for round two?’ Yoongi asks, and sits up to watch the fire flicker back to life behind Taehyung’s eyes.

 

(Spoiler: They don’t make it to the bedroom. Hoseok is not pleased to find yet more condom wrappers in the creases of the couch.)

Chapter Text

Taehyung never has early lectures on a Friday, but he knows Jimin has statistics at nine. This is why he’s padding through the apartment at eight o’clock in the morning, still bed ruffled, but wide awake as he sneaks into Jimin’s room. He knows Hoseok didn’t stay over last night, so he isn’t too cautious about walking right in, picking his way through the mess of clothes and shoes on the floor. He gets his foot tangled in Jimin’s gym bag and swears quietly as he hops around, trying to kick it off, but Jimin barely stirs. He’s lying on his stomach, his face turned out into the room, his cheek squished where it’s pillowed on his arm. He looks so adorably peaceful—

That is, until Taehyung leaps on him in a flurry of limbs.

Jimin jerks awake, immediately struggling. ‘Holy sh—‘

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PARK JIMINNIE!’ Taehyung yells, his mouth millimetres from Jimin’s ear.

The older boy groans as he stops struggling and buries his face in his pillow, his body relaxing under Taehyung’s. ‘You fucking dork, Taehyung, I thought I was being murdered.’

Taehyung laughs and hugs him tighter. Despite the harsh words, he can hear the smile in Jimin’s voice. ‘I made you pancakes,’ he whispers, his mouth still by Jimin’s ear because in their current position, he doesn’t have many other places he can put it.

‘Thought I could smell burning,’ Jimin mutters.

‘When I was in kindergarten, I went through this phase where I liked to eat the charcoals in the art room,’ Taehyung says. ‘These pancakes remind of that phase.’

He feels Jimin’s body shake with muffled laughter and Taehyung flops off him so he can roll over. Jimin is trying and failing not to grin when he looks over at his friend. ‘Why didn’t you ask Jin-hyung for help, idiot?’

Taehyung makes a face in reply.

‘Ah,’ Jimin murmurs, understanding. ‘He’s still pissed?’

Taehyung shrugs. ‘He says he's not even pissed that it's Yoongi-hyung, he's just pissed that he caught us. He said that he hasn't seen my dick since I was being potty trained and he really wanted it to stay that way. He keeps looking at me funny and shivering. I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean, how many times have I caught him and Namjoonie-hyung getting weird? Three more times than I ever wanted to, that's how many, but am I being a six-year-old girl about it? No, I'm not, and I didn't want his kind of negativity getting into your birthday pancakes.' He said all that on one breath and is gasping a little by the end, but today’s not the day for this kind of talk and Jimin seems to have the same idea.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ the older boy says, rolling onto his side to nuzzle his face into Taehyung’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, Taetae. I’ll eat your charcoal pancakes anyway, I’m sure they’re not as bad you say.’

‘No, they are,’ Taehyung assures him, patting his head. ‘But I’m gonna go to the bakery when you’re in the shower and get you something sweet, and Starbucks is right across the street from that, so...’

Jimin grins up at him, his sleep-puffed eyes turned to crescents. ‘You’re the best, bro.’

Taehyung nods solemnly. ‘I know.’

Before Jimin can so much as roll his eyes, his phone starts buzzing on the nightstand. Taehyung grins, reaching over him to get it. ‘And that’ll be Hoseok-hyung,’ he says, handing a glowing Jimin the phone. He sits up on his knees, ready to crawl off the bed and leave them in peace; he just wants to see Jimin’s reaction first as he answers the call.

‘Hello?’

Even from where Taehyung is sitting, he can hear Hoseok’s crackly voice as he immediately starts to sing an awful, off-key rendition of Happy Birthday that has Jimin’s cheeks turning crimson in seconds. He groans loudly, burying his face in his pillow again as Hoseok continues to sing – but not before Taehyung catches sight of the stupid beaming smile that splits his face in half. He’s grinning himself as he climbs over the cringing Jimin and heads back out into the living area, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hoseok spent a good hour last night stressing over whether yelling Happy Birthday down the phone first thing in the morning would be too much. Taehyung assured him it would not, not for Jimin, and was he right? Of course he was right. He’s glad Hoseok listened to him, even though the poor guy was one step short of stress crying in that way he does. Taehyung’s enjoying himself far too much watching their relationship blossom. Being friends with both Hoseok and Jimin, he seems to spend half his time lately giving one or the other advice, keeping an eye on things from the middle somewhere as the various little stages are set up and played out. Witnessing moments like this morning, Taehyung feels a little flutter of pride in his chest. It’s like he’s raising a child, teaching it about life, reassuring it that it’s perfect, making it eat its veggies even when it doesn’t want to and it’s being a stubborn little shit. He can see a bittersweet day on the horizon where his baby might be grown enough to fend for itself, but he reckons that’s a while away yet. In the mean time, he’s still available for meltdowns at midnight over folk songs.

What sounds a lot like a muffled moan from Jimin’s room drags him out of his thoughts and Taehyung’s head whips around to stare at the closed bedroom door. He eyes it up and down accusingly as he stalks off to find his headphones.

That’s probably his cue to go to the bakery.


 

If there’s one thing Jimin doesn’t like, it’s a fuss. You have the Seokjin type who pretends they don’t want anyone to make a fuss, but secretly kind of loves being spoiled for a day. You have the Hoseok type who wants to party hard and makes sure everyone knows this well in advance. You have the Taehyung type who couldn’t care less as long as there’s a cake and music and preferably some animal-shaped helium balloons – though a decent amount of alcohol could probably make up for the balloons. But in the weeks leading up to his birthday, Jimin reminds everyone time and again that he doesn’t want a fuss, and when Jimin says it, he means it.

Drinks and food and friends are three things that make Jimin very happy, so that’s what they do. Sometime around nine, Taehyung and Jimin hit one of their favourite bars and slide into their usual booth by a window that looks over the street. Lights from dozens of different establishments brighten the dark beyond the window and bathe the bustling crowds of a Friday night in Hongdae in a rainbow of colours. They’re soon joined by Namjoon and Seokjin, who receives a low key glare from Taehyung as he slides in next to him. Seokjin, however, seems to be mostly over his trauma (a wrinkle of his nose as opposed to a full body shudder), and Taehyung’s glare is quick to brighten when Seokjin pays for the first round of drinks and anju.

Damn him and his money, Taehyung thinks huffily, as he nibbles on a particularly mouth-watering piece of calamari. Seokjin gives him a wry sideways glance, a smirk playing faintly around his mouth as if he can read his mind (Taehyung has long suspected that he probably can). He knocks his shoulder lightly into Taehyung’s and Taehyung stuffs the rest of the stupid squid into his mouth to hide his tell-tale grin.

Hoseok arrives a little late and gushing apologies, but Jimin’s already had a few shots and cuts him off mid-explanation about how they missed their bus with a long, tongueful kiss. Since it’s his birthday, the rest let them have at it for a while and pointedly avert their attention to Yoongi who slips into the booth next to Hoseok, side-eyeing the kissing pair with obvious distaste.

Taehyung was a little surprised when he heard Yoongi had made it onto tonight’s miniscule guest-list. Taehyung is here because he’s soul-bonded with Jimin, Hoseok is here because he’s dick-bonded with Jimin, Seokjin is here because he’s Jimin’s third parent and Namjoon is here because he’s an integral part of their Wednesday lunchtime Let’s-Get-Milkshakes-And-Lovingly-Bitch-About-Jin-Hyung club, but Yoongi was less understandable. At first, Taehyung figured that his invite was purely by association with Hoseok, but upon further poking he discovered that Yoongi has actually started to talk to Jimin and remember his name and stuff, which (according to Hoseok) qualifies as budding friendship when it comes to Yoongi.

‘I guess he’s just shy at first,’ Jimin said last night, after coming home from Hoseok’s, all bright-eyed and pleased because Yoongi said hi to him or something, ‘but he’s so cool once you get him talking, right?’

Taehyung pretended to be caught up in his on-screen battle because he did not have a reply for that. Yoongi doesn’t really seem to be a pillow talk kinda guy and even if was, there are rarely any pillows on which to talk, so Taehyung has no idea what he’s like once you get him talking. He’s never forgotten Taehyung’s name, though, which Taehyung takes as a small consolation – not that he needs a consolation. He doesn’t care. Whatever. Having sex with Yoongi is probably better than talking to him anyway and you can’t have everything in life, right?

Tonight, Yoongi is wearing a denim jacket over a white t-shirt, his dusky pink hair a little more ruffled than usual. Taehyung knocks back another shot of soju and tries not to think about how good he looks as he falls into easy conversation with Namjoon. This is Jimin’s night and now is not the time for these selfish, horny feelings of his.

When Jimin and Hoseok finally resurface (mostly prompted by Yoongi periodically poking his fingers into Hoseok’s ribs), another round of shots and anju are ordered, and mental functioning deteriorates from there. It’s a happy mess of shots and food and beer and food and shots and beer and food and beer and shots. At some point, the food runs out and no one’s paying enough attention to order another round, more concerned with keeping the shots and beer coming.

There’s a cake, brought out by a waitress a little after the last lot of anju has been reduced to nothing more than crumbs and streaks of sauce. Their loud chorus of Happy Birthday is picked up by several other groups at tables nearby who’ve maybe also had a few too many rounds of soju, but hey, the more the merrier. Besides, Taehyung thinks the look of delighted shock on Jimin’s face is worth everything in the world. Still stuffed from the copious amount calamari and spicy chicken, no one can face eating the cake, so it doesn’t take long for it to get smeared on faces and bare arms (namely Jimin’s bare arm and only so Hoseok can do the decent thing and lick it off). Luckily, even Yoongi seems too drunk to care when Namjoon half-heartedly throws a chunk at him across the table. It hits his face just east of his nose and he rolls his eyes, lazily flipping a dimpled Namjoon off.

Around the time that Jimin demands cocktails, Taehyung realises he’s a little a lot beyond the point of gentle tipsiness. His head feels light and his whole body feels warm and heavy, laughter bubbling easily from his throat as he joins in with the loud conversation drifting around the table, watches Jimin giggle into Hoseok’s shoulder at some dumb and entirely not funny joke the elder made. He even decides to forgive Seokjin at some point, mostly because he can no longer remember why he was pissed at him in the first place, but also because he loves him with all of his heart and really he’s the best big cousin in the world and Taehyung tells him this because isn’t family great?

‘You’re drunk, Taehyungie,’ Seokjin informs him, chuckling fondly as he ruffles his hair.

‘But so are you, hyung,’ Taehyung points out, poking his finger into one of Seokjin’s very rosy cheeks and Seokjin shrugs, smirking around his beer because Taehyung’s not wrong there.

The cocktails arrive and Jimin shoves something at him that tastes like apples and comes in a fancy little glass with a green umbrella that makes Taehyung want to order a hundred more of them. He and Jimin marvel over the tiny umbrellas for so long that Hoseok caves and buys them all another round of the pretty drinks, earning himself yet another kiss from Jimin. And it’s while he’s averting his gaze from that to join the conversation at the big kids’ end of the table, that Taehyung catches Yoongi watching him.

He thinks it might be the first time tonight they’ve actually made eye-contact. He could be wrong – there’s been a lot of soju, a little blurred version – but considering the effect Yoongi’s gaze usually has on him, he reckons he’d have noticed. Those dark eyes are fixed on him now, bright with alcohol, the cheeks underneath them flushed pink. He isn’t smiling – only a few things can drag a rare smile from Yoongi and Taehyung doesn’t seem to be one of them – but there’s still something softer about his face in the low light of the bar that makes Taehyung think he looks unreasonably attractive. He feels all the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up, a warm shiver running down his spine. It’s been a while and by a while, Taehyung means more than four days, which is proving difficult to bear. The aftermath of Hoseok and Seokjin finding out wasn't particularly dramatic. All Seokjin really did was act like they’d both shoved their dicks in his face to spite him, and within 4 hours of the incident, Hoseok had already switched from pterodactyl noises to smirks and filthy hand gestures, so no major damage was done to anyone. Still, Yoongi pulled away a little, out of shame or respect for Seokjin or whatever, and luckily Taehyung is still pretty busy with work, so he didn’t have a whole lot of time to notice. In the last ten seconds, however, his body’s informed him of everything he’s been craving and it is not a happy bunny. It is a hot and insistent bunny, making Taehyung squirm in his seat, resisting the urge to fan his face with a beer mat. He looks down into his glass and the pretty curl of apple peel floating in there, but he can feel the gaze lingering heavy on his face.

When Jimin suggests they get a round of somaek, Hoseok exchanges a look with Taehyung. Even he is learning that somaek means it’s time to stop before things get rough and leans in to whisper something in Jimin’s ear while the rest continue talking. Taehyung watches them just long enough to see Jimin’s expression turn to one of pure, unadulterated thirst, which is when he looks away because wow, he did not need to see that. He tosses back another shot with Seokjin and they’re giggling breathlessly at—Taehyung can’t even remember what—when Jimin announces that he’s “tired” and wants to “go home”. Taehyung shoots him a knowing smirk. Jimin doesn’t even have the decency left to blush as he returns the look, wiggling his eyebrows. Of course, Seokjin catches them in their little exchange and rolls his eyes, making them both collapse again into fits of laughter as the others stumble out of the booth.

Even at this time of the night, there’s still enough left of summer to keep the cold at bay, or maybe it’s the alcohol warming Taehyung’s veins. Either way, he doesn’t bother pulling on his hoodie as they wander down the street, trailing a little behind the rest. They’re still giggling quietly at nothing particular, Jimin’s arm slung around Taehyung’s neck. Someone had the bright idea of taking a bottle of soju for the road and someone else had the brighter idea of leaving the bottle with Taehyung… Or maybe it was all Taehyung’s idea? He can’t remember.

‘You have a good birthday, then?’ he asks Jimin, once they’ve both calmed down enough to walk in something similar to a straight line.

Jimin grins. ‘The best.’

Taehyung leans his head against the shorter boy’s. ‘Good.’

‘And I think it’s about to get better,’ Jimin adds, pulling the gross seductive face he uses when he’s dancing and passionately singing a few lines of Birthday Sex under his breath. This breaks them both down into another fit of laughter, loud enough that the others glance curiously back over their shoulders. Taehyung and Jimin try to straighten up their faces, but it doesn’t work. The older guys don’t care anyway, facing front again, shaking their heads like the judgemental ajummas they are.

After a while, Seokjin and Namjoon bid them all goodnight to head down another street towards their new place. Jimin relinquishes his hold around Taehyung’s neck in favour of linking his fingers through Hoseok’s, and Taehyung isn’t sure if it just happens or if they come to an unspoken agreement to give the their friends some space, but himself and Yoongi end up falling a few feet behind again. They walk in silence, but when their shoulders bump together, it isn’t awkward, which is good because they still have a decent walk left to their building.

The streets are quieter now that they’re away from the main tourist areas, so after knocking back another sneaky swig from the bottle of soju, Taehyung decides it’s safe to take his attention off the world for a while. He tips his head back and looks up. It’s not the clearest of nights, with a smattering of thick, dark clouds in the sky and a light layer of smog that hovers over Hongdae, but if he squints, Taehyung can just about make out a few stars here and there, bravely shining through the murky air. There aren’t enough visible to discern any whole constellations, but that’s definitely a part of Canis Major because—

Taehyung’s sneaker catches suddenly on something unseen and he’s gasping in surprise, his free arm flailing as the pavement starts rushing up to meet him at a pace too terrifying for his sluggish brain to handle right now. Maybe he screams a little, he’s not sure, but next thing he knows, he’s not falling anymore. Instead, someone is cursing near his ear.

‘Jesus, Taehyung, would you watch where you’re going.’

Around about the time that Taehyung realises he is not falling anymore because Yoongi has a grip on his arm and also around his waist, he glances over at older boy and something about the wide-eyed disgruntlement on his face just kills Taehyung a little. The laughter rolls out of him, soft giggles at first that intensify into laughs, tugging at his stomach. He all but doubles over when Yoongi’s expression only intensifies, eyebrows pulling together underneath the ruffled pink bangs.

‘What the fuck?’ he grumbles again, which gets a few more giggles out of Taehyung because Yoongi says it so damn often. Taehyung has noticed that the older boy seems to be in a constant state of disgruntled confusion, especially around Taehyung, and he might try to feel offended if Yoongi’s confusedly disgruntled pout wasn’t so cute.

It makes Taehyung want to kiss his cheek.

But he doesn’t.

He wipes the tears out of his eyes instead, hiccupping a little as he tries to breathe.

‘You fucking dork,’ Yoongi mutters, rolling his eyes. He gives Taehyung a slight shove as he lets go of him, though Taehyung doesn’t miss the way his lips are pursed a little, almost like he’s trying not to smile.

‘How drunk are you?’ Yoongi asks him, as Taehyung finally collects himself enough to start walking again. Hoseok and Jimin are a good distance ahead of them now, oblivious to or unconcerned by their friend’s near death experience. ‘And give me that,’ he adds, snatching the bottle of soju from Taehyung’s lazy grasp.

‘I’m not that bad, hyung,’ he says, and giggles some more at this cunning lie of his. ‘I was just looking at the stars and I didn’t see the crack in the pavement.’

Yoongi frowns, glancing over his shoulder. ‘There was no—‘

Shhh,’ Taehyung whispers through the giggles, pressing a finger to his own lips as he leans in close to the older boy, maybe on purpose, maybe not. In any case, Yoongi doesn’t flinch away, just raises an eyebrow at him before tilting his own head back to look up.

‘You can’t even see any stars,’ he mutters, squinting at the sky.

‘You can!’ Taehyung insists, catching Yoongi’s arm to get him to stop. He grumbles a bit, but Taehyung is learning to ignore the grumbling – Yoongi grumbles about everything. ‘Look,’ he says, pointing up. ‘Can’t you see that really bright one?’

Yoongi shrugs, taking a swig of the soju. ‘Can’t see any.’

Taehyung rolls his eyes because the older boy is obviously just being difficult. ‘Here,’ he says, tugging Yoongi by the arm to position him right where Taehyung was just standing. ‘Okay, now look just there.’

‘Where?’

Taehyung throws his arms out in wobbly exasperation, almost losing his balance again, maybe, like a little. The point is, he stays upright all on his own and that’s what counts. ‘You suck at this, hyung,’ he huffs, moving to stand behind Yoongi. ‘Right, you see all those grey clouds?’

‘Yes, Taehyung,’ Yoongi mutters in a monotone, ‘the grey clouds are everywhere, that’s the point.’

‘Yeah, but right there,’ Taehyung says, ducking his head just a little so he’s at the same eye level as Yoongi. ‘Just above that building, you see the small gap in the clouds?’

Yoongi is quiet for a moment, but Taehyung can sense he’s actually trying this time and there’s no way he can’t see it. After a moment, he scoffs low in his throat. ‘You went through all this fucking effort to look at, like, five stars?’

Taehyung rolls his eyes some more. ‘It’s not effort if you know where to look. Now, you see the bright one in the middle?’

Yoongi shrugs, his shoulder nudging underneath Taehyung’s chin. ‘They’re all the same.’

Hyung~’ Taehyung whines, right in his ear. ‘Stop sucking at this!’

‘But, I—‘ Yoongi cuts off suddenly, his 500% done face morphing into something a little less cynical as he frowns at the sky. ‘Oh.’

Taehyung perks up at the change in his tone. ‘You see it, hyung?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi murmurs. ‘Yeah, I do. There in the middle.’

‘I told you,’ Taehyung says, unable to control the beaming grin that splits his face at the look on Yoongi’s. It might be the first time Taehyung’s seen him with an expression that isn’t mildly pissed off or dripping lust. His brows are pulled together in concentration as he squints upwards, but his mouth is relaxed, lips parted, possibly considering a smile.

Taehyung’s stomach does something odd and fluttery when he realises how close he’s gotten to Yoongi; his hands are resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips, his chin is practically settled on his shoulder. He could kiss Yoongi’s neck from here if he just turned his head...

‘So, why am I looking at this dumb star?’ Yoongi demands, his gaze still on the gap in the clouds, like he’s afraid he’ll lose it if he looks away.

Taehyung snaps himself out of it, blinking hard as he tries to refocus his mind and his vision. What was he saying? Something about stars? The bright one. Right. ‘That’s Sirius,’ he says softly, right by Yoongi’s ear. ‘It’s the brightest star that can be in the Earth’s night sky, almost twice as bright as Canopus, the next brightest, but you can’t see that tonight – it’s behind all those clouds. Sirius is actually two stars, Sirius A and Sirius B.’

‘But there’s only one,’ Yoongi murmurs, a faint line between his eyebrows.

Taehyung hums in agreement. ‘It looks like that because they orbit so close together that we can’t tell them apart this far away,’ he tells him. ‘It’s called a binary star system. A lot of the stars you see are like that. It’s estimated that around half of all stellar systems are binary.’

At this, Yoongi turns his head a little to frown at him, which is when Taehyung realises that Yoongi’s been leaning back against his shoulder this whole time. ‘’the fuck?’ he mutters.

‘Astronomy major,’ Taehyung explains, with a sheepish grin.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘Of course you are,’ he grumbles. ‘Had to be something fucking odd.’

‘Shut up,’ Taehyung huffs, digging his fingers into the sensitive areas just inside the older boy’s hipbones. Yoongi flinches, something between a poorly concealed laugh and a gasped curse bursting past his lips before—before he goes very still. Watching the scowl on Yoongi’s face slowly smooth out into something more complicated, Taehyung is pretty sure the he’s having the same realisation Taehyung did just moments ago: They’re close. Yoongi has let his head lean back against Taehyung’s shoulder and, to keep him from pulling away right after he tickled him, Taehyung’s arms are loose around Yoongi’s waist. There is really no way to pretend this is not a low key back hug and the thought makes Taehyung’s heart beat weird.

‘I was gonna tell you a story,’ he says, happy that all the soju has muted the shaky edge his voice should have right now, ‘about Canis Major, but I can’t even remember what it was now.’

‘Why not?’ Yoongi asks, and he is as unreadable as he always is.

Taehyung isn’t sure what to make of the slight pinch in his eyebrows, the way his eyes wander over Taehyung’s face, glazed and dark with the alcohol – or maybe something else, Taehyung can’t tell. What Taehyung does know is that the light flush dusting Yoongi’s cheeks and the way his lips are relaxed, all soft and parted, make him want to tell Yoongi that it’s because he’s so stupidly beautiful that Taehyung can’t even think straight. But Taehyung doesn’t think Yoongi would take too kindly to being called beautiful or any of its synonyms, so Taehyung doesn’t say that.

Taehyung says something else.

‘Hyung,’ he whispers, instead of replying to the question.

Yoongi’s eyes flick up to meet his. Where were they before? Taehyung isn’t sure.

He swallows. It’s been over a month and he hasn’t stopped being terrified of this guy, not once. ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks quietly, his voice nothing more than a soft rasp by Yoongi’s ear, but Yoongi hears. Taehyung knows he hears by the way his gaze immediately drops to Taehyung’s mouth.

He realises the question could ruin the moment even worse than the “beautiful” comment, but quite frankly, Taehyung is too drunk to care. And all of that stops mattering anyway when Yoongi nods, a subtle nudge of his head against Taehyung’s shoulder.

It’s tentative. For just a second, it’s all shaky breaths and nervous lips, tentative to the point of being almost shy, which is pretty funny considering everything they’ve done over the past couple weeks. But Yoongi’s mouth is so soft and it tastes like beer and the spicy coating from the fried chicken at the bar, the tang of the soju he just drank still hot on his lips. Taehyung melts against it, pressing in further until he feels Yoongi’s tongue skim across his lower lip. Taehyung opens his mouth for him, arms tightening around Yoongi’s waist, a small sound catching in his throat when he feels Yoongi’s fingers slide into his hair, pulling him in deeper. Tongues tangle hungrily and Taehyung’s hands itch to sneak up underneath Yoongi’s shirt, to trace the shallow ridges of his chest and stomach, or travel lower and—

Yoongi swears softly against his lips, hand dropping to catch Taehyung’s wrist as his fingers totally accidentally slips down over Yoongi’s crotch and maybe kind of apply some accidental pressure. Yoongi pulls back a little, breaking their lips apart, but his eyes are dark and hooded and Taehyung reckons that glazed look might have less to do with the alcohol now.

‘Whoops,’ Taehyung mumbles, grinning against his neck. ‘Hand slipped.’

‘You little shit,’ Yoongi hisses, disentangling himself from Taehyung’s arms, though he stays close, his scowl softened by the obvious blush of arousal creeping down his throat. ‘We’re in the middle of the street.’

Taehyung tries really hard not to giggle.

It doesn’t work.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and starts walking again. ‘Come on, you dork, it’s fucking freezing.’

Once Taehyung has gathered himself and wiped some more tears from the corner of his eye, he jogs a little to catch up with the older bo, swinging his hoodie as he goes. ‘I could give you my jacket,’ he offers, ‘like a proper gentleman?’

Yoongi’s expression is priceless. ‘Don’t you even fucking try, I swear to god.’

Chuckling some more, Taehyung tugs it on himself because it is pretty cold now, then he falls into step next to Yoongi. They can still see Hoseok and Jimin as distant figures far ahead of them on the long street, Hoseok’s arm slung over Jimin’s shoulders now.

Taehyung smiles. His baby is growing so well.

‘You know,’ Yoongi says after a moment, distracted enough that Taehyung can slip the bottle of soju from his hand, ‘they’re probably gonna want some privacy.’

With his brain in the sort of slushy state it is, Taehyung doesn’t quite register what Yoongi means by this and just hums in agreement as he takes a swig. It’s not until Yoongi starts grumbling in exasperation that Taehyung glances over, eyebrows raised in question.

‘So, you could come back to my place,’ Yoongi says, slowly and deliberately, the look on his face suggesting that if Taehyung doesn’t catch on now, he will lose all faith in humanity forever.

But Taehyung is horny. Taehyung is so, so horny. Taehyung catches on right away. ‘Oh...’ he murmurs, something hot happening low in his stomach that has nothing to do with the soju. He’s too drunk to bother hiding the sudden drop in his voice when he says, ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m down for that.’

 

By the time they reach their building, Hoseok and Jimin have already gone up, and the elevator is empty as they stumble inside. It’s a mess. Taehyung was raised never to let good things go to waste and Yoongi wouldn’t let him finish the entire bottle of soju on his own, so maybe Taehyung is a little a lot beyond drunk at this point, but Yoongi isn’t much better. From the moment his back hits the elevator wall, Taehyung can’t stop giggling, but he can’t stop kissing Yoongi either and the result is a brief, breathless make-out session with a lot of teeth clashing and Yoongi swearing, hands too clumsy to do much more than tug at clothes without any real result.

‘How can you still be laughing with your tongue in my mouth?’ Yoongi demands at one point, his slight lisp brought out in all it’s glory thanks to the alcohol, which of course, only makes Taehyung giggle harder. When he kisses him again, their noses bump in a way that would probably be painful if Taehyung could still feel his face. He can see the crinkle starting at the corners of the older boy’s eyes, but goddamn, Yoongi is fighting that smile to death.

It’s not until Taehyung stumbles again on his way out of the elevator, catching himself just in time and trying to maintain a nonchalant pose while clinging to the metal doorframe for balance, that Yoongi finally cracks a grin. He tries to disguise it as a smirk while he laughs at Taehyung’s current stance, but Taehyung saw teeth for sure.

‘You’re a fucking idiot, Kim Taehyung, come on,’ Yoongi mutters, heading down the hallway with heavy footsteps.

When Taehyung catches up to him, Yoongi is still poking around the general area of his lock, the key just missing its mark by a couple millimetres or miles each time. Taehyung leans against the wall by the door – not for support, just to look cool – and watches the older boy struggle for a moment, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Hyung,’ he says slowly, grinning wide around the word. ‘Are you kinda sorta wasted?’

No,’ Yoongi mutters, the corners of his mouth twitching as he continues to squint at the lock. He slurs a quiet curse when he realises the key he has managed to get in the lock now isn’t even the right key. He pulls it out and starts searching again.

Hyung,’ Taehyung repeats, his voice lower as he moves behind Yoongi.

‘Tae, what’re you doing?’ Yoongi asks, as Taehyung presses against his back, a hand slipping up under his t-shirt, flattening against his stomach. Taehyung’s other hand creeps slowly lower, half expecting to be stopped, but he isn’t. A moment later, he’s palming Yoongi lightly through his jeans as he presses his own hips forward, grinding against Yoongi’s ass. And maybe Taehyung’s kinda hard already, but hey, he’s not the only one.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi whispers, his forehead falling to rest against the wood of the door.

‘Hallway’s empty, hyung,’ Taehyung murmurs, mouthing at the nape of Yoongi’s neck. ‘We could just...’ Taehyung doesn’t finish the sentence, partly because the microscopic corner of his mind that might still be kind of sober can’t believe what he’s suggesting, but mostly because he thinks his hands and screaming erection are getting his message across better than words ever could.

Jesus,’ Yoongi mutters, his voice a lot rougher than it was as he collects himself and starts trying a new key in the lock. His movements suddenly a lot more focused. ‘D’you have some weird fuckin’ exhibitionist kink I should know about?’

No,’ Taehyung giggles into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, ‘’m just really drunk and really horny and you smell really good, hyung,’ he adds, his nose brushing down the side of Yoongi’s throat.

‘Stop smelling me,’ he grumbles, though his head is tilting to the side, his hand hesitant to open the door even though Taehyung just heard the lock click. Yoongi lets Taehyung litter a few slow, slightly sloppy kisses back up the side of his neck before he shoves the door open, tugging Taehyung inside along with him by the front of his hoodie.

Taehyung would just like it be known that when they end up sprawled on the floor again – yes, both of them this time – torn between pained groans and breathless laughter, it has nothing to do with him.

‘That was you, hyung,’ Taehyung mutters, lying half on top of Yoongi, cheek squished against the scuffed wood floor. ‘That was all you.’

‘Shut up.’ Yoongi shoves at his shoulder with all the strength of kitten. ‘How the fuck was I supposed to know Hoseok’s shoes would be there?’

Taehyung frowns, lifting his head a little to look at the other boy. ‘Hoseok’s shoes weren’t even—‘

Shh,’ Yoongi whispers, a smile threatening around the corners of his eyes and Taehyung can’t help the grin that splits his face, a low laugh sneaking up from his chest.

‘Well, at least we’re horizontal,’ he observes as Yoongi rolls on top of him, hands braced on the floor either side of Taehyung’s head. ‘That’s kinda helpful.’

Yoongi smirks at his reasoning, though he seems to agree, ducking down to capture Taehyung’s lips again. The kisses are a little more focused than they were in the elevator, now that they don’t have to suffer through all that standing up business. Yoongi’s mouth is light and lingering on Taehyung’s, his tongue making an appearance only when Taehyung whines softly with impatience, fingers tugging at the older boy’s belt loops. Around about the time that Yoongi starts grinding their hips together in earnest, Taehyung manages to slide his hands up the smooth, cool skin of his back, taking the t-shirt with him. He can’t even remember when Yoongi lost his jacket, but he doesn’t mind right now, not when Yoongi’s sitting up to take his t-shirt off the rest of the way, getting pretty tangled at one point, but whatever. Taehyung helps and through sheer team effort, they manage to get Taehyung’s t-shirt off, too, tossing them both to the side while Yoongi dives back for Taehyung’s lips and Taehyung starts blindly fumbling with the button on Yoongi’s jeans.

It’s about five minutes later when Taehyung starts swallowing back giggles again. ‘Uh, hyung…’

‘Mm?’ Yoongi mumbles, busy sucking light marks up Taehyung’s collarbone.

‘Hyung, can you, uh, get your jeans?’ he asks, voice thick with the effort of not laughing because this would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so wasted. ‘Kinda can’t feel my fingers.’

At that, Taehyung hears something that is most definitely a laugh as Yoongi’s forehead drops against his shoulder. ‘We are too fucking drunk for this, Tae,’ he mutters, his fingers struggling with his own jeans, though he sounds defeated already. ‘It’s pretty bad when we can’t even get each other’s clothes off.’

This only makes Taehyung giggle harder because, yeah, okay, so maybe he’s right, but—

‘But I’m so horny, hyung,’ he whines, right in Yoongi’s ear.

The older boy groans, rolling off Taehyung to lie next to him instead, his head still pillowed on Taehyung’s shoulder. ‘Me, too,’ he sighs. ‘Think you can get up and walk to the bedroom?’

Taehyung considers this. He can’t feel his toes. ‘Don’t really trust my legs.’

‘Me neither,’ Yoongi murmurs. ‘I think that’s gotta be a sign.’

Taehyung pouts at the ceiling, but he doesn’t argue because there isn’t really an argument for that – at least, not in his soju-ey brain.

After a moment, Yoongi groans some more. ‘Why are we on the floor?’

‘Dunno, but it’s pretty comfy when you’re this drunk,’ Taehyung remarks, wiggling around a little.

‘Yeah, maybe when you have the core temperature of the fucking sun,’ Yoongi grumbles, rolling onto his stomach and reaching out over his head for something. He snags a corner of the blanket Hoseok bought to cover all the burn marks on the couch from his rather hazy sophomore summer and tugs it down, bringing with it a shower of cushions. With some awkward rearrangements, Yoongi manages to get the blanket to kind of cover both of them (it’s not that the blanket isn’t more than likely big enough to carpet the entire living area, it’s just that it’s tangled as hell and neither of them has the dexterity to fix that at present). Taehyung stuffs a cushion underneath his head and Yoongi slumps into a couple more cushions and they lie there like that, staring up at ceiling.

‘They won’t be done,’ Yoongi murmurs after a while, his voice a sleepy slur, Daegu twang coming through so strong that Taehyung probably wouldn’t be able to understand him if he didn’t sound like home. ‘Sleep it off.’

‘’kay,’ Taehyung mumbles, but he’s not sleepy, not yet. He can feel sleep lurking nearby, threatening to make his eyelids droop, but he’s not quite there. That might have something to do with the fact that he’s lying next to Yoongi in an almost bed-type situation; he can feel Yoongi’s arm pressed the length of his, he could reach out his fingers and hold his hand if he wasn’t scared of being punched in the face. They’ve never actually managed to have sex in a bed, not since that first time at Seokjin’s party, so this is weird. This is alien territory of the most nerve-wracking sort and Taehyung’s just glad he’s trashed for it.

He turns his head on the cushion to look over at the other boy. Yoongi is lying on his back, his head turned just slightly towards Taehyung, eyes shut. Taehyung wonders if he’s asleep already, but doesn’t dare ask in case he accidentally wakes him up and gets punched in the face – he’d much rather get punched for trying to hold his hand. Locks of pink fringe fall haphazardly over Yoongi’s forehead and Taehyung notices with some awe that his hair and his kiss flushed lips are a perfect match. His skin will always be a wonder to Taehyung, delicate as a freaking snowdrop and about the same colour, too, almost glowing in the dark. Taehyung’s had darker skin his whole life, especially with spending most summers on his grandparents’ farm and this year was no exception. He got scolded at work, of course, for getting a tan, but his harabeoji told him the chickens missed him – what was he supposed to do? He wants to press his own hand to Yoongi’s chest just to see the difference, but Taehyung doesn’t do that. He drags his gaze back up to Yoongi’s face. It’s so pretty like this, he thinks, all relaxed and gentle, not glaring daggers of death at Taehyung some poor, undeserving creature. Taehyung’s eyes trace over everything, from the sharp line of his jaw to the gentle fan of his lashes over his cheek. Taehyung’s never paid much attention to Yoongi’s eyelashes, he’s never really had the chance; they’re short, but so feathery and light, casting shadows against his—

‘Would you stop fucking staring at me,’ Yoongi mutters, cracking open an eye to glower, but it’s a very lazy glower and Taehyung does not feel imminent death.

He smiles sheepishly, colour creeping into his cheeks even with the alcohol. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, tugging the scratchy blanket higher over his shoulders. ‘You just—’

Don’t say that, Taehyung, what the hell? He will end your life.

Taking his conscience’s advice, Taehyung clears his throat. ‘Sorry,’ he says again, shutting his eyes as if he actually intends to go to sleep.

It’s quiet for a moment and Taehyung thinks he can feel Yoongi still watching him, but he’s too afraid to open his own eyes and check. He can hear the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall that’s never on the right time, he can hear faint noises from other apartments in the building, he can hear the other boy breathing next to him, a touch shaky.

‘You wanna put your ridiculous body temperature to good use?’ Yoongi asks, his voice a shock in the near silence.

Taehyung takes this as permission to look at him again, opening his eyes to find Yoongi rolling over onto his side, his back to Taehyung. Taehyung frowns. ‘Huh?’

‘I’m fucking freezing,’ Yoongi informs him, and Taehyung blinks a couple times, noticing the slight shivers shaking Yoongi’s pale shoulders.

His brain, in its current state, struggles to process the hidden request, but after a second, Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up, the realisation hitting him like ice water on his face. (Or maybe ice water is a bad analogy because Taehyung’s body floods with warmth.) ‘You want...’ he begins, reluctant to voice his suspicions, sure he’s about to be scoffed at. ‘You want me to... cuddle you, hyung?’

Yoongi does scoff, but not quite in the way Taehyung expected. ‘You’re there, you’re warm, I’m drunk. It’s not cuddling, it’s basic survival, don’t make a big deal out of it.’

Taehyung has no intentions of doing any such thing. He’s just happy Yoongi can’t see the stupid smile splitting his face because he knows the older boy would only roll his eyes or call him an idiot or both. (Probably both.) Still hesitant, Taehyung inches closer to Yoongi under the covers, rolling onto his side as well. He half expects to have his arm gnawed off the moment he tries to drape it around Yoongi’s waist, but that doesn’t happen. The fact that he still has all his limbs gives Taehyung enough confidence to pull Yoongi closer, his back right up against Taehyung’s chest. Yoongi shivers lightly at the contact and presses in a little further, and he can try to roughen this up whatever way he wants, but Taehyung is a cuddling connoisseur. He knows cuddling and this is most definitely cuddling.

‘I prefer being the little spoon,’ Taehyung informs him, his lips inches from the nape of Yoongi’s neck.

‘Tough shit,’ Yoongi grumbles.

Taehyung grins, tightening his arm around Yoongi’s waist. He is cold, his skin cool against Taehyung’s, but there’s something about his slightly smaller frame that Taehyung finds extremely huggable nonetheless. ‘Hyung, you’re surprisingly snuggly,’ he tells him, his eyes sliding shut. He’s still not sleepy, but he’s much more comfortable than he was.

Yoongi sighs heavily. ‘Tae, shut the fuck up and go to sleep.’

At that, Taehyung opens his eyes again. His current view is the constellation of tiny freckles on the back of Yoongi’s neck. Come to think of it, it looks kind of like Aquila if you disregard the fainter ones. ‘Tae,’ he echoes softly, frowning a little. ‘When did you start calling me that?’

Yoongi stirs in his arms. ‘What?’

‘I don’t think anyone calls me Tae,’ Taehyung muses. ‘Taehyung, Taetae, Taehyungie, Taehyung-ah… but not Tae. Just you.’ Taehyung grins, knowing fine well what sort of reaction his next question will get. ‘Is it, like, a petname, hyung?’

‘Fuckssake, Taehyung,’ Yoongi groans, his voice muffled by the cushion. ‘You were literally falling down drunk ten minutes ago, why are you not passed out already?’

‘I think it’s a petname.’

‘It’s not a fucking petname. It’s a shortened version of your long-ass name.’

‘My name is literally the same length as everyone’s name. Two syllables, hyung. You don’t call Hoseok Ho.’

‘Sometimes I do.’

Yeah, but for different reasons.’ Taehyung grins again. ‘Not because you feel like giving him a petname.’

‘Okay, I’m out,’ Yoongi grumbles, about to roll away from Taehyung, but the younger boy only tightens his arm around Yoongi’s waist, tangling one of his legs with Yoongi’s to further imprison him. ‘Tae, I’m—‘

‘You said it again~’ Taehyung all but sings, nudging his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck. He has him trapped now – there’s only so much pain Yoongi can inflict on him while trapped in Taehyung’s limbs and Taehyung is going to make the most of this advantage. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, hyung,’ he coos, knowing the effect this must be having on the older boy. He smiles through the kiss he presses to the dip underneath Yoongi’s jaw. ‘I like it. It’s cute.’

‘I hate you.’

‘I know,’ Taehyung murmurs, running his lips lightly along the soft skin of Yoongi’s shoulder, kind of surprised that the older boy isn’t struggling more. It’s got to be the alcohol; sober Yoongi would definitely have kicked Taehyung in the balls by now and would definitely not be letting Taehyung kiss his shoulder, but Taehyung isn’t complaining. His lips reach the bony part at the top of Yoongi’s arm and he presses another soft kiss before continuing slowly back along his shoulder. His hand slides from Yoongi’s stomach up to his chest, pulling him back against him even further, and Yoongi’s skin has stopped being so cold against his now.

At the base of his neck, Taehyung pauses. ‘Is this okay?’ he asks, speaking against Yoongi’s skin. ‘Can I do this?’

‘Knock yourself out,’ Yoongi says, though Taehyung doesn’t miss the husky edge to his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Taehyung keeps it chaste. Yoongi already said no, so he’s not going to try anything funny, he just really likes the taste of Yoongi’s skin on his lips and the smell of his cologne filling his nose, and Taehyung knows that these probably aren’t the healthiest things to get attached to, but Taehyung is drunk and he will be attached to whatever he likes. Besides, getting overly attached to things that he shouldn’t is one of Taehyung’s charm points.

Even without the alcohol, he’s pretty sure he could get drunk off this, off the softness of Yoongi’s skin against his mouth and his heart fluttering behind his ribs, right under Taehyung’s hand. He knows Yoongi is nowhere near as fragile as he looks and feels; Hoseok’s told him about the time Yoongi practically knocked some guy’s teeth out outside a club for trying to take advantage of a blackout drunk Hoseok, and many other times besides that. He’s not weak by any means, he doesn’t need protecting, but Taehyung thinks it sometimes feels as if he’s made of paper, like a tiny origami person. There’s something about the way Taehyung can count every rib just by running his fingers over his chest, find each pulse point in a heartbeat, practically feel the blood rushing underneath his skin that makes Yoongi seem so...

Delicate. In moments like these, of which there have been next to none so far, that’s how Taehyung sees Yoongi – not weak, but delicate, something to be careful with, though it can damn well fend for itself, make no fucking mistake. Of course, in most situations, Yoongi doesn’t seem delicate at all, he’s just grumpy and scary and kind of adorable, but Taehyung likes this Yoongi a lot, the one that folds up easily in his arms and lets him kiss his neck.

The steady rhythm of Yoongi’s breaths have started to stutter a little by the time Taehyung reaches his jaw again, sucking at the sharp, bony curve just under his ear. He tugs Yoongi’s earlobe gently into his mouth with his teeth, tongue laving over the piercings there as his fingers trace idle patterns on Yoongi’s chest, maybe brushing over the occasional nipple, entirely by accident of course. But it’s when Taehyung goes back to Yoongi’s throat – teeth first this time, scraping oh-so-lightly with each kiss – that Yoongi lets out a curse, his voice a rough whisper that has the gentle warmth in Taehyung’s stomach heating back up into something stronger.

He feels his own breathing start to come heavy as he sucks a mark into the hollow of Yoongi’s neck, low enough that he can hide because he’s learned that while Yoongi may like getting them, he’s not fond of having them on display for the world. Taehyung’s not sure he can really press any closer to Yoongi at this stage, but oh, he tries and the result is his inexplicably raging erection rubbing against Yoongi’s ass again through too many layers of fabric. The shock of pleasure is enough to have Taehyung gasping into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, and he’s not only one who gasps. Yoongi’s slips out in the familiar form of a ragged curse as Taehyung’s lips suck at his skin again. He feels fingers curl around his wrist and a tingle runs up his spine as Yoongi slowly guides the hand that was on his stomach down further.

It takes every bit of restraint Taehyung has left to stop and verify instead of just diving on in. ‘Thought you said no,’ he murmurs, lips brushing Yoongi’s jaw, fingers fidgeting at the waistband of the older boy’s boxers.

‘Changed my mind,’ Yoongi says, and his voice is so wrecked that Taehyung almost moans aloud. He had no idea just kissing Yoongi like this could get him so worked up, but he files the information away for future reference.

‘Good,’ he mumbles, right before he shoves his hand into Yoongi’s jeans, sending a silent thank you to Yoongi’s drunken fine motor skills for managing to get the fly undone earlier.

He slips his fingers into the space between Yoongi’s jeans and boxers, stroking him teasingly through the material, still nipping at his neck as Yoongi’s breath rushes out of him in something like a groan. He runs his thumb around the head of Yoongi’s cock, a damp patch starting on the fabric there, and enjoys the way Yoongi’s hips buck into his hand. He can feel the tension in Yoongi’s clenched jaw as he brushes his lips over it and Taehyung is just about to break and slide his hand into Yoongi’s boxers, when he hears a hissed, ‘Fuck this,’ and Yoongi is rolling on top of him. He pins Taehyung’s head into the cushions with a rough kiss and Taehyung is too distracted by the wet heat of Yoongi’s tongue dipping into his mouth to notice the older boy kicking his jeans off the rest of the way. He moves to straddle Taehyung’s hips, pecking kisses down his jaw and neck, licking over the marks he left earlier. His fingers make fairly quick work of Taehyung’s jeans considering his previous struggles.

‘Th-thought we were too drunk for this,’ Taehyung reminds him, biting his lip, neck arching as he basks in the blessed relief of his jeans loosening.

You were too drunk,’ Yoongi murmurs against his skin, fingers hooking into the waistband of Taehyung’s boxers. ‘Didn’t wanna take advantage of you.’

‘Changed your mind?’

Taehyung hears a spitting noise. ‘Yup.’

Thank god,’ he groans, as Yoongi takes both their cocks in one spit-slicked hand, dragging a moan from Taehyung. He has no idea what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this, but this is good, this is really really good, he thinks, as Yoongi gives a few slow, experimental tugs, moving his lips back to Taehyung’s again.

The kisses are hard and hungry and Taehyung is all but whimpering even before Yoongi ups the pace of his strokes, shivers of pleasure running down Taehyung’s spine. His thighs fall as far apart as they can while still tangled in his jeans and his hand grips the back of Yoongi’s neck as their lips slide over each other, his fingers scratching through the shorter hairs of Yoongi’s undercut. His hips circle up, Yoongi’s rolling down, grinding them together as well as thrusting into the firm, slick grip. Yoongi’s breath is heavy, the only thing he can hear, casting a damp fog over Taehyung’s skin as he mouths down his neck, sucking at his adam’s apple, tongue tracing the shallow divot in the middle of his chest.

Taehyung’s hand drops to join the older boy’s, his fingers slipping over the heads of their cocks, thumb digging into Yoongi’s slit, earning himself a faint moan from the older boy. Taehyung uses his free hand tug Yoongi back into another kiss, fingers tangling in his hair as Yoongi nips at his lips and tongue. It speeds up from there, ragged breaths and scattered pulses, hot bursts of pleasure burning low in Taehyung’s stomach as Yoongi pants into the kisses he presses to Taehyung’s throat and mouth.

Fuck,’ he hisses against Taehyung’s lips. ‘Tae, I’m gonna—‘

And he does. Yoongi comes with a shudder over both their hands and Taehyung’s stomach, his thighs tightening either side of Taehyung’s hips. He gasps breathlessly into Taehyung’s mouth as the younger boy continues stroking them both even when Yoongi’s fingers go limp for a moment. Taehyung thinks that gasp might be one of the best things he’s ever tasted. Yoongi takes a beat to recover, forehead resting somewhere between Taehyung’s own forehead and the bridge of his nose. The angle is weird, but then Yoongi is pushing Taehyung’s hand out of the way, wrapping long fingers tight around his cock and propping himself up on his free arm to look down at Taehyung.

The tips of Yoongi’s hair are spiked with sweat, falling over his forehead as he leans over the younger boy. His lips are flushed and swollen, red marks on his jaw and neck from the scrape of Taehyung’s teeth and his eyes are darker than anything Taehyung’s ever seen, matching black holes. Taehyung thinks they’re beautiful.

Bending an elbow, Yoongi leans down until his lips are right by Taehyung’s ear. ‘Come,’ he whispers, his voice still rough from his own stifled moans. Taehyung’s eyelids flutter shut as he feels Yoongi’s nose brush against his, breath hot on his lips. ‘Come for me, Tae.

And Taehyung’s pretty sure he’d get up right now, wrecked as he is, and do fifty jumping jacks if Yoongi asked him like that, so this simple request is not a problem. His fingers fist in Yoongi’s hair and Yoongi is kissing him deep as his own release hits hard, waves of hot pleasure crashing through his body as he jerks up into Yoongi’s hand, his own cum joining the mess already streaked across his stomach. Yoongi litters lighter kisses over his chest as he strokes him through the shuddering aftershocks, Taehyung’s breath coming short and sharp and broken. Then his forehead drops onto Taehyung’s shoulder, his hand falling limply off to the side somewhere.

‘My wrist his dead,’ he murmurs against Taehyung’s collarbone, as the younger boy’s fingertips trail up over Yoongi’s ribs.

‘It will be sorely missed,’ he sighs.

Yoongi scoffs softly. ‘What? By your dick?’

Taehyung grins. He feels even drunker than he did before. ‘And yours.’

‘Ha ha ha,’ he grumbles, sitting up and reaching over to where they dropped their t-shirts, both white and roughly the same size. He uses it to wipe up the mess between them and neither of them can be bothered worrying about whose it is right now. Yoongi tosses the soiled t-shirt away and Taehyung tucks himself back into his boxers as Yoongi flops down to lie next to him again.

‘I wanna say I’ve sobered up a little,’ Taehyung mumbles, squinting upwards, ‘but the ceiling is still spinning.’

Yoongi makes a breathy sound that could be a laugh. Maybe. ‘They’re probably not done yet anyway, Tae,’ he sighs, sounding sleepy, ‘they go at it all night. You may as well sleep it off.’

‘Dancers’ stamina,’ Taehyung says, tugging the blanket up over them again. He turns his head toward Yoongi, a grin tugging at his mouth, knowing fine well he’s pushing his luck here. ‘Hey, hyung, you still cold?’

‘No,’ Yoongi mutters, without opening his eyes. ‘Go to sleep, Tae.’

Taehyung laughs quietly as he rolls over onto his side, pretending he can’t feel the little twist of disappointment coiling in the pit of his stomach. He frees some more of the blanket from its woolly tangles to cover his feet and he snuggles down, not minding the hardness of the floorboards underneath him. He once slept on a My Little Pony junior desk half his size – this is decidedly luxurious in comparison.

-    -    -    -    -

When Yoongi wakes in the odd grey hours before dawn, he refuses to accept that he just caught himself drooling on Kim Taehyung’s shoulder. He snatches his arm back like the heat of the other boy’s stomach just scorched his skin – which it almost could – and shoves himself up onto an elbow. He blinks groggily at the small wet patch glistening on the tan skin, wrinkles his nose as his sluggish mind catches up to the situation. He wipes it away quickly with the back of his hand and rolls over to the cold patch of floor, supressing a shiver at the sudden loss of warmth.

He shuts his eyes and rubs his damp cheek against the cushion.

He has destroyed the evidence.

It didn’t happen.

It didn’t happen.

Chapter Text

‘I don’t like this movie,’ Taehyung grumbles, frowning unhappily. He is, at present, taking up two thirds of the couch – or the better part of three thirds, really, if you count the fact that  he is invading Seokjin’s measly one third with his head on a cushion in his lap.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. He knew this would happen from the moment Everest was chosen over the first Pokémon movie. ‘I did say you wouldn’t like it.’

‘You didn’t say Jake Gyllenhaal was gonna die,’ Taehyung shoots back, eyeing the snowy chaos on-screen as if it has personally offended him.

‘I’m pretty sure I said they all die.’

‘They don’t all die.’

‘The important ones do,’ Seokjin sighs. Like his cousin, he doesn’t see the point in movies where everyone relevant just dies at or around the end, but Namjoon is a sucker for drama and angst, hence the plethora of tragic movies now stacked up alongside Seokjin’s Studio Ghibli collection.

‘But that guy has a pregnant wife waiting for him at home,’ Taehyung says, turning his head to look up at Seokjin with wide, horrified eyes. ‘He can’t die.’

Seokjin gives Taehyung a regretful sort of look, patting his chest consolingly. ‘It’s a true story, Taehyung-ah,’ he reminds him gently. ‘They don’t make movies about the happy true stories. We’ve talked about this.’

Taehyung’s brow furrows in annoyance and the gloomiest sort of pout pinches at his mouth as he glances over at the TV again. ‘This movie’s stupid,’ he mumbles, shifting unhappily in Seokjin’s lap. ‘Who climbs a mountain in the snow anyway?’

‘Taehyung, it’s Mount Everest,’ Namjoon says, from where he has been relegated to the armchair, his place on the couch having been stolen by Taehyung, as it always is when Taehyung stays over. He glances briefly up from his laptop, seeming concerned about the boy’s lack of information regarding the mountain. ‘They’re over 8000 feet up, it’s always snowing.’

Taehyung makes a dismissive noise at the back of his throat, well and truly huffing now. ‘Then why are they climbing it? It doesn’t make any sense. They climb for days, they get, like, three seconds at the top, then they have to come back down again and will probably die. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. They could just go skiing or something, you know? Skiing’s great. I love skiing…’

A guy on screen chooses that exact moment to fall off an icy ledge and plummet to his death. Taehyung’s pout intensifies and he pulls the edge of his onesie hood down over his eyes. ‘This movie sucks.’

‘I don’t understand why you didn’t just watch Pokémon,’ Namjoon sighs. ‘Pokémon never makes you this cranky.’

‘Wasn’t feeling Pokémon,’ Taehyung mumbles.

Namjoon takes a moment to stare at the younger boy, eyes flitting up to Seokjin’s for back-up, but Seokjin only shrugs, biting back a smile – he’s not getting involved. ‘Taehyung, you are literally wearing a Pikachu onesie,’ Namjoon finally says, sounding weary.

Taehyung lifts the hood a fraction to pin Namjoon with a one-eyed glower. ‘And your point, hyung?’

Namjoon opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, expression resigned. He knows better, after all this time, than to argue with any of this particular branch of Kims. ‘What about Totoro, then? I love it when you guys watch Totoro.’

‘We watched Totoro last time.’

‘Never stopped you before,’ Namjoon points out.

Taehyung considers this, eyes narrowed as if he doubts Namjoon’s motives -- which he should. ‘True,’ he admits slowly, turning to Seokjin. ‘Hyung?’

Seokjin gives him a pointed sort of look. ‘Taehyung, it’s late.’

Please~’ he sings, voice laced with enough aegyo to make even Seokjin cringe.

‘You have a 9AM lecture.’

‘I know, but…’ He flashes his brightest, most boxiest of smiles. ‘Pretty please?’

Since he was a toddler, the trick to babysitting Taehyung has always been My Neighbour Totoro. Nothing calms him down quite like it, hence Namjoon’s love of the film, and if he falls asleep watching that, he’s not waking up again. ‘Fine, go put it on,’ he relents, shoving Taehyung’s head off his lap. ‘But I’m making you tea.’ Totoro and jujube tea – if that doesn’t leave him comatose till morning, Seokjin will toss his Wii out the window. ‘You want some, Joon-ah?’ he asks, trailing into the kitchen.

‘Nah, I’m gonna go study in the room for a while,’ Namjoon replies, his voice closer than expected as he follows after Seokjin, catching up to him as he’s setting the kettle to boil. He winds his arms around the elder’s waist from behind, pressing his face into the crook of his neck, and Seokjin leans into him, shutting his eyes as the kettle starts to gurgle. ‘He won’t last long, right?’

‘Forty minutes tops,’ Seokjin assures him quietly.

With his first clinical year upon him, he’s been busy, too busy, a never-ending cycle of lectures and seminars and practical workshops piled on top of rounds at the hospital, trailing around after consultants that range from perfect saints to absolute sadists with a kink for crying medical students (the vast majority hovering around the latter end of that scale). It’s the first night this week he hasn’t spent most of in the university’s medical library, dozing on diagrams of nephrons and the cerebellum, the first night this week he’s been free to spend with either Namjoon or Taehyung, and possibly the only night for a while. So, as much as he loves his cousin and wouldn’t kick him out for the world, his efforts to get him to sleep aren’t entirely selfless.

‘Good,’ Namjoon murmurs against his skin, lips trailing softly up the side of his neck, stopping just below his ear and lingering there. ‘I’ve missed you.’

Seokjin hums in agreement, turning in Namjoon’s arms, the small of his back pressing against the counter as he tugs Namjoon into a kiss. It’s not much, gentle lips and barely a hint of tongue, only one hand sneaking under Namjoon’s shirt – really quite chaste compared to what he has planned for later – but Namjoon has other ideas, pressing Seokjin back until they’re standing flush together, deepening the kiss until he’s licking into the elder's mouth. The noise Seokjin makes at the back of his throat was supposed to be one of surprise, though it comes out a little more like a soft moan and—

‘I can hear you guys sucking face from all the way in here,’ Taehyung’s voice cuts in, dripping with weary disdain. ‘Just wanted you know that.’

Namjoon lets out a huff of laughter, his forehead against Seokjin’s as their lips part. ‘God, I hate him,’ he grumbles, the mood more than a little lost.

‘Same,’ Seokjin sighs, opening his eyes at the sound of the kettle clicking off. He kisses Namjoon again, a quick peck as he slips out from between the counter and his boyfriend. ‘Forty minutes,’ he reminds him in a whisper, letting his hand linger under Namjoon’s shirt for a second.

‘Forty minutes?’

‘Tops.’

‘I’ll hold you to it,’ Namjoon warns, heading for the door.

‘You’d better,’ Seokjin calls after him.

At that, Namjoon casts a quick grin over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

 

Twenty minutes later, Taehyung sets his empty Yoshi mug on the coffee table and promptly falls back into Seokjin’s lap, eyelids heavy, cheeks flushed enough from the warm tea to rival even Pikachu himself. Seokjin’s fingers go absentmindedly to Taehyung’s hair, tangled and damp from spending so long under the hood of his onesie. He brushes it back off his forehead, watching his cousin blink sleepily at the TV, where Totoro is just about to appear at the bus stop. He looks younger like this, the weak yellow light from the lamp in the corner softening the hardened lines of his jaw, and Seokjin could almost convince himself he was still that hyper seven-year-old he had to babysit, swinging off banisters and escaping out into the night every five seconds, eventually crashing hard and falling asleep curled up in Seokjin’s lap. But it’s been a long time since Taehyung could curl up in Seokjin’s lap (despite his frequent attempts) and the reminders that he’s no longer that hyper seven-year-old, easily contained and protected by child-proof locks and the threat of no midnight hot chocolate parties, are everywhere. Specifically, dotted over his throat in an impressive range of colours, angry reds and purples, fading greens and yellows.

‘So,’ Seokjin says quietly, carefully, ‘how’s this Yoongi thing going?’

Taehyung doesn’t look at him, though he does sound a tad more awake when he says, ‘It’s going.’

Seokjin frowns, his fingers stilling in Taehyung’s hair. ‘That doesn’t sound too positive.’

Taehyung turns his head to look up at his cousin, the hint of a smirk tugging a corner of his mouth. ‘But it doesn’t sound too negative either, does it, hyung?’

Seokjin narrows his eyes at the cryptic reply, which only makes Taehyung’s smirk more pronounced, more evil. ‘I thought you didn’t want to know, hyung,’ he says, a mischievous edge to his voice because he knows he’s being a brat. ‘I’m only respecting your wishes, like any good dongsaeng.’

Fair and fine, Seokjin made it pretty clear to Taehyung back when he found out about this that, although he was kind of fine with it, it wouldn’t be like these other conquests of his cousin’s. Seokjin made it clear that he didn’t want the details, didn’t want to know what messed up kinks Yoongi had in bed or the specifics of his blowjob technique. It was different when the guy was a faceless, often nameless thing, dubbed instead with a defining nickname for gossiping purposes only: Biochem Major, Library Fuckboy, Peaches, Shakespeare, Iwatobi, The Thai One. But Yoongi is his friend, one of his closest, and the younger man has always been fairly private when it came to his love life. Just because Seokjin could be privy to that sort of information now doesn’t mean he wants to be.

‘I still don’t,’ Seokjin admits, choosing his words with care here, ‘not really, but this has been going on a long time, Taehyung, I’m… I’m curious, I suppose.’

Taehyung hikes up an eyebrow at him. ‘Curious or worried, hyung?’

Seokjin bites on the inside of his lip for a moment, wondering if a decent lie could get him out of this one, but he finds himself sighing, fingers moving back to toy with a few dark strands of Taehyung’s hair. The boy knows him too well -- he’d see straight through him. ‘I just don’t want you to get hurt, Taehyung-ah,’ he admits quietly.

‘And you think Yoongi-hyung’s gonna hurt me?’ Taehyung asks, frowning slightly now.

‘No, I just, I think Yoongi is…’ Seokjin pauses a moment, gaze searching around the room for the right way to phrase this without sounding like an ass. ‘He’s just different from you, Taehyung. He doesn’t… I mean…’ Seokjin sighs heavily, trailing off into silence as his eyes find the TV again, the animated images flickering brightly across the screen.

How does he say this? What does he even want to say? This… this thing with Min Yoongi is turning into the longest thing Taehyung’s had since that asshole in his senior year of high school and Seokjin doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to make of that. Is it serious? he wants to ask, but he knows Taehyung will say it’s not. He’s been through it too many times, Taehyung assuring him it’s just for fun, don’t complicate it with a label, hyung. And then two weeks later, that same Taehyung is sitting in Seokjin’s living room, quiet and slumped, eyes red-rimmed and cried out dry. Seokjin helps as much as he can, makes him his favourite foods, doesn’t ask questions, watches the entire series of Ouran Highschool Host Club with him (yet again), waits until he’s ready to talk, but he still feels useless every damn time. Useless and furious and confused out of his mind because why is it that Taehyung continuously chooses the assholes who’ll break him? Seokjin can’t understand it, but he supposes his cousin’s penchant for bad boys in leather jackets and the smell of cigarette smoke can’t help matters.

Yoongi owns a leather jacket, his pride and joy, and his default look of lazy disinterest would convince anyone he was the bad sort, but he hasn’t smoked since high school, and Seokjin hopes that counts for something. Regardless, he’s still Min Yoongi. He lives by the motto I don’t give a shit, which Seokjin knows isn’t all true -- he’s told his younger friend numerous times that he should add an (about much) onto the end of that. Yoongi cares about a lot of things, cares too much, but there are still things he shows a genuine disregard for and in the three years Seokjin’s known him, one of those things has most certainly been his various conquests.

Yoongi is not a cruel person, would never mistreat another human being without a valid cause. But as lazy as he appears to the untrained eye, he’s driven. The entire time Seokjin’s known him, he’s never had a proper relationship, never even thought about one or had the time to think about one. He worked hard to get into this university, going against his parents wishes and paying for his first year on his own. After they saw his results from his first year finals, they came round a bit, but then his brother came back from the army, got accepted into Seoul University for law and they’re not a well off family. Most of what they have goes to his hyung. They pay for Yoongi’s fees, but not his living expenses, books, equipment. He has to handle that himself. His music and his studies are his life, so when he finds someone, it’s a relationship of convenience and nothing more. Luckily, Yoongi tends to go for others like him, driven, distracted, just looking for a quick way to relax, to fuck the stress away, no pillow talk, no lazy morning cuddling, no strings attached whatsoever.

But Taehyung… Taehyung is the human embodiment of pillow talk and lazy morning cuddles. He’s not Yoongi’s usual type and Yoongi’s not his and Seokjin is baffled. So, he goes with that. Instead of getting deep and complicated, he goes with that.

‘I just don’t get you two,’ he sighs eventually. ‘You’re not his type and he’s not yours. He likes them convenient and casual and a little cold, if I’m honest, no strings hanging loose that he might accidentally get attached to.’

‘I can be casual and cold,’ Taehyung cuts in, though his beaming grin alone proves him wrong even as the words tumble brightly out of his mouth. ‘And I don’t have loose strings,’ he adds, pouting cutely. ‘What’re you trying to say, hyung?’

Taehyung is a bunch of a hundred balloons, loose strings everywhere, just waiting to catch on something, and he radiates warmth like the midday sun in the height of summer. But Seokjin holds his tongue on that and smiles fondly at his cousin.

‘And you,’ he goes on, prodding Taehyung in the stomach, making him yelp and curl up like a headgehog. ‘You keep bemoaning the fact that you have no one to take you on cute picnic dates to the park. You really think Min Yoongi’s going to take you on cute picnic dates to the park?’

‘But we’re not dating, hyung,’ Taehyung says, as if this is the world’s most well known fact. He shrugs an airy shoulder. ‘So, if someone does come along to take me on a cute picnic date to the park, then I’m free to go with them. In the meantime, I have Yoongi-hyung and I have cute picnics in the park with him, except it’s less cute and more naked as fuck and the park is his couch and the picnic food is--’

‘OKAYokayokay,’ Seokjin cuts across him quickly, Taehyung biting back his words with a vulgar little smirk. ‘That’s quite enough information, Taehyung.’

‘Sorry,’ he says, not sounding anything of the sort. But after a moment, he seems to sober up again, grin smoothing out as he looks up at Seokjin.

Most of the time, Taehyung is still a child, trapped in this body ten years too old for him, more concerned with not stepping on the daisies in the grass than getting to his morning lecture, when his eyes are bright and clear and his smile is easy. But there are other times when Seokjin looks at his cousin and the boy seems to hold aeons in his eyes, the deep brown dark with the thoughts swirling thick in his mind and the corners of his mouth pinched with things he doesn’t want to say aloud. It’s in those rare moments that Seokjin is suddenly aware of the dark circles under Taehyung’s eyes, the ones usually hidden by the carelessness that radiates out of him like light from a flame on a winter’s night, and he remembers that Taehyung is an adult, with the same weights and responsibilites resting on his shoulders as the rest of them. With a heart that’s felt more pain than Seokjin could ever imagine. And sometimes, bizarrely, he seems older than even Seokjin, a soul that’s seen centuries and a hundred different versions of the world, that’s felt eveything there is to feel and more. It’s those heavy eyes that gaze up at him now.

‘Hyung, it’s fine, you know,’ Taehyung says gently, leaning his cheek into Seokjin’s stomach because suddenly he is the one giving comfort. ‘Really, it’s okay. I mean... I’m pretty dumb sometimes, but I’m not blind – or deaf. I know I’m nothing special to him, that’s been clear from the start... It’s sex, plain and simple. I know that’s all it is and that’s okay.’

And he does know; the unwavering certainty in his eyes is enough to convince Seokjin of that, but it puts him no more at ease. Because yes, maybe Taehyung understands -- understands that it’s just sex, nothing more, won’t ever be anything more and he can’t do a damn thing to change it, can’t even want to do a damn thing to change it -- but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s happy with it.

‘And Yoongi?’ Seokjin says softly. ‘Is he something special to you?’

Taehyung only shrugs, gaze drifting back to the TV. Of course he is. Everyone is something special to Taehyung in their own way, from the toddler he made faces at on the subway last week to the ahjussi who works Friday evenings in the on-campus Starbucks and sneaks him the occasional latte. God only knows what kind of a special place he’s reserved for the guy he’s been sleeping with these past few weeks.

After a moment if quiet, Taehyung sighs irritably, but when he speaks the weight is gone from his voice. ‘Legit can’t hear the movie over your worrying, hyung. Come on.’

‘Shut up,’ Seokjin mutters, flicking him on the side of the head. ‘If I don’t worry, who will?’

Taehyung grins up at him again, a hundred million watts. ‘Jimin, Joonie-hyung, Hoseok-hyung, literally everyone else that I know,’ he rattles off, counting on his fingers, and Seokjin rolls his eyes. ‘Admittedly, hyung, they’re not as good at it as you are.’

Seokjin preens a little. ‘Of course they’re not. I am a professional with many years’ experience – they wouldn’t stand a chance against me.’

‘They wouldn’t,’ Taehyung agrees, smirking at his cousin’s unwavering self-confidence. ‘But you don’t need to worry so much about me, hyung. I can look out for myself, you know.’ He grins again, wide and sleepy. ‘I’m all grown up now.’

‘Says the guy in the Pikachu onesie,’ Seokjin murmurs, tugging on one of the pointy ears.

‘Shut up,’ Taehyung mumbles, head-butting Seokjin lightly in the stomach. ‘It’s not even mine, it’s Kookie’s.’

‘You’re the one wearing it.’

‘It’s cosy, hyung, let me live--I wanna watch the movie,’ he whines, and yet five minutes later, he’s out cold, the hood of his onesie slipped down to cover his eyes, Pikachu’s face smiling placidly up at Seokjin.

He reaches over to wake the screen of his phone on the arm of the couch.

38 minutes. Not even 40.

Gently, Seokjin tugs the hood back to where it should be, Taehyung’s eyebrows barely twitching at the movement. He doesn’t know what he expected from all this. He doesn’t know why he thought it might be different with someone like Yoongi, straight up and brutally honest, forever making sure no one has the wrong idea. It might be that Seokjin is a little guilty of hoping his grumpy friend would be too much for Taehyung, too flat, too critical for such a sensitive soul, and that he’d scare him off. Seokjin has no idea why he thought it would be different when he knows – possibly better than anyone – that Taehyung’s capacity to care deeply and passionately for anything knows no bounds.

Nothing scares Taehyung off, not even Min Yoongi, World Class Scarer Offer.

Taehyung doesn’t need to say it. The one and only time Seokjin has seen them together so far was in the bar for Jimin’s birthday. They didn’t speak to each other once, but Seokjin didn’t miss the way Taehyung’s eyes were drawn to the elder like two small magnets, every time he laughed, every time the pitch of his voice changed, when he tossed back a shot or reached for some food in the centre of the table. They were brief glances each time, no long, lingering stares – Taehyung probably didn’t even realise he was doing it. He’s not in love with him, not even close, but Seokjin knows his cousin and Seokjin knows what Taehyung looks like when he’s harbouring a crush the size of China.

And the China-sized ones always end the worst.

Seokjin is so caught up in his own troubled thoughts that he barely notes the heavy footsteps on the living room floor until Namjoon is leaning over the back of the couch, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks quietly, words murmured into his hair.

Seokjin says nothing for a while, no sound in the apartment other than the Japanese babbling from the TV, Taehyung’s slow, easy breathing. Namjoon ducks his head so his chin is resting on Seokjin’s shoulder, following his gaze to the sleeping boy in his lap.

‘You stress more over Taehyung’s life than Taehyung does, you do realise that, hyung?’ Namjoon says quietly, a hint of amusement colouring his tone.

‘Someone has to do it,’ Seokjin murmurs.

‘It shouldn’t always be you.’

‘No one else does it right.’

‘Teach me, then,’ Namjoon says, and Seokjin can hear the grin in his voice.

He smiles, leaning his head against the younger man’s. ‘You’re cute.’

‘I’m serious,’ Namjoon insists, though Seokjin already knew that. ‘What is the correct protocol when worrying for a Kim Taehyung? Do tell me.’

Seokjin laughs gently, careful not to jostle Taehyung too much. ‘I’ll teach you someday, Joon-ah,’ he promises in a whisper. ‘But it’s too late this time. I’m already worried.’

They’re both quiet for a moment, Namjoon’s fingers swirling slow, soothing patterns over Seokjin’s chest. ‘You know, all you need to do is say the word and Yoongi would cut this whole thing off,’ he says softly.

‘And crush him quicker?’ Seokjin asks, glancing up at his boyfriend so he can see the reluctance written all over his face. ‘I’m not sure that would be better,’ he sighs, thumbing at the hair by Taehyung’s temple. ‘It’s like that battle you have with yourself when you accidentally hurt a butterfly while you’re trying to catch it. Do you let it go and hope it can heal, or do you step on it quick to put it out of its misery?’

By his ear, Namjoon lets out a soft huff of incredulous laughter. ‘God, that’s dark, hyung,’ he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to Seokjin’s neck. ‘You need to sleep or something, I dunno.’

‘Sorry,’ he murmurs, smiling briefly himself as he realises what he said. ‘I’m just sick of seeing him get hurt, that’s all.’

‘I know,’ Namjoon says, his fingers resuming their slow, swirling patterns. He laughs softly by Seokjin’s ear. ‘You know, you’re worse than a parent, hyung. You love him so much that I genuinely worry for the poor bastards who hurt him, no matter how awful they were. It really wouldn’t surprise me if several of them were found floating in the Han, mutilated beyond all recognition.’ Namjoon looks momentarily troubled. ‘And missing their genitals, probably.’

Iwatobi did, as a matter of fact, end up in the Han River, but he was perfectly alive and a very strong swimmer and Seokjin’s sure he got out just fine (not that he stuck around to find out). ‘Would you love me any less?’

Namjoon grins. ‘Would I dare say no?’ he murmurs, leaning in to catch Seokjin’s lips lightly in his own, fingers on his jaw to tilt his head up towards him. He kisses him quickly and quietly, pulling back after only a few seconds, Seokjin’s mouth begging him to follow as Namjoon smiles at him, thumb still stroking his jaw. ‘Now, why don’t you put him to bed and I’ll help you forget about this for a while,’ he suggests in low tones.

Seokjin sighs a bone-tired sort of sigh, head dropping back against the couch. ‘I’m not sure I’m in the mood anymore, Joon-ah.’

Namjoon seems unfazed, the smile turning the slightest bit smirky. ‘What if I took off all my clothes and got the Nutella?’

Oh.

Well then.

Seokjin pretends to consider that, but they both know he’s sold. ‘That might make it bearable.’

Namjoon is all dimples. ‘Great,’ he says, planting a quick kiss on Seokjin’s forehead and heading for the kitchen. ‘But hurry up, hyung, because I’m still not entirely convinced I don’t have a hazelnut allergy.’

Gently rousing Taehyung, Seokjin rolls his eyes. A few hives never hurt anyone.


Yoongi walks into the kitchen to find Jimin sucking cookie mix off Hoseok’s fingers with disturbing enthusiasm. There was a time in the not too distant past that Yoongi would’ve turned on his heel and fled back to his room at the sight, but that was before he caught them in a variety of much, much worse positions (one memorable occasion involving little clothing and a headband adorned with fluffy white cat ears).

‘You guys are fucking disgusting,’ he mutters, yanking open the fridge.

‘Oh, hey, hyung,’ Jimin chirps brightly, more immune to Yoongi’s verbal abuse than even Hoseok at this point. ‘We’re making Halloween cookies. You wanna help?’

‘No,’ Yoongi grumbles, grabbing a can of mango juice from the fridge, though he wanders over to investigate anyway. If he’s totally honest with himself, it was the smell that lured him out here in the first place, warm and sweet and strangely Christmassy.

Laid out on the counter is a bowl of the leftover cookie mix, pockmarked from fingertips, surrounded by other random baking decorations and a myriad of Halloween themed cutters, witches’ hats, ghosts, bats, haunted houses. Hoseok is busy stirring a bowl full of bright orange icing, some kind of white powder dusted in his dark hair (Yoongi doesn’t ask).

‘We’re gonna make the pumpkin ones,’ Jimin explains, as Yoongi leans against the counter next to him, sipping from his can. ‘You want some cookie mix, hyung?’

He wrinkles his nose at the offered bowl. ‘I think that poor cookie mix has been violated quite enough,’ he mutters, and Jimin’s cheeks flush a bright pink.

‘Ah, you’re embarrassing him, hyung,’ Hoseok says, a grin all over his face as he watches his boyfriend blush.

‘Well, maybe he should stop giving you psuedo-blowjobs in the kitchen.’

Still stirring lumps out of the icing, Hoseok leans over to Jimin conspiratorially. ‘I think that means real blowjobs are still okay,’ he stage whispers, and Jimin jerks away from him, shoving his shoulder hard enough that he almost drops the bowl.

‘Hyung!’ he snaps, and Yoongi hides his laugh with another sip of his drink, watching in amusement as Hoseok stumbles to regain his balance, eyes wide and quivering with faux heartbreak. It’s at times like this Yoongi remembers why he decided to like Jimin.

Jiminnie,’ Hoseok says in a weak voice, hand clutching dramatically at his chest. ‘How… how could you?’

‘You’re not funny, hyung,’ Jimin says, lips pursed, clearly trying not to laugh.

‘Maybe not,’ Hoseok agrees, dropping the theatrics and going back to his stirring, ‘but you are.’

Jimin frowns. ‘How am I funny?’

‘Because you have an orange nose,’ Hoseok says, shrugging as if this was entirely obvious.

Jimin touches his nose, glances at Yoongi, brow furrowed in question. Yoongi shrugs, just as baffled as the younger boy.

‘No, I don’t, hyung...’ Jimin says slowly.

Hoseok glances up, blinking in surprise. ‘Oh, so you don’t,’ he murmurs, and whips the spoon out of the mixing bowl faster than either them can blink, smearing the back of it over Jimin’s nose. ‘But now you do!’ he announces gleefully, stumbling backwards several steps with the force of his own evil cackling.

‘Hyung!’ Jimin snaps again, though he’s grinning himself as he tries not to laugh. ‘Oh my god, you’re so annoying!’

Hoseok, with his A+ aiming skills, managed to get a stripe of the stuff over Jimin’s cheek, a touch between his eyebrows as well as his nose, and Yoongi can’t help but chuckle at the sight he makes, finger poking at the icing on his cheek as if he’s not quite sure what to do with it.

‘Don’t laugh at me, guys!’ he grumbles sullenly, which of course only makes them both laugh harder, Yoongi not even bothering to hide behind his drink anymore. ‘This is seriously so gross.’

‘I would lick it off your face,’ Hoseok says, using his thumb to wipe some from the side of Jimin’s nose before sticking it in his own mouth, ‘but I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung would throw a fit.’

‘Probably,’ Yoongi admits, taking a swig of his juice and pretending, for the sake of being a decent friend, that he doesn’t see Hoseok lean in to kiss some icing off the tip of Jimin’s nose.

‘I hate you,’ Jimin mumbles, taking the paper napkin Hoseok presses into his hand and wiping at his face. He’s biting back a smile and he’s not doing it very well. ‘I hate you both.’

‘Well, channel that hatred into making spooky cookie masterpieces,’ Hoseok advises, setting the icing down in front of Jimin and patting him goodnaturedly on the ass before he wanders over to check on the batch in the oven. Jimin tosses a handful of icing sugar at him and the white dust in his hair suddenly makes a lot more sense.

‘I swear to god, Park Jimin, when I’m done here, I am going to destroy you,’ Hoseok vows, running his fingers through his hair, clouds of white erupting around his head. Next to Yoongi, Jimin giggles quietly, making no secret of the fact that he’s checking Hoseok out as he bends over at the oven.

Yoongi sighs heavily.

They’re fucking disgusting.

‘Hey, pass me those chocolate chips and I’ll leave you two to make out or whatever,’ he says, pushing himself away from the counter, drink in hand.

‘You’re coming to the party tomorrow night, aren’t you, hyung?’ Jimin asks, reaching over the cookies on the cooling rack to snag the little bag of dark chocolate chips, Yoongi’s favourite part of Hoseok’s current baking craze.

He shakes his head. ‘Not much of a party person.’

‘But it’s Jackson’s party,’ Jimin says, wide-eyed, as if this alone is supposed to change Yoongi’s mind. ‘His Halloween parties are infamous, hyung,’ he goes on, noting Yoongi’s blank look. ‘They’re always amazing. Last year was insane. I mean, I’m pretty sure the punch was spiked with something seriously illegal, but apart from that…’

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but decides not to press the matter. ‘I don’t--’

‘It’s our final year, hyung!’ Hoseok reminds him, from where he’s still fiddling with the oven turning the tray so the cookies brown evenly. ‘Of all years, you have to go. It’s a rite of passage.’

‘And Taetae’s going,’ Jimin adds, a sly curl at the corner of his mouth that has Yoongi narrowing his eyes, digging out a handful of the chocolate chips.

‘Good for him,’ he says dismissively, but Jimin’s smirk stays in place as he dunks a cooled cookie into the icing.

‘And his costume is really freakin’ hot, hyung,’ he goes on enthusiastically, eyes widening to perfect circles to emphasise his words. ‘For real, I’d fuck him if Hoseok-hyung would let me.’

‘When did I say I wouldn’t?’ Hoseok inquires innocently.

(They both do the smart thing here and ignore him, albeit blushingly on Jimin’s part.)

‘I mean, if you don’t go,’ Jimin goes on, a definite coyness tainting his tone as he lays the iced cookie out to set, ‘you never know who might take him home, looking the way he’s gonna.’

Eyes still narrowed, Yoongi tosses some of the chocolate chips into his mouth, chewing slowly as he tries to analyse the smirk all over Park Jimin's face. He has no idea what the younger boy is trying to pull here, but Yoongi hates parties with a passion and Jimin's going to have to come up with more than that to get him to go. ‘Well, you can tell Taehyung I wish him and his new plaything all the best,’ Yoongi says finally, turning for the living room with a flash of a grin at Jimin’s answering pout.


 

The dark, damp heat, the heavy press of bodies, the sickening sweetness of the smoke machines, music so loud you can’t even hear it, can only feel the bass thudding under your feet. Yoongi has never been a fan of parties, especially not the Halloween kind, with suspiciously coloured punches on every surface, nerds dressed in Hogwarts uniforms concocting lethal soju potions in the kitchen, a wrecked-looking Elsa weaving through the crowd, handing out pretty little pumpkin-shaped pills from her snowflake handbag. He’s never been a fan of parties, but as it turns out, his breaking poitn the night before came in the form of still-warm home-baked cookies and Park Jimin’s puppy-dog eyes. Using these unfair methods of bribery, Hoseok managed to convince him that the Jackson Wang Halloween Extravanganza was an experience he simply couldn’t go without.

The student house is like a scene from the kind of nightmares that creep into Yoongi’s sleep only when he’s stressed as fuck and has been living off straight E-numbers for the past week. There are the usual suspects, the Playboy bunnies and the tiny faux leather nurse outfits, some girl in a black bikini wearing cat ears and a tail. There are the Frankensteins and witches, angels and devils and generic vampires, store-bought capes and plastic fangs, stripes of red paint at the corners of their mouths. Zombies and ghosts and heroes and villains and some idiot in a massive minion suit who will no doubt suffocate before morning. There are other costumes, too, the handiwork of the art students, the gruesome make-up jobs that have Hoseok wide-eyed and screaming, Jimin off to the side somewhere pissing himself laughing with Seokjin, and the band of faeries with outfits so ethereal that even Yoongi turns to watch them float through the crowd when Namjoon woahs loudly behind him. But, like most parties, it’s stifling, overwhelming and Yoongi knows the moment he walks in the door that he will need a lot of soju to make this bearable.

Luckily, soju is something there is, indeed, a lot of.

Time is not a concept in this house tonight, so Yoongi has no idea how long has passed when he starts to enjoy himself. He measures the night in drinks: four beers, he reckons, though he lost count of the shots sometime after Hoseok made him down a few rounds of that bright blue substance that tasted like raspberries and nuclear waste. He finds himself, at some point, leaning against the wall by the kitchen door, Namjoon next to him babbling about an upcoming open mic night in Club Z, one of his favourite haunts. Yoongi’s fingertips are pretty numb, head a little fuzzy, but other than that, he’s doing okay, giving in to the light warmth spreading through his veins.

Namjoon turned up to the party dressed, of course, in some kind of army officer’s uniform, fitted to perfection, buttons gleaming, silver hair slicked back and shimmering under the lights. Yoongi is oh-so-lucky enough to have a clear view of Seokjin over Namjoon’s shoulder, eyeing up his boyfriend across the room like a jungle cat on the freaking prowl. Yoongi wrinkles his nose and takes another swig of his beer, trying not to think about how much fun Seokjin’s going to have with that uniform later.

And Namjoon is talking to him, something about Yoongi’s Twitter feed, how people are wondering where he’s at, why he’s not circulating the clubs again, and what about this mixtape he mentioned that one time when he was drunk after a rap battle win and didn’t know any better? Yoongi was listening, had been in deep discussion just seconds ago about getting together again, the three of them, collaborating on another new track. He was just in the middle of telling Namjoon that he was messing around with a beat that could work for them when his VIP view of Seokjin thirsting from afar actually became useful for something.

And if one thing’s been proven tonight, it’s that Park Jimin is no liar.

Kim Taehyung has turned up to Jackson’s party dressed head-to-toe in tight black, a cape past his knees, hair sleek and shining under the lights. His face is too pale, just slightly, lips a violent red, dabs of blood at the corners of his mouth. Black liner is slicked darkly around his eyes and Yoongi can't be sure, not at this distance, but when Taehyung turns to grin at his cousin, it's almost as if his irises flash crimson in the dark. And around his throat, if Yoongi squints, is that--

Is that a fucking choker?

'Uh... hyung?'

Yoongi blinks, turning back to Namjoon. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘You were talking,’ Namjoon tells him. ‘Something about a new beat you’ve been working on.’

‘Oh, right, yeah…’ Yoongi murmurs, eyes dragged briefly to the side again as Seokjin bursts into laughter at Taehyung tugging the plastic set of glow-in-the-dark fangs out of his mouth, face scrunched in disgust. ‘It’s, uh, nowhere near finished or anything,’ he goes on distractedly, ‘but you could come over tomorrow or something and, uh…’

On the other side of the room, Jimin appears, impossible to miss with his scarlet hair all but glowing in the dark, bouncing around Taehyung and Seokjin, so hyper that Yoongi almost wonders if Elsa managed to slip something into his drink. Yoongi didn’t think much of Hoseok’s prison uniform until they arrived at the party and Jimin bounded up wearing a police officer’s outfit. For the good of humanity, Yoongi chose not to think too hard about that one. Right now, Jimin seems to be dragging the other two out to dance, Seokjin digging his heels in, Taehyung pouting at his cousin and tugging on his other arm.

‘Do you want a moment alone, hyung?’ Namjoon asks, a drawling edge to his voice. ‘I mean, I would totally understand, Taehyung’s jeans are very tight.’

That snaps Yoongi out of it, turning back to pin Namjoon with a lazy glower. ‘You’re hilarious, Namjoon-ah.’

The younger man holds his palms up. ‘I’m jussayin’, hyung. You seemed pretty transfixed.’

‘What were we talking about anyway?’ Yoongi sighs, because he’s found over the weeks that ignoring these jibes is generally the way to go.

Namjoon smirks. ‘You don’t even remember?’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

Namjoon chuckles as he takes a sip from his skull-shaped goblet of deathly looking orange liquid which was labelled Pumpkin Punch in its cauldron in the kitchen, though it tasted more like hand sanitiser. ‘No, let’s talk about this now.’

‘And what’s “this”?’ Yoongi asks in a monotone.

‘I dunno, hyung,’ Namjoon says, eyes sliding out to the dancefloor. ‘You tell me.’

Yoongi follows his gaze through the thick press of bodies moving to the beat of the bass pulsing underfoot. They’re a dark sea of rainbow-stained skin and gruesome faces flashing under the lights, but Jimin’s hair is still a beacon amongst the crowd, Taehyung right next to him… well, more like on him, really. Yoongi can more or less make out the song, the beat heavy, smooth and sensuous, the type of song that gets people dry humping on the dancefloor, and these two are no exception. They’re all fluid body rolls and grinding hips and grabby hands. If Yoongi didn’t know any better, he’d be convinced they’d be fucking in the bathroom within the hour. Even knowing them as he does, he’s not convinced they won’t be. He doesn’t know what they get up to when left alone and he goes out of his way to avoid wondering.

‘What’s up, guys?’ Hoseok asks, appearing with a bottle of beer in one hand, Jimin’s police cap perched at a precarious angle on his head. His balance is a little woozy, lips tinted green from the toxic apple stuff he was drinking, but parties are Hoseok’s natural habitat and he is clearly thriving.

‘Yoongi-hyung’s perving on Taehyung,’ Namjoon replies.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. ‘What’s new?’ he sighs dismissively.

‘Have you seen this?’ Yoongi asks him, a small part of him realising that he is kind of doing exactly what he’s been judging Seokjin for all night. He decides to ignore that small part in favour of following Taehyung’s hips as he rolls them around like it’s fucking nothing, like he’s not practically acting out a softcore porno with his best friend on a crowded dancefloor.

Hoseok takes a swig of beer, glancing out at the dancing pair. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, voice dipped low, expression appreciative as he eyes them up and down. ‘It’s way hotter than it should be.’

‘They look like they’re about to fuck each other right there,’ Yoongi observes, his tone sounding disturbingly like Hoseok’s -- low, mildly perverted awe.

Hoseok gives him a look. ‘That’s the way they always look, hyung. Thought you’d be used to it by now.’

They watch the two for a moment longer as the heavier beat of the chorus brings on hotter, heavier dance moves, and Yoongi’s not sure how Hoseok can seriously be okay with this. ‘You’re never worried they’re just gonna elope one day and leave you hanging?’ he asks, as Jimin slings his arms around Taehyung’s neck, their noses a hairsbreadth apart, eyelids low.

‘Namjoon-ah,’ Hoseok says, instead of replying, ‘you did a psych module last year, right?’

Namjoon frowns as he takes a sip from his goblet. ‘Mm...’

‘Could hyung be projecting his fears onto me?’

‘Yah,’ Yoongi grumbles, hitting out half-heartedly at Hoseok’s arm. ‘Stop acting like this is a thing.’

Namjoon snickers at the smirk Hoseok throws Yoongi’s way. ‘Oh, so it’s still not a thing, huh?’ Hoseok says, an eyebrow arching with evil intent. ‘Namjoon-ah, guess what I woke up to the morning after Jiminnie’s birthday?’

Yoongi groans -- this again, of fucking course.

‘What?’ Namjoon asks, enjoying his role in this far too much.

‘Kim Taehyung sneaking back into his apartment, covered in hickies and wearing Yoongi-hyung’s shirt,’ Hoseok says, grinning an awful sort of grin as Yoongi burns holes in the side of his face with his eyes.

‘Clothes-sharing now, huh?’ Namjoon practically coos, nudging Yoongi with an elbow. ‘That’s cute, hyung.’

‘His own t-shirt was covered in cum,’ Yoongi grumbles. ‘Yeah, fucking adorable.’

Namjoon immediately recoils, grin vanishing in place of a scandalised grimace. ‘Come on, hyung, I did not need to know that!’

‘Then stop siding with this bastard,’ Yoongi replies simply, flashing him a smile full of faux sweetness.

‘I’m jussayin’, Yoongi-ah,’ Hoseok goes on, slinging an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, the soju leaving him fearless. ‘You two see each other practically everyday. You say it’s not a thing, but I’m getting hella suspicious.’

‘And Jin-hyung’s getting worried,’ Namjoon chips in, his tone sobered up a touch -- because if Seokjin’s worried then by default so is Namjoon.

Yoongi’s face goes from scowl to frown as he turns to his younger friend. ‘Thought Jin-hyung was turning a blind eye?’

Namjoon gives him a meaningful sort of look. ‘That was a month ago, hyung. I think it’s getting a lot harder to pretend nothing’s happening.’

Oh.

Yoongi takes a deep pull from his beer to hide his surprise at that.

Really? It’s been a month since Seokijn and Hoseok walked in on them? But if it’s been a month since that, then it’s been… (With some difficulty, Yoongi coaxes his woozy brain into doing some quick mental math and almost gags on his beer.)

It’s been two months since Seokjin’s party.

Two months.

Holy shit, Yoongi thinks, eyes drifting back out to the dancefloor as he swallows his beer slowly, still wary of choking. How the hell did two months manage to saunter past without him even noticing?

‘Time flies when you’re having fun, hyung,’ Hoseok drawls, from where he’s still got an arm slung around Yoongi’s neck, as much for balance as to be annoying now. Yoongi would push him over if he wasn’t certain he’d be dragged down too.

‘Fuck you, Hoseok.’

‘You know, hyung, I’d let you only for have you seen my boyfriend?’

Yoongi has seen his boyfriend -- can see his boyfriend -- but even with the bold hair and vicious body rolls, Jimin is not the one managing to hold his attention. Jimin is a dancer, professional, hoping to make a career out of it, like Hoseok. Taehyung, as far as Yoongi knows, is nothing of the sort, but he’s either picked up a thing or two from his friends or his hips are a literal gift from the depths of Hell itself. He knows exactly what to do with them, and even when he doesn’t, even when he’s stumbling mid-slut drop, his giggles drowned out by the music as he clings to Jimin, Yoongi still can’t stop watching. 

 

 ---

 

Taehyung loves parties, especially the Halloween kind. It’s like stepping through the looking glass, into another world where no one is who they were yesterday, where every flash of the coloured lights overhead shows up a new face, a pixie with glowing paints striped over her cheeks, a werewolf with striking yellow eyes, bloodied fangs down to his chin, a zombie with grey, mottled skin, flesh hanging from its face. The mixture of wonder and terror as he presses through the crowds of creatures hums down Taehyung’s spine, amplifying the effects of the strange little cocktails he and Jimin spent far too long sampling. It’s gotten to the point where everything is too sharp and a little blurry at the same time, the music thundering through his skull, lights streaking oddly across his vision and Taehyung could stay here forever, trapped happily in this one night where everyone’s as weird as he is.

Taetae!’ Jimin yells, dragging him back to some semblance of reality, the damp heat and the dizzying scents of perfumes and people washing over him in a single wave.

They were dancing. Taehyung was kind of lost in his own world, but he knows they were dancing, Jimin’s hands still on his shoulders. He ducks his head down slightly, so the shorter boy can yell in his ear.

‘I’m gonna die in here, let’s get drinks!’

Incidentally, Taehyung’s been ignoring a craving for more of that pretty pink stuff for quite some time now. He grins in reply because if he screams anymore tonight, he may never speak again, and allows himself to be dragged through the press of bodies by his considerably stronger partner in crime.

The kitchen is a little less crazy, but not by much, the whole place in semi-darkness, lit by strings of lights hanging from the ceiling, skulls and pumpkins and glowing purple bats. The music is muffled slightly here at the back of the house, replaced with dozens of people trying to have their loud conversations heard over everyone else’s loud conversations. On the kitchen island, plastic cauldrons hold liquids in all the colours of the rainbow and more, though levels are dwindling this late into the night, confetti stars floating in the Blueberry Bloodbath. Taehyung makes a beeline for the pink one, dubbed Strawberry Slaughter, while Jimin busies himself with the red stuff that matches his hair and tastes so violently of cherries that Taehyung had to spit it out.

‘Yah! You two!’ Hoseok’s voice calls over the din, making them both turn. The older boy is across the room by the kitchen table with Namjoon and Seokjin, a daunting row of shots lined up on the table in front of them. ‘You joining us or what?’

‘What you got?’ Jimin asks, going to drape himself on Hoseok, peering over his shoulder. His eyes light up, wide and gleaming. ‘Is that tequila?’

Hoseok grins his most wicked of Cheshire grins. ‘Yup.’

What?’ another voice demands, Min Yoongi materialising out of nowhere. It takes Taehyung a couple of seconds of wondering if Yoongi really is part Satan or something before he realises the smaller man was all but hidden from view by Seokjin and his gargantuan shoulders. The welcome reminder that Yoongi is one of the tiny humans makes it very difficult for Taehyung to control the giggles that have been bubbling in his throat all night. Yoongi, however, looks like he’s about to end a life, so Taehyung presses his lips together and prays hard for the giggle gods that be to spare him this one time.

‘You gave me tequila?’ Yoongi is saying, rounding on Hoseok with murder in his eyes.

Hoseok is too drunk and too Hoseok to be afraid. ‘Maybe…’ he drawls, a sly smirk all over his face.

‘Are you fucking serious, Hoseok,’ Yoongi hisses, leaning in so he can practically whisper. ‘You know I don’t do well with tequila.’

‘On the contrary, Yoongi-ah, you usually do very well with tequila,’ Seokjin argues lightly, in a tone that has Taehyung perfectly intrigued, glancing between his hyungs with a curious gaze.

‘Okay, shut up,’ Yoongi mutters, backing down and—

Taehyung’s eyes almost drop out of his head when he notices the colour sneaking into Yoongi’s cheeks, colour that could maybe be blamed on the alcohol if it’d been there five seconds ago, which it was not.

‘Ah, come on, hyung,’ Hoseok says, nudging him lightly with an elbow as he picks up a shot for himself. ‘Taetae’s never experienced the glorious wonder that is Min Yoongi on tequila.’ He winks suggestively. ‘It’ll be like an early birthday present.’

At that, Yoongi doesn’t seem to move a single muscle as he glowers at his younger friend, but all of a sudden, Hoseok shrieks in shock and pain, tequila sloshing out of his plastic shot glass as he drops it on the table.

Yoongi,’ Seokjin says, trying to sound reproachful, though he’s clearly biting back a laugh.

Why, hyung?’ Hoseok wails, clutching at his side while Yoongi stands next to him, shrugging innocently – or as innocent as Min Yoongi can manage anyway, which is still low-key evil. ‘You are rotten inside, you know that, hyung?’

Yoongi smiles, sweetly sinister, and picks up his beer from where it was sitting on the table. There’s a moment before they do the shots where Jimin is tending to Hoseok’s injury by trying to climb down his boyfriend’s throat and Seokjin is busy whispering something in Namjoon’s ear behind his hand. There’s a moment where Yoongi seems to accidentally catch Taehyung’s eye, scowling almost as soon as he does, like it’s Taehyung’s fault they have to look at each other now and what a chore that is, but Taehyung is too bubbly and drunk and hot to be fazed. He raises an eyebrow in silent question, gaze sweeping briefly over the small army of tequila shots before landing back on Yoongi’s face right in time to watch the colour in his cheeks deepen.

Fuck off, the older boy mouths before bringing his bottle back to his lips and looking away.

Taehyung continues to smirk at him a moment longer, eyes on the sharp curve of his jaw as he tilts his head back to drink, the bob of his adam’s apple as his swallows, the flush of his lips where they’re pressed to the tip of bottle. Taehyung feels something fiery crawl into his stomach and make itself at home, little waves of heat itching softly under his skin. He thinks of Hoseok’s wink and the suggestion dripping from Seokjin’s voice and he just hopes to god he’ll get to witness the glorious wonder that is Min Yoongi on tequila.

 

---

 

It’s several rounds of the tequila, more dancing and another shot of Strawberry Slaughter later when Jimin and Hoseok disappear, and Taehyung can’t be certain, but he’s pretty sure Hoseok was wearing handcuffs when Jimin dragged him away. Taehyung decides not to think too much about that and starts to get freaked out by how handsy and close and gross Seokjin and Namjoon are getting in a dark corner of the kitchen, so he decides that now’s as good a time as any to hunt down snacks or friends or something -- anything that's not watching his psuedo-parents make out.

He's almost out of the kitchen when he feels someone catch at his sleeve, fingers curling around his wrist and he looks up to find Yoongi leaning against the wall by the door. He's with a group of older students Taehyung recognises as friends of Namjoon's from various music courses, but they're engrossed in their conversation, barely sparing Taehyung a look. Apart from Yoongi. Yoongi is looking at him, the string lights on the ceiling reflected oddly in his dark eyes.

'You busy?' he asks, voice low enough that the others can't hear him.

Taehyung feels his cheeks heat as the fiery thing in his stomach perks up curiously. He shakes his head.

'Top of the stairs, five minutes,' Yoongi murmurs, and waits until Taehyung nods before he lets his fingers slip away from his wrist, turning back to the others without another word.

Taehyung doesn't bother waiting around. He's up those stairs in thirty seconds, leaning against the banister, trying out different poses he could use to make it look like he only just got there. But apparently Yoongi doesn't bother waiting the five minutes either because Taehyung is still busy trying to arrange himself into something that says "sexy nonchalance" when someone suddenly has fistfuls of his cape and their lips collide so hard Taehyung swears he tastes blood in his mouth.

Not that he's complaining.

Though he is slightly concerned that he has no idea whether his assailant is actually Yoongi, so he’s slow about responding, flailing for a couple seconds while he cracks open an eye. He breathes out a small sigh of relief as his hands drop to find Yoongi’s waist and Yoongi’s tongue finds (well, forces, really) its way into Taehyung’s mouth, raspberries and beer and the tang of tequi—

Then it’s gone, as suddenly as it came, Taehyung left wide-eyed and breathless as he stares at a glowering Yoongi, still gripping handfuls of his cape, face centimetres away. ‘Why the fuck do you look so good in this outfit?’ he demands, sounding so genuinely affronted that Taehyung almost misses the fact that Yoongi kinda sorta complimented him maybe? Was that a compliment? It was really more of an accusation, but if studied through an electron microscope it could maybe be loosely linked to the compliment family, right?

‘Uh… sorry?’ Taehyung mumbles, not quite sure it’s the right thing to say, though he figures it’s probably better than thank you.

Yoongi glowers at him a split second longer, just long enough for Taehyung to watch the annoyance in his eyes melt into something else, something dark and liquid and terrifying. Slowly, he pulls Taehyung back into him, gentler this time, more kissing and less trying to suck his soul out through his mouth. His hold on Taehyung’s cape loosens as his palms slide down the younger’s chest, to his waist, hips, lower.

‘These fucking jeans, Tae,’ he breathes, as his hands find Taehyung’s ass, gripping tight to pull him closer, Taehyung’s body pressed against Yoongi’s pressed against the wall. That might’ve been another compliment in disguise, but Taehyung is already too far gone to spare it much thought, more concerned with the fingers slipping into his back pockets and Yoongi’s voice, caught in a rough place between a whisper and a growl, the voice that means he wants something and now and god—Taehyung is more than willing to give it.

Yoongi’s hands slide up again to pull his shirt out of his jeans with a few sharp, impatient tugs, tongue teasing at the seam of Taehyung’s lips without venturing any further. Taehyung is close to whining in dismay until the elder’s hands slip underneath the sweat-dampened fabric, up over his back, light and delicate, not the same hands that just clawed at his jeans like he intended to tear through the denim with his nails alone. Yoongi’s fingers are unusually warm from the heat of the party downstairs, but the touch of bare skin on bare skin still makes Taehyung shiver all the same, anticipation feeding the fiery thing in the pit of his stomach.

His own hands move from Yoongi’s shoulders to kind of try to cup his jaw, angle the kiss better, except Yoongi has a small head and Taehyung has gigantic hands, so he ends up kind of holding his entire head instead. Whatever. Any other time, Taehyung would stop everything just to point this fact out and let Yoongi tear him to shreds for it, but right now--right now is not the time for that. Right now, there is a fiery thing in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach and it needs more—more skin, more Yoongi, just more of this exact thing because Yoongi’s tongue is making its way, softly, sneakily, back into Taehyung’s mouth, hot and wet, and it is so, so good.

‘Hyung,’ Taehyung murmurs, drawing back enough that their lips part. His entire body hums desperately in protest, but they're right at the top of the stairs -- anyone might see them. ‘Hyung, we should—‘

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi agrees, before he’s even finished speaking, hands slipping out from under Taehyung’s shirt and cape as he glances down the hall. Taehyung knows from his stroll up this way earlier in search of a bathroom that all the bedrooms are occupied, torn stockings and witches’ hats and, in one case, a Hufflepuff tie hanging from the door handles, warding off intruders.

He mentions this to Yoongi, trying really hard not to get distracted by the pale slope of the elder’s neck. Taehyung knows he's playing into the stereotype of his costume, but he also knows how soft the skin of Yoongi's throat is and how reluctantly responsive the elder can be under his lips. He could just lean in right now, run his tongue out gently, leave a new mark in amongst the remnants of the ones he left  a few nights ago, faint shadows on the light skin, stark against the black of his outfit and—and what is Yoongi even supposed to be? He's dressed in a plain black hoodie, black jeans and black boots, his face clear of any kind of cheap face-paint or makeup. If Taehyung’s going to be honest, he really just looks like he’s wearing his regular clothes.

‘Don’t need a bedroom,’ Yoongi says, catching Taehyung’s wrist and dragging him across the hall.

‘We don’t?’ Taehyung tries not to sound disappointed, though he really doesn’t manage it very well.

Instead of replying, Yoongi opens a door and shoves him into a room lit so brightly after spending the evening in the semi-dark that Taehyung can’t see a thing for several seconds. That’s quite enough time for Yoongi to push him further into the room, his back hitting a wall, hard and smooth and icy cold--

Tiles?

Tiles, his brain confirms, as his eyes adjust. They’re in a bathroom and Taehyung is backed up against the wall between the shower and the sink. And Yoongi is by the door, eyes on Taehyung, heavy and burning, as he snaps the lock shut. He’s on him in seconds again, but this time Yoongi’s hands go straight for his hair, taking full control of the kiss, tilting Taehyung’s head whichever way he damn well pleases, tongue roaming Taehyung’s mouth as if it hasn’t already mapped out every inch of the place a hundred times over. Bathroom sex is generally awkward and someone almost always gets hurt, but Yoongi has him pressed up against this wall so hard Taehyung can barely breathe, the heat in his jeans growing with every slight shift of Yoongi’s body against his, and Taehyung reckons he could just maybe get on board with bathroom sex. Just this one time.

Fuck, Tae,’ Yoongi breathes, words all but lost against Taehyung’s lips, the older boy’s fingers tightening his hair. Taehyung’s eyes flutter open to see Yoongi watching him through dark slits, deep black and endless even under the bright lights. Taehyung knows he’s drunk, knows they both are, but there’s something else different about Yoongi, something in the near desperate strength in his hands and kisses, something bright and electric about his gaze that Taehyung’s never seen before, drunk or sober.

‘You never mentioned you could dance like that,’ Yoongi rasps, leaning in to pay some attention to Taehyung’s jaw, his breath hot in the shell of his ear, low and heady and borderline threatening.

‘Like—like what, hyung?’ Taehyung asks, fingers clawing at the back of Yoongi’s hoodie as the older boy slots a thigh between his legs. ‘I-I don’t—ah, hyung—d-dance like anything.’

‘You dance like fuckin something, Taehyung,’ he argues, a husky edge to his voice as his teeth graze Taehyung’s throat, smooth and painless, but utterly dangerous, like being nuzzled by a tiger shark. ‘“Nothing” doesn’t look like that,’ he goes on. His teeth catch on the choker and tug lightly and maybe Taehyung whimpers. Just a little. ‘“Nothing” wouldn’t drive me fucking insane.’

And even in Taehyung’s current state, those words manage to get through to him, to fight their way through the mush his brain has become under the influence of alcohol and Min Yoongi’s voice. ‘What--really?’ he sputters, blinking at the older boy in surprise, but Yoongi is done talking — if the way he presses his thigh up against Taehyung’s crotch is anything to go by.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he whispers, lips snagging on Taehyung’s with the words and then they’re kissing again and Taehyung can’t breathe again and Taehyung doesn’t want to because apparently he drives Min Yoongi insane, so to hell with health and safety and intact spines because bathroom sex is cool, Taehyung is so down for bathroom sex.

Yoongi kisses him some more, kisses him until Taehyung is breathing like he just ran a marathon up a mountain, kisses him until everything is too hot and too tight and he feels ready to pass out from the feeling of Yoongi’s thigh between his legs, Yoongi’s hands in his hair, on his hips, underneath his shirt, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans, his boxers.

‘D’you remember our contest?’

If he’s going to be honest, Taehyung is having quite a bit of trouble remembering his own name right now. ‘C-contest, hyung?’ he asks, his voice pitching in the worst way when Yoongi moves his thigh, a slow, maddening friction, so far from enough.

Yoongi hums in assent against the hollow of his throat, sucking lightly on a patch of skin already bruised and over-sensitive, tongue flicking over it to have Taehyung’s  breath rushing out of him. ‘I never did get my round in, did I?'

Taehyung has no idea what he’s talking about, can’t even function enough to work it out in his head, to think through the dense, hot fog clouding his mind and remember what in god’s name he could be referring to. He is lost to the feeling of Yoongi’s fingers brushing his stomach as he undoes the fly of his jeans, dragging against the bare skin of his thighs as he shoves them down. And Yoongi’s hand is on him, through the thin material of his boxers, nowhere near thin enough.

Hyung,’ Taehyung half groans half whines, as Yoongi’s palm moves over him, teasing in the worst ways. ‘Hyung, please...’

‘Please, what?’ Yoongi asks, and he sounds so calm, so steady and calm and Taehyung doesn’t know how the hell he’s doing it.

‘You know what,’ he replies in a strained voice, hips bucking forward into Yoongi’s hand.

‘I don’t,’ Yoongi murmurs, lips teasing Taehyung’s jaw now. ‘You have to say it.’

Taehyung’s cheeks flush hard and hot, but he knows Yoongi well enough by now to hear it in his voice -- he won’t give in till he gets his way. He’s more than happy to get Taehyung off just like this, slow and torturous and not a hint of skin on skin. But the thought alone makes Taehyung whimper and squirm -- he can’t. ‘T-touch me,’ he breathes, and goddammit, he can hear the smirk in Yoongi’s voice when he speaks again.

‘I am touching you.’

Taehyung resists the urge to scream at him. ‘Hyung.’

‘Be more specific,’ Yoongi commands quietly, lips on his ear, tongue flicking out to torture his earlobe. ‘Use your words, Tae.’

Boxers,’ he gasps. ‘Boxers, hyung. Off. Please, y-your hand. I-I need you--your--’

‘That’s better,’ Yoongi murmurs, pushing Taehung’s boxers down to join his jeans with one quick, clean tug. And when his fingers finally--finally--wrap themselves around Taehyung’s cock in a firm fist, Taehyung’s already too far gone to be ashamed of the noise he makes. Two strokes and the slide is already slick and Taehyung is already shaking, but Yoongi’s not done teasing, not by a long shot.

‘So, you don’t remember?’ he asks, pulling away just enough to speak, kissing the younger again even as he’s trying to find the breath to answer. In the end, Taehyung manages no more than a few shakes of his head, some garbled versions of hyung, please tumbling out of his mouth as Yoongi’s thumb runs over the head of cock, light and fleeting, so far from being enough that Taehyung could cry.

‘Was kinda hoping you’d say that,’ Yoongi says, the glint in his eyes enough to have a moan catching sharply in the younger's throat. He kisses him once more, words whispered against his mouth: ‘Let me remind you.

A split second later, Taehyung’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him upright anymore is his one-handed grip of death on the edge of the sink. Because Yoongi’s not keeping him up anymore, because Yoongi is on the floor, because freaking Min Yoongi is on his freaking knees in front of Taehyung and Taehyung’s pretty sure his legs just turned to marshmallows. Marshmallows that have been blasted in the microwave, reduced to a sticky soup that’s not much good for anything at all, never mind supporting all 61 kilos of a Kim Taehyung.

‘H-hyung--hyung, wh-what’re you doing?’ he manages to stammer out, heat rising hard and fast through his body because the fiery thing in his stomach is suddenly roaring.

‘Baking a fucking cake, Taehyung,’ Yoongi murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive skin just inside the line of his hipbone, hands smoothing hot up his thighs. And Taehyung can feel his breath and the whisper of his mouth moving closer to his cock with every press of his lips to Taehyung’s skin. Fingers sneaking up to curve around his hips, gentle with the threat of firmness should he misbehave. And Taehyung’s always been the mischievous sort, toeing the line and bending the rules, but if anything has ever been worth being good for, it’s this. It’s this. It’s Yoongi’s gaze flicking up to meet his eye for just a second, just long enough for Taehyung to lose another small piece of his soul. It’s Yoongi’s smirk when he sees Taehyung, panting and clawing at the wall already. It’s the brush of Yoongi’s eyelashes against the skin of his stomach as he shuts his eyes again, the wet heat of his tongue at the base of Taehyung’s cock dragging a whimper from the younger.

And Taehyung remembers. He remembers the library bathroom stall and Yoongi’s fingers tangled in his bangs. His stuttered breaths, ragged moans badly stifled, echoing off the tiled walls. Was that a challenge, you little shit? And Taehyung remembers his reply, hoarse but coy as you like, Might’ve been. Taehyung remembers most of it, but what he can’t recall is where in the name of Jesus he got that confidence from because right now, Min Yoongi’s tongue is on his dick and he can feel death approaching fast.

Yoongi licks a slow path up the underside of Taehyung’s cock, the icy air of the bathroom chilling the wet stripe, a shiver running down Taehyung’s spine. His teeth sink hard into his own lower lip as he glances down. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he’s in no fit state to have a visual to go along with the tight heat pooling in his lower stomach, but Taehyung can’t help himself. Yoongi has shoved his bangs back off his face and out of the way, cheeks flushed and skin shining from the heat rising in the small room. The dark curve of his eyelashes flicker as he works his mouth again up the side of Taehyung’s length, lips slick and smudged red at the corners from TAehyung's own make-up, eyebrows pinching in the same way they do when he’s concentrating. Taehyung’s always thought that giving head, for all its benefits, was rather an ugly and graceless venture, but not this time. Not Yoongi. Yoongi is the exact opposite. Even like this, saliva on his chin, bangs falling in damp, haphazard strands over his forehead, Taehyung thinks he looks beautiful.

He watches in awe as Yoongi’s tongue, the perfect shade of pink, rolls over the leaking head of his cock, his throat thick, caught between sucking in a gasp and breathing out a moan because holy shit. Min Yoongi normally has the core temperature of an actual icicle, but his mouth? Being sucked off by Min Yoongi, as it turns out, is like shoving his dick into the depths of hell itself and Taehyung has no idea how that can be a good thing, but dear god, it is.

Shit, hyung,’ he gasps weakly, as Yoongi’s lips finally close around him, engulfing the tip of his cock, sliding down to take more of him in as his tongue continues to work. It curls around his length, flicks over the tip, traces small circles just under the head and when Yoongi finally hollows his cheeks out, moving slowly back up, Taehyung swears he blacks out for a second, head spinning like he just stumbled off a roundabout.

The heat is unbearable, flooding through Taehyung’s veins, hair sticking to his temples, burning low in the pit of his stomach, but Yoongi’s not stupid. He knows just how close Taehyung is, knows well enough to keep his ministrations just shy of enough, to keep Taehyung clinging to the edge with his fingertips, his breath sawing rough in and out of his lungs.

He does it by accident. Doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. Yoongi pulls off to take a breather, fingers sliding up and down Taehyung’s length again, his lips moving to dust light kisses over the younger’s hipbones, the tops of his thighs, the skin at the base of his cock and Taehyung just does it. His fingers slip so naturally into Yoongi’s hair, sweat dampened and soft. They curl around the strands, gentle encouragement because Yoongi’s lips on his thighs are a new thing and he likes it and he thinks that maybe Yoongi does too by the amount of time he’s spending there instead of going back to the task quite literally at hand. Taehyung likes it an awful lot, likes Yoongi’s fingers firm on the back of his thigh holding him steady and kneading in time with his kisses, but as beautiful as Yoongi’s hands are, they’re no subsitute for his mouth. Taehyung gets impatient, the need to come itching, burning under his skin and he just does it, withouth thinking, curls his fingers tighter, tugging on Yoongi’s hair with an almost vicious force. He’s hit immediately with a stab of raw panic -- why the hell did he do that? who even does that? -- and is scrambling for an apology when he feels the huff of air against the skin of his thigh, the softest of noises as Yoongi’s lips still at the crease where his leg meets his hip.

Was that… was that a gasp?

His eyes flicker open and when he glances down, Yoongi looks up to meet his gaze head on, eyes defiant, defensive, daring him to comment and see just what the fuck happens to his dick then. But while his eyes are threatening imminent castration, the deep flush across his cheekbones is telling a different story.

Worried for his dick, but too intrigued to stop himself, Taehyung swallows hard and--and--he does it again, fingers curling tight, tugging and watching with steadily weakening limbs as Yoongi shuts his eyes, teeth grazing over Taehyung’s thigh and a soft breath of fuck rushing out of his mouth.

‘You like that,’ Taehyung whispers, his voice low and a touch reverent even to his own ears. ‘Shit, hyung--that’s, fuck, wow--hyung, you--’

But that’s as far as Yoongi lets him get before his lips are back on Taehyung’s cock again, hand still jacking him off as he takes the head into his mouth, tongue dipping into the slit and words are gone. Words are irrelevant. Words can’t describe the hot tingle running under Taehyung’s skin as Yoongi hollows his cheeks out again, every muscle in his body pulling taut and aching because he is so close. He prises his eyes open to watch Yoongi’s lips slide, slick and flushed and swollen, around his length, to watch the older boy’s brow furrow as Taehyung tightens the fist in his hair again and--and Yoongi groans, rough and rumbling, the feeling of that around his cock shuddering up through him, forcing his eyes shut again. His head tips back, spine arching away from the tiles of wall, voice choked and desperate--

Hyung, I--I’m so--

Which is all he manages before he’s hit with it, thrumming hot and hard and fast through his veins, the force of it knocking the air out of him, Yoongi’s grip on his hips possibly the only thing keeping him upright. And Yoongi swallows around him, every goddamn drop -- not something Taehyung was expecting, but it wouldn’t be the first time Yoongi’s surprised him. He continues bobbing shallowly, curling his tongue around Taehyung’s length and Taehyung wants to stay in this exact spot forever because Min Yoongi's tongue on his cock might be the best feeling he's ever felt. But oversensitivity gets the best of him, a whimper forming low in his throat.

Yoongi pulls off with a quiet pop, breathing hard himself and Taehyung watches with his insides melting as he glances up, slender eyes meeting Taehyung’s while he licks the last drop of cum from the tip of his cock, slowly, tongue laving over the head. Taehyung bites down on his lip to hold back some kind of sound because it feels so good, but at the same time, it's too much and Taehyung's nerves are frayed and confused and buzzing under his skin. Really, it should be kind of gross, but the fiery thing in Taehyung’s stomach likes this grossness an awful lot, likes it enough that Taehyung’s pretty sure he could be rock hard again in an instant if he tried a little. And if Yoongi kept looking at him just like that, eyes hazy and hooded and absolutely predatory as he plants a last light kiss on the younger's hipbone.

Oh my god,’ Taehyung breathes, once he can actually speak, slumping against the wall as Yoongi gets to his feet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, which should also be gross, but it only makes Taehyung want to kiss him more. He feels dizzy and dazed as he lifts his gaze to meet Yoongi’s. ‘Hyung… hyung, that was…’ Taehyung still hasn’t fully regained the use of his words.

‘Does that mean I won?’ Yoongi asks, a definite quirk at the corner of his mouth as he presses his body against Taehyung’s again, kissing him while he waits on his reply.

‘Ah, hyung, I dunno…’ Taehyung mumbles, smiling against the elder’s lips. ‘I think--think we’ll need another few rounds, just to be certain.’

‘You think?’ Yoongi asks, fingertips trailing up the still bare skin of Taehyung’s thigh.

‘Mm… yeah, yeah, definitely,’ he says, Yoongi’s hand curving around the nape of his neck to pull him in deeper, tongue licking easily past his lips. But there’s still another matter to attend to, which Taehyung confirms, hand sneaking down to palm at the straining fabric of Yoongi’s jeans. ‘Pretty sure it’s my round, hyung,’ he murmurs, fingers moving up to catch at the button, but Yoongi stops him, fingers around his wrist.

‘Not here,’ he says, voice hoarse and heady, eyelids low as he pulls back to speak. ‘Later. You’re coming home with me.’

Taehyung’s eyebrows rise at Yoongi’s unusual forwardness, but he doesn’t even think of protesting. A knowing grin tugs at his lips as he takes in the heat in Yoongi’s eyes, the flush of arousal still deep across his cheekbones. ‘So, is this what tequila does to you, hyung?’

‘What?’ Yoongi asks, moving to mouth at Taehyung’s collarbones as the younger redresses himself.

‘Makes you horny as hell? Has you jumping unsuspecting victims in hallways?'

‘Mm,’ Yoongi hums against his skin. ‘Among other things.’

‘Other things?’ Taehyung asks, voice rising with curiosity as he zips himself up.

‘You don’t need to worry about the other things,’ Yoongi says brusquely, stepping back with one last nip at the hickey he just left on Taehyung’s collarbone. ‘Just focus on the horny as hell part and don’t listen to a fucking word I say, because once it hits properly, I talk shit on tequila.’

Interesting, Taehyung thinks, but he doesn’t voice this, distracted once again by Yoongi’s get-up. ‘Hyung, mind me asking what you’re supposed to be?’

Yoongi frowns at him as he unlocks the bathroom door, then glances down at himself, catching on. ‘Oh, right. A shadow.’

Taehyung’s face falls. ‘A shadow?’

‘A shadow,’ Yoongi confirms, leading the way out into the hall.

‘Hyung, that’s the worst Halloween costume in the history of bad Halloween costumes.’

‘It was this or Hoseok’s cat ears headband,’ Yoongi explains boredly. ‘The headband was itchy, so I chose this.’

Slowing to a dead halt in the middle of the hallway, Taehyung’s eyes go wide, mouth falling open in indignation. ‘Are you seriously telling me you could’ve turned up here wearing cat ears?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi says with a shrug, continuing down the hall without him.

‘And you didn’t?’ Taehyung bursts out, incredulous and feeling -- well, rather cheated out of what could’ve been a magical experience. ‘Yah, hyung, get back here!’ he yells after the older boy. ‘This is not over! You can’t just tell me this shit and--and--hyung!’

But Yoongi’s already at the end of the hallway and Taehyung would swear in a court of law that he sees him smirk as he rounds the corner for the stairs. Smirking because he knows exactly what he’s doing and the exact effect it’s having on Taehyung.

‘Cat ears,’ he whispers to himself in disbelief, shaking his head as he stares at the spot where Yoongi disappeared. ‘Freaking cat ears...

This is so not over.

Chapter Text

Yoongi’s eyes slit open to find the room half in darkness, brightened slightly by the slivers of yellowish late morning light filtering through those damned venetian blinds. He keeps promising his hungover self that he’ll buy some blackout curtains eventually, but like many of his promises, he never quite gets round to it. With a quiet groan, he presses his face into his pillow and it’s around about then that he registers the weight on the other side of the bed, the unusual heat warming the sheets and… the weird, squelchy chewing noises? Frowning, Yoongi rolls onto his back, cracking open a reluctant eye to investigate.

In the cold light of day, Kim Taehyung looks like something from a low budget x-rated horror movie. The sleek, shiny hair from last night has been replaced by a nest of tangled dark locks, the white make-up mostly faded from his face and the blood smudged strangely around his mouth. He’s lost the cape and the fangs and… well, all of the costume, really, including the frighteningly orange boxers printed with cartoon pumpkins. The choker, however, is still there, the thin leather strap doing little to hide the blooming marks on his throat. He’s sitting cross-legged next to Yoongi with a plastic pumpkin bucket in his lap and a bright green gummy worm hanging out of his mouth.

‘Mornin’, hyung,’ he mumbles, gummy worm bouncing as he speaks. ‘Was just about to leave. Did I wake you?’

Yoongi notices some more odd greyish smudges around Taehyung’s mouth and nose and vaguely remembers being kidnapped and restrained by Jimin while Taehyung and Hoseok daubed his face in make-up they got from god knows where and forced a stolen cat ears headhand onto him. A shadow is a half-assed costume, hyung, you’re a cute kitty now. He allows himself to feel some evil satisfaction that the paint ended up on Taehyung’s face as well. Karma, bitch.

Letting an arm fall over his eyes to block out the light (and the all too tempting view of Taehyung’s bare back), Yoongi shakes his head in reply to the younger’s question. ‘What time’s it?’ he asks, voice still rough with sleep and raw from the abuse it took last night, between yelling and… well, other things.

‘’bout nine-ish,’ Taehyung replies, through a mouthful of gummy worm. ‘We got back round five or six or something.’

Yoongi groans, low and pained. He’s getting too old for this shit. ‘Seriously? The fuck did we do?’

‘When we got back or—‘

‘No, I remember when we got back.’

‘Good. Thought I was about to go to jail there.’

‘Not this time.’

‘We went trick or treating,’ Taehyung says.

Under his arm, Yoongi frowns. ‘Really?’ That explains the bucketful of sweets in Taehyung’s lap, he supposes, but— ‘Why don’t I remember this?’

‘It was shortly after the tequila, hyung.’

‘Tequila?’

‘Uh-huh. The second round of tequila, that is.’

Well, that explains that, then. ‘Ah...’ he mumbles.

‘You should drink tequila more often, hyung,’ Taehyung says, and Yoongi can hear the smirk, loud and clear.

‘Tequila’s not worth the headache.’

‘But it is worth you being—‘

‘I don’t wanna know,’ Yoongi grumbles. He has heard enough horror stories from Hoseok about what happens to him after a shot of tequila – he really doesn’t need Taehyung’s input as well.

'What about...' His tone turns a little pleading. 'Hyung, please tell me you remember the bathroom?'

‘Yes, I remember the bathroom,’ Yoongi sighs, resisting the temptation to let the kid freak himself out with his own assumptions. ‘I wasn’t that drunk.... not at that point anyway.'

Taehyung lets out an audible sigh of relief. ‘Wow, that’s okay, then. Though that would’ve been worth going to jail for.’

‘You’re gross.’

‘I know, sorry,’ Taehyung sighs. ‘My brain is short-circuiting every five seconds and I feel kinda dizzy. I should probably have slept or something.’

Yoongi peeks out from under his arm to find Taehyung stuffing more of those carcinogenic looking worms into his mouth. ‘How many of those things have you had?’ he asks.

‘Dunno,’ Taehyung mumbles, frowning into the depths of the bucket. ‘A lot? Someone gave us three packs.’

Despite the fact that his eyes are entirely hidden and shut, Yoongi rolls them – he’s pretty sure the gesture is laced with enough disdain that Taehyung will feel it regardless.

‘Hey, hyung, you want one?’

Or not.

Lifting his arm a fraction, Yoongi takes one glance at the hard pumpkin candy in his hand and wrinkles his nose in disgust. ‘No,’ he mutters, shutting his eyes again.

‘Hey, hyung…’

Yoongi sighs heavily – didn’t Taehyung mention he was just leaving? ‘What?’

When he gets no immediate reply, Yoongi lets his arm fall away from his face and looks up at the younger boy. His eyes are gleaming as he presses the sweet into his own mouth. ‘You want one?’ he asks again, voice still playful and yet dripping with all the promise of sin at the same time, however the fuck he’s managing that.

The tequila-induced nausea is numbed somewhat as heat spreads through the pit of Yoongi’s stomach. He watches Taehyung for a moment, from the eyes narrowed in the threat of a smile to the lips stained red from all the blood-themed sweets he’s been eating. Maybe Yoongi feels kind of like he wants to spend the day cuddling the toilet bowl, but there’s something about the mischief in Taehyung’s face and the broad slopes of his shoulders from this angle that make him feel less like doing that.

He jerks his chin slightly and Taehyung’s unusually quick about catching on. He leans down with a dark grin and his lips, even in their first light brush against Yoongi’s, taste like straight up sugar scooped from the jar with a spoon. It’s dizzying and sweet and Yoongi’s stomach stirs in protest and he is just about regretting his decision to go along with this when Taehyung shifts on the bed, remedying the awkward angle. He does this by settling himself over Yoongi, legs either side of his hips. He pulls away for just a second to meet Yoongi’s gaze with hooded eyes, and okay, this is decidedly less unpleasant. Yoongi’s stomach grudgingly calms down as his hands wander up Taehyung’s thighs to rest on his hips and Taehyung leans down again, a quirk at the corner of his mouth and a glint in his eyes that turns the warmth in Yoongi’s stomach to a gentle burn.

Fuck the sweetness, Yoongi parts his lips and Taehyung presses the candy into his mouth, his tongue following closely behind. And it’s interesting for a while, kind of. Kissing is pretty weird and clunky when you throw a sticky ball of sugar into the mix, which leads to a few soft puffs of laughter from Taehyung, lips curving up in a grin when their tongues get particularly tangled and not in the good way. He seems to like it and Yoongi doesn’t hate it, so he plays along, the sweet shrinking as it slips between their mouths with the languid movement of their tongues. Their tongues, however, quickly become more interested in each other than the sweet, Yoongi dragging Taehyung in deeper with light tugs of his teeth on the younger’s lip. Taehyung has one hand braced against the headboard, his other elbow pointed at the side of Yoongi’s head to prop him up as he presses in further, the sweet no more than a sliver now as Yoongi passes it back. Taehyung swallows the damned thing, thank fuck, and drops a brief peck to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth before pulling back to speak, voice low.

‘You want another one, hyung?’ he asks, panting lightly against Yoongi’s lips. But Yoongi can see it, the playful spark all but gone from his eyes, leaving them black and hungry and fucking irresistible.

Yoongi curves his hand around the nape of his neck, pulling him back in. ‘No,’ he breathes into his mouth, Taehyung’s other elbow coming down to bracket Yoongi’s head as he kisses back hard.

It’s not as fast-paced as usual – it’s too early for that. This is slow and lingering, a steady push and pull, the soft press of over-sweetened tongues moving languidly against each other. Taehyung’s knees tighten either side of Yoongi’s hips, bare calves scorching against bare thighs, bodies pressing closer when Yoongi’s palm flattens on Taehyung’s back, skimming up over the bumps of his spine. It’s almost lazy. Lazy kissing. Lazy in the way their mouths move more like they’re trying to lull each other back to sleep, sloppy and slow and warm. Lazy in the way it takes Taehyung’s lips a small lifetime to make their way from Yoongi’s mouth, down the slope of his jaw, settling at the soft skin underneath his earlobe to suck and nip a light, entirely half-assed mark. Taehyung’s lips are chapped from sleep, a gentle scratch against Yoongi’s skin, but he can’t bring himself to care, a sigh escaping his lungs when Taehyung licks over the now-sensitive skin, soothing the sting of his teeth.

Yoongi’s not sure when it changes, he just knows that the change happens as lazily as the rest of it, a slow build, the tipping point probably when Taehyung pulls back, pushing himself up onto his elbows, tongue running sinfully out over his own flushed lips as slender eyes scan Yoongi. They seem ten times darker with last night’s liner still smudged around them, entirely lightless, but filled to the brim with something else, something that has Yoongi’s pulse kicking up a notch, anticipating.

‘Hyung,’ he says, dipping down again to suck gently at Yoongi’s throat, tongue teasing until Yoongi speaks.

‘What?’ he replies, and fuck, even with that one word, his voice is already ruined.

‘Before I go…’ he goes on, slowly, an almost singsong lilt to his voice (at this point, Yoongi is pretty sure he could be proposing Shibari bondage and still sound like he’s asking for a game of hide and seek). His grin when he emerges from the crook of Yoongi’s neck is ridiculous. But his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are gleaming and his lips are shining, so Yoongi lets him away with it, just this once. ‘Could we… yanno…’ He does some things with his eyebrows that have Yoongi rolling his eyes.

‘Fuck?’ Yoongi finishes for him in a monotone, though his own veins hum at the word.

Taehyung’s grin turns a little less innocent as he moves back in to brush his lips along Yoongi’s jaw. ‘Just a little bit…’

‘A little bit?’ he echoes, unable to stop the smirk that creeps onto his face. ‘Is that all?’

Lips pressed to his throat, Taehyung giggles – low and husky, but definitely a goddamn giggle. ‘Yeah,’ he murmurs. ‘I don’t ask for much, hyung.’

Grudgingly, Yoongi has to agree with that one, although it doesn't change the fact that his body currently feels like an active warzone. 'I don't--' Yoongi begins, but he's cut off when Taehyung purposely sinks his teeth into the skin of the elder's throat and when the fuck did he start biting? 'Jesus,' Yoongi breathes, a hot shiver running down his spine which the younger doesn't miss.

'Wow,' he says softly, lips brushing over the spot now, throbbing lightly with a sweet ache that has Yoongi's toes curling under the covers. 'You mentioned you liked my costume, hyung, you didn't say how much.' He grins, stupidly rectangular. 'You wanna call me Dracula? Count? I can work with both.'

Yoongi glowers up at him, jaw set in annoyance. 'Are you trying to ruin the mood?'

And the change in Taehyung's face happens in an instant, goofy grin gone, eyelids so low his lashes just barely thread together. The slow roll of his hips down against Yoongi’s is as lazy as the rest of it, but the response is not, a flare of heat under Yoongi’s stomach as their cocks rub together between them, his breath huffing out of him at the wave of pleasure. 'Does it feel like I'm trying to ruin the mood, hyung?' he asks, voice dripping with something dark and honeyed, and Yoongi feels a groan tighten his throat. 

Instead of replying, he catches Taehyung’s chin between a thumb and forefinger, tugging him back in hungrily, tongue already swiping across the seam of his lips. Taehyung grinds his hips down again as Yoongi licks into his mouth, a small grunt of pleasure low in the younger boy’s chest as he starts to build up something like a loose rhythm, just enough to tease, just enough to get Yoongi’s body flooding with heat, hands wandering lower over the smooth planes of Taehyung’s back. He groans softly into Yoongi’s mouth when his fingers find the curves of his ass, gripping tight and kneading until he can get Taehyung to make that noise again, a moan that Yoongi steals the moment it’s out of his mouth. Taehyung seems to get impatient, a hand appearing out of nowhere, wrapping around both their cocks, stroking them to full hardness a little quicker than Yoongi would like – what’s the rush? He gives Taehyung a warning sort of squeeze, about to pull back and try to verbalise this, but Taehyung gets there first, lips parting from Yoongi’s with a sound that’s part groan, part gasp and all in the general shape of hyung.

Yoongi likes Taehyung’s dominant streak, however clumsy. He likes the Taehyung that thinks he’s in charge; he likes the Taehyung that accepts he is not, but still tries to push the boundaries with a cheeky shit-eating smirk pasted across his face. Those varieties of Taehyung keep it interesting, Yoongi’s not going to argue with that, but this Taehyung—this Taehyung is a whole other creature, so rarely sighted that it might just be Yoongi’s special favourite, in a manner of speaking. This Taehyung melts like butter, moulds like putty, responsive to even the lightest touch, and whispers things with such unashamed need that ‘no’ stops being a word in Yoongi’s vocabulary.

‘Hyung,’ Taehyung says, a touch louder, his voice rough, breath coming in soft pants. ‘Hyung, I want—want you t-to—’ He cuts off with fluttering eyelids and a whispered fuck when Yoongi lets his fingertips brush feather-light down the cleft of Taehyung’s ass.

Yoongi doesn’t need to speak. The question is silent, but there and Taehyung hears it loud and clear.

Biting his lips, eyes still shut, he nods. ‘Yeah—yeah, god, yeah, please, hyung.’

How would anyone say no to that?

One hand not leaving the heat of Taehyung’s skin, Yoongi reaches over to the bedside locker where the bottle of lube was tossed just a couple hours ago, flicks open the cap and glances up at Taehyung, now watching him through hooded eyes, lips parted as he continues stroking himself. Yoongi is just about to coat his fingers when Taehyung’s hand leaves his cock to catch at Yoongi’s wrist.

‘Can I, hyung?’ he asks, low and soft and broken, and it’s when he does shit like this that Yoongi begins to wonder who really is in charge in these situations.

Without a word, Yoongi squirts the clear substance onto Taehyung’s fingers instead, tosses the bottle off to the side and tucks his arms behind his head to watch as Taehyung reaches behind himself, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths through parted lips.

Yoongi can’t stop the whispered curse that tumbles from his mouth when Taehyung groans, head tipping back, eyes tight shut with the pleasure as he starts to move his hips gently, fucking himself on his own fingers. Yoongi’s eyes map out the flush growing on the younger’s skin, from the tops of his cheekbones, down the column of his throat, over his chest, a faint pink underneath the golden brown. Yoongi’s eyes linger on his neck, the curve of it as he arches back, the tendons standing out as Taehyung’s jaw clenches around another moan. Yoongi catches himself wishing Taehyung wouldn’t stifle the noises and wonders when the fuck he got like that, when the fuck he started caring what anyone had to say during sex. He never used to. Yoongi was always a shut-up-and-get-on-with-it kinda guy, cringing away from dirty talk, rolling his eyes at the pornstar moaning from the guy he was fucking into the mattress. But now -- now he wants it. He wants to hear Taehyung.

Yoongi has no idea how long it is before he can’t take it anymore, before the obscene sounds of Taehyung’s fingers stretching himself open are too much, before the movements of Taehyung’s hips and not on him are threatening to drive him insane. He sits up, snatching a condom from the bedside locker, lips sucking hungrily at the hot, smooth skin of Taehyung’s chest as he drops his hand behind the younger to finish the job himself, quick and dirty. He tears the foil packet with his teeth, rolls the condom down over himself as he continues working Taehyung open with his other hand. Taehyung’s arms loop around his neck, mouth quickly finding Yoongi’s, fingers sliding into his hair and fisting tight when Yoongi crooks his fingers just right. A shudder of pleasure runs hot down his spine and he thinks he could sit here all day with Taehyung’s hands tugging at his hair, but that’s fucking weird, so he abandons that line of thought.

He pulls out of Taehyung’s arms at the same moment he removes his fingers, a displeased frown creasing Taehyung’s forehead as he does -- but not for long. Yoongi drops back against the pillows, arms tucked behind his head again because he wants to see everything, from Taehyung’s lube-slicked fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking lightly as he lines himself up, to the moment his ass meets Yoongi’s hips, matching groans from both of them.

Hungover sex is never pretty. Hungover sex is stale breath and last night’s bruises and aching limbs still clumsy with alcohol. It’s graceless, slapping skin and sharp, broken gasps, rough hands and the tang of sweat in the air. But Taehyung missed out on a calling in theatre because holy shit, the kid can put on a show. The way he gazes down at Yoongi through eyes narrowed to dark slits, the threat of a smirk at the corners of his mouth as he swipes his tongue out to wet his lips, left glistening in the weak light. He moves his hips in ways that make Yoongi’s neck arch, raking his hands back through his hair as he rides him deep, thick thighs straining, skin shining gold with a thin layer of sweat. It’s all cliché crap, moves picked out from his favourite pornos, but they lack the cheese when he can look this good pulling them off and Taehyung knows damn well he looks good.

And he looks somehow even more so when the control wears off a little, when he gets tired, when the theatrics slip away and he leans forward, palms braced heavily on Yoongi’s chest, hips still rolling down hard. Flattened with perspiration, his hair hangs lank from his forehead, his eyes a different kind of dark now when they meet Yoongi’s, the desperate kind of dark, glazed over with the need building inside him. Yoongi’s hands smooth up his thighs, fingertips gripping tight enough to leave bruises when Taehyung drops down onto him again, that tight heat clenching around him, a dizzying wave of pleasure going straight to his head. The flush in Taehyung’s cheeks is darker now with exertion, staining deep pink up to his temples, breath coming ragged, the low moans every time he hits his prostate sounding thinner, weaker.

Hungover sex is never pretty, but fuck, Taehyung is.

Too hot, too dizzy, too wound up in the feeling of Taehyung, Yoongi doesn’t think about what he’s doing when his fingertips trail up Taehyung’s arm, squeezing at a bicep and tugging lightly to get his attention. The younger’s gaze is dazed when it meets his own, lashes low as he watches Yoongi jerk his chin again, a tiny movement. ‘C’mere,’ he breathes, and Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice, not now, not when he’s just as fucking wrecked as Yoongi feels. Taehyung drops down, propped on his forearms either side of Yoongi’s head, lips colliding messily in an open-mouthed kiss that still tastes of fucking gummy worms, but Yoongi couldn’t give a shit.

Taehyung’s hips still, useless at this awkward angle, but that was the plan. Instead, Yoongi thrusts his own hips up, a gasp from Taehyung that has their teeth knocking together – not quite the gasp Yoongi was looking for though. His hands slide down over Taehyung’s back, slippery with sweat, catching his hips and holding him there as he thrusts up again, angle slightly different and—

And Taehyung’s face presses into the crook of his neck with a rough moan that tightens the coil low in Yoongi’s stomach. There it is. He snaps his hips up again, his own eyes squeezing shut with the pleasure, Taehyung’s soft chant of staggered yeses right by his ear only spurring him on, picking up the pace of thrusts. He keeps them shallow, irregular, so that when he snaps up sharp and deep, slamming into Taehyung’s prostate, the younger’s moan of surprise rumbles through him, thrumming against Yoongi’s own chest where they’re pressed flush together.

Yoongi has heard the gasped swears and oh my gods. He’s heard the moaned hyungs and yeahs and holy hells. Really, he thought he’d heard it all, heard every broken note Taehyung’s voice could hit, but then Taehyung does it, throws him that fucking curveball. A new note, something the younger has never been out of his mind enough to utter before. Two syllables whispered into the skin of Yoongi’s throat, raw and ragged and breathy with the effort of speaking when they are both so close…

Yoongi.’

Yoongi’s fingers tighten on Taehyung’s hips, his own faltering for just a moment, eyes flickering open as the word sinks in.

Yoongi. His name, but barely recognisable. He’s never heard it uttered quite like that. He’s had his fair share of people moaning it into a pillow, into the back of his neck, whispered against his lips – but never like that. Never so raw and wrecked, never sounding so fucking out of it, like it’s the only word in the world he could think to say right at that moment, trumping all the swears and deities, all the safer options.

He feels Taehyung go stiff in his arms, suddenly pushing himself up on an elbow again, eyes wide when they meet Yoongi’s. ‘Shit, sorry, I-I mean—’

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi says, his hand slipping into the tangles of hair at the back of Taehyung’s head.

‘Hyung, I—‘

Shut up,’ he growls, dragging Taehyung down to distract his mouth before he does something stupid (like asking him to say it again, to keep saying it, to never say anything fucking else). ‘S’fine,’ he manages to mutter against the other boy’s lips, right before he thrusts his hips up hard again and neither of them are thinking of anything else.

They kiss until it gets dangerous, until their mouths knock so hard together Yoongi sees stars, tastes copper, the ache only drowned out by the heat inside him, spiraling out of control. Taehyung presses his lips to Yoongi’s collarbone as if he’s afraid of letting himself speak again, breath hot and teeth scraping against Yoongi’s skin when he pants.

He's so close. Close enough that the stream of words coming out of his mouth are raw and unfiltered, his hands moving from Taehyung's hips, up over his back and gripping tight. And Yoongi does everything in his power to not think about the fact that he's practically hugging Taehyung to his chest as he fucks up into him, desperate and stuttered. He's too far gone to care, every thought filled with the fact that Taehyung's hair smells like strawberries and his skin kind of tastes like strawberries and is it possible that someone can be more strawberry than human? But the noises he's making against Yoongi's shoulder are human, definitely human, ragged gasps like music to Yoongi's ears, but Yoongi thinks every sound that comes from Taehyung's mouth sounds like a new melody and he's wondered more than once about what he might sound like if he sang and if it would sound anything like these sounds, low and warm and--

It hits Yoongi out of nowhere, fireworks in his veins as his orgasm crashes over him with little warning at the end, the shock forcing garbled strings of words from him as he thrusts up shallowly, riding it out with burning thighs. ‘Fuck, fuck, Tae, shit, Tae--’ He cuts off the stream before it can get weird, biting down on his lip hard enough that it'll probably bruise.

As his hips slow, Taehyung pushes himself up to kiss him deep, his hand moving down between them to wrap about his own cock, neglected and painfully hard, leaking against Yoongi’s stomach. Fuck that, he thinks, catching Taehyung’s wrist in firm fingers, pulling his hand away. He ignores the younger’s whine of protest, the furrow of confusion between his eyebrows when Yoongi pulls out with no warning, shoving Taehyung off him so he lands on the bed on his back. Yoongi’s limbs still feel heavy, his whole body still pulsing in time with his heartbeat, but he wastes no time getting over Taehyung on all fours, mouthing down his body until his lips are level with the younger’s cock, twitching in response to Yoongi’s proximity.

When he takes him into his mouth, Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t seem to be able to, fingers twisting in the bedsheets, spine arching as Yoongi sinks down on him. His breaths are quiet, but ragged, desperate, the only sound to fill the room. Yoongi doesn’t fuck around, not like he normally would, it’s as quick and dirty as the rest of this has been, Taehyung’s hips jerking as he brings him closer and closer. He’s a fast learner, Taehyung, his fingers untwisting from the sheets, slipping into Yoongi’s hair, gripping tight enough that he can’t help the rough sound rising in his throat, another shiver down his spine. And then Taehyung is coming, Yoongi pulling back till only the tip remains in his mouth, tonguing at Taehyung’s slit as he releases with sharp gasps, hips straining against Yoongi’s firm hand.

He takes him through it with gentler licks, finally pulling off when Taehyung moans weakly at the overstimulation, though Yoongi's too spent to get much further than that.

‘Holy shit,’ he murmurs, hoarse, letting his head rest on Taehyung’s hip for a moment while he catches his breath. Taehyung’s fingers are still in his hair, much softer than they were, fingertips sort of scratching at his scalp and the part of Yoongi that wants to pull away is quickly stamped down by the part that’s all but purring.

‘Hyung,’ Taehyung says, his voice still thin, broken, but content, ‘I can’t believe you held out for this long on sucking me off.’

‘We’re usually fucking before I can get round to it,’ Yoongi sighs, rolling off him and onto the other side of the bed, pushing himself up with his heels to lie against the pillows. He is drained, completely and utterly, limbs like jello and his head as heavy as lead, thick with exhaustion. Thinking right now is like swimming through mud.

‘Well, we still need to determine a winner,’ Taehyung says, grinning though he sounds as spent as Yoongi feels, ‘so we’ll need to squeeze in a few more rounds sometime.’

‘It’s definitely your turn next.’

‘Fuckin’ right,’ Taehyung agrees. Yoongi can feel the mattress shifting as the younger sits up with a quiet groan.

And maybe it’s because Yoongi’s thoughts are mud or maybe it’s because, as good as he currently feels, his body aches all over and he can’t imagine moving and he knows for a fact Taehyung must be at least as wrecked as he is. Maybe it’s one of those things or none of them, Yoongi has no idea, but he finds himself opening his eyelids, heavy as they are, dry lips parting to speak.

‘Tae..’ he says, kind of croaks, and the sound of his own voice jolts him fully awake, knocks some semblance of sense into him.

‘What?’ Taehyung asks, from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hair a wild forest of tangles, eyes cloudy and rimmed red with exhaustion.

Yoongi blinks at him a couple times, before looking away again, shutting his eyes.

What the fuck was he thinking?

‘Never mind,’ he mumbles, tugging the sheets up to his waist, a strange prickle of something sour settling in his stomach. It’s the tequila, he tells himself. You always feel sick after tequila. That’s it. That’s all it is.

‘Okay,’ he hears Taehyung says softly, his weight lifting off the edge of the mattress as he stands up. Yoongi listens to him fumble with his jeans, gather up the rest of his clothes and slip quietly out of the room, shutting the door behind him without so much as a click.

Yoongi opens his eyes, gaze falling immediately on that goddamn cape, hanging forgotten over the back of his desk chair. His stomach is still prickling and it stays in his head, half caught in the back of his throat, the stupid thing he nearly said, the careless, foolish fucking thing he nearly said:

Stay.

 

 

 

Chapter Text

Yoongi is about three seconds away from tossing his laptop into the sink and drowning that fucker to death when the knock at the door drags him out of his dangerous (and expensive) thoughts. He hisses a few warning curses at the music software open across his desktop before turning away from the damned machine and heading out to the living area, yanking the door open with maybe a little more force than necessary.

Taehyung’s eyebrows rise the second he sees him and Yoongi knows he must look a state, his hair matted weird on one side from his constant tugging, his eyes full of hatred and murderous intent, dressed in old sweats and an older t-shirt, the long sleeves frayed at the ends from years of stress-induced nibbling.

But right now, Yoongi could not give a single shit. He warned Taehyung he looked like hell and wasn’t doing a damned thing to change that. Taehyung promised he’d look worse by the time he left. Yoongi was okay with that.

‘What?’ he snaps now, gaze giving the younger a quick once-over before he turns away. Taehyung looks the exact opposite of a state, dark jeans that hug his legs like they were made for him, the long black wool coat fitted around his shoulders in a way that almost improves Yoongi’s mood. Almost.

‘Nothing!’ he hears Taehyung say quickly, tone too high to be innocent. ‘Are you, uh… are you okay, hyung?’

‘Fuckin’ fantastic,’ Yoongi grumbles, wandering back into the kitchen where his laptop still sits open on the counter, smirking up at him. He can practically hear the chopped up track on the screen cackling at him because it knows — it knows Yoongi can’t remember what section he was just working on.

‘Sounds like it,’ Taehyung says, following him in a moment later, coat gone, eyes wide and borderline terrified, though Yoongi is well used to that look by now. ‘I brought this for Hoseok-hyung,’ he adds, dropping something on the end of the counter, but Yoongi is too busy searching through the layers of his track for that stupid spot with the one weird bit that throws the entire beat off to pay him any attention.

‘You’re early,’ he manages to mutter, as he pokes aggressively at some buttons on his keyboard.

‘Yeah, my shoot wrapped quicker than we thought it would.’

Yoongi frowns at his laptop screen. ‘Your what?’ he asks, but at that moment, he finds the bit, the weird fucking bit and he shushes Taehyung’s explanation with some frantic hand gestures and a string of garbled threats — though he isn’t sure if they’re directed at Taehyung or the laptop.

Thirty seconds later, he’s growling again, fingers flexing in and out of white knuckled fists as he resists that sweet temptation offered by the kitchen sink, the tap dripping menacingly like it knows Yoongi’s intentions — welcomes them, even.

‘Okay, hyung...’ Taehyung says carefully, a lot closer than he was last time Yoongi acknowledged his presence. Very close, actually, and stepping closer, till his chest is touching Yoongi’s back, hands settling cautiously on his hips. ‘I have an idea.’

‘Don’t care,’ Yoongi mutters, ignoring him easily and setting his fingers, still shaking with frustration, back to the damned keys. ‘Just shut up a sec.’

‘Won’t make a sound,’ Taehyung promises quietly, but even with that, his breath ghosts hot over the skin of Yoongi’s neck, closely followed by the soft brush of his lips just under his ear, not even enough to be a kiss, but enough to have Yoongi suppressing a shiver.

Setting his jaw and removing his attention entirely from Taehyung, Yoongi undoes his last couple edits, starting from scratch with that one weird bit. He needs to cut it without disturbing the flow of the beat, and cutting it out is the only solution he can see, but a clean cut seems impossible and—

And Taehyung is nosing the neck of his t-shirt out of the way to nip lightly at his shoulder, tugging the skin between his lips and sucking gently, moving on before he can leave more than the faintest of marks. He kisses Yoongi’s throat, slow and lingering, teeth just barely grazing with each press of his lips and—

And Yoongi’s gaze refocuses on the editing window before him and he swears under his breath, shrugging his shoulder up to get the brat to fucking stop for five seconds while he just—

Taehyung only moves to the other side, what feels distinctly like the shadow of a giggle rumbling against Yoongi’s back. But he can ignore him. He can. He can ignore Taehyung’s nose trailing up the side of his neck and his tongue flicking out to lave over his earlobe, teeth following to sink into the soft flesh, tugging gently at the silver hoop there. Yoongi can ignore the hot breath fogging over his skin and the fingers tightening on his hips, tugging him back a touch as Taehyung presses forward, crotch against Yoongi’s ass, and Yoongi can sure as hell ignore the fact that there’s already a certain firmness in Taehyung’s jeans. If Yoongi had a little more faith in the other boy’s restraint, he could almost believe it was his phone, so until Yoongi has fixed this mess, it’s definitely his fucking phone.

‘Hey, hyung,’ Taehyung breathes right into the shell of his ear, fingers sneaking from his hips up underneath the hem of his t-shirt, palms hot on the skin of Yoongi’s stomach.

‘What?’ the elder snaps, ignoring the heat in favour of mapping out the cut just right. Taehyung can fucking wait — his final portfolio cannot.

An open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin just behind his ear has Yoongi swallowing back a curse, fingers slipping on the mousepad. ‘You look really good in sweats,’ Taehyung murmurs, low and breathy, one hand dropping to the front of said sweats, his own hips grinding forward from behind and pressing Yoongi into his hand and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck

It’s not his phone.

It’s not his fucking phone.

Of course it’s not his fucking phone and Yoongi is hard too — when the hell did that happen?

Shit,’ he hisses, as Taehyung palms him through the worn material, lips still on Yoongi’s neck, more insistent now, deeper, hotter kisses and fuck.

Yoongi reaches over to snag the top of his laptop screen with his fingertips, snapping the infernal machine shut before twisting out of Taehyung’s grip on his hips, his own hands fisting in the soft material of the younger’s jumper as he drags him into a kiss. Taehyung lets out a sound that’s half surprise, half moan, hands slipping immediately back under Yoongi’s t-shirt, up over his waist and his ribs and his back, trailing searing paths of heat that have his body flooding with a hazy fog.

‘I’m fucking busy,’ Yoongi manages to growl into the kiss, nipping hard at Taehyung’s lip and not by accident.

But the little shit is still grinning, even past his hiss of pain. ‘Can’t it wait, hyung?’ he asks innocently, pressing Yoongi back into the counter, hips flush and the roughness of his jeans feels so fucking good through the sweats.

No,’ he manages to grit out, his fingers dropping to tangle with the hem of Taehyung’s jumper.

‘But will it wait?’

‘It’ll fuckin have to now, won’t it?’ he mutters, tugging insistently at the offending garment until Taehyung gets the hint and pulls it off over his head. Yoongi has him by the back of the neck again before the jumper even hits the floor, their lips crashing together hard enough that Yoongi staggers back a little into the counter. That’s gonna leave a bruise the size of Europe on the small of his back, but the pain is drowned out by Taehyung’s hips colliding with his, erections rubbing together in a way that numbs the aches in his muscles, mutes the noise in his brain, replacing the stress with a whole other kind of tension.

His fingers slip into Taehyung’s hair, silkier than usual, like he might’ve actually brushed it for once and Yoongi wonders briefly if he came here from somewhere in particular, with the hair and the clothes and—and he was wearing eyeliner, wasn’t he? Yoongi tugs him away slightly by the hair at his nape, breaking the kiss to check, and yes, the younger’s eyes are outlined in black when they flicker open, glazed and dark, lids lazy with lust, and fuck, that’s hot. Yoongi drags him back in again, going straight for the jugular this time because there’s just something about Taehyung’s throat being free of marks that pisses him off. He fixes that quickly, careful with the teeth because he’s learned that the younger’s not big on pain. His skin tastes like it always does, faintly sweet and faintly salty, like dipping fries in a milkshake, and why does he always smell like fucking strawberries?

‘Why d’you always smell like fucking strawberries?’ Yoongi demands, when he’s satisfied with the raw red mark blooming at the juncture of Taehyung’s neck and shoulder.

Taehyung blinks, eyes bleary, looking half fucked out already and too dazed to answer questions. Tough. ‘I-I like strawberries a lot,’ he mumbles, the last word muffled when Yoongi kisses him again, forgetting to fight against the shiver that wanders down his spine when Taehyung’s hands slide lower over his back, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his sweats. ‘Strawberry sh-shower gel,’ he elaborates in half a gasp, as Yoongi’s lips trail down over his collarbone, his chest because dammit, he’s developed a thing for his chest. Taehyung’s no Park Jimin (that kid has taken to wandering around the apartment shirtless after sleeping over with Hoseok and Yoongi is still trying to process how that body belongs to that face). Taehyung’s no chiseled abs and pecs, firm enough to break your face on, but he’s all lean without being skinny, a little athletic, the threat of muscle just under the tan skin, rippling gently down his back as he rolls his hips into Yoongi’s and Yoongi is yet to get bored of that.

He muffles a curse against the divot in the centre of Taehyung’s chest, the younger’s hands slipping further underneath the waistband of his sweats, his boxers and over his ass, fingers digging in for leverage as he grinds them together again. Taehyung’s head ducks down to suck a trail of kisses along Yoongi’s collarbone, right up to his neck, his ear again, his lips losing grace by the second as the heat starts to get to him.

‘Hyung, are—are we just gonna—do it… h-here?’ Taehyung stammers out, then suddenly tugs away, eyes wide and face filled with a childlike excitement that really doesn’t belong to the situation. ‘Ohmigod, hyung, can we?’

Breathless and not really in the mood to be catching said breath, Yoongi glances around with a frown. ‘Here?’ he says. ‘You wanna fuck in the kitchen?’

‘You don’t?’ he asks, eyes still each the size of a small planet, but he doesn't wait for a reply. ‘When’s hyung back?’

‘Hoseok? Not till late, he has dance,’ Yoongi replies. ‘But we don’t even have anything. It’s not like we just keep lube in along with the spices—’

‘Wait!’ Taehyung steps back suddenly, patting down the pockets of his jeans. ‘I wore these out last weekend and I-I think… aha!’ From his back left pocket, Taehyung produces a condom and a travel sachet of lube, a boxy grin of delight spread all over his face.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up because, well who knew he was so resourceful? And maybe something weird snags in the back of his mind and decides to take root, but Yoongi’s too busy catching at the button of Taehyung’s jeans and dragging the younger back towards him to pay it any attention right now.

‘’m gonna take that as an affirmative,’ Taehyung mumbles against his lips, dropping the two small packets on the counter next to them to tug Yoongi’s t-shirt off over his head. It joins Taehyung’s jumper on the floor around the same time Yoongi gets his hand into the younger’s boxers, fingers wrapping around his already hard cock and relishing the soft gasp Taehyung breathes into his mouth. Taehyung’s thigh slots between his legs, working up a slow, maddening friction almost in time with Yoongi’s strokes, but it's nowhere near enough and Yoongi doesn’t have the patience today. All he wants is to get fucked and now and until that happens, none of this is enough.

‘Tae,’ he murmurs, his voice rough even to his own ears.

Taehyung kisses him some more, tongues curling hungrily together, but he knows fine well what Yoongi means, pulling away a moment later to pick up one of the packets scattered on the counter. Yoongi turns around again, right back where they started, hands braced on the countertop next to the forgotten laptop, Taehyung’s lips pressing between his shoulder blades as he pushes his sweats down.

Yoongi’s head falls forward when he finally feels Taehyung’s finger pressing against him, slick with lube and teasing around his entrance as the younger dusts kisses over the back of his neck. He pushes in slowly, much slower than he knows Yoongi can take because he’s careful, always so goddamn careful, but Yoongi just doesn’t have the restraint left to humour him.

Tae,’ he growls again, more insistent this time, and Taehyung’s lips go still on his nape.

‘But, hyung, I don’t--’

‘You’re not gonna fucking hurt me,’ Yoongi mutters, and he’d roll his eyes if they weren’t tight shut from the feeling of Taehyung’s fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking light and teasing, thumb circling around the head. ‘Come on.’

Taehyung mutters something else that Yoongi doesn’t quite catch because he's already adding another finger, drawing a low groan from Yoongi as he presses the second in alongside the first. The stretch is a dull burn that licks heat up Yoongi’s spine, hands curling to fists on the countertop.

‘You good, hyung?’ Taehyung asks, nipping at the skin of his back with his teeth before smoothing over it with his tongue, numbing any sting.

Yeah--shit, yeah, I-I’m good,’ Yoongi manages to grind out, stuttering as Taehyung presses his fingers in further, knuckles brushing over his prostate, sending a shock of pleasure through his body. ‘Fuck, Tae, there--there.’

‘Here?’ Taehyung asks, his voice a low breath by Yoongi’s ear as he crooks his fingers and Yoongi swears roughly again, leaning forward on his forearms to give the younger better access.

Taehyung must take his groan as a definite yes because he does it again, thumb pressing simultaneously into the tip of Yoongi’s cock until he’s seeing stars behind his eyelids, his stomach flooding with the kind of heat it shouldn’t be this early on. But Taehyung’s good with his fingers, Yoongi figured that out quick. When he finds that spot, he doesn’t lose it again; he’s fucking relentless, but Yoongi hasn’t felt the need to complain so far. Until now, really, because Taehyung’s hand is still working his cock, his thumb dipping into the slit every other upstroke to really fuck him up, and his fingers are moving in and out of him, steadily quickening, a fresh wave of heat every time he brushes over his prostate. Yoongi knows he’s a mess already, his breath coming fast and ragged, pulse pounding in his ears, sweat breaking out over his shoulder blades because it’s suddenly stifling in the tiny kitchen.

‘Tae,’ he mutters, teeth clenched with the effort of holding it back. He catches Taehyung’s wrist, the one jerking him off, squeezes a warning. ‘Tae, I--’

‘You ready, hyung?’ he asks in a whisper against his nape, and Christ, his voice is gone, too, rough and ragged already and he’s barely been touched.

‘More than,’ Yoongi manages, not sure whether to sigh in relief or growl in frustration when Taehyung’s hand leaves his cock. ‘J-just get on with it.’

‘Yeah, god--okay, okay,’ Taehyung stammers out, Yoongi hissing a curse between his teeth as the younger removes his fingers. He keeps his lips on Yoongi’s back, wet kisses up his spine, a welcome distraction as the usual fumbling ensues, tearing foil and rustling fabric. And Yoongi all but breathes a sigh of relief when he feels Taehyung’s hands back on his hips in record time.

The blunt pressure against his entrance turns to Taehyung pushing into him, slow and careful, maddeningly careful.

Tae.’

‘Shit, okay,’ he practically whimpers, hips thrusting forward till he’s completely buried in Yoongi's ass, muffling a groan against his shoulder blade.

Yoongi swears brokenly at the new stretch, the faint aching pain, but it’s good, it’s so good and his breath is coming heavy already. Taehyung’s forehead is pressed to his shoulder, panting breaths hot on Yoongi’s skin, his fingers tight on his hips with the effort of not moving — because he won’t. He won’t move a damn inch until Yoongi gives the word, like he’s always terrified he’ll crack and shatter at the slightest slip. Yoongi doesn’t get it, but at the moment, he doesn’t give a fuck.

‘’kay,’ he grunts, and feels the breath on his back stutter, the fingers on his hips tighten and Taehyung is moving, pulling out just slightly before sliding back in.

It takes a moment to build up a rhythm, for Taehyung to forget hurting Yoongi -- or whatever the hell it is he worries about — and just get lost in it, his thrusts growing longer and harder until his hips are rolling fluidly, a deep, steady pace which is not exactly what Yoongi set out to get, but it works for him. Fuck, it works for him.

Shit, Tae,’ he breathes, Taehyung’s cock finally hitting his prostate and this encouragement only seems to have Taehyung upping his pace a little, if not the force. They both know Yoongi’s teetering on a knife edge after being so close already, and Yoongi doesn’t know about Taehyung, but he’s sure as hell not ready for this to be over.

The position quickly gets uncomfortable, half bent over the counter, his weight on his fast-bruising elbows, so Yoongi tries straightening up and—

Oh my god, hyung,’ Taehyung groans into the crook of his neck, his grip on his hips so severe now that Yoongi can feel the sting of nails biting his skin. Yoongi doesn’t need to ask what either because he can feel it too -- it’s tighter and heat licks hard and fast up Yoongi’s spine when Taehyung moves again, a slow, experimental thrust that has them both gasping.

‘O-okay?’ Taehyung verifies in a broken whisper, which Yoongi can only answer with a nod, his head tipping back against the younger’s shoulder as he starts thrusting in earnest now.

Taehyung’s mouth goes back to his shoulder, his neck, licks a stripe up the side of his throat before retracing the path back down with sloppy kisses, grazing teeth, nibbling lightly at the sensitive skin under his jaw, behind his ear. And Yoongi could do this all fucking day, his head tilting to the side, fingers fisting in Taehyung’s hair and urging him on as he continues to fuck him. His hands move from Yoongi’s hips, palms smoothing hot over his stomach as his thrusts get faster, deeper and—

Shit,’ Yoongi gasps, the one hand still braced on the counter going white with the pressure, his grip tightening in Taehyung’s hair as the younger’s cock finds his prostate again at the new angle. ‘Yeah—Tae—fuck—

And Taehyung takes the hint, thrusting harder, a hand dropping to Yoongi’s leaking cock and bypassing all thoughts of teasing in favour of long, quick strokes to match the movements of his hips.

Hyung,’ he groans, and the need to come throbs hot and aching through Yoongi, the tension low in his stomach borderline painful after already being so close.

And Taehyung is moaning into the kisses he presses to Yoongi’s neck, variations of hyung and oh god, and Yoongi figures that must be why it sneaks into his mind, now of all times: The morning after Halloween, over a week ago now, Taehyung’s face pressed into the crook of his neck, gasping his name. Yoongi has no idea why it affected him the way it did when it never has before, when he’s fucked plenty of people who should’ve called him hyung and didn’t, let his given name slip to test the boundaries, looking for a reaction they never got. But Taehyung’s voice stayed with him, broken and ragged, hiccuping as he fucked him, gasping his name. And now, here he is, half hoping he’ll do it again, despite the fact that he hasn’t since and probably won't again thanks to Yoongi's reaction. You could ask, his mind offers unhelpfully, but that’s weird as fuck and—

Taehyung gasps a curse, hips stuttering. ‘Hyung, y-you close?’

Yoongi’s breathing hard and staggered, his body on fire from the inside out and beading with sweat because he can feel it sneaking up, taking its sweet time, the drag of Taehyung’s entire length over his prostate as he fucks hard in and out of him just about killing him.

Yeah,’ he groans, Taehyung running his palm over the slick head of his cock, the pleasure making Yoongi clench tight around him, Taehyung’s forehead hitting the back of his neck as he gasps again.

God, hyung, I’m gonna—gonna come,’ he says, voice reduced to little more than a whimper. And when he thrusts in sharply again, thumb digging into Yoongi’s slit, teeth appearing out of fucking nowhere and ghosting down his neck till they sink into the soft skin at the juncture of his shoulder—

Yoongi is gone, biting down on his own lower lip to muffle the loud groan that shudders through him with his orgasm, spilling over Taehyung’s hand, the kitchen cupboards. Taehyung gasps again at the sudden tightness pulsing around him, thrusting hard into the hilt and stilling right up against Yoongi’s ass. He continues jerking Yoongi off through it, messy and unfocused as he moves his hips shallowly, riding out his own release with low moans against Yoongi's neck.

Yoongi breaks off into stuttered, panting breaths as he comes down from the high, his head dropping back against Taehyung’s shoulder again as the younger boy stops trembling. His grip loosens on Yoongi’s hips and he pulls out slowly, a grunt of discomfort at the sudden emptiness. He distracts himself by turning around, slumping so the counter supports most of his weight and letting Taehyung lean in to kiss him, chests heaving.

The younger boy’s skin is flushed and glistening, fringe dark and spiked where it sticks to his forehead with sweat, the eyeliner that was perfect when he walked in now smudged at the corners. He looks entirely ruined--

It’s a good look on him.

He licks into Taehyung’s mouth, sucking lightly on his tongue and they kiss until Yoongi feels the younger’s hand wiping on his sweats where they’re still shoved down round his lower thighs. He breaks away, eyes narrowed. ‘Did you just wipe cum all over me?’

The cheeky grin appeared before he even finished speaking. ‘Uh… maybe?’ Taehyung says, with a slight shrug. ‘I mean, I would’ve licked it off, hyung, but you weren’t even watching.’ He kisses him again, a playful peck to his mouth. ‘There was no point.’

‘Gross,’ Yoongi grumbles.

Taehyung smirks. ‘Not into that, hyung?’

Yoongi pushes him back with a shove to his chest, moving to tug up his sweats and boxers. ‘I never said that,’ he murmurs, meeting Taehyung’s eye for just long enough to watch them darken again, his tongue running out to wet his already swollen lips. Fuck, Yoongi groans internally, 98% percent sure he could be hard again in the next five minutes if Taehyung kept looking at him like that.

But, no.

He drags his gaze away with a smirk and heads for the bathroom to clean up.

His ass couldn’t take another round right now.

 

 

By the time Yoongi is back in the kitchen, Taehyung’s redressed himself and is chugging down a glass of water. Judging by the lack of cum all over the cabinets, Yoongi figures the younger must’ve dealt with that, too, which is annoying because now he should probably thank him or something.

He’s spared that ordeal, however, when something else catches his eye.

‘Elle?’ he says, frowning as he picks up the magazine from the end of the counter. ‘You brought Hoseok a copy of Elle?’

Cheeks full of water, Taehyung only nods.

Yoongi stares at him, baffled. ‘Why?’

Slowly, Taehyung swallows the mouthful, not quite looking at Yoongi as he rubs at the condensation on the outside of his glass. ‘Uh, well… I’m kinda in it and—and hyung wanted to see the artic—’

‘Wait—what?’ Yoongi cuts across him, and Taehyung seems to give up on not meeting his eye, sighing and crossing the room to take the magazine out of his hands. He sets it back down on the counter, flicking quickly through the glossy pages until—

‘What the fuck?’ Yoongi says softly, his eyes going wide when he sees the photo spread across the two pages of the magazine.

It’s Taehyung, that’s for sure, but it’s a flawless, glossy Taehyung. He’s lying sprawled artfully on a hotel bed, hair wet and black and falling spiked over his forehead (much like it is right now), his eyes bright and piercing as they stare directly into the camera lens. There’s another guy in the photo, his head pillowed on Taehyung’s thigh, gazing out with dark, dark eyes. It’s all very simple, plain clothing and few colours, and something about the lighting and the odd angle makes Taehyung seem younger, weirdly vulnerable even as he’s smouldering up at the camera. It’s… well, it’s pretty fucking stunning.

SMART REALLY IS THE NEW SEXY, the headline reads in big, bold letters and Yoongi’s gaze flicks up momentarily to take in Taehyung’s sheepish expression before he reads on.

It seems that even in the cutthroat world of high fashion, this statement is finally ringing true and to prove it, we present to you two of Bangtan Models’ most promising young recruits:

Kim Taehyung is unlikely to be an unfamiliar face to our readers, having featured in our cover of this year’s Seoul Fashion Week where he walked for D.GNAK. His face has been on billboards across Korea and Japan this past year, he featured in Vogue, modelling the BLINDNESS Spring/Summer 2015 collection, and is set to appear alongside Jeon Minju in Hera’s Christmas commercial this December. His dramatic features and piercing looks make him quite the promising young model, but Kim Taehyung is certainly more than just a pretty face. Born and raised in Daegu, he showed great academic potential through middle school and received a scholarship to Seoul Science High School. He graduated as one of the top students in the country and is now studying a double major in astronomy and Japanese. He was scouted by Bangtan Models in June of 2014 and has been a rising name within the industry ever since. So, whether he remains in fashion or heads, quite literally, for the stars, here at Elle we reckon Kim Taehyung is one to watch.

There’s more on the other page, but that seems to be about the second model in the photograph, who’s no concern of Yoongi’s right now.

‘What the fuck?’ he says again, picking up the magazine to scan the article up close, in case his eyes have somehow been deceiving him. ‘Tae, you could’ve given me a heads up on the fact that I’ve been fucking Korea’s next top model.’

Still looking a touch sheepish, like a kid caught throwing wet toilet paper at the ceiling, Taehyung shrugs. ‘Never came up.’

‘Holy shit,’ Yoongi mumbles, snapping the magazine shut because that’s enough of that for one day. He looks up at the younger boy, eyes still wide. ‘What the fuck are you? Some kinda child genius? Why the fuck are you even here?’

Taehyung blinks, seeming dazed by the sudden onslaught of questions. ‘Here?’

‘You should be in a SKY uni, probably on full fucking scholarship if this shit’s to be believed,’ Yoongi says, jerking his chin towards the magazine on the counter.

Taehyung sort of shugs. ‘Well, I mean, KAIST offered me a place, but--’

Yoongi’s eyes go wide. ‘KAIST?’

‘Yeah, but they wouldn’t let me minor in Performing Arts because they don’t offer performing arts.’ Taehyung makes a face. ‘Obviously.’

‘You turned down KAIST because… holy fuck,’ Yoongi trails off, rather weakly, leaning back against the cabinets. Sure, he’d gotten the impression from the others that Taehyung was smart or whatever, but this is a whole other ball game. This is fucking child genius turned adult-genius-slash-international-runway-model, but it’s also Kim Taehyung, the idiot with the box smile and weird as fuck brain and none of this makes any sense.

‘And also, my dad went to our university,’ he goes on, with another awkward shrug, rubbing at the condensation on his glass, ‘and he always said he had the time of his life here. He even minored in Astronomy for a while.’

‘And your dad let you turn down KAIST?’ Yoongi asks, trying to imagine his own father’s face if his hyung turned down the offer from Seoul University’s business school. He’d have personally crucified the boy.

‘I was allowed to choose my own university,’ Taehyung says simply, a touch quieter. He’s moved on from fiddling with his rings to scraping patterns into the condensation on his water glass, slumped in a way he usually isn’t. Through the shock, Yoongi realises, with something of a jolt, that he actually seems uncomfortable. For the first time since he met the kid, Taehyung seems to be shrinking into his own skin, eyes downcast, shoulders tense, and Yoongi feels a frown pinch lightly at his own eyebrows. He has no fucking idea what this is about, but Min Yoongi knows when to drop something and this is a thing that needs to be dropped.

With nothing more than another grunt of disbelief, he heads for the fridge to get himself a drink, ignoring the questions bumping around his mind for something else to talk about. ‘So, is that where you came from today?’ he asks, turning back a moment later with a bottle of water in hand. Taehyung’s seemingly random work schedule is starting to make a lot more sense, as do the mysteriously hairless legs that Yoongi never wanted to ask about. ‘You had a photoshoot?’

Taehyung nods, seeming to have perked up already at the change of subject. ‘Just a small one for--’ He waves a dismissive hand. ‘I dunno, a clothing website or something.’

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at the younger’s flippancy. ‘Don’t you like it?’

‘What? Modelling?’ Taehyung quickly shakes his head. ‘Sure I do. I mean, obviously it’s not what I wanna do forever, but it’s fun, I like it. Today was just a studio shoot, though, white background, no props. They get boring after a while and just drag on forever.’ A rather unholy expression tugs at his lips as he glances up, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. ‘Especially when you know you’re doing right after.’

Yoongi hides his smirk by taking a sip from his water bottle. He’s noticed, more recently, that Taehyung's finally stopped being so formal and shy with him most of the time. He seems no less terrified, but it seems the terror has stopped getting in the way of him speaking his mind, making a first move, asking for what he actually wants from time to time. And Yoongi doesn’t hate it.

‘Well, I need to go study,’ Taehyung says, pushing himself away from the counter and setting the glass down. He makes a face, pouting unhappily. ‘I have a calc test tomorrow morning.’

Which only brings Yoongi’s mind back around to the fact that Kim Taehyung is the fucking child genius turned adult-genius-slash-international-runway-model. This pink-cheeked, messy-haired, pouting dork in front him went to a top high school on scholarship, got an offer from KAIST, turned down an offer from KAIST simply because it suited him and featured in Elle -- more than once. He should probably be less surprised considering the fact that he’s half heard Taehyung babbling on about his courses and modules, complaining about his thermal physics course being too simple, high school stuff. And even the modelling shouldn’t shock him as much as it does, since he’s pretty well aware of the fact that Taehyung’s, you know… alright looking, easy enough on the eyes, sinful as fuck with a slick of eyeliner.

He should probably less surprised except for the fact that he’s been fucking Taehyung for over two months and knew so little about his life. It’s not that it bothers him, per se, but as he stands in the kitchen after Taehyung’s left, staring at the glass on the counter with the smiley face scratched into the dripping condensation, he kind of wonders what else he doesn’t know.

Not that he cares, particularly.

He just doesn’t want anything weird coming to bite him in the ass.

-     -     -     -     -

Yoongi is sprawled on the couch with an arm over his eyes to block the light from the lamp, just laying there listening to Hoseok pottering about in the kitchen, winding down from another few hours spent smoothing out that piece for his portfolio. It’s relaxing, the TV turned low enough that it’s only soothing background noise, the smells of last night’s jjigae drifting out into the living room as Hoseok reheats it on the hob. It’s nice, quiet, comforting and Yoongi can already feel some of the anxiety (not dealt with by Taehyung) seeping out of his muscles, when—

‘MIN YOONGI!’ Hoseok’s voice cuts loud through the soft atmosphere of the apartment, startling Yoongi enough that he jumps out of the doze he’d been settling into, arm falling away from his face as he sits up.

‘Yoongi!’ Hoseok roars again, voice pitched slightly with indignance and Yoongi wonders what the fuck he could’ve done wrong now.

What?’ he grumbles, hauling himself to his feet and stretching out his arms with a pained groan.

‘Get the hell in here!’ Hoseok snaps, and Yoongi can tell from all the informalities that he’s not really mad — which is almost more worrying.

He pads across the living area in his sock-feet, stopping in the kitchen doorway, wary of going any further when Hoseok has a large, steaming metal spoon in his hand. He’s standing in the corner of the kitchen, where two sections of the counter meet, and he’s staring at Yoongi with jaw set and lips pursed, an eyebrow raised.

‘Anything you wanna tell me, hyung? Anything at all?’

Yoongi frowns and runs a hand back through his nap-tousled hair, too goddamn tired for this. ‘What?’ he mumbles. ‘I dunno? No?’

‘So, that—’ Hoseok points to the floor with his spoon. ‘That’s not a condom wrapper?’

Oh.

It does so happen that the corner of the kitchen Hoseok is currently standing in is also the corner of the kitchen Yoongi chose to… uh, work in earlier that day. So, when he squints and spies the shining blue foil curled and torn near Hoseok’s Mickey Mouse sock, he’s not that surprised to find that it is, indeed, a piece of condom wrapper.

Goddamn that boy.

Without a word, Yoongi crosses the small space and snatches it up, ducking away before Hoseok can get at him with that spoon.

‘Did you fuck Taehyungie in my kitchen?’ he demands, voice high, face a mixture of disgust and murderous intent, with maybe a hint of amusement, which is the only reason Yoongi deems it safe to be an asshole.

‘Actually, Taehyung fucked me in your kitchen,’ Yoongi corrects, and though he cracks a filthy smirk at that one, Hoseok seems to genuinely consider lobbing the heavy metal spoon at his friend’s head.

‘You’re a dirty bastard, Min Yoongi!’ he yells after him, as Yoongi makes his escape back to the living room. ‘I cook in this corner! This is my favourite cooking corner!’

Yoongi grins over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, I can see why you like it.’

‘I hate you!’ Hoseok huffs, turning back to the jjigae on the hob.

‘No, you don’t,’ Yoongi half sings half sighs in reply, plopping down into the couch cushions.

Too busy throwing smart-assed comments at his scandalised roommate, Yoongi forgot to drop the wrapper in the trash on his way out of the kitchen. It sits on his palm when he opens his hand, bent and crushed from his fist.

He’d forgotten about it all day, got caught up in his work again as soon as Taehyung left and barely looked up till Hoseok came home. He didn’t think about it once, not after the brief moment earlier, when Taehyung produced the two packets and Yoongi’s mind threw a thought at him that he hated it for. And still hates it for, because the thought took root and sat quietly all day, almost as if it was waiting for something like this to happen, to drag the weirdness back into his mind.

Because Taehyung had a condom and lube at the ready in his jeans pocket, his excuse being I wore these out last weekend — which is a pretty solid excuse, a reassuring one even. But when someone remembers to pocket a condom and lube on their way out, it generally means they’re going out with the intention of getting laid. Which means Taehyung went out last weekend with the intention of getting laid, of picking someone up at some random club in Hongdae.

Yoongi pokes at the crushed wrapper with his thumb.

It shouldn’t bother him. It doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t care who Taehyung fucks when he’s not fucking him. It’s not like they’re exclusive. It’s not like the subject of exclusivity has ever even come up because neither of them has ever brought it up and Yoongi’s never felt the need. Even before, with other people, any exclusivity tended to happen by accident or out of convenience and necessity — like during the campus-wide chlamydia outbreak of ’13, when he made that pact with the Sound Production TA. They figured they could both could get through it with their genitals still attached to their bodies if they just helped each other out and didn’t fuck anyone else. That’s as close to exclusive as Yoongi’s ever gotten with someone in recent times and it’s never bothered him before.

It doesn’t bother him now either. He doesn’t care. If he wasn’t so busy, he’d probably be fucking other people, too, except...

Except that, even as Yoongi crawls to the end of the couch closest the kitchen door to aim the wrapper at the bin, he knows that’s probably not true.

He’s not about to try and deny that Taehyung is some of the best sex he’s ever had, and even if he wasn’t in his final year, even if he did have the time to go to clubs and parties every weekend, the chances of him being interested in half-assed drunken trysts in unfamiliar beds are still pretty slim. That one hook-up he managed between the first time he fucked Taehyung and the second only serves to back up his point. It paled in comparison.

Why would anyone else be any different?

Yoongi fires the wrapper at the bin and watches as it whizzes in to join the rest of the trash.

He stays like that, sprawled on his stomach, chin pillowed on his arms on the arm of the couch as he stares blankly at the bin, vaguely aware of Hoseok off to the side, dishing out his dinner.

It doesn’t bother him and he doesn’t care who Taehyung fucks when he’s not fucking him.

He doesn’t.

And ntil Hoseok comes in and pokes him out of the way, Yoongi lies there like that, staring at the bin, drilling it into his mind until he almost believes it.

 

-     -     -     -     -

 

Tuesday is weird.

Yoongi likes Tuesdays. With no lectures or workshops to worry about, he’s free to get up at lunchtime and spend the rest of the day (and most of the night, probably) in one of the studios nestled in the basement of the music building. His studio, to be exact.

By right, the studios were to be shared equally amongst the music department students, but Yoongi is one of the precious few who Professor Bang decided to take a liking to -- in fact himself and Namjoon might be the only students Professor Bang has ever taken a liking to. From his first year, Yoongi always booked the same studio, RS7, on the left at the end of the corridor, the furthest away from any other classrooms, any other noise. When he got to know Namjoon through Seokjin, they often shared the studio, double booking so they could both have longer sessions, since the standard two hour slot was almost never enough. Professor Bang dropped by to listen to them record more than once, never commenting apart from the odd criticism, leaving most days without a word. Then, at some point last year, the timetable and booking sheet were unpinned from the door of RS7, with no explanation from Professor Bang other than a brief encounter after one of his lectures.

‘You’re gonna need it,’ was all he said, handing Yoongi an envelope, oddly heavy in his hand. ‘Key,’ the professor went on to explain, gathering his papers from the lecture podium. ‘There’s a set in there for the blonde kid as well. Keep him around, Yoongi-ssi, and work hard.’

And that was it.

It was probably the best moment of Yoongi’s life so far, but it was over a year ago. It’s a well-worn routine now — unlocking the studio, coaxing the prehistoric space-heater into working (because the music building is ancient and the basements are arctic), dropping into the leather chair he managed to buy only after living off noodle cups for the entire spring term, and taking a moment to let the warmth seep from his coffee cup into his fingertips. Yoongi has just fired up the computer and is busy trying to bury himself further inside his scarf and jacket when the door opens.

And this is where Tuesday gets weird.

‘I thought you had—oh,’ Yoongi cuts off, after spinning around in his chair to find that the newcomer is not Namjoon. ‘Hyung. Hi.’

Seokjin smiles pleasantly, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that has guilt stirring in Yoongi’s stomach. ‘Nice to see you’re alive, Yoongi-ah,’ he says, moving to the age-worn couch tucked against the wall. He sits down as comfortably as he would on his own couch, which isn’t surprising considering how many evenings he’s spent studying on that couch while Namjoon worked on his music. The studio must be as much of a second home to Seokjin as it is to them by now.

Yoongi mumbles some sort of unintelligible reply, reaching over to log in to the computer.

So, maybe he’s been kind of avoiding Seokjin. He’s not entirely sure why, since Namjoon has drilled it into him over and over that Seokjin, while not exactly loving the Taehyung Situation, is dealing with it all very well (if avoidance and selective ignorance can be considered “very well”).

But it was just one of those things.

Yoongi started avoiding him right after the whole Seokjin Walking In On Him Giving His Baby Cousin A Handjob escapade and then Seokjin was busy and Yoongi was busy and no one even noticed what was happening until Yoongi was sitting around one Thursday evening trying to figure out why he was so bored, which is when he realised that Thursday evenings were his and Seokjin’s evenings. When Hoseok had dance and Namjoon was tutoring till late, when Yoongi would go to Seokjin’s or Seokjin would come to his and cook and play video games or watch those weird, gross surgery videos Seokjin had to study. It took one pretty fucking lonely Thursday evening for Yoongi to realise what had happened and by then, it’d been several weeks and it was already awkward. So, yes, maybe he’s been kind of avoiding Seokjin. And yes, maybe he kind of feels like shit about that, but it is what it is.

‘So,’ Seokjin says, after a few moments of thick silence, not looking at Yoongi as he tugs off his gloves. ‘I’ve decided to not mention that you’ve been avoiding me for the past month.’

Yoongi turns to frown before he can stop himself. ‘You just did.’

Seokjin pins him with a steady gaze. ‘Whoops,’ he says mildly, and yet there’s something so subtly sinister about the word that Yoongi bites his tongue hard against any further comment. Setting his gloves down delicately next to him on the couch, Seokjin sits back and looks at him. ‘So, is it because I walked in on you two or is it because you had sex with my cousin in my bed?’

Yoongi almost chokes on his coffee, a fist flying up to his mouth before he sprays the equipment, eyes wide as he turns to Seokjin again. ‘H-how—’ He breaks off to splutter some more, face flushing. ‘How the fuck did you find out about that one?’ he finally demands, voice slightly broken.

Seokjin smirks. ‘Namjoon let it slip,’ he says, waving the fact away with an airy hand. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t actually my room, but I felt like making you squirm.’

Yoongi perks up at that, frowning, still rubbing at his chest to soothe his traumatised lungs. ‘It wasn’t your room? I thought you said you didn’t have a spare room?’

Seokjin shakes his head. ‘We don’t. It’s Taehyung’s room.’

‘Taehyung’s room,’ Yoongi echoes slowly, an eyebrow lifting. ‘Taehyung... has a room... in the apartment you just bought with your boyfriend?’

‘Yeah.’ Seokjin shrugs, as if this is the most natural thing in the world and Yoongi is simply being dense. ‘Anyway,’ he goes on pointedly. ‘What I’m here to say is that I’m sick of this and I miss you and my clinical placement is done for this semester, so I’m free Thursday night.’

Midway through a sip of coffee, Yoongi swallows carefully, lowering the cup to rest on an arm of his chair. After a second, he nods once. ‘Okay,’ he says.

Seokjin smiles. ‘Okay,’ he agrees simply.

And that’s why Yoongi likes being friends with Seokjin.

 

It’s easy after that. The studio starts warming up with the space heater and Seokjin peels off his coat, kicking back on the couch and chatting idly as Yoongi opens up his programmes. He complains about the asshole consultants he’s had to follow around at the hospital, rants for ten minutes straight about Namjoon’s various attempts at cooking over the past few weeks (‘I keep telling him I’ll still love him if he gets chubby, but not if he gives himself third degree burns all over his face from attempting to boil rice, yet he still refuses to just get take-out.’), and talks for even longer, eyes wide with awe, about a heart procedure he got to observe the day before, one he and Yoongi had watched with popcorn only last year. Yoongi grumbles for a while about Hoseok and Jimin and their general loudness and grossness, and tells him about the new track he’s been working on with Hoseok and Namjoon, how the three of them are on the list to perform in DOPE next week. He lets Seokjin listen to some of it while he’s editing, since he may not be the biggest fan of hiphop, but he’s been around them long enough now to know what works and what doesn’t.

‘It sounds great, Yoongi-ah,’ he says, his eyebrows high as he looks over, impressed. ‘I heard Namjoonie practicing his verse, too. I think it’ll be incredible once it’s all pulled together.’

‘Thanks, hyung,’ Yoongi mumbles, turning back to the screen. He’s never done well with praise, particularly not from the precious few whose opinion he actually gives a shit about, and heat creeps into the tips of his ears.

An hour passes, two, and Seokjin keeps mentioning having to leave and do things since he has five minutes to himself, but they lapse back into conversation each time because apparently that one unmarried lecturer is pregnant and is BIGBANG really having a comeback or is YG just messing with them again and, dammit, hyung, you could’ve told me your cousin was a fucking model.

‘I could’ve, Yoongi-ah,’ Seokjin agrees, casting Yoongi a meaningful look, ‘if I’d actually seen you for more than three seconds at time.’

Yoongi does some more unintelligible grumbling in response to that and Seokjin only shakes his head with a sigh that’s half a laugh.

‘Why else would I have been at Seoul Fashion Week last summer?’ He makes a face, turning back to his phone where he’s been scrolling through his Instagram, rating his own selfies. ‘At D.GNAK’s show of all places.’ Seokjin sounds as if the mere thought appalls him.

‘I dunno,’ Yoongi mutters. ‘Isn’t he, like, Namjoon’s fashion idol? Pretty sure his closet would be a D.GNAK shrine if he had the money.’

‘Ugh, probably,’ Seokjin murmurs, frowning in disgust. ‘Which is exactly why I’d never bring him to a D.GNAK showing. Heaven forbid he gets anymore wardrobe inspiration.’

Yoongi smirks at that, remembering the tight, painful smile Seokjin had plastered onto his face all through Namjoon’s “skirt” phase. Or that one pair of light wash dungarees Seokjin “accidentally” christened with red wine and “accidentally” washed along with his bright pink winter blanket, just for extra measure, his excuse being that, ‘there are limits to even the greatest of loves and mine just might be those dungarees.’

‘But speaking of Taehyung,’ he drawls now, and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

‘Hyung, those are the exact words I hoped I’d never have to hear from you today.’

‘Tough,’ Seokjin says, with a smile as charming as anything. ‘How is he?’

‘Taehyung?’ Yoongi asks, face immediately falling into a frown. He laughs once, low in his throat, deciding that if Seokijn’s going to be evil, then so is he. ‘Like, in bed? Well, let me tell you, hyung, that kid has a tongue that just doesn’t—’

Seokjin makes a strangled noise, hands flying up to cover his ears as he hums loudly, blocking out Yoongi’s words. ‘You are a despicable human being, Min Yoongi!’ he snaps, as soon as the younger man has dissolved into a fit of evil cackling, practically curled up in his chair at the traumatised look on his hyung’s face. ‘I have images in my head now that I never wanted to have!’ He shudders violently, while Yoongi tries to catch his breath and not fall out of his chair, and Seokjin eyes him, looking like he hopes he fails in both respects. ‘I meant,’ he goes on, biting out his words, ‘his general mood recently... How’s it been?’

That alone is enough to sober Yoongi up a touch, his laughs trailing off into hiccups as he straightens up in his chair, dragging a sleeve over his eyes. ‘His mood?’ he echoes, frowning. ‘I dunno, hyung, why’re you asking me?’

‘You see him almost as much as Jimin does now, Yoongi,’ Seokjin says, raising an eyebrow as if there might be some hidden meaning behind those words. ‘So, you get asked, too. He seems okay?’

Yoongi shrugs. ‘I guess. He doesn’t seem any different, but I’m not gonna pretend I’d necessarily notice,’ he adds, turning back to his work. ‘I mean, you probably don’t wanna hear this, hyung, but we don’t exactly do a whole lotta talking.’

Seokjin makes an unamused noise in the back of throat. ‘Yes, well, I figured,’ he mutters. ‘But I thought I’d ask.’

‘Well, you have your answer,’ Yoongi says, without glancing away from the screen, and it takes every ounce of willpower he has in him not to ask why the hell Seokjin’s asking in the first place. Because then it would seem like he cares. But he doesn’t, he’s just fucking nosy. He’s always been the curious type. His halmeoni used to call him a little cat. That’s it. That’s all it is.

Seokjin hums in acknowledgement and that’s the end of that. He moves onto movie options and food choices for Thursday night and Taehyung doesn’t come up again.

But Tuesday’s not fucking done with Yoongi yet.

‘You and Taehyungie,’ Hoseok says, the moment he shuts the studio door behind him. He flings himself down onto the couch, the tormented springs creaking their objections at the strain.

Yoongi grunts in response, more than a tad bit hostile, because Seokjin only left with his strange questions half an hour ago and he is not in the mood for this right now, whatever the fuck it is.

Hoseok’s face remains nothing short of puzzled, eyebrows knotted, lips pursed. ‘Are you guys... exclusive?’

Yoongi turns to shoot him a look that’s half disbelief (because since fucking when did Kim Taehyung become everyone’s favourite topic of conversation?) and half get the fuck out. ‘Where did that even come from?’ he asks, unable to smooth down the clipped edges of his his voice.

Hoseok shrugs, as if this is nothing, as if he’s not one a one-way track to ruining Yoongi’s entire afternoon with this line of questioning. ‘I dunno, hyung. I’ve just been wondering for a while. Don’t think I’m the only one who has been either.’

Yoongi scoffs quietly, turning back to his work. Let them fucking wonder, nosy little—

‘So?’ Hoseok presses, and Yoongi feels one of the scrunched up balls of paper from the floor hit his shoulder.

‘So, what?’ he growls, flicking the offending paper ball back at his friend. ‘Hoseok, this is a bad fucking time. I’m trying to work.’

‘But, hyung,’ he groans, letting his head fall dramatically back against the arm of the couch. ‘Have you even talked about it? Considered talking about? Considered the possibility of thinking about talking about it?’

‘No,’ Yoongi sighs, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk and kneading his forehead with his fingers. There’s a paperweight by the computer that Namjoon won in some nerdy-ass competition last year. Yoongi wonders if throwing it at Hoseok would brain him entirely or just knock him out for a couple hours. He’s not sure which he’d prefer right now. ‘We haven’t. Well, I haven’t anyway.’

‘Huh,’ Hoseok grunts, sounding thoughtful, worryingly thoughtful. Yoongi’s life is an easier thing when Hoseok’s not thinking. ‘Why not?’

‘Why would we?’ Yoongi asks blandly, lifting his head and focusing back in on the editing windows on-screen.

‘Because proper communication is healthy,’ Hoseok says, as if he’s never had a single solitary dysfunctional relationship in his life, as if he’s never dated an actual drug dealer or had a string of good-for-nothing pothead playthings to occupy his summer. ‘Plus,’ the younger adds, shrugging, ‘neither of you are fucking anyone else, may as well make it official.’

Yoongi’s fingers hesitate over the keyboard as he takes in Hoseok’s words, a curl of something uncomfortable licking through his stomach. But he ignores it, clearing his throat, directing his gaze back to his work. ‘Taehyung’s been fucking other people,’ he says, tone as neutral as it gets.

‘Yeah?’ Hoseok sounds surprised, shocked even, voice tailing up at the end. ‘What makes you think that, hyung?’

‘I... I just know,’ Yoongi mutters, because okay, maybe he didn’t think about how he’d actually explain his suspicions to Hoseok without sounding… some kinda way he shouldn’t sound.

‘Did someone say something?’ Hoseok presses, and out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi can see his roommate’s pinched eyebrows, mouth turned down in a frown. ‘Did you see him with someone?’

‘Yeah, Hoseok,’ Yoongi deadpans, not taking his eyes away from his work. ‘I stalk him round campus to pass the time — haven’t I mentioned that before?’

That gets him another paper ball, this time to his right ear. ‘Don’t be a salty asshole, hyung. Talk to me.’

Yoongi turns to smirk at his friend’s questionable choice of words, but Hoseok’s clearly done messing around, eyes narrowed as he watches Yoongi, waiting. Yoongi reckons that if he put his mind to it, he could probably dodge the question for another three or four minutes before Hoseok climbs into his lap and threatens to stick his tongue in his ear, or whips out one of his other, equally horrifying interrogation methods. Normally, Yoongi would cherish those three or four minutes, but he just doesn’t have enough fight left in him today.

He sighs, letting his head fall against the back of his chair, so his eyes are on the ceiling and not Hoseok. ‘Yesterday,’ he says shortly. ‘He had stuff in his pocket, a condom and lube or whatever. Said they were there from when he went out last weekend.’

There’s a moment of quiet and Yoongi is glad he can’t see the assumptions and suspicions playing across Hoseok’s face right now.

‘Ah,’ he finally murmurs, sounding enlightened. ‘If he remembered to take a condom and lube, then…’

‘Yeah.’

‘Ah,’ Hoseok says again, a touch softer this time. That better not be fucking pity Yoongi is hearing in his voice. This is not a situation in which he needs to be pitied. He doesn’t give a fuck. Taehyung can do what he fucking likes and Yoongi...

Yoongi will hide in his studio and avoid thinking about any of this. Naturally.

‘Well, I mean, you don’t know that really, hyung,’ Hoseok tries to reason, after a few beats of silence. He sits up on the couch, rearranging himself till he’s cross-legged and facing Yoongi. ‘Maybe he was just playing it safe, or maybe it’s just a habit he has and a damn good one at that.’

Yoongi hums noncommittally, lifting his head and swivelling back to the computer, though he’s given up on trying to work until Hoseok’s in the recording booth and out of his way. He can feel the younger man watching him from the side, head tilted slightly like a dog who’s heard something odd in the distance. Yoongi ignores him, zooming in on different layers of the track to make it look like he’s actually doing something. With any luck, Hoseok won’t know the difference.

‘I’m sensing you’re not so happy with the idea of Taehyung sleeping with other people,’ he finally says, tone light and cautious, the vocal version of tiptoeing.

‘I don’t give a fuck, Hoseok,’ Yoongi sighs, too tired now to even bother sounding pissed. There’s a steady throbbing starting up just between his eyes.

‘Are you gonna make me call you a liar, hyung?’ Hoseok asks, amusement tinting his voice. ‘Come on, I know you better than that. Something’s eating at you.’

‘Well, it’s not that.’

Hoseok hitches up a knowing eyebrow, smug little shit. ‘What is it then?’

‘Trying to decide which Masters programme to apply for,’ Yoongi mutters, without missing a beat because he’s hasn’t exactly been not worrying about it. ‘It’s stressful stuff, Hoseok-ah.’

‘Liar,’ Hoseok snorts. ‘You’ve had your heart set on Composition for like a year, hyung, don’t give me that.’

Yoongi side-eyes him with a dark look, but says nothing in reply as he gets to his feet, heading out into the hall to unlock the door to the recording booth. He’s half hopeful Hoseok might back off when he doesn’t bound in immediately after him, but those half hopes are dashed a moment later when he hears a voice from the doorway.

‘Look, I’m not trying to say you have real feelings for Taehyung, not like that,’ Hoseok says, his tone not quite as smug now. ‘But if you’re having sex, it’s pretty natural to feel... possessive, I guess. That’s why there is such a thing as fucking exclusively.’

An eyebrow raised, Yoongi glances up from where he’s been fiddling with his favourite mic — the best in the studio, but the most temperamental of the lot. ‘Possessive?’ he echoes.

Hoseok shrugs.  ‘Yeah. I mean, not in a super creepy, handcuffed-to-the-radiator way, just…’ He makes a face, searching for the right words before he seems to find them with an awful little smirk. ‘You don’t want anyone else’s grubby paws touching what’s yours.’

Yoongi scoffs, beckoning Hoseok over to the mic, so he can adjust it to the right height. ‘He’s not mine, Hoseok.’

The younger man’s smirk turns filthy, eyes crinkling as he gives Yoongi an up-and-down look. ‘Tell that your dick,’ he drawls.

Yoongi scowls, shoving a set of headphones at his chest before stalking off out of the booth again, slamming the door on his asshole of a best friend. He heads back into the studio and drops down into his chair, blatantly ignoring Hoseok making faces and finger hearts at him through the window, safe in the knowledge that he now has a mute button for the younger man.

Possessive.

He laughs quietly to himself at the thought as he sets everything up to record Hoseok’s verse and hooks.

Him, possessive of Kim Taehyung.

Fucking ridiculous.

Chapter Text

‘You spineless little—I swear to god, don’t you fucking—don’t you fucking dare use your ult, you—yah, fuck! FUCK!’

You have been slain,’ the imperious game-voice chimes in.

‘Yes, I’m aware, thank you very fucking much!’ Taehyung growls at the laptop, letting his head fall forward into his hands as his character dies tragically on-screen.

Yoongi glances over lazily from where he’s sprawled on the couch, one earbud in as he listens to their new track, making note of the parts that need cleaning up later, that one bit he might get Namjoon to re-record. ‘You swear more playing that than you do during sex,’ he observes mildly.

‘Fucking shitting fuck!’ Taehyung all but roars in reply. By the looks of things, he’s just teleported right back into the heart of the battle and is being mercilessly attacked from all sides already. ‘Hyung, this is serious shit, of course I’m swearing! This team always fucking annihilates us and not this time, hyung — not this ti—ah, DIE CRETIN!’

With a heavy sigh that he hopes Taehyung registers through the bloodthirsty haze of battle, Yoongi turns back to his phone.

Twenty minutes ago, they were making out on the couch, hot and tangled, Yoongi’s fingertips just inching underneath the waistband of Taehyung’s boxers when the weird, tinny gong noise sounded from his laptop. Taehyung perked up like a meerkat, squinting to read whatever it said on screen, then he was out from under Yoongi in seconds, cross-legged on the floor with his laptop balanced on his thighs.

‘I gotta take this, hyung,’ he said, as if he was referring to some urgent business call and not a fictional online battle with a bunch of multinational nerds.

‘You fucking serious?’ Yoongi demanded, wide-eyed and dazed at the sudden change in his situation, his hoodie hanging off his shoulders, half hard in his jeans.

‘It’s important, hyung!’ Taehyung insisted, sounding desperately apologetic even as he locked into the game, chat box pinging with battle strategies from his teammates, fingers flying over the keys to respond. ‘I’ve been waiting for this all day. I’ll be quick as I can, I swear!’

For a moment, all Yoongi could do was stare with his mouth hanging open, arousal ebbing into frustration before he groaned and let himself fall back hard onto the couch cushions. ‘Why the fuck do I put up with this?’ he asked the ceiling, zipping his hoodie back up because now he was fucking cold on top of everything else. ‘You have twenty minutes, Taehyung, I swear to god.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he waited for his game to load, ‘I’ll make it up to you, hyung.’

‘You’d fucking better,’ Yoongi grumbled, pulling out his phone and ignoring the flush of heat that warmed his stomach at the words.

Now, half an hour later, he’s bored and caught somewhere uncomfortable between horny and not, leaving him restless enough that he can’t even take a nap while Taehyung’s team gets ravaged by their opponents — and not even in the good way if all the An ally has been slain!’s are anything to go by. Sighing unhappily, he tugs out his earbuds and stuffs his phone back into his pocket, twisting himself on the couch in an attempt to get comfy. He ends up with his head hanging over the edge, squinting disinterestedly at Taehyung’s laptop screen from this strange upside down angle.

‘Tae,’ he groans impatiently, choosing not to acknowledge the whining edge to his own voice. ‘Come on, you’ve had half an hour now and you’re gonna lose anyway.’

‘Don’t say that, hyung!’ he wails, jabbing the E key with so much force Yoongi wonders how that laptop has even survived this long. ‘We will not surrender, we will not lose—NO, NO, YOU SON OF A—JESUS FUCK—YEAH, YEAH, THAT’S IT! RUN AWAY! FLEE, YOU COWARDLY—’ Taehyung cuts off suddenly with a soft gasp of oh shit, and Yoongi rolls onto his stomach again to watch with a smirk as Taehyung’s character is drowned in the shadow of some large dragon creature, looming out of the forest.

‘SHIT!’ he eventually shrieks, snapping out of his shock and clicking wildly on the mousepad in an attempt to escape the dragon, but he’s too late. The dragon creature lunges forward and—

You have been slain.

Taehyung lets out an inhuman shriek of grief as his character falls to the forest floor and the screen darkens while the respawn counter starts up. ‘That’s why he was running,’ he mumbles into his hands. ‘What an asshole. He knew we’d pissed off the Baron. He fucking knew and he just—’

Yoongi rolls his eyes at Taehyung’s pitiful lamenting and reaches out across the few feet of space between them, fingers snagging on the collar of Taehyung’s shirt, tugging.

‘C’mon,’ he says, as low and heady as he can, not missing the way Taehyung leans back into his touch. It’s only a little, but it’s enough to entice Yoongi off the couch. ‘Tae, what’s the score?’ he asks, moving over to where Taehyung is sitting cross-legged by the coffee table.

‘33 - 64,’ he mumbles, directing his newly healed character back to the main battle.

Yoongi settles himself on his knees behind Taehyung, spreading his legs so the younger can more or less slot between them, Yoongi’s chest pressing up against his back. ‘They’re kicking your ass, Tae,’ he murmurs, leaning in to peck light, lingering kisses up the side of Taehyung’s throat and relishing the shiver that runs down his spine. ‘I’m sure your teammates can lose just fine without you.’

‘I can’t just give up, hyung,’ Taehyung says regretfully. ‘Where’s the honour in that?’

‘Tell them,’ Yoongi breathes the words against his skin, his tongue flicking out to taste salt and sweet. ‘Tell them you’re about to get sucked off on your living room floor — I think they’ll understand.’

‘Hyung,’ Taehyung all but whines, his fingers still busy with the keys and mousepad even as Yoongi snakes his hands up, starts unbuttoning Taehyung’s soft, flannel shirt. ‘Hyung, please,’ he mumbles, when Yoongi gets the shirt undone enough to tug the collar down over one shoulder, teeth grazing over the sunkissed skin.

‘You want me to stop?’ he asks, fingers paused on the next button.

‘We need to try to win, hyung.’

‘That’s not what I asked,’ Yoongi says, slipping open the button, fingers dropping to the next one, the second last. ‘You want me to stop?’

‘I c-can’t let the team down,’ Taehyung whispers, his head resting back against Yoongi’s shoulder, hands markedly less enthusiastic on the keys.

Yoongi opens that button, too, moving to the last one, stopping. ‘I’m gonna need a definite yes, Tae,’ he murmurs, fingertips stroking over the soft skin just above the waistband of Taehyung’s boxers, his shorts still undone from earlier. He kisses the bonier part of Taehyung’s arm where it meets his shoulder, sucking lightly on the skin. ‘You want me to stop?’

Taehyung whimpers low in his throat and Yoongi isn’t sure if it’s because his team just lost another turret or if Yoongi’s finally getting to him or both, but whatever the case, the sound goes straight to his dick, his fingers yanking open the last button and sliding the shirt as far down Taehyung’s arms as it’ll go while his hands are still on the keyboard.

‘Hyung,’ he groans again, but it’s not the same reluctant tone as before. It’s deep and breathy in response to the hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses Yoongi is now scattering over his shoulder blades, all teeth and tongue. He can feel the muscles of Taehyung’s abdomen twitching under his hands and he knows he’s getting hard again, knows that if he just dropped a palm to the front of Taehyung’s boxers now, the younger’s hips would buck, a delicious moan catching in his throat. And god, he wants to. He wants to hear that moan, wants to feel Taehyung start to fall apart good and proper under his hands — but he holds himself in check.

After the shit he’s pulled today, he wants the boy to fucking beg for it first.

To the oh-so-sensual soundtrack of computer keys clacking and the mousepad clicking and the tinny sounds of battle issuing from the laptop’s speakers, Yoongi tugs the shirt down a little further, revealing the full constellation of tiny, dark moles scattered at random over the smooth skin of Taehyung’s back. Yoongi starts kissing the ones he can reach at this angle, joining the dots with his tongue, feeling it in his own bones when Taehyung shivers again, the breath of a curse slipping out past his lips that has nothing to do with the game this time. Yoongi smirks against his skin because Taehyung's back is always such a fail-safe way to get him worked up, sensitive to even the lightest of touches. 

‘Ah—h-hyung,’ he moans, his voice thick and halfway wrecked already as Yoongi scrapes his teeth lightly over a mark he left on the skin. Taehyung is yet to notice that his team have lost an inner turret, his breathing heavy and his eyes half shut, hands moving sluggishly on the keys, none of the precision he had earlier. He scores another halfhearted kill as Yoongi moves his fingers back around to trace the lines of his hips, lips latching onto a spot between his shoulder blades, sucking a mark as Taehyung's breathing picks up pace. Eventually, he gives a little, sliding a palm down to tease the growing heat in Taehyung’s boxers, almost moaning aloud himself when the younger gasps, teeth catching on his own lower lip.

By the time Yoongi is satisfied with the bruise, it’s deep red and Taehyung’s hips buck when he smooths his tongue over it a couple times. A mischievous smirk tugs at a corner of his mouth as he pulls back, pauses just long enough that Taehyung might wonder what he’s planning. When blows cool air onto the wet, raw skin, Taehyung’s wrist flies up to his mouth to trap a rough moan and his back arches so fucking perfectly that Yoongi can’t stop his fingers slipping underneath the elastic of Taehyung’s boxers, wrapping tight around his length and giving a few long, slow pumps.

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung groans, eyes squeezing shut as his character dies for the third time in the last two minutes. ‘God, hyung.’

Yoongi goes back to brushing lighter kisses up towards his ear. ‘Good?’ he breathes, glad the other boy can’t see his face because the vicious intent is surely clear as day in the curve of his lips.

Taehyung hums in reply, his eyes still shut as he tilts his head back against Yoongi’s shoulder, hips rutting ever so slightly up into Yoongi’s fist. Yoongi lets his other hand slide over the tightening muscles of Taehyung’s stomach, sneaking up until his thumb brushes over a nipple, already firm as he rolls it between his fingers. Taehyung swears, hands slipping away from the keyboard entirely (his team have lost an inhibitor, whatever the fuck that means), and he doesn’t seem to know whether he wants to arch into the touch or curl away from it.

But Yoongi’s tired of playing. He tightens his grip around Taehyung’s now-leaking cock, increases the pace, attaches his lips to Taehyung’s skin and sucks at all the spots on his neck and shoulder that he knows rile him up the fastest. By the time his team have lost another inhibitor, Taehyung’s breaths are shaky and sharp, moans and curses tumbling freely from his mouth as he bucks up into Yoongi’s hand, the elder’s pace brutal and relentless — but calculated, controlled, just shy of enough.

‘Hyung,’ Taehyung gasps. ‘Hyung, faster, I’m so—so close—’

And he is. Yoongi can feel it in the strain of tendons under his lips, the gentle quivering of Taehyung’s entire body as he arches into it, chases after it, so damn close—

Which is precisely why Yoongi removes his hands and his mouth from Taehyung’s skin and shoves him back up off of him and into his original sitting position, the younger turning to look at him with wide, glazed, dazed eyes. Yoongi smiles in a way that’s probably more a grimace, all malice. ‘Now you know how I felt earlier, you little shit,’ he mutters, getting to his feet just as frustration and what can only be described utter betrayal start to dawn across Taehyung’s face.

‘Hyung,’ he all but whines, staring after Yoongi as he plops himself down onto the couch again, making a show of fluffing up the cushions, getting nice and comfortable, as if he was entirely unaffected by his own game. ‘You’re not… are you actually serious? Hyung!’

Yoongi shrugs noncommittally, tugging his phone out of his pocket and diverting his attention to that, watching Taehyung in his peripheral vision as he stares up at him with huge, incredulous eyes.

‘When you’re ready,’ Yoongi drawls, not glancing away from the phone, ‘I’ll be up here. You lost two inhibitors, by the way.’

‘WHAT?!’ he sputters, whipping his head back to the computer screen just in time to watch the grand red lettering appear, the voice-over booming in the background: DEFEAT.

Taehyung makes a sound in his throat that’s half whimper half snarl, reaching out to slam the laptop shut.

Yoongi is aware of what’s happening as Taehyung struggles to his feet, tangled in his half-off shorts and boxers, but he keeps his gaze on his phone, fingers flicking idly across the screen. Taehyung ends up kicking away the offending garments before pretty much launching himself at the couch, straddling Yoongi’s hips and snatching the phone out of his grasp.

‘Yah,’ Yoongi snaps, but even he has to admit his voice lacks conviction because Taehyung’s eyes are dark and burning, narrowed as he glowers down at Yoongi, holding the phone above his head.

‘That was mean, hyung,’ he says, voice low, so close to a growl that Yoongi’s eyebrows inch up. ‘That was fucking horrible.’

‘Was it?’ Yoongi murmurs, hands smoothing up Taehyung’s bare thighs and — fuck, he thinks, as he registers properly that Taehyung is half naked, his fingertips sneaking over the smooth, hot skin of his ass. Yoongi swallows hard, quirks up an eyebrow. ‘So, are you ready to play with me now?'

Taehyung holds his glower for a moment longer, reaching over Yoongi to tuck the phone behind a cushion. He would nearly look angry — intimidating, even — if his own tongue didn’t betray him, flicking out to wet his lips as his gaze drops to Yoongi’s mouth.

And then he pounces.

 

 

All of fifteen minutes later, they’re both gasping for breath, the aftershocks of Yoongi’s orgasm still rolling through him, humming hot in his veins. The hickeys on his neck ache gently, the sting of what might be broken skin over his hipbones where Taehyung’s nails dug deep welts and he’s pretty sure he’s going to be limping tomorrow, but all Yoongi can think is that he needs to rile Taehyung up way more fucking often.

The brutal pace, along with already being so close, Taehyung barely lasted five minutes, but Yoongi was spared any major disappointment when the younger’s mouth went straight to his cock, sucking him off with the same furious enthusiasm. And now, here they are, Yoongi sprawled on his back on the couch, Taehyung lying where he collapsed, head resting heavily on Yoongi’s stomach.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi whispers, his voice still raw.

‘Oh,’ he hears the younger murmur, lifting his head a little. ‘Oh, crap.’

‘What?’ he grumbles, opening his eyes to see Taehyung looking quite stricken past the dark flush across his cheeks, the bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

‘You’re cut,’ he says, running his fingers near the welts on Yoongi’s hips. ‘Even bleeding a little… I—did I—’

Yoongi rolls his eyes — always so careful. ‘S’fine,’ he cuts across him, reaching down to curl a hand into Taehyung’s damp hair, tugging. With a last guilty glance at the marks, Taehyung takes the hint and slides up to let Yoongi drag him into a kiss. It’s a wet mess, really, mouths sliding over each other, lazy and sated, and Yoongi can’t help the hum of contentment that rumbles in his chest. He feels Taehyung’s lips curve against his at the sound.

‘You really like kissing, huh, hyung?’ he mumbles into the kiss.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ he asks, and Taehyung shrugs, ducking his head to kiss over the marks he left on Yoongi’s neck.

‘I dunno, you just do it a lot.’ He nips at his earlobe, rolling the skin lightly between his teeth until Yoongi’s eyes flicker shut again. ‘I wasn’t complaining.’

‘Well, we’re fucking, Tae,’ he mutters, feeling the need to justify this regardless. ‘I dunno about you, but I think sex without kissing would be pretty fucking weird.’

‘Mm,’ Taehyung murmurs, lips brushing over the last mark on the curve of Yoongi’s jaw. ‘It is, trust me.’

Yoongi’s frown deepens as the other boy emerges from the crook of his neck. ‘Not sure I wanna ask how you know that.’

Taehyung makes a face. ‘Let’s just say, my first had some issues.’ With that, he plants another quick peck on Yoongi’s slack mouth before pushing himself up, clambering off Yoongi and onto his feet, entirely graceless. ‘Damn, I’m hungry. I think I need a pizza in the next twenty minutes or I’m gonna implode. You want pizza, hyung?’

‘I, uh, I dunno,’ Yoongi murmurs, sitting up, glancing around for his boxers. ‘I have work in, like—’ He cuts off, tensing up as his stomach mercilessly throws him to the dogs, growling so loud that Taehyung smirks, eyebrows creeping upwards.

‘I’ll order two,’ he says finally, before heading towards the bathroom without another word.

And so that is how Yoongi finds himself sitting on Taehyung and Jimin’s couch in his t-shirt and boxers, the aforementioned boy sitting at the other end, arguing with him over half empty pizza boxes about who’s the better contestant on this season of SMTM.

‘He’s shit,’ Yoongi grumbles, scowling in disgust at the so-called “rapper” performing on the small TV screen. ‘He is literally the worst. How has he even lasted this long?’

‘He is not shit!’ Taehyung shoots back, still chewing on a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. He waves a hand at the TV. ‘Look at him go, hyung! He can rap, he can sing, he can dance…’ Taehyung glances at the screen again, makes a face. ‘Hey, he’s pretty cute, too.’

Yoongi wrinkles his nose at that, taking another bite of pizza. The guy wasn’t cute to begin with, but somehow Taehyung saying he is makes him even less so. ‘I have nothing good to say about him,’ Yoongi says flatly. ‘I’m not even gonna apologise. He knows nothing about rap — you can hear it in his voice.’

‘But he can say the words fast!’ Taehyung argues, eyes wide as he gestures some more at the screen. ‘Listen to him, hyung! That’s the fastest I’ve ever heard anyone say words, and isn’t that all rap is?’

His teeth stopping dead with pizza mush still in his mouth, Yoongi feels the ache of the words cut into his very soul. Jaw set, he turns his head to look at Taehyung and can tell just by the bunny-in-the-headlights expression, the way the younger’s chewing slows, that he must look fucking mad right now.

For a moment, he just stares at him, at an absolute loss for words, because what the fuck?

What the fuck?

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ he finally manages to force out, voice low.

Taehyung blinks, sinking back into the cushions a little, as if that’ll protect him. ‘Uh…’

With a grimace, Yoongi swallows the half chewed mush in his mouth, dropping his crust into the box. ‘Rap is not just—’ He cuts off with an exasperated breath, shaking his head as he turns to stare blindly at the TV. He’s pretty sure he’s just lost the last shred of faith he had in the human race.

He reaches over to the coffee table, snags the bottle of beer Taehyung decided to have with his pizza and takes a swig from it. He refused it earlier, since it wasn’t long till his shift at the club, but he’s starting to regret that now. ‘It’s not just about saying the words fast,’ he mutters eventually, almost scoffing around the words again. He takes another quick sip, hands the beer back to Taehyung, who takes it with hesitant fingers.

‘Woah,’ he says softly, after a beat of silence, and Yoongi can feel his eyes on him. ‘You really like rap, hyung, huh?’

Yoongi smirks at that, almost laughing, but not quite. ‘Something like that, yeah,’ he murmurs, before a thought dawns on him and he adds quietly, ‘It’s like you and your stars and shit.’

‘My stars and shit,’ Taehyung echoes, grinning around the words, laughter tinting the edges of his voice. ‘Right.’

It’s quiet for a moment as they both watch the next contestant take to the stage, some guy with violently purple hair and more metal in his ears than skin.

‘So, you write lyrics, don’t you?’ Taehyung asks, almost hesitant, long fingers fidgeting with the neck of his bottle.

Yoongi glances over briefly at the question, looking away again as he nods. ‘Yeah.’

Taehyung seems to gain some confidence from the civil reply, sitting up a little straighter and taking a sip of his beer. ‘Do you perform like Joonie-hyung? At clubs and stuff?’

‘Sometimes,’ Yoongi murmurs, with a shrug. He thinks about mentioning their gig in DOPE this week, but he doesn’t.

‘Why only sometimes?’ Taehyung asks him. ‘D’you prefer the studio?’

Yoongi glances over again, finding Taehyung’s head cocked to the side, oddly puppy-like, but the curiosity on his face seems genuine. Yoongi frowns, more to himself than anything else. ‘I’ve never really thought about that,’ he admits, after considering it for a second. ‘I suppose I love both, but I’m not like Namjoon on stage. Namjoon was born for it, he could rap the fucking alphabet and make it sound mind-blowing, but I need to be five hundred percent happy with something before I can let people hear it.’ He shrugs again, turning back to the TV because he’d never quite noticed how oddly intense Taehyung’s dark eyes could be when he was focused, interested — a lot like during sex, if Yoongi’s going to be honest, but… different somehow. ‘So I don’t perform as often as I’d like,’ he finishes shortly.

‘That’s funny,’ Taehyung murmurs, making him glance up again to see the younger’s thoughtful expression. ‘Can’t imagine you on a stage, hyung, performing for actual people. I mean, that’s almost…’ His eyes widen in mock horror, lowering his voice as if he’s about to say something awfully taboo. ‘That’s almost like socialising, hyung.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Yoongi grumbles, tossing a leftover hunk of pizza crust at him, which Taehyung promptly shoves in his mouth, grinning with packed cheeks. And Yoongi would be able to deny forevermore that he laughed at Taehyung looking like an oversized fucking chipmunk, if Park Jimin hadn’t chosen that exact moment to come home.

Neither of them heard the scrape of the key in the door, but they both look up as it opens, Jimin stepping inside and his gaze immediately falling on the two of them. Yoongi’s face is wiped clear of any trace of mirth in seconds, Taehyung following soon after, but judging by the way Jimin smirks as his gaze flicks between them, they weren’t quick enough.

‘Hi...’ he says slowly, stepping inside and dropping his bag on the floor by Taehyung’s abandoned sneakers. Yoongi can only admire the fact that he doesn’t seem fazed by their varying states of undress, especially considering Taehyung didn’t bother with a t-shirt (much to the chagrin of the pizza delivery guy). ‘Didn’t think you’d still be here, hyung. Doesn’t your shift start at ten?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi says, blinking at Jimin for a moment before his words properly register, hitting him like a hammer to the gut. ‘Yeah, shit,’ he mutters, glancing round wildly for his phone before Taehyung produces it from behind a cushion. Yoongi grabs it without a word, waking the screen and— ‘Shit.’

It’s 9:34. Between walking and subway, his journey takes forty minutes on a good day, not to mention that chances are he reeks of sex and pizza and should really fucking shower before going out in public. He just about resists face-planting a pillow, fumbling to text Sujin and hope she feels like covering his ass. It had barely gone eight last time he looked — how the fuck did he manage this?

With a lot more swearing, Yoongi drags on his jeans and hoodie, the younger pair seeming rather amused by his rush. Jimin hands him his bag as he shoves his feet into his boots by the door, a little smirk on his face that Yoongi swears he learned from his asshole of a boyfriend. ‘Did you lose track of time, hyung?’ he asks, all faux sweetness, too quiet for Taehyung to hear.

Yoongi glowers, snatching the backpack as Jimin chuckles softly, and growls out a rushed goodbye as he hightails it out the door.

 

-    -    -    -    -

 

Yoongi works Friday and Saturday nights at a Hongdae hiphop club, one of the more upscale places that Yoongi, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t get a gig in even if he sucked off the entire staff body and then some. It’s the kind of place with several levels, the lower one for the walk-ins, the regular street crowd, the customers getting more affluent the more flights of stairs you climb. The third and top floor is often crawling with faces from the TV and magazines, not to mention the producers and company higher-ups looking to scoop up the next big thing.

For Yoongi, his job at TNT is more than just a way to pay his bills and get the odd gig — it could very well be the place makes him. So, Yoongi doesn’t miss work. Yoongi isn’t late for work. Yoongi works when he’s hacking up his lungs, barely holding down his dinner, when he’s vilely hungover or has four midterms the following Monday, or all of the above. It’s safe to say that being thirty minutes late for the first time in two years was more than a little traumatic for him — which is why Yoongi is this close to a mental break when he’s late again the following evening.

‘What were you even doing, Hoseok?’ he demands, fingers still clumsy with sleep, hair falling into his eyes as he tries to tie his laces. ‘All you had to do was yell at me! You didn’t even need to get up off your ass!’

Hoseok, well used to Yoongi’s cranky spells after being ripped unjustly from his sacred slumber, lets his textbook fall shut on his stomach to pin his friend with a meaningful look. ‘Hyung, we both know it takes a lot more than some yelling to wake you,’ he says, which might be true, but Yoongi glowers anyway. ‘And I got caught up studying, didn’t realise the time. I already tried to say sorry and you practically bit me. You’re like a rabid terrier when you’re cranky, hyung.’

‘Don’t try to fucking hug me when I’m pissed, then,’ Yoongi mutters, dropping one successfully sneakered foot to the floor, propping the second one up on the edge of the coffee table. ‘I swear to god, Hoseok, you’d better get straight As in these exams if you’re that goddamn immersed in your studies.’

Hoseok rolls his eyes. ‘Thanks for the motivation, hyung.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Yoongi grits out, dropping his other foot and standing up so fast he sees stars. He hasn’t eaten yet. He’ll have to do that on the way. Fuck. ‘You seen my jacket?’ he asks, lifting a cushion by Hoseok’s feet on the couch and finding nothing underneath.

‘Nope,’ Hoseok murmurs, from where he’s disappeared behind his textbook again, green highlighter clamped between his teeth.

‘You gonna get up so I can check the couch?’

Hoseok hums for a moment in thought before grinning at Yoongi over the top of textbook. ‘Nope.’

Hoseok.’ Yoongi fires the pillow at his roommate’s head. ‘I swear to—‘

‘Wait!’ Hoseok says, eyes suddenly lighting up as he bats the cushion away. ‘Wait, I do know where it is! Jiminnie texted last night, said you left it upstairs.’

‘Ah, fuck,’ Yoongi groans, because the second Hoseok says it, he knows it’s true. He left it on the arm of the couch in his rush out of the apartment. He turns to his Hoseok, trying his puppy dog eyes because, fuck it, sometimes they work. ‘You wanna go get it for me?’

Hoseok starts up his thoughtful humming again and Yoongi rolls his eyes with a sound not far from a growl, knowing exactly what the answer is going to be. ‘You’re the worst fucking person to live with, I hope you realise that. What good are you as a dongsaeng if I can’t even boss you around?’

‘You love me, hyung,’ he murmurs, pulling the marker from between his teeth to highlight a line in his book. ‘Wear your other jacket, the green one that I like.’

‘I don’t fucking know where that is either.’

‘Probably upstairs, too,’ Hoseok says, smirking up at him. ‘You know, you forget more shit in Taehyung and Jiminnie’s place than I do, hyung.’

‘I do not,’ he grumbles, stooping to check his reflection in the microwave door. His eyes are still puffy with sleep, his hair toeing a fine line between stylishly tousled and actual bird’s nest. It’ll have to fucking do, he thinks just as he catches sight of the time on the microwave clock and hisses a curse. ‘Hoseok, I’m so fucking late. I hate you right now.’

You love me, hyung~’ he sings again, as Yoongi storms off towards the door, grabbing his keys and his phone on his way out. ‘Have a nice night at work! I’ll see you in the morning!’

‘Fuck you, Hoseok,’ he retorts.

One particularly punishing flight of stairs later, Yoongi’s standing outside number 24, knuckles rapping unhappily on the door.

He decided at some point in his rush to work last night that his being late was all down to Taehyung. Taehyung wasted his time with that stupid game, Taehyung offered him pizza, Taehyung disgraced the name of hiphop, Taehyung distracted him, and maybe it’s over now, maybe Yoongi didn’t get into a single spot of trouble short of an offhand comment from his boss (that was really more a teasing dig than anything), but Yoongi’s still pissed about it. At least, he thinks that’s what he’s pissed about. He tells himself that’s what he’s pissed about anyway, and he’s busy remindinghimself that’s what he’s pissed about when the door finally opens.

He’s kind of surprised when the guy who opens it is neither Taehyung nor Jimin.

He’s even more surprised by the fact that the guy is wearing nothing more than boxers, bright pink with ‘GeNiUS’ printed across the front in elements from the periodic table, instantly recognisable.

Taehyung’s boxers.

‘What?’ the stranger grumbles irritably, leaning into the door as if just being upright is a pain in the ass at the moment. His dark hair is a bed-ruffled mess on top of his head, eyes narrowed into slits against the light like he just woke up.

With a lurch in his stomach that he doesn’t want to think about right now, Yoongi’s gaze zeroes in on the sizeable hickey on the side of his throat, the smaller bruises dotted in an almost neat path along a tan collarbone, quite obviously deliberate.

The boy blinks a couple times, opening his eyes a touch wider to focus on Yoongi, raising a smug eyebrow when Yoongi doesn’t reply. ‘Can I help you?’

At that, Yoongi snaps the fuck out of it, narrowing his eyes, feeling his blood start to simmer good and proper. Despite his ridiculous height (at least as tall as Taehyung) and the generous layer of muscle that seems to cling to every inch of the boy’s body, his face right now would suggest he’s little more than fucking twelve -- certainly younger than Yoongi, and Yoongi’s not in the mood to take any shit from some jumped up brat, no matter how big.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demands, and the boy’s own eyes narrow, straightening up now, as if towering over Yoongi with his broad shoulders is going to be somehow intimidating. Yoongi almost laughs aloud.

‘Jeon Jungkook. Who the fuck are you?’ he shoots back, and Yoongi feels the anger tighten in his jaw and fists. This little fucker…

He’s about to open his mouth to shoot something back when he hears the voice drifting out from the cracked open bathroom door, registers the distant hum of the shower. ‘Kookie!’ Taehyung yells. ‘Throw me in a towel, will you?’

‘In a sec, hyung!’ “Kookie” calls back, still watching Yoongi, that eyebrow still raised. ‘Are you here for hyung?’

Are you?

The question catches sharply in Yoongi’s throat and he clears it quickly. He doesn’t have time for this – for this brat, for these thoughts – none of it. ‘I’m here for my jacket,’ he says, his teeth barely allowing the words past. ‘And I’m in a rush, so…’

Yoongi swears he sees the bastard smirk as he turns to glance into the apartment. ‘Is it that leather one?’ he asks, taking a few steps back to grab it from the arm of the couch.

Yoongi grunts an affirmative sort of reply, snatching the thing off him the moment he offers it. The guy’s eyebrows rise a touch further, though it only makes him look more smug.

Before he has a chance to say or do something stupid, Yoongi nods once in lieu of an actual bow, turning on his heel and heading back towards the stairwell without another word.

‘See you around, Yoongi-ssi,’ he hears the guy call after him, but Yoongi is already halfway down the first flight of stairs before he realises why that was odd—

He doesn’t remember giving his name.

In fact, he knows for sure he didn’t, so… how the fuck?

He must be a student. A freshman, probably, has seen Yoongi around campus – he might even be taking a music course. It must be that, Yoongi decides, though he really couldn’t care less.Safely out of sight of anywhere in the empty stairwell, he tugs on his jacket and leans back against the wall a moment, his heart thudding uncomfortably hard in his chest. It’s the first time since his final year of high school that he remembers craving a goddamn cigarette, something to calm his nerves down, settle the strange queasiness in his stomach.

He knows what Hoseok, ever the voice of reason, would have to say right now: You don’t know what you saw, not really. Don’t make assumptions, hyung. And Yoongi might listen to this hypothetical Hoseok in his head if it weren’t for the boxers, the hickies, the clearly bed-ruffled (sex-ruffled?) look of the boy. What other explanation is there for all that? Of course he was there for Taehyung. Of course Taehyung’s fucking him— or he’s fucking Taehyung— or both—

God. Yoongi groans quietly in the back of his throat, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to rid himself of those images. Because he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to know. He wants a smoke and he wants to kick something and a small part of him kind of wants to throw up, thinking of that insolent little shit with Taehyung, touching him, kissing him, fucking him — his Taehyung...

 

 

Wait.

 

 

What?

 

 

Yoongi lets his hands drop from his eyes, curling into fists at his sides, as his gaze flicks around the empty stairwell, checking the vicinity for nearby telepaths who might’ve caught him out on that one because fuck.

His Taehyung?

No. No, not his Taehyung. Of course not his fucking Taehyung.

Chewing on his lower lip and feeling thoroughly shaken, Yoongi pushes himself away from the wall, starts down the stairs again, taking them two at a time to try and distract himself from the thoughts thundering around his mind.

It doesn’t work.

Because it’s not that he cares Taehyung is fucking other people, he just cares it’s that guy. He seemed like an asshole, a smug asshole, acting far too grown for his age, no respect for his elders, probably no respect for anyone or anything. A guy like that has no business whatsoever being around Kim Taehyung and the whole idea of it sets Yoongi’s teeth on edge.

Wait, no. He frowns to himself, shoving open the main front door, barely noticing the evening chill as he storms outside, heads for the shortcut through the alleyway.No, that’s not quite right. It’s not that he thinks Taehyung is too good for the guy or anything, it’s not that he gives a shit whether Taehyung could necessarily do better or whatever, it’s just that… he doesn’t want to share with an asshole like that. Yes. That’s it. That’s what it is. He doesn’t want to share with some disrespectful little shit too big for his own boots. That’s all it—

You don’t want anyone else’s grubby paws touching what’s yours.

Yoongi hears Hoseok’s Gwangju drawl as clear as anything in his mind, can picture his filthy grin as he said it, too, the knowing glint in his eye.

What a bastard.

What an absolute bastard, Yoongi thinks, as he slows to a stop in the middle of the alley. Because if there’s one thing in this world Yoongi hates more than anything else, it’s when Jung Hoseok is proven right. It happens far too often for Yoongi’s liking and Hoseok enjoys it far too much.

Shit.

Yoongi shuts his eyes, lets his head tip back with a pained groan.

Shit.

His Taehyung. His Taehyung. How long has this been going on for? When did his mind start thinking like that and how the hell did it slip his notice? And why didn’t it slip Hoseok’s, is what Yoongi would really like to know. Has it been obvious? Hardly. They fuck. That’s it and it’s not like anyone’s ever around to see them do it, so Hoseok either did some fantastic guesswork or he’s been up to some weird voyeuristic shit.

Or maybe they haven’t been as discreet as Yoongi thinks.

Scowling at the mere thought of that, he shoves his hands into his pockets, hunches his shoulders a little against the cold finally starting to poke in through his jacket. He’s too late right now to be loitering in alleyways worrying about dumb shit like this. He starts walking again, tugging out his earbuds and stuffing them into his ears, blasting his music so loud he can’t think anymore.

Not that that stops him from thinking about it for the rest of the night, in between making drinks and discerning the drunken slurs of the customers. It stays on his mind, poking gently every time he tries to think about something else, niggling enough that he breaks two glasses, drops a bottle of soju and he knows he mixes up a few drink orders at one point, but luckily it's late enough and everyone is too far gone to notice.

By the time he’s falling onto his bed, still in his work clothes, sweaty and gross, ears still ringing from the loud music, the clock on his phone reads 04:12 a.m. He’s exhausted, his eyes heavy and his body aching, but it’s still there, poking.

Hoseok was right. It pains Yoongi to admit it, but he was. He was right about all of it, though. It’s not a feelings thing, not like that. It’s just a sex thing, purely superficial. Yoongi doesn’t dislike Taehyung, obviously, but he doesn’t want that with him either, doesn’t want anything weird and complicated. He doesn’t want that with anyone. He just wants Taehyung to fuck him and only him and that’s it. That’s all there is to it.

But admitting it doesn’t fix anything. Taehyung is still fucking other people — fucking that guy — and the only way that’s going to stop is if Yoongi says something and if Yoongi says something, Taehyung might get the wrong idea, or… or he might not. He’s surprised Yoongi already in this department, he’s not about to deny that. When they started this, Yoongi didn’t see it lasting past a few weeks before Taehyung wanted more and they’d have to break it off — he just seemed like that type. But it never happened and now here they are, two and half months later, and as it turns out—

It’s not even Taehyung who’s looking for more.

Fuck,’ Yoongi groans into the empty air of his room, rolling over to press his face into the pillow.

Possessive. As dubious as it sounds, he supposes it is probably the right word. He thinks of Taehyung falling apart underneath him, cheeks flushed and eyes tight shut as he moans. He thinks of how Taehyung’s breath always catches when Yoongi nips his earlobe or the skin of his throat, the way he shivers when Yoongi ghosts his nails down his back. He doesn’t want anyone else to do that, not to Taehyung. In fact, the mere thought of anyone else doing it has his hands curling into fists around the edges of his pillow, nostrils flaring.

He’s ready to fucking fight someone.

And Yoongi could not give a single fuck right now if that someone just happens a head taller and around ten kilos heavier. He’s won with worse odds before and he can damn well do it again.

With a heavy sigh, Yoongi sits up again, raking his hands back through his hair, lank from the damp heat of the club. He could almost laugh at himself — letting some kid set him on edge like this — if it weren’t for the queasiness still making his stomach feel tight. Because, yeah, okay, he knows what’s up, he’s fucking admitted it and when Hoseok finds out, he’s going to be grinning like the goddamn cat that got the cream for the next decade. He knows what the problem is now, but Yoongi…

Yoongi has absolutely no fucking idea what he’s going to do about it.

 

Chapter Text

It bothered Yoongi for a while, it really did. Thanks to his initial… discomfort at the idea of Taehyung having some kind of barely-if-even-legal fuckboy half naked in his apartment, he didn’t see it. But after – not that he thought about it a lot or anything, just the one or two occasions when he did happen to think of it – it bothered him.

The kid was familiar.

Not in any big way, just… slightly. A niggling kind of familiarity, like when you hear an actor’s voice in an animated movie and you struggle to think of the face. Or when you see a stranger on the street and think they look an awful lot like someone you’ve seen on TV or a billboard or… in a magazine.

And it’s that line of thought that led Yoongi right back to Taehyung’s article in Elle, the one with him sprawled across the hotel bed doing some genius-and-a-model-but-also-a-goddamn-idiot shit – sprawled across the hotel bed with another model. Dark hair and darker eyes, this look on his face that suggested he was gonna fuck you up or just fuck you or fall asleep right there on Taehyung’s thigh – something like that. In that glossy photograph, with the baggy clothes and the odd angle, he looked young, vulnerable and Yoongi has no fucking idea how they managed to make that asshole seem so goddamn innocent.

He scoffed aloud at the exact moment Hoseok walked out of the steamy bathroom, pausing with an eyebrow raised as he glanced from Yoongi to the magazine in his hands. A slow smirk spread across his face and he reached up with a towel to start drying off the ends of his hair. ‘Hyung, you should see your face right now, I swear to god,’ he said. ‘You look like a teenager caught whacking one out by his mother. What’re you even doing?’

‘Nothing,’ Yoongi muttered immediately, shutting the magazine and tossing it onto the table.

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed the moment he saw the cover. ‘Wait—‘ he said suddenly, lowering the towel from his head. ‘Is that one of Taetae’s magazines? Hyung, tell me you weren’t actually jacking off?!’

‘Hoseok, what the fuck?’ Yoongi sighed. ‘Of course not. Don’t be weird.’

But Hoseok’s suspicious little eyebrow only rose further as he took the few steps to the table and snatched up the magazine in damp fingers. He pointed one at Yoongi as he backed away towards his room. ‘Bad hyung,’ he said, like he was talking to a puppy who’d just chewed up his shoes. ‘No.’

Yoongi rolled his eyes and glowered until Hoseok turned for his bedroom door.

‘Yanno, hyung,’ he called, as he wandered inside, ‘he’s got an Instagram account with some pretty wank-worthy selfies if you ever feel that special urge again.’

Yoongi made a noise in the back of his throat that was half agony half disgust. ‘Fuck off, Hoseok,’ he groaned, and Hoseok did fuck off, albeit cackling like a maniac as he kicked his door shut.

Anyway, thanks to that rude interruption, Yoongi didn’t get to read the article, which is why he finds himself, a few days later, with the online version pulled up on the studio computer. It’s the same photo at the top of the webpage as in the magazine, more shots scattered throughout the article of the pair in different poses on the bed, back to back, side by side, Taehyung’s hand in the little shit’s hair.

Yoongi scrolls down past them with a grunt.

Jeon Jungkook, the article says and for the most part, he skim reads from there, ignoring the kiss-ass fluff in between the actual facts. Some kind of musical genius, apparently, sings like an angel, dances like an extra from Magic Mike and of fucking course the author of the article has to mention his goddamn jawline. He’s also good with a guitar, apparently, and studying classical piano at some fancy-ass high school for the performing arts here in Seoul, “a far cry from the beaches of Busan where he grew up”. Several companies have their eye on him, but “the young model charmingly side-stepped all questions regarding his rumoured offer from JYP earlier this year”. The closing line of his piece states that he’ll turn 20 in the New Year.

‘Not even legal,’ Yoongi mutters, spinning himself away from the article on the monitor before it can piss him off any more. ‘I was fuckin’ right.’

With a sigh, he slumps in his chair, head tilted back, staring up into the dim bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It’s been over a week since he made that fateful trek upstairs to get his jacket back. Taehyung texted him at some point, but he brushed it off, said he was busy studying, and Taehyung seemed to take some kind of a hint from that. He didn’t text again, didn’t call. Yoongi saw him a couple times on campus, but never close enough that they’d have to acknowledge each other. It’s strange. It’s awkward and unpleasant in a way it maybe shouldn’t be and Yoongi’s not really sure how he feels about that and he’s going out of his way to not think about how he feels about it. But it’s been a week. It’s been over a week. Yoongi hasn’t gone this long without sex in near on three months and his skin is starting to itch weird every time he sits still.

Over a fucking week.

With a quiet groan, he’s reaching up to rub at his face when the studio door bursts open.

‘Okay, Yoongi,’ Jiho says, leaning into the small space with his hand still on the handle, ‘you’re up.’

At that, Yoongi’s groan only increases in volume and the rubbing at his face turns to something a little more like trying to claw his own eyes out because even that would be preferable to what he currently has to do.

‘Wait, what the fuck happened your hair?’

‘Shit, I dunno, hyung,’ Yoongi mutters, rolling his eyes at the obvious fucking question. ‘I just woke up and it was like this. Weird, huh?’

‘Nice to see you’re in a good mood, then. Rough day?’ Jiho asks, as Yoongi messily ruffles his newly bleached bangs back into place and drops his hands dejectedly into his lap.

‘Something like that,’ he mutters, glancing over at the TA just in time to see him squinting past Yoongi’s head.

‘Is that—are you reading Elle?’ he bursts out, eyebrows shooting up and off the charts, shocked smirk curling his mouth. ‘Elle, Yoongi, are you fucking serious?’

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi grumbles, a flush of heat heading north as he spins in his chair to X out of the webpage. ‘I wasn’t reading it like that, shithead.’

‘I mean, I know you’re about as straight as a fucking corkscrew, Min, but Jesus.’

‘Yah, piss off!’ Yoongi snaps, glancing around for something the throw at the cackling TA. There’s a small Kumamon bear next to the computer monitor. Within seconds, it’s bouncing off Jiho’s chin and Yoongi has Namjoon’s fancy ass paper weight in his hand, ready to fire.

‘Alright, alright, fuck, Jesus, stop!’ Jiho blurts out through his laughter, arms raised to defend himself. Suppressing a smirk, Yoongi sets the paperweight back down on the desk with a thunk. ‘I’m sure you had a very good reason to be reading Elle.’

Yoongi continues to glower stonily, working very hard to keep the doubt at his own motives off his face.

‘Anyway,’ Jiho says, shooting him a pointed look. ‘First group’s gonna be here in about five. I’ll take half, you take half. Just try to be nice and fucking welcoming, okay? I don’t want anyone passing out just because they happened to look you in the eye and saw only a world of hate and darkness, Yoongi-ah. We want them to see that this music department is your whole life. It’s a bright and happy place where dreams come true and everyone should be applying. Okay?’

Yoongi lifts an eyebrow slightly, but his glower doesn’t budge.

Jiho grins, fake as fuck. ‘Great!’ he chirps, with more than a touch of sarcasm. ‘This is gonna be a wild success, I can sense it. This is why I 100% did not tell Bang to get Namjoon instead.’

At that, Yoongi flips him off, spinning lazily back around to open up the files he was planning on using today. ‘I’ll do my bit, hyung,’ he mutters, ‘let’s just get this over and done with.’

‘Yeah, alright,’ Jiho sighs, and Yoongi hears him backing out of the room. ‘But get your ass up here before they arrive!’

Once he’s gone, Yoongi gets just enough time to slump self-pityingly in his chair for a moment longer, watching his files load up, before he hears the distant sounds of footsteps on the stairs, the approaching hum of dozens of voices. He hauls himself to his feet, pauses only to rescue Kumamon from the floor and set him back in his place on the desk, then heads down the corridor to stand with Jiho near the stairwell doors.

The TA grins, giving him a nudge with an elbow as the door is shoved open by one of the main tour guides. ‘Showtime,’ he whispers, jazz hands and all, and Yoongi shoots him an unamused look before the elder turns his beaming smile on the growing group of wide-eyed high-schoolers.

‘Afternoon, guys!’ he greets brightly. ‘I understand this is one of the last stops on your tour and I know you’re probably all ready to kill for your lunch at this point—’ This gets a small snicker from a few of the group, more nods of agreement than Yoongi can count. ‘—but I promise this won’t take too long and if it’s meant for you, it won’t be boring.

‘The studios are small, so we’re gonna split you into two groups and take one each. My name is Jiho and I’m a postgrad student of Composition. I’m also teaching assistant to Professor Bang, head of the music and performance department. Our other TA, Hyosang, was supposed to be with me today, but since he’s a flaky shit, you have my charming hoobae here instead.’

Yoongi gives a cursory nod, almost rolling his eyes when Jiho’s swearing gets a few shocked gasps, followed by a round of quiet, shy giggling. Fucking high-schoolers.

‘Yoongi-ssi is a final year Music Production and Technology student,’ Jiho goes on, ‘so you’re in good hands, don’t worry. Now, if you just split yourselves in half as best you can, we’ll just…’

There are several minutes of minor chaos splitting the group of around 30 into two smaller groups, with Jiho leading his off to the slightly larger studios reserved for postgrads and Yoongi heading back towards his own, the students shuffling in after him like very quiet sheep, whispering softly amongst themselves. He did try to object to having them all crowd into their studio, but Professor Bang was adamant – the lived-in look would give off a better vibe, apparently.

‘Some of you can go in here,’ he says, directing the stragglers stuck out in the hall into the recording room. ‘There’s a window right into the studio and I’ll leave the intercom on so you’ll be able to hear me. Don’t touch a fu—I mean, just—just don’t touch anything, okay? I swear to god.’

With the group piled into the two tiny rooms, Yoongi nudges a few of them out of his way so he can go stand by the soundboard, half sitting on the edge of it as he crosses his arms and wonders where the fuck to start. And he’s just clearing his throat, ready with some opening line witty enough to hopefully ease them all up a bit, get them to stop staring at him like he’s locked them in these rooms to eat them one by one. He’s just clearing his throat, eyes flicking disinterestedly over a few of the faces –

When he catches sight of a face not at all uninteresting.

Yoongi feels his metaphorical hackles raise as his gaze backtracks rapidly to the far wall of the room. And there he fucking is, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, the stance much too cocky for a high-schooler so far from his own turf. He looks different with clothes on, fair and fine, hair smooth instead of bird’s nest, bangs neat over his forehead, the black school uniform automatically making him look his age, if not a little younger, but the smirk is instantly recognisable. Yoongi’s not sure any smirk has ever affected him quite so much as Jeon Jungkook’s smirk, sharp prickles of hostility running down the back of his neck, creeping over his shoulder blades. And the smirk only intensifies as Yoongi locks eyes with him, just for a second, just for long enough that he sees the glint of amusement in them. Yoongi wonders if the loathing is obvious enough on his own face to give the boy some kind of sick pleasure.

Fucking brat.

Realising he’s dangerously close to what might be classified as “gawping”, Yoongi drags his gaze away from the boy, tries to relax his fists where they are curled tight against his ribs. He has a job to do and he’s not about to fucking show himself up just because of that little shit.

Witty opening line forgotten, Yoongi cuts right to the chase, briefly explaining the purpose of the studios and the equipment used, instructing the group in the recording booth on how to demonstrate the mics for the rest, letting a lucky few operate the soundboard and production software to record some idiot in the booth rapping a verse of Jay Park’s latest hit. He’s not half bad either, which is when Yoongi takes proper note of their uniforms, the same sharply cut black as Jeon Jungkook’s, the same crest stitched onto the breasts of the blazers. They’re all from the fancy-ass performance school, little idols in the making, most of them, with no intention whatsoever of actually attending this university, but they’re enthusiastic enough that Yoongi decides not to hold it against them.

Well, most of them are enthusiastic enough. Some remain leaning against the far wall in silence, hands in pockets, smirk never wavering.

Question time is less painful than Yoongi expected, general stuff about the courses available, the equipment, a few more curious students wanting to hear some of Yoongi’s stuff. He indulges them with a snippet from his latest portfolio track and some piece of shit beat roughly titled “dead leaves.WAV” that will probably never see the light of day. Still, they ooh and ahh enthusiastically, and maybe do a little something for Yoongi’s ego, and all in all it’s not as bad as he thought babysitting a bunch of high-schoolers would be. Or at least, it wouldn’t be all bad if Yoongi didn’t happen to catch sight of movement in the far corner of the room, a hand raising into the air and Jeon Jungkook smirking out from underneath it.

Yoongi glowers for a moment before responding, warning him with his eyes he should sit the fuck down, but Jeon Jungkook only quirks up his eyebrows and Yoongi’s blood simmers dangerously. ‘Yeah, you,’ he says, trying to keep his voice as monotone as it had been calling out the others.

With a satisfied sort of look in his dark eyes, Jeon Jungkook lowers his hand. ‘What about you, Yoongi-ssi?’ he asks. ‘My, ah… friend mentioned that you’re a rapper.’

A round of awed cooing rises gently from the group of students as all eyes settle back on Yoongi, but Yoongi’s jaw is clenched tight. He didn’t miss the way Jungkook’s mouth curled around the word “friend”. Jeon Jungkook only stares back, gaze steady, calm as anything, eyes black mirrors in his head.

Yoongi clears his throat, the sound like a roll of thunder in the quiet room. ‘And?’ he manages to force out finally, breathing a little easier when his voice doesn’t come off as a rough growl.

‘Most universities would discourage involvement with the underground scene,’ Jungkook says, eyes narrowing a touch, something about his expression suggesting he thinks this question might ruffle Yoongi – as if he could be ruffled anymore. ‘What about here?’

Involvement with the underground scene and everything that comes with it certainly isn’t encouraged in the music programmes of the SKY universities or private institutions, but those are the very students who are offered the decent positions fresh out of their final year, well-paid jobs in the big entertainment companies, places with orchestras, postgrad scholarships and internships all over the world. A privileged brat like this kid would have no idea what it’s like not to have everything handed to you on a silver platter your whole life, to have to actually work for something, however, whenever.

‘This university encourages success, Jungkook-ssi,’ Yoongi says, careful to keep his tone crisp and professional, even while his jaw aches with the urge to grit his teeth. He sees Jungkook’s eyebrow twitch at the mention of his name, but the boy doesn’t comment. ‘As a lower ranking university, we don’t get the same opportunities as other universities. We do what we can to get what we want.’

There’s a certain stillness in the room now and Yoongi wonders if the others have managed to pick up on the tension or if they’re surprised by his indirect admission. Jungkook’s smirk has slipped a touch, but there’s still that glint in his eyes that Yoongi can’t quite pinpoint. Could be mirth. Could be the light. Could just be Satan’s presence shining through.

‘It all sounds very noble,’ the younger boy finally says, a curl of amusement in his tone that has Yoongi taking a deep breath through his nose to compose himself.

Without another word, he drags his gaze away from that corner and addresses the group as a whole again, ensuring there are no more questions before he ushers them all out into the hallway to re-join the main tour.

Jiho greets him with a look that’s all raised brows and cautious eyes, scanning the faces of the passing students as if to check for signs of trauma, emotional or otherwise.

‘So, how’d that go?’ he asks, once the tour guides in their bright red t-shirts, CAN I HELP? printed on the back in bold white Arial, have started herding the group back up the stairs. ‘I mean, you only look mildly homicidal, so I’m gonna take that as something of a good sign… maybe.’

Yoongi gives him a side-glance, his patience frayed and his muscles taut. He needs a smoke and he’s ready to punch the nearest object and some small part of him registers vaguely that Jeon Jungkook has him regressing to his chain-smoking, fight-starting high school self at a frightening pace. Yoongi ignores that small part with a barely contained grumble of fuck off and tries to remind himself that Jeon Jungkook’s existence on this planet is no fault of Woo Jiho’s. Probably.

He takes another deep breath, flexing his fingers – cramped from being curled into tight fists for so long – before he shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets. ‘Nah, it wasn’t as bad I expected,’ he admits on a sigh, ‘but if I’m doing this again in an hour, I’m gonna need at least three coffees.’

With a grin, Jiho nods, giving Yoongi a clap on the shoulder. ‘When Bang promised you wouldn’t eat them, I didn’t totally believe him, but here you are, proving me wrong,’ he says, enough faux pride dripping from his voice to have Yoongi rolling his eyes. ‘Take forty for lunch. Don’t be late for the next tour, Min, or I swear to god—‘

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Yoongi grumbles quickly, letting the stairwell door fall shut on Jiho’s good-natured yelling about respect and Yoongi’s inherent lack of the stuff.

 

 

 

‘I like it,’ Jin says, around his mouthful of rice and pork. ‘I thought the pink made you look like that little idol – whathisface? Yoshi or Woozi or… I dunno, one of those kids.’

‘But it’s so fluffy,’ Namjoon mutters, eyes narrowed as he squints at Yoongi’s head. ‘I mean, I know we don’t do that shit, man, but… I kinda wanna touch it?’

‘First, that’s hyung to you,’ Yoongi corrects, really more focused on his lunch than their cooing over his hair, ‘and second, don’t you fucking touch me, Kim Namjoon, I will shove these chopsticks up your ass.’

‘Oh, he’s taken worse than chopsticks, Yoongi-ah,’ Seokjin chips in helpfully.

At that, Yoongi drops the chopsticks onto his tray with a tinny clatter. ‘I think I just heard my lunch screaming,’ he mutters, voice half choked. ‘What the fuck, hyung?’

But Seokjin only smiles pleasantly, eyes disappearing into crescents behind cheeks stuffed with food. Namjoon simply looks as if he’d very much like to drown in his soup.

‘He means his dick by the way,’ he mumbles, as if that needed any clarification. ‘He’s not talking about any weird shit, no matter how he made it sound.’

‘Stop talking, Joon-ah,’ Yoongi groans weakly, elbows leaning on the edge of the table as he buries his face in his hands. ‘I already have more images that I ever needed.’

‘Then stop picturing us fucking,’ Seokjin suggests, and Yoongi glowers through a small gap in his fingers, the older man barely containing his grin enough to keep his food in his mouth.

‘You are an evil bastard, hyung,’ Yoongi tells him, dropping his hands and pushing his lunch tray away (he was done anyway, or so he tells himself), but Seokjin is entirely unfazed, going back to his own lunch with a light shrug as if to say And your point?

In the short, mildly uncomfortable quiet that follows, Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee, the warm paper cup de-icing the tips of his fingers a little, and he eyes Namjoon with his books spread out in front of him, typing on his laptop with one hand while he drinks his soup with the other. Studying. Yoongi takes another deep gulp of coffee as his gaze roams over the pages of sheet music scattered underneath the laptop. Yeah, he should probably do some of that. He may have told Taehyung, when he texted all those days ago, that he was busy with exam stuff, but in reality Yoongi has barely opened a book, more concerned with throwing himself into studio work, where he can put on his headphones and yank the volume up until thinking is a virtually impossible thing to achieve. He tried studying one night, the night right after Taehyung’s text, thought it might be a good idea to make his excuse a legitimate one and better himself in the process. He lasted all of an hour before he ended up jacking off in the shower and not to the thought of psychoacoustics and the nuances of diegetic sound in film.

Yoongi shifts a little in his seat, shoving those particular memories out of his mind as he adds another sugar to his coffee. And most of the time, Yoongi wonders if Kim Seokjin might just be telepathic; the rest of the time, he’s pretty fucking certain.

‘So, what I wanna know,’ Seokjin says, out of the fucking blue, still pushing the last few grains of rice around his tray, ‘is what’s going on with you and Taehyung.’ He glances up, expression casual, eyes careful. Taehyung is always going to be a touchy subject between them, but even the touchiest of matters stand no chance against a curious Kim Seokjin.

Yoongi shrugs, immediately dropping his gaze to his cup, not thinking until he’s done it that Seokjin’s going to know he’s lying through his teeth now. ‘Nothing. It’s just. Whatever.’

‘Is it over?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says, the word tumbling out before he even has a chance to think it over. He conceals a pause for thought as he takes a sip of his coffee. ‘Who the fuck knows,’ he mutters. ‘We hook-up, hyung, it’s over when it’s over. It’s not like we’re gonna fucking talk about it.’

‘No, god forbid,’ Seokjin sighs, and Yoongi’s gaze flicks up just in time to see the elder rolling his eyes as he tips back his water bottle.

‘Why’re you asking anyway?’

‘Because you haven’t been getting laid and it’s starting to show.’

Yoongi takes immediate offence, scowling over his cup. ‘How the fuck would you know?’

‘You’re literally incinerating anyone who breathes on you, hyung,’ Namjoon chips in helpfully.

‘And just now, Taehyung was about to walk over here until he saw you,’ Seokjin says, distracting Yoongi from tearing into Namjoon.

His threat dies in his mouth as he turns his gaze to Seokjin, who nods wordlessly over his shoulder. He probably shouldn’t look – what the fuck does it even matter if Taehyung’s in the room? – but he does, twisting enough in his seat to glance behind him over the heads of students and visiting high-schoolers packed into the cafeteria.

Unexpectedly, it’s Hoseok he sees first, head bobbing higher above those sitting down, an odd grin on his face that Yoongi doesn’t understand until he follows his friend’s line of sight to Park Jimin’s ruby red mop. And where Park Jimin is, Kim Taehyung is never far away, so all it takes is a quick shift of his gaze to find him – though the pastel pink snapback would’ve been quite unmissable regardless.

He’s talking animatedly, as always, sitting forward to emphasise something to Jimin, but there’s a manic sort of look in his wide eyes that Yoongi’s come to associate with distressing series finales and that one night they coulnd’t find the lube. He nearly wonders what the fuck is wrong with him this time, before he reminds himself it’s none of his goddamn business. And if he just managed to turn around a little faster, he would’ve missed it. He’d have remained none the wiser and gotten on with his mostly content, if sexually frustrated and slightly itchy existence. But Yoongi does nothing quickly when he has a choice in the matter, which is why he’s just about to look away when the flash of movement behind Taehyung has him stopping dead.

He barely hears Jimin’s shocked yelp as Hoseok finally creeps up behind him, scaring the shit out of the younger boy. He barely notices Jimin’s shocked yelp because he’s watching Jeon Jungkook come up behind Taehyung, arms winding around his neck as he leans over the back of his chair. It’s no kind of roughhousing, not a headlock; it’s one step short of a hug, the gesture comfortable and clearly practiced often enough. Taehyung doesn’t particularly react (he’s still watching Jimin who’s glaring pouty daggers at his boyfriend’s back as Hoseok makes his way towards the big kids’ table, looking very pleased with himself), but Yoongi doesn’t miss the way his head leans subtly towards Jungkook’s, lips murmuring something, acknowledgement of the boy’s presence, if nothing else.

It makes no sense, really, the sandpaper feeling at the back of Yoongi’s tongue when he tries to swallow, the weird prickle running down his spine, caught somewhere between a shiver of fury and the cold sweat that lingers after a nightmare. It doesn’t make any sense the way Yoongi’s stomach curls up as tight as his fists, like it just fell out with his lunch and wants a fucking divorce post haste. It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any fucking sense because Yoongi’s brain has ground to a jarring halt and the fact that he’s openly staring doesn’t register and the fact that Hoseok just said hi to him doesn’t compute. Jeon Jungkook is draped all over Taehyung and Taehyung’s hand is on his arm and fuck—fuck, at this point it could be Yoongi’s twisted imagination and slight anger issues just looking for any fucking reason to flip his shit, but he swears blind that Jungkook’s gaze meets his for a fraction of a second across the room, lips curling into a shadow of that shit-eating grin as he straightens up. His fingers move to start kneading gently at Taehyung’s shoulders, the older boy’s head rolling back to look up at him, the smooth column of his neck exposed and fuck—

Fuck, that’s it.

‘Yoongi?’

It’s Seokjin. Of course it’s fucking Seokjin, but Yoongi can’t look any of them in the eye, grabbing his phone and lanyard as his chair scrapes shrilly across the linoleum.

‘Tours,’ he says shortly, before he’s turning on his heel and heading for the nearest doors, even if this exit does add ten minutes to his journey – anything to not have to walk past that fucking table.

‘Shit, do I smell or something?’ he hears Hoseok ask, trying to lighten the mood, even though there’s an edge to his tone. Yoongi knows they’re going to be talking about him and god knows what fucking conclusion they’ll come to. God knows what fucking conclusion they should come to.

He shoves open the cafeteria doors so hard they almost swing back to hit him in the face before he’s out, but he’s not sure it would’ve bothered him right now, not with his veins swirling with something thick and hot, stinging in his chest like acid.

It doesn’t make any sense.

Even when Yoongi storms into the tiny campus newsagents and calms himself enough to ask for a pack of the brand he used to smoke. Even when he finds himself sitting on the cracked concrete behind the music building, the first drag of nicotine he’s had in 3 years hot in the back of his throat, stinging his eyes. Even then, it doesn’t make any fucking sense.

The taste of smoke in his mouth isn’t as comforting as it used to be and the packaging in his hand is different, sleek black where it used to be a tacky gold. He lets the smoke trickle out of his mouth, absently rubbing his nose against the burn, his thumb running over the raised lines of the unfamiliar logo.

Apparently it’s not the only fucking thing that’s changed.

 

-    -    x    -    -

 

‘So, it’s still weird with Yoongi-hyung, then?’ Jimin asks, his tray clacking on the table as he drops into the seat opposite Taehyung.

Taehyung cringes internally at that. Of course, he should’ve guessed the moment he saw Seokjin and Namjoon that Yoongi would probably be with them, but it didn’t click, not until he saw the familiar blue beanie and the U-turn he made in the seconds right after probably went unnoticed by literally no one. But despite the crippling inner-shame, Taehyung merely shrugs. ‘Yeah, but… you know, it’s no biggie.’

He can feel Jimin’s eyes lingering on him, but Taehyung doesn’t look at him. Taehyung focuses on the tiny plastic container of fresh strawberries he just blew all his lunch money on and does not look at Jimin. Because Jimin knows. Like an android concealed in that tiny, adorable outer casing, Park Jimin has lie detectors in his gaze. An aspiring liar should never make eye contact with Park Jimin. Not that Taehyung’s lying or anything. It’s not as if he’s spending large amounts of his time worrying about Yoongi’s sudden distance – which really isn’t too much of a lie. He’s been so busy with extra tutoring and evening workshops to try and up his chemistry grade that time to dwell on this stuff is pretty scarce (it’s really almost better he hasn’t been seeing Yoongi, if he really considers it). But when he does get time to think, a fleeting moment on the bus home, downtime on his bed before he falls asleep, staring at his phone and the blatant lack of a notification light, it makes his throat ache weird, the confused down tug of his eyebrows so strong it’s almost painful.

But Jimin doesn’t need to know that.

‘If you say so,’ his friend murmurs, snapping his chopsticks apart. ‘How’d your tutoring session go? Minjae still trying to get in your pants?’

Taehyung makes a face as he removes a rogue strawberry leaf from the tip of his tongue. ‘Uh, yeah, I guess,’ he mumbles. Minjae is a math major, another scholarship kid like Taehyung and incidentally also from a rival modelling agency. He’s the kind of handsome that’s hard to be around without being affected and it used to affect Taehyung, in their earlier sessions, particularly when Minjae would lean too close to correct a mistake, then the million watt grins and fleeting touches when they met at product launches and the like. It used to affect Taehyung a whole awful lot, if he’s going to be honest, to the point of a low-key high-key crush, maybe, but these past weeks he’s just been so goddamn distracted. He’s pretty sure Minjae could’ve blown him under the table and there’s every chance it might’ve slipped his notice. ‘But he’s cool, you know,’ Taehyung goes on in a mumble. ‘He’s still a good tutor. He doesn’t push it or anything.’

‘I really like Minjae,’ Jimin says, a certain drawling edge to his voice that has Taehyung’s suspicions raised, even as the older boy innocently slurps his noodles. He gives Taehyung a coy sort of look over his chopsticks, swallowing before he adds, ‘I bet Minjae’s gonna be at Donghyuk’s party on Thursday night.’

At that, Taehyung gives his friend a look. ‘I hope you don’t think for a second you’re gonna convince me to party, Park Jiminnie. Not before finals. No way. You realise I still have two astronomy assignments to hand in? All the observatory trips are booked up till December and the last clear night, I spent most of it napping on the observation deck. I’m probably gonna fail Astronomy. Astronomy, Jimin, the only reason they haven’t revoked my scholarship yet. Not to mention I’m still, like, twelve chapters behind with the chemistry textbook because that subject makes no freaking sense and my physics paper is only half finished – I haven’t even looked at the physics textbook, so we’re just lucky I’m actually good at that. And then because I’m a genius, I took that advanced programming class which I’ve gone to exactly twice, so no, Jiminnie, I am not gonna be going to Donghyuk’s party.’

By the time Taehyung is done with his rant, his eyes are wide and his arms are flailing and he knows he probably looks a little manic if the current expression on Jimin’s face is anything to go by – but if he’s going to be honest, he feels a little manic. Finals bring out the worst in him, all the time, every year, whether it was college or high school or kindergarten, and while a decent hook-up (though an ice cream sundae generally did the trick in kindergarten) used to take the edge off, Taehyung hasn’t exactly had that particular outlet in a while.

Nine days, to be exact.

Not that anyone’s counting.

Jimin is staring at him with wide eyes right now, and eyebrows so high they’re practically not on his face anymore, chopsticks poised midway to his mouth. That’s probably why he doesn’t notice that Hoseok’s creeping up behind him, a wolfish grin on his face that would have Taehyung swallowing back conspiratorial giggles any other day. But today is just not the kind of day for giggles or conspiring. Today is the kind of day to stuff his face with strawberries till his tongue turns crimson and think really hard about calculus. And the healing properties of the common cactus. And pretty much anything that’s not the itch under his skin and the weird ache in his throat every time he catches sight of that flash of blue wool across the room.

Taehyung is barely confused when he feels arms wrapping around his neck from behind. He only knows two people with arms that thick and warm and one of them is sitting directly across from him, in the process of dropping his chopsticks as Hoseok suddenly grabs his head and plants a kiss on the crown before sauntering off.

‘Hi, Jungkookie,’ he sighs, leaning his head into the younger boy’s as he picks at the leaves of another strawberry. ‘What’s got you so clingy? Last time I tried to cuddle you in public while you were awake, you put me in a headlock. My windpipe is still tender.’

‘Oh, I’d doubt my headlock is why your windpipe was tender, Taetae,’ Jungkook says, and Taehyung reaches up to pinch his arm, hard, though the pressure barely makes him tense. Jeon Jungkook does not have pain receptors, only muscle.

‘Yah, some respect for your hyung would be nice,’ Taehyung grumbles, though without much feeling because really – who is he kidding?

‘Sorry, hyung,’ Jungkook says, not sounding sorry at all and Taehyung might be mad if it wasn’t for the way Jungkook straightens up, thumbs starting to dig into the knots at the top of Taehyung’s spine. The kid always did give a mean massage and had a mean sense of exactly when to initiate one, like an odd little sixth sense. ‘But speaking of your blondie fucktoy, he doesn’t seem to like me that much.’

‘Which fucktoy is that?’ Taehyung asks, rolling his head back to frown up at the younger boy. He can see up Jungkook’s nose from this angle and it makes him grin. ‘I didn’t think I had a blondie fucktoy.’

‘Yoongi-hyung dyed his hair,’ Jimin says, clearly done with whatever sign language argument-slash-flirting-session he’d been having with Hoseok across the cafeteria. ‘Also, hi, Jungk—‘

‘Wait, what—really?’ Taehyung bursts out, sitting up so fast his head spins a little, ignoring Jimin’s judgemental little smirk in favour of seeking out that blue beanie in the sea of heads. He doesn’t however, even after locating Namjoon’s fading silver and scanning the heads nearby, the blue beanie is gone.

Taehyung sinks back into his seat, trying to hide the disappointed pout threatening his lips by nibbling distractedly at the half-eaten strawberry in his hand.

‘Okay, that’s it, Taetae,’ Jimin says, sounding resolute as he points his chopsticks across the table at his younger friend, eyes all serious. ‘You’re gonna go out. You’re gonna have fun. You’re gonna text Minjae. You’re gonna get some hot ass and work out some of that stress you keep snapping at me with.’

‘Minjae,’ Jungkook pipes up, dropping into the free seat on Taehyung’s left, hand propped on his chin, eyebrows waggling. ‘Who’s Minjae?’

‘Unreasonably hot chemistry tutor,’ Jimin supplies helpfully.

‘Oh, that Minjae.’

Jimin nods, shovelling some more noodles into his mouth. ‘He’s got it bad for our Taehyungie and I like him, I think he’s probably really nice, a picnic dates in the park kinda guy, just like this sap wants. And anyway,’ Jimin shrugs lightly, lips pushed into a thoughtful pout that only an eye very attuned to the wheedling methods of a Park Jimin could identify as trouble, ‘it’s not like you and Yoongi-hyung are exclusive or anything. He’s not putting out, you need to get laid, so you find it somewhere else, Taehyungie. That’s what this fuckbuddy thing is all about, right? That’s what makes it work?’

The look Jimin gives him is so innocent he’s almost batting his freaking eyelashes, but Taehyung knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows his friend has had his doubts about this arrangement since the start, doubts about Taehyung more than doubts about Yoongi, and it’s not as if he keeps quiet about it. Jimin is worried about him, that’s all, Taehyung knows that, but it just bothers him that he doesn’t think Taehyung can play it cool, keep it casual. No one does.

But Taehyung can be cool. Taehyung can be casual.

‘I guess so,’ he murmurs, with a shrug. A cool and casual shrug. ‘But I’m not gonna hook up with Minjae. He’s my chemistry tutor. I need him bad and I need it to not be weird.’

‘Well, then someone, Taehyung,’ Jimin says. ‘Just get back out there. Yoongi-hyung might be a good lay, but he’s not your picnic-dates-in-the-park person, so just…’ Jimin chews on his food for a moment, rolling his eyes as he tries to think of the right words. ‘Just don’t waste all your time on him. It’s not healthy.’ He makes some gestures with his chopsticks. ‘Tell ’im, Kookie.’

Taehyung glances over at the younger boy, his eyes fixed on the edge of the table, dark brows pulled slightly together in a thoughtful sort of way.

‘I like your Yoongi-ssi,’ he says, receiving a hard look from Jimin before he adds, ‘but maybe Jiminnie-hyung is right.’ Jimin smirks across the table at Taehyung, quirking his eyebrows smugly as Jungkook finally looks up. ‘Yoongi-ssi probably doesn’t spend all his time on you, hyung, if the last week—’ Nine days, Taehyung corrects mentally. ‘—is anything to go by, so you shouldn’t do that for him.’

To avoid having to reply, Taehyung sticks another strawberry in his mouth, chewing it slowly and hoping it might do something to soothe the wilting sensation in the pit of his stomach. Of course he knows Yoongi’s probably sleeping with other people – why wouldn’t he be? They’re not exclusive. It would be weird if he wasn’t. Which in turn, Taehyung realises, kind of makes it weird that he, himself, is not.

‘Fine,’ he mutters, swallowing down the last of his strawberry. ‘I’ll go to the stupid party.’

Chapter Text

A party hosted by Shin Donghyuk is a party Yoongi can usually survive. With an apartment barely bigger than Yoongi and Hoseok’s own, it’s not like it can ever get that wild, something which is helped along a little by the fact that half the guests are stoned out of their heads and wonderfully placid. Plus, the music – although obnoxiously loud to the point where Donghyuk is just damn lucky most of his neighbours are smoking their brains to mush along with him – doesn’t suck and good music, as far as Yoongi’s concerned, makes almost every situation bearable, enjoyable even, once his veins are starting to hum with the tail end of his second Solo cupful of beer, the bass of something Yankie thumping hard enough that Yoongi can almost feel it in the counter unit beneath him.

Tonight, Donghyuk’s microscopic kitchen is acting as both bar and some kind of makeshift smoking room, the door lying open to give a clear view of the dark, heated chaos out in the living room. Compared to the chilled out atmosphere in kitchen, that doorway looks like a portal to another world right now, the packed bodies like a huge mass of shifting shadows, pulsing in time with the music. Watching it all from his seat on the counter near the sink, the whole effect created is a small bubble of near calm away from the sweaty, heated chaos of the dancers and whether it’s that or the heady smoke in the air or a combination of both, Yoongi finds himself relaxing for the first time in approximately twelve days, shoulders slumped easily, a lazy grin never far from his lips.

‘So, you guys all set for tomorrow?’ Donghyuk asks, still fairly clear-eyed and coherent despite the pipe between his fingers.

From where he’s standing next to Yoongi’s perch, beer in hand, Namjoon starts nodding even as he shares a look of tentative optimism with Yoongi. ‘Yeah, I think we’re ready,’ he says. ‘We listened to the track this morning. Hyung’s worked some kinda fucking magic.’

At that, Donghyuk glances over at Yoongi with a lazy smile. ‘As always, hyung.’

There’s a crackle of energy in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the stage, the blinding lights and the blaring track, the roiling, dark sea of the crowd, but Yoongi can never help the excuses that come bubbling up in his throat at the first whiff of a compliment. ‘Well, it still needs some tweaking and shit,’ he says. ‘I think the end sounds fucking weird.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you, hyung, the end makes it,’ Namjoon insists.

Yoongi grumbles incoherently as he takes a gulp of his beer, flipping the younger pair off when they roll their eyes practically in unison, Namjoon tipsy enough to attempt Yoongi’s Daegu drawl.

‘You need to learn to take some praise, hyung,’ Donghyuk says, bringing the pipe back to his lips.

‘Amen to that,’ Hoseok agrees, just as he appears by Namjoon’s shoulder, looking a little ruffled and worse for wear after the sweltering heat of the living room. His face, however, lights up like a fucking Christmas tree the moment he lays eyes on Donghyuk.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ he asks, voice hushed, almost reverent as he moves over to sidle up beside Donghyuk, all but leaning his chin on his shoulder, wide gaze never leaving his hands.

‘Probably. You wanna hit?’

‘Oh my god,’ Hoseok groans quietly, snatching the lighter as soon as Donghyuk offers it. He gives the kitchen door a few furtive glances before turning his back on it, taking the pipe in careful fingers. They all watch in rapt amusement as Hoseok lights up, breathing in deep enough that Yoongi can see his chest expanding. He passes it back when he has his lungful, seeming to hold it for half an eternity before he finally exhales, head tipping back, face scrunched and shoulders shaking with fake silent sobs.

‘Okay…’ Donghyuk says slowly, laughing even while he frowns in confusion at his friend’s behaviour. ‘I’m missing something, right?’

Jiminnie doesn’t like it,’ Yoongi explains, unable to help the mocking singsong lilt to his voice as he grins around his beer.

‘Jiminnie hates it,’ Hoseok corrects, his head still back, eyes shut, slumping to lean against the fridge door. ‘It’s been so long.’

Donghyuk smirks. ‘Sounds like you’re a little whipped there, Jung.’

‘Oh, I am,’ Hoseok admits easily, as he rolls his head forward again, a coy curl to his mouth. ‘But I just got spectacularly sucked off in your bathtub, Shin, I think I can live without the weed.’

Donghyuk’s eyebrows lift at that. ‘Touché,’ he murmurs, nodding in defeat.

Conversation comes easy after that, new music, college assignments, the usual and absolutely necessary teasing of Hoseok for majoring in fucking botany. And it’s while they’re laughing at that, at Hoseok’s defensive explanation of, “If dancing fails, at least I can moved to the States and start a weed farm or something,” that Yoongi’s attention wanders, just for a split second.

He catches sight of him by accident, a gap in the crowd near the flood of light from the kitchen door. He catches sight of him by accident and it’s a pretty fleeting glimpse before the gap is closed by another sway of someone’s hips, but it’s enough. It’s enough to appreciate the tight matte leather hugging his legs, the way the collar of his striped shirt falls carelessly open, the cheeky grin as he snatches what is likely a joint from between Seokjin’s fingers and the pout of his lips as he sets it between them. Yoongi watches as he blows the smoke right into his cousin’s face, backing away out of sight with a yelp lost in the music when Seokjin reaches out to grab him, and then they’re both gone, the other dancers swallowing them whole.

‘What’re you smirking at, hyung?’ Donghyuk asks, just as Namjoon reaches up to poke at Yoongi’s cheek with the neck of his own bottle.

‘Huh?’ Yoongi turns back to them, batting Namjoon away with a grunt as he sifts through his mind in the hopes that he can remember what they were talking about. But either the smoke is getting to him or the alcohol is really starting to sink in because Yoongi’s head feels light and empty, nothing but the dull buzz of white noise and Taehyung’s thighs in those trousers. ‘Sorry, spaced out,’ he mutters, taking another sip from his cup.

With Hoseok still busy by the fridge, whispering sweet nothings to the pipe, Donghyuk and Namjoon exchange a look, but they don’t press the matter any further, falling gradually into discussions about the rest of tomorrow night’s line-up.

Yoongi listens, on and off, chipping in an opinion when some name in particular catches his attention, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering off, his gaze in tow. He had an idea Taehyung might turn up, of course, expected it even. Taehyung and any kind of social gathering are like a moth to a flame, and the kid seems to be universally popular, getting invited to parties hosted by everyone from the frat assholes to the chairman of the Interpretive Dance Society. It only made sense he’d probably be here, Yoongi just managed to not think about it, to not consider it and all its implications and the fact that the last party they both attended, they ended up…

Well, let’s just say the bruises have only barely faded from Yoongi’s knees.

But, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Because maybe it’s been too goddamn long and maybe Taehyung’s ass looks nothing short of unbearable in those leather pants and maybe Yoongi’s kinda buzzed, but if he tries really hard, he can still feel the acidic little fist clenched low in his chest, he can still feel the raw burn in his throat and he can certainly still see Jeon Jungkook’s arms wound comfortably around Taehyung’s neck. It’s an image that hasn’t left him since Monday afternoon, setting his teeth on edge on an almost constant basis. It’s that image’s fault that he snapped at Hoseok this morning just for changing the setting on the coffee maker, that he’s finished the pack of cigarettes he bought Monday afternoon, that his life for the past two weeks has been reduced to an epic shitfest. And it’s Kim Taehyung’s fault that this image is in his head at all.

So, he’s not going to suck Kim Taehyung off in the bathroom tonight. Kim Taehyung does not deserve it. If Taehyung wants his dick sucked in the bathroom, he can get Jeon fucking Jungkook to do it. Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. In fact, Yoongi gives so little of a shit that he drags his gaze away from the kitchen door entirely – not that he was staring or anything – and fixes his mind on the here and now, this shitty beer, his friends and their increasingly odd conversation about backstage hook-ups. And if he tries really hard, he can almost pretend he isn’t side-eying the door while he half listens to Donghyuk’s graphic and somewhat disturbing retelling of his last pre-performance rendezvous – “she just did this thing and the soju went fucking everywhere, man, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen”. He can almost pretend that his attention isn’t entirely kidnapped every time he catches a glimpse of black and white stripes out the corner of his eye, whether they’re the right stripes or not, and he can almost – almost – pretend his head doesn’t whip up like a fucking meerkat’s the moment he hears the familiar low timbre of that voice loudly greeting a group huddled by the door.

If his stomach does anything odd, Yoongi wouldn’t know, because he’s pointedly ignoring it and all its annoying fucking swooping tendencies.

Hyung~’ Taehyung calls, a moment later, a little too singsong to be sober, pushing towards their corner after hugging and grinning his way through half the crowd in the tiny kitchen. Next thing Yoongi knows, Kim Taehyung is right fucking there, barely a foot away, arms wrapping around Namjoon as he rests his chin easily on his shoulder. ‘His Highness requests your presence at once.’

Namjoon makes a face, looking mildly concerned. ‘What’ve I done now?’

‘I don’t think anything, hyung,’ Taehyung murmurs, swaying slightly to the beat of the music, his grip around Namjoon giving him no choice but to sway too. ‘Pretty sure he’s just horny.’

At that, Namjoon’s eyebrows perk up with sudden interest. ‘Oh… I see…’

‘Yeah, so if you’ve done anything wrong, I’d say it’s just in the “you’ve been a very naughty boy, Namjoonie” sense.’ Taehyung giggles at his own slurred imitation of Seokjin’s flawless accent. ‘Prolly gonna get spanked, hyung.’

‘Yah,’ Namjoon grumbles, jabbing an elbow back into the younger boy’s stomach, ears flushing even numbed as he is likely with the alcohol. ‘You’re a creep, get off me.’

Taehyung grins into his shoulder, grip tightening around him. ‘No,’ he giggles.

Taehyung,’ Namjoon sighs, but he’s battling a grin himself, turning his head to look at the other boy. Yoongi is almost surprised at how comfortable Namjoon is despite the proximity when he’s usually more awkward than Yoongi himself, drunk or sober, but he supposes Taehyung just has that effect on people. ‘How drunk are you, kid? Hasn’t Jin-hyung been watching you?’

‘Jin-hyung?’ Taehyung giggles some more, practically nuzzling into the crook of Namjoon’s neck and Yoongi takes another long drink from his cup to hide the sudden set of his jaw. Because yeah, okay, maybe they’ve known each other for years and maybe they’re like family at this point, but does Taehyung really have to so touchy with everyone? ‘Jin-hyung’s the one feeding me shots. And cocktails. And weed. You ever had a Skittle Bomb, hyung?’

Eyes wide, Namjoon ignores the question. ‘Shit, how trashed is Jin-hyung?’

Taehyung shakes his head, voice thick with held back laughter. ‘Oh, words cannot describe, hyung. It’s glorious.’

Namjoon’s groan is small and pained. ‘Oh, god…’

‘Actually, ’m not gonna keep you from beholding that wondrous sight any longer,’ Taehyung announces, unravelling himself from around Namjoon, a tad on the wobbly side as he pats him good-naturedly on the ass. ‘Go get ’im, tiger.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Namjoon mutters, poking a finger into Taehyung’s chest as he brushes past him. ‘You’re coming home with us, you lil’ creep, I hope you realise that.’ Taehyung immediately pouts in response, but Namjoon only shakes his head. ‘No, I’m not leaving you here like this.’

‘I’m not a casualty in a freaking apocalypse movie, hyung,’ Taehyung mutters, before slumping back against the stretch of counter Namjoon just vacated, arm flung dramatically over his eyes, other hand outstretched. ‘You must go on without me, hyung!’ he wails, as Donghyuk and Hoseok, baked as fucking cupcakes, dissolve into a giggling mess, other people in the kitchen turning to shoot their corner amused looks. ‘It’s too late for me! Save yourselves!’

Namjoon just about manages to hide his own smile until he turns away, rolling his eyes as he ventures out into the roiling chaos of bodies the living room has become. The other three are still in fits of laughter, though Taehyung, at least, is making some attempt to gather himself, breathing deep and wiping at his eyes. He looks a mess, really, hair damp with sweat, shirt half untucked, thin material almost sticking to his skin – proof of the heat out there on the dancefloor. His cheeks are flushed the same soft shade of pink they always take on when the alcohol starts to hit him. Yoongi knows from experience that flush eventually spreads over most of his body, but muted, like a glow dimmed down by the golden hue of his skin. He takes a sip of his beer to soothe the sudden dryness in his throat at the thought of how that flush looks under the smooth skin of his chest, his shoulders, down the backs of his thighs…

Yoongi doesn’t realise he’s been staring until Taehyung’s laughter starts to die away into softer hiccups, his hands falling from his face to hold himself steady against the counter, sleeve edges dampened with tears, and all of a sudden, he’s staring right at him. And Yoongi knows, just by the dark gleam in Taehyung’s eyes, that he caught him out – caught him blatantly fucking ogling, could probably take a  guess at the private slideshow of safely saved and stored images flicking through his mind, too.

Yoongi’s fingers tighten around his cup, plastic cracking slightly, teeth snagging on the inside of his cheek because Taehyung is standing there, inches away, collarbones on full fucking display and something dark in his eyes, and all of a sudden, Yoongi’s having a hard time remembering why on earth he’s not supposed to suck Kim Taehyung off in the bathroom tonight.

He barely notices Hoseok easing himself away from the counter and tugging none-too-subtly on Donghyuk’s arm, the two of them creeping off towards the door with conspiratorial glances over their shoulders. Graceless as their exit was, however, Taehyung seemed to genuinely miss it, blinking suddenly when he notes their absence, notes the fact that they’re as alone as anyone can be in a tiny room packed with people.

‘Oh,’ he says softly, glancing around, chewing on his lower lip almost bashfully, and Yoongi takes the opportunity to drop his own gaze to his cup. There was definitely a reason he wasn’t supposed to suck Kim Taehyung off in the bathroom tonight and he knows that if he focuses really hard, he will remember what it was. Focusing is just kind of difficult when Taehyung is right there, close enough that Yoongi can almost feel the ridiculous heat of his body against his leg.

Yoongi doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes on his beer, takes another sip when the silence drags on too long and all he can think about is Taehyung’s gaze heavy on the side of his face, unabashed staring.

Then—

‘Hyung… did I do something?’ he asks, and Yoongi hates that his voice is more soft than whiny, more curious than needy. It’d be so much easier to stay mad at him if he would just rub Yoongi up the wrong way like everyone fucking else, if he didn’t seem to know exactly what to say and how to say it, even drunk off his face, swaying on his feet. ‘Because it kinda feels like I did, even though I’m pretty sure I didn’t and… it’s not really the greatest feeling in the world.’

Yoongi swears that sudden tightness in his gut is not guilt. It’s not.

‘No,’ he mutters, thumb playing distractedly with the plastic rim of his Solo cup. ‘No, you didn’t do anything, Taehyung.’

Which isn’t a lie, he needs to remind himself. Taehyung didn’t do anything wrong. Even Jeon fucking Jungkook didn’t do anything wrong. Because fucking around with other people isn’t something they talked about, isn’t something Yoongi’s ever had to talk about before, isn’t something he ever intended to have to talk about. So, even though the bitter lick of fire in his gut is screaming at him that Taehyung is in the wrong, some small, rational part of Yoongi, mellowed by the alcohol, knows that isn’t true.

He can’t take this out on Taehyung unless he’s willing to do something about it.

‘Cool,’ Taehyung says softly, and Yoongi waits, jaw taut with anticipation, wondering what the next question will be, or if Taehyung will just wander off again, trying to figure out how that would make him feel.

Neither of those things happen, however, and they’re both quiet for another moment that stretches halfway into eternity. Yoongi ends up spilling his beer in all his fidgeting with the goddamn cup, a wet patch near his knee that he tries to rub away without drawing attention to the fact, and all through this, Taehyung is silent, just watching. Yoongi gets the feeling he could do that for quite a while longer, so he sighs heavily through his nose and makes the next move.

He glances over to find Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, eyelids heavy and sleepy looking, though the deep brown underneath them seems alert enough, fixed on Yoongi. Yoongi holds his gaze, allowing an eyebrow to float upwards in question.

Taehyung’s reply is to lift his head, a hand that had been helping to prop him against the counter moving up slowly, carefully to brush his fingers over Yoongi’s hair, a feather-light touch just above his ear.

‘I like your hair,’ he whispers, and a whisper is all it is, lost in the roar of music and voices, if not for Yoongi reading his lips. (Coincidentally, his eyes were already on his mouth, so it works out okay.)

When Yoongi doesn’t react, Taehyung seems to take some kind of green light from that, fingers combing gently through the longer strands, nails just barely scratching at his scalp, but it’s enough to send a shiver running down Yoongi’s spine that—fuck, of course Taehyung doesn’t miss it, fingers stilling for just a moment while his eyes find Yoongi’s again.

‘You know, hyung,’ he says, and Yoongi can hear he’s trying to sound coy, cocky, but the breathy edge to his voice does nothing to help him as he inches closer, hip bumping Yoongi’s knee. ‘I gotta be honest—‘ His fingers don’t stop toying with the elder’s hair, but his eyes flit from Yoongi’s own to some point lower on his face. ‘—I’m a high maintenance kinda guy.’

Yoongi just barely conceals his snort of laughter. Cheesy fuck.

‘Not in the… uh, jewels and riches kinda sense, but just—‘ He gives a shrug that’s maybe supposed to be sheepish, teeth catching on his own lower lip. ‘—you know.’

Yoongi does know. Yoongi knows exactly what Taehyung means, what he needs, and Taehyung’s leg is pressing up against his own, the heat of his thigh through two thick layers of fabric unimaginable. Yoongi’s fingers tap out a spasmodic little rhythm on the side of his cup as he focuses on not reaching out, on not curling his fingers into the cruelly thin material of Taehyung’s shirt, on not tugging Taehyung closer to him, on not thinking about how much this reminds him of the first fucking night they met, Yoongi sitting on the fancy-ass faux marble of Seokjin’s utility room and Taehyung gazing up at him with eyes too wide for this world.

‘So… it was pretty mean of you – neglectful even – leaving me two weeks without so much as an explanation, hyung,’ Taehyung goes on, though there’s no real hurt in his voice, only the slightest hint of a pout as he gives a small shrug. ‘But I mean, if you’re not up to the task…‘

‘What about Jeon Jungkook?’ The words tumble out before Yoongi can stop them, every single muscle in his body suddenly tingling as he attempts to hold himself in check, not let his surprise – his fucking horror – at his own words show on his face as his mouth keeps going, unbidden. ‘Is he up to the task?’

Taehyung’s reaction is a tad delayed, the cogs working behind his hazy eyes before he turns towards him slightly, his fingers stilling in Yoongi’s hair. ‘Jungkook?’ he echoes, eyebrows starting to pull together, face crumpling into a soft frown of confusion. ‘Jungkookie? My Jungkookie?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi mutters the word on a snort, tipping his head back to drain the last of his drink. He can’t even taste the goddamn stuff anymore, which might be a godsend in itself, but it’s still worrying. The well of acid in his chest is burning. ‘Your Jungkookie.’

‘What d’you mean, hyung?’ he asks, looking positively dumbfounded as he frowns at Yoongi, fingers still toying lightly with the ends of his hair as if to get his attention. ‘What—when did you even meet Jungkookie? I don’t… wait—‘ Taehyung’s fingers go still again as Yoongi steels himself and meets his gaze – he’s fucking started this now, he may as well see it through, even though his heart is thudding so hard he feels he might throw up – what the fuck is he doing?

Taehyung’s frown is deeper suddenly, but his eyes are slowly starting to widen, giving him something of a manic look. ‘You—you don’t think…’ He trails off again, eyes imploring, like he wants Yoongi to say something, wants him to cut him off right there, but Yoongi doesn’t. Yoongi holds his gaze, unwavering.

Taehyung’s eyes balloon, corners of his mouth turning down in a grimace as a strangled sort of sound claws its way out of his mouth. ‘Oh my god, you do,’ he says, his voice half a groan, half a wail, entirely horrified. He snatches his hand away from Yoongi’s hair, curling in on himself a little as he stares at the older boy. ‘Me and—me and Jungkookie?’ he asks, hisses, seeming to note Yoongi’s furtive glances at the few gazes straying their way. ‘You think—you think we—that we’re—‘ Taehyung cuts off suddenly with another broken squawk, falling back to lean against the counter looking very much like he’s considering curling up on the floor and crying. ‘Hyung,’ he moans, bringing his fist up to his mouth, as if he’s in genuine pain, eyes squeezed shut and mouth twisted in horror. ‘Hyung, what the fuck. What the actual fuck?’

And now Yoongi is the one frowning, jaw loose as his mouth hangs slightly open because he’s getting the sneaking suspicion he might have something wrong here.

Maybe.

Probably.

Why would you—that’s so—hyung,’ Taehyung whimpers, practically squirming in his own skin, pacing a few steps away from Yoongi before pacing right back to press his forehead against his arms on the fridge door. His wailing turns to muffled nonsense, but it continues, pitched and broken, attracting amused glances and a few gesturing nods.

‘Tae, would you shut the fuck up,’ Yoongi hisses, reaching out with a toe to kick at the boy’s thigh. ‘Get over here. I’m not gonna fucking talk to you like this.’

‘Oh, so now you wanna talk to me,’ he mutters, as he shuffles back over, shooting him a look that’s only about half joking, from what Yoongi can tell.

Again, that feeling in his gut is not guilt. It’s fucking not. It’s too much alcohol. It’s the thick smoke in the air. It’s the questionably Italian dish Hoseok tried to make for dinner. It’s anything but guilt.

‘So… you mean…’ Taking a steadying sort of breath as Taehyung leans against the counter next to him again, Yoongi rakes a hand back through his hair, trying to get his bearings here. There’s heat in cheeks that wasn’t there a moment ago. Fuck. ‘You’re, uh, you’re not?’

‘Not what?’ Taehyung asks – squeaks, really, eyes wide, arms folded protectively over his chest as if Yoongi’s words alone are making him feel violated.

He rolls his eyes. Such a fucking drama queen. ‘You’re not fucking him? Jungkook, you’re not—‘

Taehyung cringes away as he cuts Yoongi off with a sound so close to a genuine sob that he’s beginning to wonder if the younger boy is going to turn around with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. ‘No, hyung,’ he moans. ‘Jesus Christ.’

Oh.

Fuck.

‘Where would you even get that idea?’ he asks, turning again to look at Yoongi. He is, in fact, dry-eyed and perfectly fine, other than his face turned crimson from all the squawking he did, but his expression is still twisted in disgust, eyes slightly haunted.

He let me think that!’ Yoongi pipes up, suddenly defensive, thinking back on Jungkook’s incessant smirking, practically flexing territorially in Yoongi’s face during their first meeting. ‘He knew what I was thinking and he fucking went with it, Taehyung! He’s a little shit!’

Taehyung’s face relaxes a little at that, faded disgust mingled with doubt as he turns his body slightly more towards Yoongi’s, hip leaning against the counter. ‘Kookie can be a trickster alright, but he’s not cruel. He wouldn’t do that to me.’

‘Well, he did,’ Yoongi mutters, deciding not to think too hard on what Taehyung means by that— He wouldn’t do that to me. ‘On more than one fucking occasion, too, so either he’s got some kinda huge thing for you or he’s just an asshole.’

Hyung,’ Taehyung groans again, a little more weakly this time, a lot more aegyo, bapping his fist against Yoongi’s knee. ‘He doesn’t have a thing for me. Jungkookie’s as good as family. I’ve known him since he had braces and eruptive acne that he used to pick at. It was really gross.’ He pauses a moment, nose crinkling as he thinks of something else. ‘I mean, yeah, gotta admit, he grew up hot, but we just don’t talk about that.’

Yoongi snorts. Yeah, “hot”, he thinks bitterly, if you’re into that particular breed of assholian jockling.

‘How did you even meet?’ Taehyung asks, after what might’ve been a moment of thought or a moment of being utterly spaced out because it’s becoming more and more apparent in the squinting eyes and thickening satoori how gone Taehyung is.

‘The day after—when I, uh, came pick up my jacket,’ Yoongi says, a little tightly – it’s not his favourite memory. ‘You were in the shower and this guy answered the door – wearing your fucking boxers.’

Taehyung makes a face at that. ‘Right. Yeah, he does that. No one’s allowed to steal his clothes, of course, but he takes everyone else’s.’

‘He sounds like an asshole.’

‘Jungkookie’s not an asshole. He’s just… Hang on.’

Yoongi glances over to find Taehyung turning almost fully to face him, eyes narrowing too far to blame on the drunken squinting, lips parting slowly like he’s not even sure he should say whatever’s on his mind. Judging by the smirk starting to curl a corner of his mouth, Yoongi reckons he probably shouldn’t.

‘That was right before you got weird.’

‘I didn’t get weird.’

‘You did,’ he insists. ‘“I can’t. Gotta study”.’ His imitation of Yoongi’s voice is terrible to the point of near insult, but he’s talking again before Yoongi can call him out, drag him bodily away from the subject. ‘Hyung, you refusing hot sex without rescheduling is about the weirdest thing I can imagine.’

‘Yah, what’re you saying?’ Yoongi snaps, glancing up from his beer, not about to let that insinuation go unchecked.

‘I’m saying your dick-thirst is second to only mine, hyung,’ Taehyung explains easily, airy wave of the hand and all, ‘but that’s not the point here, don’t try to change the subject.’

Yoongi scowls, but it’s hard to get the same level of venom into it with Taehyung looking at him like that, an odd expression on his face, caught somewhere between coy and ecstatic. Even though Yoongi knows it’s at his own expense, it’s a good look on him, with the flushed cheeks and the blown pupils, the wide eyes and the barest hint of a smirk touching his mouth. It’s a good look, good enough that Yoongi just kind of wants to drop his cup, grab the boy by the hair and drag him closer, and Yoongi’s not sure if these thoughts are obvious on his face or if it’s simply coincidence that Taehyung saves him the trouble.

With a noise he hopes sounds thoroughly done, Yoongi turns his head away as Taehyung moves towards him, the hand on Yoongi’s knee tightening as he shifts the elder’s legs wide enough to slot himself between them, hips pressed right up against the counter, too goddamn close. Yoongi feels the hand on his knee slide further up, Taehung’s other hand settling on his other thigh. He can see him out the corner of his eye, blurred, just in focus enough to know his gaze is trained on Yoongi’s mouth, tongue flicking out to wet his own lips, a nervous habit that almost has Yoongi smirking.

‘Were you… were you jealous, hyung?’ he asks, and Yoongi can feel his breath warm on his throat when he speaks, shoulders tightening against another shiver.

He knows he doesn’t have long before his deliberate glance to the side is going to look less nonchalant, more fucking awkward, but he’s milking it for all it’s worth, taking another sip of his drink, casual, unhurried. His pulse is throbbing in his ears. ‘No, Taehyung, I wasn’t.’

A smile tugging at his lips, Taehyung leans in, close enough that Yoongi can’t really see him out of the corner of his eye anymore, just a smudge of undefined dark hair. Taehyung’s nose nuzzles the hair at his temple, lips right by his ear, so close that Yoongi can feel the wet heat of his mouth and fuck, if that doesn’t send his horny imagination reeling, fingers gripping tight around his cup.

Liar,’ Taehyung whispers, the grin audible in his voice.

‘I don’t get jealous,’ Yoongi says flatly, refusing to react to the press of lips right by his ear, another on the curve of his jaw.

‘Ah, I see,’ the younger murmurs against the thin skin just below his ear, hands moving to curve around Yoongi’s hips. ‘So, it’s cool if I go home with Minjae tonight, then?’

‘Wait—who the fuck is Minjae?’ Yoongi demands before he can think twice about it, turning his head at last to try and lean out of Taehyung’s grip, though that’s kind of hard with the other boy giggling into the crook of his neck, his grip on his hips only pulling him closer. ‘What’re you laughing at now?’ he grumbles, setting his cup down because he’s just fucking spilt it again – thankfully not on himself this time. He gives Taehyung’s shoulder a half-hearted shove. ‘Shit, you’re so gone, Taehyung.’

‘I’m not laughing ’cause I’m drunk, hyung,’ he hiccups, lifting his head to pin Yoongi with a boxy grin and wow, shit, okay, his face is a lot closer that Yoongi anticipated. ‘I’m laughing ’cause you’re a really sucky liar.’

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi mutters, shaking his head as if this is an utterly ludicrous accusation. Because it is. It’s fucking ludicrous. But Kim Taehyung just doesn’t fucking let up, just doesn’t know when to fucking stop and he’s leaning in for another kiss, this time brushed against the corner of his mouth.

‘It’s cute, hyung.’

‘Tae, shut the fuck up,’ Yoongi says, giving the other boy’s arm a pinch, but Taehyung barely flinches, instead letting out a satisfied sort of hum.

‘Ah, there it is,’ he murmurs softly, thumbing slipping underneath the hem of Yoongi’s jumper to stroke over the curved edge of his hip.

‘What?’ Yoongi asks, and so what if his gaze is fixed somewhere a little further south of Taehyung’s eyes? The boy’s probably too drunk to notice. Whatever.

‘Tae,’ Taehyung murmurs, smirking just slightly as he keeps rubbing his thumb over Yoongi’s skin, something close to ticklish, but too hot, way too fucking hot. ‘I know I’m in the shit when you’re calling me Taehyung, but when you’re calling me Tae again, I must be forgiven.’

Yoongi lifts his gaze to shoot him a look at that, a glower so half-assed that even Taehyung doesn’t balk, just stares back, all low lids and soft lips. Yoongi’s not sure how he missed the fingers of Taehyung’s other hand curling gently into the knitted fabric of his jumper, but he’s acutely aware of it when those fingers tighten, tugging him a touch closer as Taehyung ducks his head, leans further in. His breath fogs hot over the skin of Yoongi’s neck and maybe if he wasn’t so goddamn drunk and horny and sex-deprived, Yoongi would’ve been able to supress the soft noise that rumbles low in his throat. Unfortunately, Yoongi is all of those things.

He feels the smooth hardness of teeth against his adam’s apple and knows Taehyung is grinning, happy with that reaction. It earns him another pinch to the arm from Yoongi, hard enough this time to have him give a soft yelp, shrugging away from the touch as he shakes with silent laughter. The movement has him pressing closer to Yoongi and Yoongi had almost forgotten how intense the other boy’s ridiculous body heat was, bleeding warm through the thick fabric of Yoongi’s jumper, his hand on his hip, his lips on his neck almost fucking scalding. Yoongi’s eyes fall shut all the same, a sigh catching in his throat as Taehyung’s teeth graze his neck lightly, pulling the skin between his lips and sucking, just fucking barely, just enough to get Yoongi’s head tilting the way he wants it, hand coming to rest on the nape of Taehyung’s neck, squeezing lightly because that is not enough.

Taehyung makes a small noise at the contact, and the next kiss is deeper, wetter, Taehyung’s tongue flicking out to tease him, Yoongi biting hard on his own tongue to contain a groan, his blood starting to run a couple degrees hotter with both Taehyung’s hands slipping underneath his jumper. And god, he just fucking wants this. He just wants to fist the fingers that have slipped into the soft sweat-dampened strands of Taehyung’s hair, pull him up, suck on his lower lip in that way that always coaxes a broken moan out of him. Yoongi wants to kiss him till he’s desperate and breathless and then he wants more. He just wants. With Taehyung’s lips and hands and breath on his skin, the familiar scent of mixed strawberry shampoo and subtle cologne filling his head, he just wants so fucking much, but—

‘Okay, guys, playtime’s over.’

At first, the lowered voice doesn’t seem to quite register with either of them because who the hell would be talking to them right now? They’re clearly busy and really—

‘Literally everyone is staring, please disengage.’

And now that – that gets them both, Taehyung pulling away a touch, blinking dazedly, and Yoongi yanking back hard, a firm palm on Taehyung’s chest because, yes, of fucking course everyone is fucking staring at them. They’re heading into foreplay territory in a room full of people. They’re two guys heading into foreplay territory in a room full of people. Who wouldn’t stare? Hell, Yoongi would fucking stare (though perhaps for different reasons from these people).

Luckily, Donghyuk keeps interesting company, the easy-going type, a little more accepting. It’s not as dramatic is it might’ve been, the buzz of chatter still thick in the air, music still pounding hard. It might’ve even looked like nothing weird had happened at all except for the stares Yoongi can feel on their corner, the eyes he catches before they can awkwardly avert their gazes. He feels his face burn hot and quickly looks away as well, settling his eyes on the boy now standing next to them because even with his hands on his hips, something very faintly hostile about the slant of his eyebrows, Park Jimin is still a more comforting sight than the rest of the room.

With his heart throbbing high in his throat, it takes Yoongi a second to realise the very faint hostility is being quite firmly directed at him. He frowns in question, but Jimin’s eyes only narrow a little further before he turns to Taehyung, a gentler aura settling over him almost instantly.

‘Namjoon-hyung told me you were lookin’ wobbly, Taetae,’ he says, reaching out to sling an arm over his shoulders, subtly pulling him away from Yoongi. ‘Looks to me like he was toning the situation down a bit.’

Taehyung shakes his head, woozy grin tugging at his lips. ‘S’okay, Jiminnie. ’m good. I’m relaxing, like you wanted.’

‘Yeah, relaxing a little too much, I think,’ Jimin mutters, and Yoongi receives another stony look, deepening his own frown because what the fuck has he done to deserve this? Without further explanation, Jimin tightens his arm around Taehyung’s shoulders, tugging him away as Yoongi slips down from the counter to stand again. ‘Come on, let’s get you home, bro.’

Taehyung makes an unsatisfied noise. ‘Jiminnie, no,’ he whines, wriggling out of Jimin’s grasp and back up against the counter. ‘I don’t wanna go home. Neither do you, you were having fun with Hoseok-hyung.’

‘I know, Taehyungie,’ Jimin sighs, rubbing distractedly at an eyebrow – he has the look of someone trying very hard to appear more sober than he is, ‘but I gotta get you home before you do something you’re gonna regret, okay?’

Taehyung frowns at that. ‘Like what?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi chips in, because maybe it’s the alcohol softening him up or maybe it’s something else, but that might be a genuine pang of hurt in his chest. He’s used to nothing but bright grins and forced affection from Park Jimin – he has no idea what to make of this. ‘Like what, Jimin?’

Dark gaze flicking to Yoongi, Jimin’s eyebrows lower further, his scowl not so subtle anymore and the venom in his next words even less so. ‘Like fucking some guy who left him hanging for two weeks without a single word of explanation,’ he says, leaning in further to lower his voice, ‘who just happens to come sneaking back when he has a chance with someone else, someone who’s done nothing but treat him right.’

Oh.

‘And never mind all that,’ Jimin goes on with a pointed wave of his hand towards a slightly sagging Taehyung. ‘He’s clearly wasted, hyung – I thought you were better than to take advantage of him like this.’

‘Hey, Jiminnie—‘

‘No, Taehyung,’ Jimin cuts across him firmly, turning to pin him with a look. ‘You’re drunk, you don’t get a say right now.’

‘I wasn’t gonna fuck him like this, Jesus, Jimin,’ Yoongi says, voice still low because he can feel a few sets of eyes still lingering curiously on their corner, hungry for a good Monday morning story.

‘Oh, really?’ Eyebrows raised, Jimin crosses his arms over his chest and Yoongi isn’t enjoying how the movement makes his biceps balloon, loose tank displaying them in all their glory. ‘You’re seriously telling me you didn’t wanna do anything with him just now?’

Yoongi rolls his eyes with an impatient noise. ‘Of course I wanted to,’ he hisses, ‘but that doesn’t mean I was going to.’

Jimin continues to glower, though something seems to mellow out a little behind his eyes – just a little, eyebrows not quite so pinched, less ominous flexing of needless muscles as his gaze flicks between them.

‘And we talked, Jiminnie, it’s okay,’ Taehyung adds in, moving over to sling his arm around Jimin’s shoulders now, hand rubbing almost soothingly at his arm.

Jimin raises a dubious eyebrow at him. ‘You? You two talked? To each other?’

Taehyung nods fervently. ‘We did, I swear.’

Jimin’s other eyebrow follows the first. ‘Like, out loud? Telepathic lingering looks don’t count unless it’s us, Kim Taehyung.’

‘It was crossed wires,’ Yoongi mutters, addressing his own boots as opposed to Park Jimin’s judging little stare.

‘And a tiny bit of hyung being an idiot,’ Taehyung chips in helpfully, a low giggle lightening the last word. ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, Jiminnie, don’t worry.’

Yoongi shoots him a dark look, receiving a blinding, crooked grin in reply.

Jimin’s eyes are still a little narrowed, but Yoongi gets the feeling it’s more for show now than anything else, keeping up the stern exterior to drag out Yoongi’s torture. And it’s fucking working. There’s something about having ruffled the literal embodiment of sunshine Park Jimin this much that has Yoongi squirming in his boots right now, the guilt weighing heavily, even though he’s not entirely sure he did anything wrong.

‘Well, still,’ Jimin finally says, his tone a few notes closer to its usual bubbly self. He reaches up to ruffle his friend’s hair fondly, leaving it sticking out at odd angles. ‘We gotta get you home, Taehyungie.’

‘Ah, Jimin~’ Taehyung groans, tugging away from him to slump back against the counter. He looks fucking pitiful, puppy dog eyes out in full force, pouting so severely that Yoongi has to roll his eyes.

Jimin is shaking his head, just opening his mouth to speak, when Yoongi interrupts him with a weary sigh.

‘Look, I can take him back,’ he offers, knowing how it might sound, deciding he doesn’t care. ‘I’m done anyway. I’m leaving whether it’s with him or not. You can drag Hoseok’s drunk ass home.’

Jimin raises that eyebrow again, savage and judging, a slight jut to his jaw as if to say Are you fucking serious?

Yoongi shrugs. ‘I just said I wasn’t gonna try anything, Jimin,’ he reminds him, a little impatiently, though Jimin sure as shit doesn’t seem to appreciate that – Yoongi swears he sees the biceps flexing again. He holds up his hands in something like surrender, albeit slightly sarcastic surrender. ‘It’s barely past one and I know you don’t wanna go home yet.’

‘I could get him home and into bed and come back,’ Jimin points out, making it sound like a challenge, though Yoongi doesn’t understand how. Whatever. He’s not here to challenge anyone. All of a sudden, he’s tired, that bone-heavy, weak-limbed kind of exhaustion. Too much excitement for one night. Too much alcohol and excitement and all but fucking hotboxing in the smoky kitchen for one night.

‘Alright, fine,’ he sighs, with a weary, dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Just—‘

‘I’ll go if hyung takes me,’ Taehyung pipes up, watching the exchange in silence until now, chewing on his lower lip. They both turn their gazes on him, but he’s looking at Jimin, eyes wide and a little too excited for Yoongi’s liking. ‘I’ll go home if hyung takes me.’

Eyebrows low, Jimin opens his mouth, closing it again before words actually make an appearance. He stares at Taehyung, Taehyung stares back and Yoongi’s eyes flick between the two of them, trying to remember how this got so goddamn tense. They seem to be communicating, somehow – at least, Yoongi assumes that’s what’s happening because otherwise what the fuck are they doing staring at each other for the guts of a minute straight? Around the 30 second mark, he gets bored and turns his attention to scanning the kitchen, checking to see if they’re still the topic of half the conversations in the room.

It seems not and Yoongi feels himself relax a little, rubbing at the back of his neck with a quiet groan.

In the end, it’s Jimin who looks away first, locking eyes with Yoongi instead. ‘I swear to god, Min Yoongi, I wanna get back to find him in his bed, fully clothed and untampered with, well hydrated and dosed up on ibuprofen. If not, I think we oughta test out those boxing skills you claim to have.’

While Taehyung grins like he just swallowed the fucking sun itself, yanking Jimin towards him and planting a sloppy kiss on the boy’s temple, Yoongi lifts an eyebrow, but says nothing more.

He can tell Jimin is only half joking.

 

 

 

Taehyung is drunk enough that forking out for a taxi seems like a better idea than wrangling the kid down into the subway station and keeping him from falling onto the tracks. From the looks Taehyung was still giving him before they left Donghyuk’s place, Yoongi’s half expecting to be jumped by the younger the moment the car starts moving, but it seems even Taehyung is past that at this point. He’s more concerned with sticking his head out of the rolled down window like a fucking pup, yelling some shit about “spiral galaxies” while the driver barks obscenities from the front.

‘Get that lunatic back in the fucking car before he decapitates himself on a lamppost!’

Yoongi wants to point out that he really shouldn’t be swerving so close to the lampposts in the first place, but his mother taught him better than to fuck with Seoul taxi drivers. He grabs the back of Taehyung’s soft blue blazer, dragging him into the car. The younger boy slumps down in his seat while Yoongi stretches over him to roll the window back up, giggling quietly until he seems to doze off for the last short stretch of the journey.

‘I don’t have money for this,’ Taehyung mumbles helpfully, eyes still shut as the car jumps over the useless speed bumps leading into their complex’s parking lot.

‘Don’t worry, I got it,’ Yoongi mutters, closely followed by a growled You’d fucking better from the driver.

Taehyung is steady enough on his feet when they step out into the night that, after a cursory elbow grab to stop him stumbling out in front of the taxi as it speeds off, Yoongi is able to wander ahead, letting them in through the main door and holding it while he waits for Taehyung to catch up.

The elevator ride to the third floor is uneventful, Yoongi leaning against the cool metal wall, the cold setting his teeth chattering after the intense heat of the party. Taehyung has himself wedged into the opposite corner, eyes shut, head tipped back against the elevator wall, a faint smile on his face.

Yoongi snorts quietly, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the LED numbers counting up. He’s never seen him quite this fucked before and it’s just slightly hilarious.

‘Alright, gimme your keys,’ he orders, once they’re approaching Taehyung’s front door. ‘I don’t think we should depend on your fine motor skills right now.’

Taehyung frowns at him. ‘Keys?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi says slowly, his voice dropping a touch because he is not enjoying the blank look on this brat’s face. ‘Your fucking keys, Taehyung. You need them to get into your apartment.’

Taehyung’s frown only deepens. ‘But Jiminnie has the keys?’

‘But where are your keys, Taehyung?’

‘He doesn’t let me take them out, I’ve lost them too many times, so…’

Yoongi sets his jaw, knowing exactly where this is fucking going. ‘So, what?’

There’s a beat of silence in which Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly. Yoongi can almost pinpoint the exact moment the kid realises he fucked up, teeth catching on his lip, gaze flicking to the door. ‘So… so, they’re in there.’

Yoongi taps on the wood. ‘Behind this locked door?’

Wordlessly, Taehyung nods.

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, the younger avoiding eye contact like a kid caught doing something wrong, long fingers fidgeting at the collar of his shirt. The very loose, very revealing collar of his shirt, his collarbones playing fucking peekaboo as Yoongi tries hard to keep his gaze on Taehyung’s face.

Fuck.

He groans quietly, leaning forward to knock his forehead against the door a couple times. He has no idea what he’s done to deserve this, but karma is fucking with him lately. Big time.

‘Sorry, hyung,’ Taehyung mumbles.

‘Whatever,’ Yoongi sighs. ‘Get back in the fucking elevator.’

‘Are we going back to Donghyuk’s?’

They should go back to Donghyuk’s. Or Yoongi should at least be ordering Taehyung to call Jimin and get him over here with a set of fucking keys. But Yoongi is tired. He’s too fucking tired for this. He just wants to go home, go to bed, go to sleep. ‘No,’ he mutters, jabbing the button for the second floor. ‘You can sleep on the couch, give Jimin a hand-written personal statement in the morning that says I didn’t fucking touch you.’

Taehyung giggles softly at that, but the look Yoongi shoots him has him shutting right up, pressing his lips together and sinking further into his own corner of the elevator.

 

 

‘Can I take my pants off?’ Taehyung sighs, dropping down onto the couch with a soft thump.

‘No,’ Yoongi says flatly. He shrugs off his jacket and drops it somewhere—anywhere, really, he doesn’t give a fuck at this point—and heads for the kitchen, flicking on lights as he goes.

‘But I can’t sleep in my clothes,’ Taehyung whines from the living room, Yoongi rolling his eyes as he searches for a clean glass or cup or something.

‘You slept in the taxi,’ he reminds him.

‘I’m a motion sleeper, hyung,’ he mutters, though still loud enough to be audible, ‘so unless you’re gonna rock me to sleep.’

Yoongi doesn’t miss the slight drawl on those last couple words, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to convince himself he imagined it. ‘You stay fully clothed, Kim Taehyung,’ he warns, trying to emulate that final tone that seems to always work for Seokjin. ‘You want water?’

There’s a heavy sigh from the living room, then a mumbled, ‘Yes, please.’

‘Can I have a blanket?’ Taehyung asks a moment later, while Yoongi hands him the glass of water.

His hands full, Yoongi jerks his chin towards the back of the couch. ‘There’s a blanket right there and you know it.’

Taehyung is one step off pouting as he glances up at Yoongi, all big fucking sad eyes. ‘It’s scratchy, hyung, and you know it. It gave you a weird rash last time we had to use it.’

That might be true, but Yoongi’s not about to fucking relent, shaking his head as he sits down on the opposite end of the couch. ‘There are no other blankets,’ he mutters, taking a sip of his own water. He’s going to drink this, he’s going to go to bed, he’s going to fall asleep and forget that Kim Taehyung is even here. He can deal with the rest in the morning. That is Yoongi’s plan and Yoongi intends to stick to it.

‘But I’ll be cold,’ Taehyung presses, head lolling pitifully against the back of the couch, long neck on full display, hair falling back from his forehead.

Yoongi swallows his water, turning his gaze to his glass resting in his lap. ‘It’s colder in the hall and that’s where I should’ve fucking left you, so—‘

‘It’s warm in your bed, though,’ Taehyung says, grinning around the words, though there was nothing light-hearted about the way his tone just dropped to the pits of hell. ‘At least, it would be, you know, with me in it.’

Yoongi pins him with what he hopes is an icy look. ‘Don’t even fucking try.’

Taehyung doesn’t say anything in reply, just sort of smirks, eyelids too low and not in a sleepy way. Apparently a drunk Taehyung can change his tune like the fucking wind, but it’s fine – it’s nothing Yoongi can’t handle. He holds Taehyung’s gaze a moment longer till the younger seems to see he isn’t going to break and turns away, leaning forward with a sigh.

Yoongi pointedly doesn’t watch as he sets his empty glass down on the table, straightens up again to peel off his pale blue blazer. The shirt underneath clings to his skin in all the right ways, hinting at the light definition of his chest, hugging his shoulders to make them seem broader. He drapes the blazer haphazardly over the arm of the couch, reaching up then to stretch with a dramatic sort of groan. His shirt rides up at the back, a strip of tan skin showing above the waistband of those goddamn leather pants.

But Yoongi isn’t watching any of this, so he wouldn’t know. He swallows his water, warm now after sitting stagnant in his mouth for so long.

There are a couple dull thuds as Taehyung kicks off his boots, nudging them under the table, before he slumps back into the couch cushions again. ‘Are we really not even gonna make out?’

Yoongi does not choke. ‘We—‘ He coughs a little, trying to be subtle about rubbing at his chest. ‘Since when do we fucking make out?’

Seeming entirely unfazed, Taehyung shrugs. ‘What do we do before we fuck?’

Before we fuck being the operative words, Taehyung,’ Yoongi points out.

‘Yeah, but it’s not like, a rule, is it?’

Reluctantly, Yoongi glances over at that. Is it a rule? He doesn’t fucking know. That’s the point. Every single rule they have is unspoken, which pretty much turns the entire rulebook to fucking guesswork, every guideline a puzzle that has to be sorted through the moment it comes into question. And it’s been doing that a lot, lately, Yoongi’s noticed – coming into question, constant guesswork, constant puzzle-solving. It’s exhausting.

Taehyung’s head is still resting against the back of the couch, but turned towards Yoongi. He’s looking at him through his lashes, something slightly questioning about the set of his eyebrows. He licks his lips, more habitual than seductive, a quick flash of pink tongue and a swipe of moisture, but Yoongi follows the movement regardless, struggling not to do the same thing.

Even if it isn’t a rule, it probably should be one right now. As innocent as making out can be, making out never stays making out for long , in Yoongi’s experience, and Taehyung’s eyes are glassy, his cheeks still flushed, his words when he speaks a touch slurred and his accent thicker than Yoongi’s ever heard it. And Yoongi has rules, rules he’s always had to keep his conscience clear after a night out – you don’t fuck around with someone drunker than you. You just don’t do it. But when Taehyung shifts closer on the couch, he can’t bring himself to say anything.

Taehyung moves over till he’s sitting right next to Yoongi, never once breaking eye contact, not until he’s right there, shoulders bumping, faces a handful of inches apart, his dark gaze flickering down to Yoongi’s mouth. And Yoongi wishes he could say he wasn’t doing just the same thing, wasn’t tracing the outline of Taehyung’s lips with his eyes and thinking back to how much he fucking wanted this just a while ago in Donghyuk’s kitchen. He wasn’t even thinking of the sex, of anything like it. Just of how much he wanted his fingers knotted in Taehyung’s hair and the taste of the other boy in his mouth.

Fuck.

Taehyung’s eyes flick up to his own again, briefly. Yoongi guesses it must be some kind of a question, but he misses it, his mind blank save for that insistent, static buzzing, setting the hairs at his nape on end. The look only lasts a second, maybe two, before Taehyung leans in, a little jerkily, like he hesitates halfway before soldiering on. It’s considerably softer, more composed than Yoongi was expecting, a kiss so put together it could nearly pass as sober if not for the tang of citron soju on the other boy’s lips. He feels Taehyung’s fingers under his chin before they skitter lightly along his jaw, moving to press at the nape of his neck and pull him in a little further. It’s barely a peck at first, but with Taehyung’s hand easing him closer, it turns into something else, heavier, Yoongi drawing in a harsh breath through his nose as Taehyung’s teeth graze his lip.

‘Just this,’ Taehyung says quietly, but the words fan hot into Yoongi’s mouth and fuck his voice is gravel rough already.

‘Mm,’ Yoongi mumbles, Taehyung already kissing him lightly again, lingering pecks that tug at his lower lip. ‘Fuck, okay—‘

He tries to set his glass on the floor without breaking away, hears the clink and splash of it tipping over, water spilling on the wood, glass rolling under the couch. Neither of them pay it any heed, not with Taehyung rather clumsily shifting himself to straddle Yoongi’s lap, the familiar position igniting a sudden fire-show of fucking memories in Yoongi’s head: snatches of hands squeezing at bare thighs, grinding hips, heavy panting hot and wet in the crook of his neck, fingertips digging into his shoulder-blades hard enough to leave bruises.

But Yoongi shoves them to the back of his mind, brow furrowing with the effort because it’s just this. Just this. It isn’t going any further than this.

He tries his best to find somewhere chaste to put his hands, but there’s nowhere. There’s Taehyung’s thighs, leather stretched taut over them; Taehyung’s hips, where his shirt keeps riding up and flashing skin; Taehyung’s waist, with the heat of him bleeding through the thin fabric, only making Yoongi grip tighter, desperate to feel more. It’s been too fucking long.

Taehyung’s hands wander from Yoongi’s neck to his hair, losing their slow and steady pace somewhere along the way, curling tight into the longer locks at the back of his head, making him groan into the kiss. He can’t help it, the sweet stinging ache of it all on top of Taehyung ignoring his usual teasing licks and nips, tongue sliding right into Yoongi’s mouth. Shit, he can’t fucking help it, awkward fingers yanking Taehyung’s shirt out of the way, hands splaying up smooth skin towards the younger’s ribs.

It’s the sound Taehyung makes at that, the breathy little gasp low in his throat, the sudden, needy surge forward, forcing Yoongi’s head against the back of the couch. It’s that, all of it, that has Yoongi tightening his grip on his waist, doing some quick, effective but utterly graceless manoeuvring until Taehyung’s back hits the couch, head just missing the hard arm rest (whoops), Yoongi pushing over him on hands and knees. His head ducks down quick to minimise the amount of time his mouth has to spend not on Taehyung’s while he finds a slightly more comfortable stance for himself, the younger’s fingers clawing at the front of his sweater, unhappy with the sudden lack of bodily contact.

Taehyung moans into the kiss, first proper sound he’s made yet, and it goes straight down where it shouldn’t, dragging a matching sound from Yoongi as he gives up on arranging himself, lets most of his weight rest on Taehyung – he can take it, it’s fine. In fact, he seems to kind of appreciate it – and shit, maybe Yoongi does too, the heat now so intense that he’s regretting his choice of knit jumper tonight. He wants it off, wants the cool air of the heatless apartment on his skin and maybe Taehyung’s hands, too, but that’s irrelevant. Safety first – overheating is bad for you.

Yoongi pushes himself up to straddle the other boy’s stomach, Taehyung making a soft noise of protest until he sees him catching at the hem of his jumper, eyebrows quirking up in interest.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Yoongi warns, trying to ignore how wrecked his own voice sounds. ‘I’m too hot.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Taehyung murmurs, tone lowered to a filthy drawl and Yoongi shoots him a disgusted look as he tosses his sweater over the back of the couch. Taehyung plucks hopefully at the hem of his undershirt. ‘And this?’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Yoongi mutters, diving back in to occupy Taehyung’s mouth before he can say another fucking word, pervy little shit.

Unsurprisingly, removing the extra barrier was a bad idea. Two thin, sweat-dampened layers of fabric don’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, which makes everything worse, everything harder – everything. It doesn’t help that Taehyung’s shirt is still rucked up under his ribs, taking Yoongi’s wandering hands by surprise and sending terrible thoughts into his head: He wants to taste it, the soft skin of Taehyung’s stomach, feel the muscles jumping underneath his lips as he sucks a mark, maybe a line of them, a breadcrumb trail of dark hickeys leading down to—

Nope.

Nope.

With a growl of frustration muffled against the other boy’s mouth, Yoongi yanks Taehyung’s shirt back down to cover any and all exposed skin, bringing his own hands back up to grip the couch cushions either side of Taehyung’s head. He pushes forward with the kiss, Taehyung moaning as Yoongi presses his head back into the cushions with the force of it, trying his damndest to channel the frustration into this.

Just this—kissing, making out, whatever—because that’s all they’re fucking doing and Yoongi’s body really needs to get on fucking board with that.

Taehyung’s grip tightens on the back of his head, dragging him in deeper still as his other hand starts to wander, smoothing over Yoongi’s back, nails raking through fabric to set him shivering against the body underneath him. He sucks on Taehyung’s tongue and the other boy whines low in his throat, the best fucking sound Yoongi’s heard in a lifetime, his neck arching and—god. It’s still making out if there’s neck kissing, right? Yoongi’s pretty sure that’s allowed, pretty sure it has to be in this case. He makes it a rule, unspoken like others, but clear as fucking day for now, as his lips leave Taehyung’s, the younger chasing after them until he realises what’s happening.

Hyung,’ he groans, fingers twisting into the back of Yoongi’s t-shirt as he mouths at the hard line of Taehyung’s jaw, moving hungrily down to suck light kisses on his throat. He can feel Taehyung’s breath hot against his ear, heavy pants shifting his hair, long fingers still curled in tight and with his scalp still sensitive from bleaching, Yoongi should really tell him to stop, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to.

Taehyung’s neck is a clean expanse of clear, tan skin. Yoongi gets to work fixing that travesty, sucking lightly, teeth just barely nipping. He likes some pain with his pleasure, but Taehyung doesn’t. Taehyung likes the threat of the pain, the graze of teeth without the bite, the drag of nails without the sting, the pressure of fingers around his wrists without the bruises to ache for days. Yoongi has no idea when or how he figured that out, but he doesn’t think about it right now, not when Taehyung’s body is arching up into his, a strategic shift in position from Yoongi the only reason the raging problems in their respective pants don’t grind together. Taehyung lets out a sound that’s more of a growl than anything else, hot as fuck as it rumbles against Yoongi’s own chest, but he gives a particularly hard suck in retaliation anyway, growl trailing off into a whine of protest.

No,’ he says flatly, lips brushing the younger’s ear, making him squirm in frustration.

‘Hyung, please, I’m so—‘

‘Then we can stop,’ Yoongi offers, pushing himself up a little, enough to see the immediate shake of the other boy’s head, fingers tightening in his t-shirt.

No, n-nope, no—s’okay,’ he blurts out quickly, tripping over his words so much they barely make a hint of sense. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, which seems to set Taehyung off, a boxy grin splitting his face as he tugs Yoongi back down, muffling giggles against his mouth.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Yoongi mumbles, met with a barrier of teeth when he tries to deepen the kiss.

‘M-make me,’ Taehyung huffs out between squeaks of laughter, so fuck it, Yoongi does, giving up on trying to get anywhere with his mouth, moving downwards again.

Taehyung’s skin tastes like sweat and fucking strawberries because he always tastes like fucking strawberries, so much that Yoongi doesn’t expect skin to taste like anything other than fucking strawberries at this point. He spends some time sucking another mark just to the left of his adam’s apple, which works at first, a hitch in Taehyung’s breath putting a momentary stop to the giggles before he starts up again. Yoongi rolls his eyes, ups the ante, kissing down to the dip between Taehyung’s collarbones. You could put shit in that, he thinks, whipped cream, cum, whatever—fill it with anything and lick it off…

Not that he wants to. Just an observation, a passing thought.

Yoongi nudges the loose collar of Taehyung’s shirt aside, kissing a line along the soft skin below his collarbone, pausing on his way down the centre of his chest to suck a mark over his sternum and—

Shit,’ Taehyung moans, nails scratching lightly at the back of Yoongi’s neck, the last of the laughter dying in his throat as his breath grows uneven again. ‘Yoon—hyung, that’s—‘ Taehyung breaks off with another huff of breath and Yoongi wonders if he even noticed the way his gaze snapped up, pausing between kisses to raise his head slightly because he didn’t miss that. He definitely didn’t miss that.

Taehyung’s eyes, dark and glazed, flicker down to meet his, just for a split second before Yoongi’s breaking away, fingers dropping to fumble at the buttons of Taehyung’s shirt. Is this still okay? Yoongi hopes so because with the death grip Taehyung now has on the back of his neck, Yoongi would half expect him to sprout claws at any sign of the elder stopping.

The buttons only go halfway anyway – it barely counts.

With more room to work, Yoongi travels back up, mouthing over the ridges of Taehyung’s ribs, a little mesmerised by the soft, frantic thumping of the other boy’s heart under his lips. A little too mesmerised, maybe, too busy searching for the source of the feeling that Taehyung’s quiet, broken gasp is the first he knows of the fact that his lips have found Taehyung’s nipple. And that’s his cue to stop, Yoongi knows it is, but the temptation is too much, tongue flicking out to get Taehyung squirming. It drives the kid mad, has since the first time they hooked up, and Yoongi doesn’t get it, but he’s not about to pretend he doesn’t kind of enjoy it.

Hiding a smirk at the noise, the undisputable mewl he gets out of Taehyung with a couple more curls of his tongue, Yoongi tightens his legs where they bracket the younger’s hips, making it harder for him to roll up. Then he sucks, hard, tongue still working, Taehyung’s whole body tensing up with the breathy moan he lets loose. Yoongi is fairly sure he’s in danger of losing a chunk of his hair, so with a last lave of his tongue over the hardened bud, he gives into the pull.

The kiss is bruising, rushed and desperate and a total fucking mess, teeth and tongue in places they shouldn’t be, all parties involved way too drunk and breathless for this shit. But it’s been too long and yeah, maybe Yoongi managed to go the entire summer without so much as a single hook-up, but that – that was before. That was before and things were different and Yoongi didn’t know what it was like to learn the taste of a person’s skin and to associate that with so fucking much. It’s like a drug, the faint sweet and fainter salt, the hint of something else that Yoongi’s only tasted on Taehyung’s lips, something he doesn’t even have a name for. He needs it and then he needs more and if these past two weeks have been anything to go by, he never fucking stops needing more.

Yoongi can’t get enough and he’s pretty sure he made some rule about keeping his hands out from under Taehyung’s shirt, but Taehyung’s hands are under his, scorching at the small of his back, and like hell is Yoongi about to miss out. He’s drunk off the soft, low moans Taehyung keeps breathing into his mouth, the sweet sound turning his mind to syrup quicker than any spirit, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the heat coiling through him, frantic and demanding. He can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest when Taehyung slides his fingers underneath the waistband of his jeans, his boxers, hands sliding further down in the tight space to grip his ass, and Taehyung’s hips are rolling up before he realises what’s happening, grinding them together, the friction so fucking perfect that Yoongi’s pretty sure a few more thrusts just like that and he could be coming in his pants.

Which is not a good thing, he has to forcefully remind himself. This, all of this, was supposed to be kept middle school as fuck and Yoongi, for one, was not letting anyone grab his ass and make him come in his pants in middle school.

(Not till third year, at least.)

His first protest comes out as a half-hearted mumble lost in his own stuttering breath. He can barely understand it, never mind Taehyung. The next attempt goes slightly better: ‘F-fuck, Tae—Tae, no. No, you gotta stop.’

Taehyung’s reply is a plaintive sort of whine, though he does stop, kind of, hands retreating until only his fingertips linger below the belt, unbearably fucking low, scratching lightly. ‘Please,’ he whispers, still kissing him, though Yoongi’s still kissing him back, so it’s really kind of hard for him to lay the blame on the younger boy. ‘I want to, hyung, I really want to. I’d want to if I was sober too. You know me, I always want to.’

‘Fuck, I don’t—doesn’t matter, Tae, we can’t,’ Yoongi groans, rolling off him to take away any further temptation to just keep rocking his hips down, quick and dirty, no one need ever know. He ends up on his side, wedged between Taehyung and the back of the couch, chest heaving with every breath as he tries to gather himself. He shoves his sweaty hair back out of his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face. Get it together, Yoongi.

Taehyung is a mess. Yoongi figures he must be in a similar state, but at least he can’t see himself. The boy’s hair is a dark tangle, face flushed, lips raw red and shining, swollen to look even more fucking plush than they usually do. Two darker marks adorn his throat, near masterpieces, if Yoongi may say so himself – they won’t be fading in a hurry – with several lighter hickies dotted here and there, leading down to his chest. His shirt buttons are still undone, shirt hanging open to reveal far too much collarbone and enough chest to leave very little to the imagination. To help matters, the hem is, yet again, rucked up under his ribs, the golden-brown expanse of his stomach, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his jeans, the general crotch area stretched to within an inch of its life—

‘Hey,’ Taehyung mutters, yanking his shirt back down, and when Yoongi drags his gaze up again, he finds Taehyung well and truly sulking, all furrowed brows and stormy eyes. ‘You don’t get to look if you’re not gonna do anything about it.’

Yoongi hitches up an eyebrow at the slight bite in his tone. ‘Is that right?’ he asks, barely holding back his smirk.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, though the sour look he shoots him up through the dark fan of his lashes suggests that, yes, all is correct.

‘Tae, Jimin basically promised to rip my balls off if I touch you,’ Yoongi reminds him. ‘And I don’t really blame him. You were so fucking gone.’

‘Making out sobers you up, scientific fact.’

Yoongi has no idea if that’s true or not, but as a music major in the presence of someone with a science scholarship, he feels in no position to argue right now. ‘That’s beside the point,’ he mutters.

‘You’re just scared of Jiminnie,’ Taehyung says, rolling his eyes as if this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. ‘He’s the cutest human on the entire planet. He’s a really good source of natural heat and he makes the fluffiest pancakes – how could you be scared of him?’

Yoongi gives him a look. ‘Have you seen the guns on that guy?’

Taehyung considers this for a moment before making a face, seeming to agree. Yoongi watches him lapse into a moment of thoughtful silence before he perks up again. ‘You could bite them,’ he suggests, eyebrows rising in something like hope.

‘What? His arms?’ Yoongi asks, frowning.

‘Mm,’ Taehyung murmurs, thoughtfully toying with the collar of his shirt, flapping it around and attracting far too much attention to his bare chest. ‘You’ve got really sharp little teeth, hyung, you could probably pop them.’

‘Pop them?’

‘Yeah, like balloons.’ At the sight of Yoongi’s raised eyebrow, Taehyung smacks his lips to make a popping sound, fingers gesturing as if to demonstrate some kind of minor explosion.

Yoongi can’t help the half stifled laughter in his next words. ‘I don’t think that’s how it works, Tae.’

Taehyung makes a face, clearly disagreeing, before his mouth falls back into that same slight pout, brows furrowing in frustration. ‘I haven’t had sex in two weeks, hyung,’ he says, his voice half a moan as he squirms, ‘and I’m not some nymphomaniac, you know, but this was cold turkey and now I’m drunk and horny and everything is horrible.’ With another groan, unnecessarily low and husky, he glowers pitifully up at Yoongi again. ‘Two weeks, hyung.’

‘What, and you think I have?’

That seems to catch Taehyung off guard, his frown slipping, blinking in surprise. ‘Well, haven’t you?’

‘No,’ Yoongi mutters, brow creasing uncomfortably when Taehyung continues to stare up at him. ‘There’s, uh… well, I mean, I’m not fucking around with anyone else right now.’ He says it quickly, maybe too fast, but he tries not to dwell on it. It’s not like it’s a big deal.

‘Oh. Well, me neither. Not since…’ Taehyung trails off in a bashful sort of way, the implication clear in the way he directs his gaze towards Yoongi’s chest. But a second later, he narrows his eyes, pursing his lips as he seems to think of something. ‘Actually, that’s a lie,’ he admits, glancing up at Yoongi almost sheepishly, ‘but it was one time and it was ages ago and all I did was blow him real quick.’

Yoongi lets out a soft snort of breath through his nose because honestly, what does he care? But a slow smirk spreads across Taehyung’s face anyway, eyebrows quirking up.

‘You gonna get jealous about that now, hyung?’ he asks, wriggling around to nudge his shoulder into Yoongi’s chest. Yoongi glowers silently in reply, which only seems to please the boy more, smirk widening into a grin which he only restrains by catching his lip with teeth.

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmurs, and Yoongi almost jumps at feeling of fingers stroking along his lower back. It seems Taehyung only removed one hand from the waistband of his jeans, his other arm trapped underneath Yoongi, fingers curving around his hip in a way that might be perceived by anyone else as him having his arm around the elder. He considers demanding he remove it, but Taehyung keeps talking, the soft pink flush of his lips extremely distracting as he says, ‘I put way more effort into sucking your dick.’

Maybe he’ll let him away with it. Just this once.

‘Yeah, well…’ he mumbles, working hard to form a coherent sentence as Taehyung very slowly, very deliberately lets his tongue slide out to wet his lips. He knows what that does to people – he fucking knows. With a well-fabricated, dismissive roll of his eyes, Yoongi averts his gaze, barely realising what he’s about to say till he’s fucking said it. ‘Just keep it that way, yeah.’

Taehyung’s reaction is immediate, tongue disappearing. ‘What?’ he asks, frowning. ‘Giving other guys half-assed blowjobs?’

Yoongi shrugs as well as he can in this position, because whatever. It’s whatever. It’s nothing. ‘Or maybe just not giving other guys blowjobs.’

There’s a long beat of silence, Taehyung’s eyes on him, Yoongi’s eyes on anything but Taehyung’s eyes because this is not about to become one of those intense-ass heavy staring into each other’s eyes moments. That doesn’t seem to be what Taehyung is angling for, though, not when fingertips start creeping up Yoongi’s chest a moment later in what he supposes is probably supposed to be a flirtatious manner.

‘Blow me now and I’ll never put anyone else’s dick in my mouth ever again, hyung,’ he says, a low, husky whisper, tugging lightly at the crew neck of Yoongi’s t-shirt with one long finger.

Yoongi smirks at his efforts. ‘Nice try,’ he concedes, ‘but no thanks.’

Rolling his eyes, flirtatious aura immediately gone in favour of huffing some more, Taehyung lets his wandering hand drop back down to rest on his stomach. ‘When, then?’ he asks. ‘Tomorrow?’

Yoongi opens his mouth to agree perhaps a little too quickly, but—then he remembers and shuts it again, a groan of annoyance catching in his own throat. ‘I’m busy tomorrow. Had to switch shifts at work, so I could leave for the gig… But, I mean…’

Taehyung had been opening his mouth, the pinch of his eyebrows clearly suggesting he was about to whine some more, before hearing Yoongi’s but. ‘What?’ he asks, sounding dubious, clearly ready for another disappointment.

‘Well, you could just… come,’ he grumbles. ‘You know, to the gig. Jimin’s gonna be there anyway, Jin-hyung, too, I think. And then, if you don’t get trashed—‘ Yoongi shoots him a dark look at that and Taehyung scowls.

‘I was stressed, hyung,’ he mutters defensively. ‘Sex is my stress outlet. You take that away, I gotta find a new one.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe just control yourself tomorrow night and…’ Yoongi trails off with a dismissive wave of his hand and a grumbled whatever. He can tell he doesn’t have to finish for Taehyung to get the idea. His entire face has lit up, boxy grin spreading wide and it might just be Yoongi’s ears ringing after the pounding music at the party, but he could almost swear the kid just squeaked—actually squeaked—with excitement.

It’s like that for a moment and Yoongi is pretty sure he remembers making some kind of rule recently about no heavy staring, but it’s happening anyway and he’s not entirely sure how he feels about that, not with Taehyung’s arm still too hot around the small of his back, skin sticking to skin underneath his t-shirt, thumb running idly over the jut of his hip.

Yoongi clears his throat, the sound too rough in the near silence. ‘I should go to bed,’ he says. He doesn’t actually move, but saying it aloud helps his body to realise that it does, in fact, have to start functioning properly soon, get him as far as his room at least.

Taehyung’s arm tightens around him, almost imperceptibly, but Yoongi was too aware of its presence to begin with. He raises his eyebrows in question, Taehyung licking his lips, looking almost nervous again.

‘Can we, uh, can we just, you know… maybe make out some more first?’ he asks.

‘Bad idea,’ Yoongi murmurs. He doesn’t even think about it – he doesn’t need to. It’s a bad fucking idea and he should not be hanging around like this, unmoving, giving the kid a chance to present him with reasons why it might not be a bad idea.

Taehyung cocks his head just slightly to the side, a soft smirk playing around his mouth. ‘Yeah, I know, but…’

‘But what?’

‘Just…’ he trails off, fingers curling instead into the fabric of Yoongi’s t-shirt, tugging gently because as much as he wants to be, Yoongi’s not all that reluctant. Maybe it’s not even the pull of Taehyung’s hand dragging him down, but he doesn’t want to think about that.

It’s a different vibe, wedged between the couch and Taehyung, not all caught up in the heat of it – lazier, almost, both of them too fucking tired for it to be anything more than that. The kiss is languid and soft and slightly too dry, lips chapped from kissing too much, dehydrated from the alcohol. It’s not even all that hot, Yoongi entering that early stage of being hungover where everything starts to taste fucking weird, but he slides his fingers into Taehyung’s hair, the younger boy sighing in response, the hand on Yoongi’s hip moving further up, fingers resting in the dips between his ribs.

It’s not hot, but it’s—it’s good.

It’s whatever.

The itch is gone, Yoongi notices, somewhere between sucking at Taehyung’s lower lip and dipping down to press more kisses over his marked up neck. The itch that buzzed under his skin for the better part of two weeks, an itch of pure need creeping through his nerves and making him squirm right when he least expected. It’s gone. And Yoongi thinks, wonders, a very fleeting notion that catches him unawares as his lips are making their way back up to Taehyung’s that—

 

That maybe it wasn’t the sex he missed at all.

Chapter Text

It’s warm when he wakes up. Warm and very, very painful. A dull agony buried deep inside his skull that flares to a wicked throb approximately every 4 seconds. His throat feels like he ate an entire bowl of sandpaper flakes and his mouth tastes like a colony of small animals went in there and died several weeks ago. It’s horrible. It’s the most horrible thing in the world and Taehyung feels a whine building in his chest – a whine that’s never given any voice because his throat has closed right up, allowing him to breathe just enough to stay alive and trapped in this horrible hell.

With a soft, pained grunt in lieu of the whine, Taehyung nuzzles further into his pillow, rubbing his stuffy nose against the soft fabric, some distant part of his sloshy mind beginning to wonder what those noises are. People. Voices, maybe. Muffled speech. Little snuffling sounds, like stifled laughter.

It’s annoying, but it’s probably just one of Jimin’s dramas filtering in through his bedroom door. Whatever. Taehyung’s too tired to care. Too sore to care. Too warm to care. Knowing he’s in no fit state to call for his roommate to turn it down right now, he settles for yanking his sheets up over his head instead, grabbing a handful of the quilt and—

And two things happen right then, very close together.

The first thing: Taehyung almost recoils at the scratchiness of the fabric caught in his fist, itchy and irritating against the palm of his hand, 104% not his own quilt.

The second thing: Taehyung’s pillow groans.

Everything is still very thick and soupy, realisation trickling slowly over him. Because the thing over him is, indeed, not his own quilt. The thing over him is the scratchy blanket Hoseok bought at a dodgy market stall last summer to cover the burn marks on the couch in his apartment. And the warmth wrapping him up tight like the blanket burritos he tucks himself into on the coldest winter nights has nothing to do with blankets and everything to do with the body he’s pressed up against. And the pillow that he’s been nuzzling into is, quite obviously, not a pillow at all, but a hard chest covered in soft fabric.

‘Did you get it?’

‘Yeah, I sent it to Namjoon and Jin-hyung and—‘

‘No, no, not Snapchat – you gotta save one, hyung. Save ten.’

You save them.’

Shh, you’ll wake them. My phone’s dead, I told you.’

‘Here, you take it. My hands are all shaky. Fuck, I gotta sleep.’

‘I know, but how cute is this?’

‘If I wasn’t this close to passing out, I’d be dying.’

‘You’d be screaming.’

‘I would.’

‘I’d have to gag you.’

Damn, Jiminnie. What a way to wake me up.’

Oh my god, Taehyung tries to say, eyes snapping open suddenly as the last drop of icy cold realisation hits him bang in the centre of his forehead. No sound actually comes out, of course, because Taehyung’s not sure his throat will ever be fit to form real words again, but a hoarse cough fights its way into the world.

‘Shit… Shit, is he—‘

Shhh… he might not. He’s a heavy sleeper, hyung, it’s fine.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not,’ Taehyung’s pillow rasps, the low rumble against his cheek enough of a shock to have Taehyung shooting suddenly upright – too quick, so quick the whole room tilts, taking the blurred forms of Jimin and Hoseok with it. So quick that the arm around Taehyung’s waist is the only thing that stops him falling off the couch. ‘Fuck.’

Through the colourful blur of dizziness, Taehyung’s brain is frantically trying to remember if that arm was there before, if it was curled around him this whole time, but everything is soup and he can’t.

‘Morning,’ Hoseok drawls, just as Taehyung blinks the room back into proper focus, the arm falling away from his waist, a shiver running down his spine at the sudden exposure to the cold apartment.

Hoseok is sitting on the edge of the table, Jimin perched on his lap, grinning as he none too subtly lowers Hoseok’s phone with its Brickbear cover. They both look absolutely debauched, Jimin’s liner smudged grey under his eyes, the faintest hint of stubble darkening his jaw; Hoseok’s eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion, his hair a tangle pushed back off his forehead, his throat more hickey than skin. They’ve clearly just stumbled home, having spent the night god knows where, doing—well, as a matter of fact, Taehyung has a fair idea as to what they were doing, although he really hopes the gods do not. They don’t need to see that.

‘Did you two sleep well?’ Jimin asks sweetly, Hoseok muffling a snicker against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

You two.

Oh my god. This time the strangled cry is kept firmly inside Taehyung’s own mind, reverberating off the walls of his skull as he swivels his head around.

Yoongi is propped on an elbow, his hair a mess of blonde fluff, yawning as he grinds the heel of his hand rather viciously into an eye. He has the other eye shut, which is good because Taehyung is having a very hard time keeping his face impassive right now. He fell asleep on Min Yoongi. He fell asleep on Min Yoongi. Literally on Min Yoongi – which reminds him suddenly that their legs are still an awkward tangle and that he should really get up, right now, immediately.

‘He looks like he’s gonna throw up,’ Hoseok observes mildly, his chin resting on Jimin’s shoulder as he watches the scene through drooping eyelids.

‘Oh, shit,’ Jimin murmurs, shaking him off to lean forwards, eyes wide. ‘Are you gonna, Taetae? You did drink a lot. Do you want me to—‘

‘No!’ Taehyung says quickly, scrambling off the couch and onto his feet – too fast, much too fast. He starts to rethink his reply as he sways dangerously, but it’s good. He’s fine. He’s got this. ‘No, I’m—I’m good. I… chemistry,’ Taehyung mumbles, leaning down to shove his feet roughly into his boots. ‘Chemistry. I gotta meet Minjae in the library in—' He gives up trying to tie his laces in favour of grabbing his phone from the table. ‘—in, like, an hour. I gotta go. I’ll, uh…’ Taehyung loses track of his words when he realises Yoongi has both eyes open now – open and on him. But Taehyung doesn’t meet his gaze, no way in hell, not even as he leans over to grab his jacket. ‘I’ll see you guys later,’ he finishes in a hoarse mutter, already turning for the door.

‘Okay—please eat something first!’ Jimin yells after him, Taehyung just managing a wave of acknowledgement before he pulls the door shut behind him.

 

-    -    x    -    -

 

‘Well,’ Hoseok says, his voice too loud in the sudden quiet of the apartment, ‘that wasn’t awkward at all.’

Hyung,’ Jimin hisses, throwing a reproachful look over his shoulder.

‘What?’ Hoseok mutters, the picture of sleepy innocence.

Jimin rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he hauls himself up off his boyfriend’s lap. ‘You’re making it weird. Go to bed.’

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Hoseok asks, a slight pout fattening up his lower lip as he slides his hand into Jimin’s, tugging lightly towards the bedroom.

‘Yeah, in a sec,’ Jimin says, leaning in to kiss the pout before giving Hoseok a prod in the right direction. Yoongi doesn’t even have the current energy to think about how fucking gross they are.

‘Alright,’ Hoseok mumbles wearily, pulling away from Jimin and giving Yoongi’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze on his way past. ‘Night, hyung.’

‘Night,’ Yoongi sighs, deciding not to point out that it is, in fact, 10 AM.

With a quiet groan, he scrubs at his face with his hands. A combination of the sweat and smoke from the party and the general discomfort of having slept with contorted limbs on a couch for the past couple hours has him feeling grimy and in desperate need of a wash. His shift starts in a couple hours and Yoongi is honestly considering spending those couple hours in the shower, stewing quietly under the hot water. He also needs to eat. Maybe he can eat in the shower. Briefly, he wonders how shitty instant ramen made with shower water would taste and if he would even care right now.

‘That boy was covered in hickies,’ Jimin says, tugging him out of his weird, exhausted thoughts, though Yoongi can tell from his tone that he’s not really all that pissed about it. There’s a grin in his voice, lurking around the edges. ‘You gonna explain that, hyung?’

‘What, you want me to run you through the entire process?’ Yoongi grumbles, swinging his legs down onto the floor and shoving the rough blanket away from himself with a grimace. His left forearm is itchy as fuck, covered in weird, red splotches. Scratching idly at it, he makes a mental note to buy a new goddamn blanket for the couch.

‘I was kidding,’ Jimin says easily. ‘I forgot to give you the keys, it’s mostly my bad anyway.’

‘I didn’t touch him below the belt, though,’ Yoongi stresses, making sure to get this point across. It took him a titanic level of self-control to achieve that and like hell is he going to see his efforts go unnoticed.

‘I know, hyung,’ Jimin says quickly, brow furrowing as his smile falls into something more contrite. ‘I… I’m really sorry. About last night, I mean. I should’ve—I know you’re not like that, hyung. I know you wouldn’t take advantage, but… I was just worried. Taehyung doesn’t always know when he’s being played and I need to look out for him, you know what I mean?’ His eyes are big and sad and imploring. Park Jimin is the literal dictionary definition of a puppy. ‘I have to.’

With a soft huff of laughter, Yoongi thinks of sophomore Hoseok. He wasn’t an innocent fuck like Kim Taehyung, but he did have a thing for getting blackout messed up on some kinda substance and attracting the worst kind of company. In a way, Yoongi knows only too well what Jimin means. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I get you,’ he mumbles, waving the boy’s concerns away. ‘It’s fine, Jimin, I don’t even remember half the shit you said.’

‘Yeah, me neither,’ Jimin sighs, through a yawn, rubbing tiredly at an eye. ‘I just know it was out of line. Most of it.’

‘Most?’

‘Well, yeah.’ He drops his gaze along with his hands, picking at his cuticles instead of looking at Yoongi. ‘Taehyungie, he… well, he doesn’t really get much luck with relationships.’ Brow furrowed, he lets out a quiet snort of bitter laughter. ‘The universe’s sickest joke if you ask me, the guy was made to be someone’s someone, you know? But the last guy did a number on him and he hasn’t clicked with anyone since. Casual flings and one time fucks suck the soul out of him. That’s not what he wants. He’s just so ready for something real… And—and I’m not trying to make you feel bad, hyung,’ Jimin adds quickly, gaze whipping up again to pin Yoongi with those big, sad eyes. ‘You’re good. You’ve kept it clear from the start that you don’t want anything like that. Taehyung’s under no illusions, but…’ Jimin trails off with a sound caught between a sigh and a laugh, corners of his mouth lifting in a sad sort of smile. ‘Ah, I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this, hyung, I think I’m still kinda drunk, sorry.’

‘You’re worried I’m gonna keep him from someone else,’ Yoongi says quietly. It’s kind of a guess, but something tells him he’s right.

The way Jimin tugs his lower lip into his mouth as he glances up is all the confirmation Yoongi needs. ‘Maybe,’ he says softly. ‘I dunno. He—he really likes you, hyung. He talked all summer about boning Minjae, but then you came along and—‘

‘Yeah, who the fuck is Minjae?’ Yoongi says, unable to help the sudden interruption. It’s a name that’s stayed with him even through the strange blur of the past couple hours. Minjae. He kind of hopes his voice didn’t come across as harsh as he thinks it might’ve, but the soft lift of Jimin’s eyebrows has him doubting that.

‘His chemistry tutor,’ he explains, seeming almost amused, a corner of his mouth twitching at Yoongi’s gruff hum of acknowledgement. ‘He’s really nice, low-key crazy about Taetae. He’s also a model, so…’ Jimin’s smirk and slight eyebrow wiggle is all Yoongi needs to know the guy must be some kinda fucking Greek god knock-off. ‘But I don’t think it’s gonna work out,’ the younger boy finishes, with a soft sigh. ‘Pity.’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi mutters on a monotone, not quite able to share his disappointment.

‘Well, anyway,’ Jimin says, getting to his feet and rolling out his stiff shoulders to make them pop quietly. ‘Just, hyung…’

‘Mm?’ Yoongi grumbles, glancing up from where he’d been glaring at the puddle of water peeking out from underneath the couch. He’s going to have to clean that up before he does anything else.

Jimin’s brow is all furrowed again, fingers fidgeting slightly around Hoseok’s phone, still held in his hands. The Dutch courage from last night is gone and Yoongi almost laughs at the difference. ‘Taehyungie’s not gonna be the one to end it,’ he says, and maybe the tough exterior is gone, but Jimin’s voice is still more serious than Yoongi thought the boy was capable of. ‘I can tell he won’t be, not with this, so just… just do him a favour and know when to let it go, okay? For his sake.’

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Yoongi doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to say to that. He stares at Jimin and Jimin stares back with this weird look on his face that Yoongi can’t even hope to understand. It feels like hours before the younger boy smiles again, very faintly.

‘Night, hyung,’ he says, making a start towards Hoseok’s door, avoiding the water puddle with his sock-feet.

Yoongi nods silently, still lost for words and sits there, very still, till he hears the sound of Hoseok’s bedroom door clicking shut. His mouth is too dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and he hopes it’s just the hangover, but suspects it probably isn’t. He hauls himself unsteadily to his feet, locates an old dish towel to mop up the puddle and heads for the bathroom. With the water running and the mirror starting to fog up, Yoongi tugs his t-shirt off over his head, trying not to think about how the thing smells like fucking strawberries, trying not to think about waking up with soft hair tickling his neck or warm breath on his chest or the heat of that arm still tucked around his waist, underneath his shirt.

He stands under the spray and scrubs last night out of his hair and doesn’t once think about the look of abject horror on Taehyung’s face when he sat up, the way he practically sprinted for the door. He doesn’t once think about what that might mean or why it even bothers him. Because it doesn’t. It doesn’t bother him. His arm was falling asleep anyway, it’s a good thing Taehyung got up when he did, saved him a whole lot of pain. He definitely doesn’t think about the sick twist in his stomach at Jimin’s words -- know  when to let it go, okay?

He presses his forehead to the cool tiles of the shower wall and he doesn’t think about any of that, because what good would it do?

 

-    -    x    -    -

 

Taehyung is halfway through falling asleep with his eyes wide open and fixed on his chemistry textbook when his phone buzzes against the wooden table top. He jumps suddenly, heart leaping hot and heavy into his throat, warm flush heading for his face, but when he wakes the screen, it’s just a new message from Seokjin in their group chat. He tries not to deflate, but it’s difficult when he already feels like crap, the throbbing in his head only slightly dulled by the painkillers and tea.

‘You okay, hyung?’ Minjae asks, glancing over as he takes a sip of his coffee. Seeing the state Taehyung arrived in at the library, Minjae turned immediately on his heel and insisted on buying him a coffee before they got started. Taehyung ordered a lemon iced tea and it might be the only thing keeping him alive right now.

He smiles, nodding as he picks up his phone properly. ‘You don’t mind if I check this, do you?’

‘Of course not,’ Minjae says easily, waving an airy hand as he turns back to people-watching out the café window, pen twirling between long fingers.

Taehyung unlocks his phone, chin falling heavily to rest in his cupped palm. Being the certified genius that he is, he fled Yoongi and Hoseok’s place this morning without a key to his own apartment. Luckily, he knows where Seokjin and Namjoon keep their spare, so he was able to sneak in. They were asleep when he arrived and left, so he’s fully expecting some kind of lecture about leaving wet towels on the floor or dirty mugs on the counter or breaking and entering. This is why he’s pretty surprised when the first thing that pops up is a photograph.

A photograph of Yoongi.

Of him and Yoongi.

In his groggy state, it takes him a couple seconds to process the whole picture. Yoongi’s face is mostly visible, save for the part blocked from view by the dark mop of Taehyung’s hair, his eyes shut, so peaceful he must be asleep. Taehyung seems to have his own face tucked into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, Yoongi’s arm wound securely round his back. It was to stop him falling, obviously, because Yoongi’s only an asshole when he tries to be. It was to stop him falling, but there’s something about the way the gesture has Taehyung pressing closer to Yoongi that makes his stomach, here and now, feel like it’s about to fly away.

‘I take it it’s something good.’

The sound of Minjae’s voice has Taehyung almost jumping out of his skin once more, instinctively bringing his phone closer to his chest, eyes wide as he glances across the table.

There’s nothing malicious on Minjae’s face, but he does have one knowing eyebrow raised, a slight smirk curling his mouth. ‘You’re blushing, hyung,’ he says.

Taehyung laughs, hoping the noise doesn’t come out as nervous and broken as it sounds to his own ears. ‘Nah, it’s nothing,’ he says quickly, locking the phone and setting it back on the table next to his textbook, screen down. ‘So, where were we?’

Minjae’s smirk seems to widen slightly, but he says nothing, leaning over again to point Taehyung in the right direction.

For the next twenty minutes, it’s nonsense about organics, Taehyung’s head throbbing while Minjae, saintly patience never wavering explains things to him four times over, then another couple times five minutes later when he’s forgotten it all again. Taehyung’s crawled his way, half-dead, through two problems before talk deviates from chemistry again.

‘That Yoongi guy,’ Minjae says, seemingly out of nowhere, though the way he nods towards Taehyung’s phone suggests he figured that last message had something to do with him. ‘Are you two a thing?’

Taehyung, halfway through taking a sip of his tea, holds the liquid in his mouth to stave off having to answer. Minjae seems to take his wide eyes and otherwise frozen expression as confusion.

‘I saw you together at Donghyuk’s place,’ he explains, dropping his gaze to hands where he’s fiddling with his pen. There’s something slightly amused about his tone, the tug at the corner of his mouth. ‘I, uh… I was in the kitchen.'

The kitchen?

It takes Taehyung several beats too long to figure out why this is of any significance. He remembers spending most of the night out in the living room where Seokjin and Jaehwan had created an impromptu cocktail bar at the coffee table. He remembers colourful liquids that seemed to glow in the dark of the room and the heat of dozens of bodies all moving to the same beat. But then—then he remembers snippets of bright lights and smoke, the soft moan Yoongi let out when Taehyung sucked at the skin of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair. He can feel his face flushing remembering the way Yoongi’s head tilted to the side without a second’s hesitation, the smell of his cologne and the way the sheen of sweat on his skin made the tendons of his throat stand out in sharp relief.

Oh, god.

Taehyung swallows hard, shifting a little uncomfortably in his chair, just stopping himself from tugging at the collar of his t-shirt because holy hell, it wasn’t this hot a second ago.

‘Oh,’ he mutters, eyes on his notebook instead of Minjae. ‘The kitchen. Right.’

‘yeah,’ Minjae says, clearly getting some mischievous joy out of Taehyung’s discomfort.

‘Uh… well, define thing,’ Taehyung replies, glancing up with an awkward sort of grimace on his face. Honestly, he has no idea what they are and after (what little he can remember of) last night, he’s even less certain.

But Minjae seems to get it. Kind of. ‘Ah…’ he sighs, with a knowing sort of nod. ‘That kinda thing.’

Taehyung shrugs. ‘It’s complicated.’

Minjae nods again, the mischief gone from his face now when Taehyung glances over, something distinctly more serious left in its wake. ‘Right. But you like him?’

‘No,’ Taehyung blurts out immediately, eyes widening, but the way Minjae laughs has him slumping back into his seat, eyebrows pulling together. ‘Shut up,’ he mutters, tossing a pen lid at his grinning tutor. ‘I mean, yeah, but it’s not… it’s not like that. He’s not my boyfriend, or anything.’

‘So, why won’t you go out with me?’ Minjae shoots back, barely missing a beat and his grin is still there, bright and playful, but Taehyung can sense the genuine curiosity behind the words. Minjae has asked him on at least four dates since September, all of which he’s turned down with various excuses, some true, some… not so much. With Minjae being so easy-going, so chill about every little thing, it’s not hard to avoid the guilt. Now, however, finally being called out on it, Taehyung feels it slightly bitter at the back of his throat.

He curls his mouth up into a sheepish sort of smile. ‘I’ve been busy?’ he ventures, knowing how weak his own excuse sounds, laughing before he’s even finished. Minjae’s grin widens as well, understanding even if his eyebrows are raised in mock judgement. ‘I’m really sorry, Minjae.’

He shakes his head. ‘Nah, it’s okay, hyung,’ he says. ‘But this Min Yoongi’s a lucky guy.’

Taehyung laughs once, the sound coming out perhaps a little too forced – forced enough to have Minjae narrowing his eyes a touch.

‘I hope he knows it,’ he adds, more pointedly this time, but Taehyung avoids looking at him, opting for what he hopes comes across as a coy smile as he shrugs and sticks the end of his pen in his mouth, pretending to peruse his notes.

Minjae takes the hint and Taehyung is grateful when he leans over again, easily pointing out the next question he wants him to try, moving on as normal.

 

 

‘So, remember that’s us with the weekly sessions till January, hyung,’ Minjae reminds him, as they leave the small café, bell jingling behind them. ‘I think you’re good for this exam, though.’

It’s cold out, but pretty mild for November. Taehyung tugs his sleeves down over his hands, shrugging himself a little further inside his hoodie. When he turns to Minjae, he’s smiling wide.

‘You’ve done great,’ he says, reaching over to clap Taehyung on the shoulder. ‘Just don’t stress too much over it, okay? You blank when you panic, hyung, so you gotta stay chill.’

‘Thanks,’ Taehyung mumbles, the prospect of oncoming exams suddenly a little too real with these regular sessions wrapping up. ‘Good luck with your own, Minjae.’

‘Thanks, hyung,’ he says, grinning as he starts to walk backwards along the pavement. ‘And you know you can call anytime you need some extra help!’ he adds, as he turns on his heel and starts walking away properly, raising his hand in a wave when Taehyung yells a quick goodbye after him.

He turns, then, about to head home in the other direction, manages two steps before he’s forced to pull up short when his brain short-circuits, his stomach doing something odd. There, just a couple metres down the street, he spies the scuffed leather of an all too familiar jacket, a mop of blonde hair being ruffled in the breeze and really, how many people does he know with posture as god-awful as that? His mouth is opening before he can stop himself, think twice about what the hell he’s doing.

‘Hyung!’ he calls out, starting down the street when he sees the other boy slowing to a stop, glancing over his shoulder with a frown. ‘Hey, hyung!’

‘Oh,’ he hears Yoongi say, just as he’s drawing level with him. He doesn’t seem particularly ecstatic to see him, but the neutral expression is still better than disappointment. Taehyung will take what he can get. ‘What’s up?’

Now that he’s actually standing in front of the guy, Taehyung realises, belatedly, that he has no idea what he’d planned to say, but unlike chemical nonsense, social situations don’t send him into panic mode. He’s a social person. He can handle this. ‘What, uh… what’re you doing over here?’ he asks, reaching up – not nervously, just coolly, casually – to smooth down the hair at the nape of his neck, fiddling with the strands.

Smooth, Taehyung. Real smooth.

‘Going to work,’ Yoongi says, eyebrow raising like he knows Taehyung is clutching at straws here, can see him floundering right in front of him.

‘So early?’ Taehyung asks, noticing, inconveniently, that underneath the jacket, Yoongi’s wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt, much more fitted than anything he’d usually wear (though the club logo peeking out on the left breast explains that one). He has to forcefully tear his gaze back up to Yoongi’s face, struggling not to think about how good he looks in black, goddammit. It’s really quite unfair – last time Taehyung checked, he was the part-time model here, but even with dark circles under his eyes, a shadow on his jaw where he didn’t shave this morning, Min Yoongi still looks like he walked right off the page of a magazine, hair artfully windswept and everything.

Ridiculous.

Yoongi takes a moment before answering, his brows pulling together slightly as he watches Taehyung. His eyes are squinted against the harsh, white winter sunlight, so it’s hard to properly read his expression, but there’s a faint curl to his mouth that seems almost amused. ‘Thought you might forget,’ he murmurs, eventually. ‘I was gonna text you, but—‘

‘Forget what?’ Taehyung asks, his turn to frown now, hitching his book bag further up onto his shoulder.

‘The gig,’ Yoongi explains. ‘I need to leave early, so I swapped shifts with Sujin.’

Taehyung nods, though he’s still confused – what’s this got to do with him? ‘Right, yeah, Jiminnie mentioned that,’ he says.

‘Yeah, and so did I,’ Yoongi goes on, burying his hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket, like he’s trying burrow his way out of the cold. Taehyung wishes he wouldn’t do that right now; it’s very adorable and makes it difficult to focus on other thinsg, like this conversation and breathing. ‘Last night, when I told you to come.’

And it’s an instant switch, sudden enough that Taehyung forgets about Yoongi looking cute right now, heat seeping gently into his stomach as he remembers the older boy tucked onto the couch next to him, propped up on an elbow. He recalls being just slightly distracted with the way Yoongi’s mouth moved, soft and bitten pink and kiss-slicked, as he spoke – Well, you could just… come.

‘Oh,’ Taehyung murmurs now, face heating as his gaze flicks back up to meet Yoongi’s. ‘Right. So you did.’

Outright smirking now, Yoongi nods. ‘Yeah, I did.’

‘Sorry, hyung,’ he says quickly. ‘I just—‘

‘Yeah, it’s okay.’ Yoongi waves his comment away before stuffing the hand right back into his pocket. He’s not looking at him, more over his shoulder somewhere and if he didn’t know better, Taehyung might blame that colour in Yoongi’s cheeks on something other than the cold. ‘You know now, so…’

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung mumbles, chewing slightly on his lower lip to hide a grin, trap in the ecstatic giggle that just threatened to pounce from his throat. ‘Yeah, sure, I’ll be there.’

Yoongi nods in acknowledgement, glancing up finally to meet Taehyung’s eye and Taehyung kind of wishes the blonde hair brushing over his forehead in the breeze didn’t make him look so soft. The lighter hair seems to have the colour in his cheeks standing out that much brighter against his pale skin, the blush only a shade or two darker than the muted pink of his mouth. Eyeing the curves of his lips, still a little chapped from the abuse last night, Taehyung can’t help but think of ways to help pink them up, ways that largely involve that wall over there and his own mouth.

He wonders if Yoongi’s thinking the same thing when his tongue darts quickly over his lips right before he speaks. ‘Look, I gotta go,’ he says, dragging Taehyung out of his stupor. Blinking, he shifts his gaze back up to Yoongi’s eyes, tired and dark, ‘but, uh, gig starts at nine. We probably won’t be on till eleven, though. Jiminnie and Jin-hyung are going, too, so…’

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung says, unable to quite control the grin this time, even though he gets the definite sense that it pisses Yoongi off. ‘Cool. Okay.’

With another curt nod, Yoongi turns to go. ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ he mutters.

‘Yeah… Yeah, see you later, hyung!’ Taehyung calls out after him, almost waving before he catches the rogue hand and brings it back, thanking all the gods that be that Yoongi was already walking away.

Chapter Text

Back home, Kim Taehyung was always considered as something of a “bad boy”. He was the kid who went to study in Seoul and came back on the holidays with pierced ears and hair a different colour of the rainbow every time. And of course, there was that one glorious Chuseok during his first year of high school where he got caught by his grandmother, joint in hand, smoking out back to take the edge off the day. Though his grandmother loves him to the goddamn moon and back, he barely made it out alive and it sure as hell sealed the deal on his overall poor reputation.

Being a bad kid in his hometown made him a low-key legend to the schoolmates he left behind and all he’d had to do was bleach his hair, stick a couple extra holes in his body and break his grandmother’s heart. He was suddenly invited to every summer party, flirted with by guys and girls who wouldn’t have given him a second glance in middle school – back then, he’d just been the weird kid with the Totoro backpack and the talking pens. The sudden turnaround shot his confidence through the roof, the badboy status and the attention it got him giving him a certain kind of swagger in his step.

But this status was given to him by the types of people who drove SUVs, brought picnics to their kids’ soccer matches, held barbecue parties and summered in Jeju, the types of people who blamed ADHD on Grand Theft Auto and considered “odd” an insult. Being a bad kid in Daegu suburbia and a bad kid in the heart of Seoul are two very different things, which Taehyung realises now, wandering down the side-street like a wide-eyed puppy, glued to Jimin’s side.

He has no idea where they are, he just followed the other boy blindly off the subway, too wrapped up in his own head to pay any attention, but he suspects they’re near Itaewon. The street – a glorified alleyway, really – they’ve just turned onto is dark, but buzzing. There’s an energy in the air, radiating right out from the people in line to get into the club. It’s just a hum, creeping softly over Taehyung’s skin, but there’s a tension in it and Taehyung knows it’s only the start. It’s excitement, anticipation, nerves, the sense of danger at being somewhere so new and alien. It’s all of that rolled into one and god, he loves it.

DOPE the neon red sign blares, set onto the wall of a big, warehouse-like building, brickwork covered entirely in graffiti – good graffiti, too, letters and images with the kind of detail and colour that has Taehyung’s jaw gaping open as he walks, sticking close to Jimin. He’s not sure if his current clinginess is to protect the other boy from potential harm or to feel safer himself, but either way, draping an arm around his friend’s shoulders takes the edge off his nerves as they join the queue.

The crowd is terrifying, just a little bit. Leather and metal and English curse words emblazoned across dark clothing. Hoods, beanies and snapbacks, ink and eyeliner. Overdoing it, maybe, compensating for something, maybe, but it works for Taehyung, has him gazing around with wide eyes at the chaos the crowd creates in the narrow street. There’s the din of dozens of voices talking over each other, some outright yelling, others with a more melodic undertone as performers practice their verses for friends. Music pumps loudly from within the building itself, the earliest of acts already on stage, the walls muffling their growled words, though the bass is almost enough to drown out the sounds of those guys tearing each other to shreds down the street.

Taehyung hears glass smashing somewhere out of sight, but too close for comfort, and he jumps suddenly, arm tightening where it’s slung around Jimin’s neck.

The other boy smirks up at him, snorting quietly. He’s been here before with Hoseok, just to watch, dance, drink, whatever. He’s used to the vibe, to the static itch that makes your fight or flight or just get fucking wrecked response go wild, but Taehyung isn’t, the sensation making him giddy, jumpy. The whole place reeks of bad in a way Taehyung could never have managed, but he’s thriving on it, a breathless laugh breaking free of his jaw, clenched in anticipation.

He’s been to clubs before, but never like this one, where the people are here for more than just getting trashed and maybe laid. There’s a sense of that, of course, but underneath it all, there’s something a little more like passion, a visceral kind of excitement. Half the people here are here to get their fix of that stage, of the screaming crowd and thumping bass and bright lights; the other half are here to feed off it, that euphoric energy the performers throw out in bucket loads, hyping up their audience into a frenzy. It’s different and Taehyung can feel it all the way down his spine.

The bouncer barely spares a look at their IDs, more concerned with keeping a disinterested eye on the guys still growling insults at each other, the two having multiplied to something more like five as their friends attempt to hold them back. He stamps their hands quickly, waves them inside, the roar of the music washing over them in a deafening wave as soon as they’re through the dark entryway, into the main club.

It’s insane. Even with the line still so long out front, the club is heaving with bodies. It’s hard to make out much else, swept up quickly in the pull of the sweltering crowd, Jimin catching his hand to keep them from getting split up. He seems to know where he’s going, so Taehyung lets himself get a little lost in the vibe. The act currently performing must be a popular duo, the crowd yelling along with parts of the song, leaping up and down to the heavy bass beat shaking the floor underneath their feet. If he’s honest, Taehyung kind of wants to join them, but Jimin’s grip on his fingers is firm, tugging him along towards a set of iron steps by the wall.

For now, the stairs are relatively easy to navigate, wide enough that they can easily stay out of the way of other people as they climb, but Taehyung has a feeling that might change as the night wears on. The stairs lead up to a wide, loft-like space stretching the width of the building, but only covering about a third of the length. The view is pretty damn spectacular, the venue small enough that the stage isn’t far away at all, every detail of the performance still easily visible, the bright lights bleeding out into the heaving darkness of the crowd. It’s almost more a concert than a club in the way he’s used to, Taehyung thinks, noting that, while some are simply using the live music to dance, many are fixated on the stage, lost in the performance.

Jimin drags him away from the metal railing before he can get too distracted. The entire balcony area is cluttered up with tables, booths lining two of the walls, a bar along the third. Even at this early hour in the niht, most tables taken, people using the spaces between to dance without the chaos of the crowd below. The mob at the bar looks slightly suffocating, but Jimin makes a beeline towards the booths, walking half on his tiptoes as he scans the area for a familiar face. Taehyung helps him out, easily spotting Namjoon’s hair reflecting the coloured lights of the club.

‘Ah, eventually!’ Hoseok calls out, when he sees them approaching, beaming wide as Jimin slides into the booth next to him. ‘Thought you’d gotten lost.’

‘Well, this guy,’ Jimin says, glancing pointedly towards Taehyung who’s settling himself in beside Namjoon, ‘took about four hours just to pick something to wear.’

‘I was unfamiliar with the dress code!’ Taehyung snaps, palm smacking on the table for emphasis because that tone Jimin just took with him has got to be some kind of slander.

Jimin raises a judgemental little eyebrow, lips curling in a nasty smirk. ‘Uh-huh, I’m sure that’s why,’ he drawls, while the other snickers quietly, Taehyung turning his gaze away in indignation. He just came here to have a good time, Jesus.

‘Tae, hyung’s so sexually frustrated right now,’ Hoseok chips in, still grinning, ‘that you could literally be wearing Namjoonie’s Gudetama onesie and he’d probably still be into it.’

‘Shut up,’ Namjoon groans across the table at him. ‘Don’t ruin that onesie for me. I love that onesie.’

‘Mm,’ Seokjin murmurs, his face suddenly falling into the kind of dark, low-lidded expression Taehyung wishes with all his might he’d never seen, ‘so do I.’

Namjoon closes his eyes as the rest of the table erupts into scandalised groans, a pained line between his eyebrows, looking quite ready for death to come and claim him right now. Laughing softly, Seokjin leans over to kiss his temple, murmuring something in his ear too quiet for even Taehyung to hear on Namjoon’s other side. Whatever it is, it seems to lighten him up a bit, turning to cast a look of reluctant amusement at his boyfriend, before grinning and shaking his head.

On the other side of the table, Hoseok is busy making eyes at an oblivious Jimin until he finally decides to slip an arm over the other boy’s shoulders, not quite as quiet with his own murmuring. ‘You look good, babe,’ he says, and Jimin glances over, eyebrow arched.

‘You get points for not sounding surprised,’ he replies, trying to sound coy, though the way he pushes his hair back is a clear sign he’s flustered under the bravado.

Hoseok knows this, mouth hitching up into a grin as he nuzzles his nose into Jimin’s cheek. ‘Can I cash my points in for a kiss?’ he murmurs.

Jimin can’t seem to help but laugh, rolling his eyes at the cheesiness. ‘You sure you don’t wanna save ’em?’

‘I think I’ll work up some more before the night’s out,’ Hoseok says, voice lowering enough that Jimin’s teeth catch on his own lip, eyes dropping a little too far south on Hoseok’s face.

‘Well, if you’re so sure,’ he murmurs, leaning in to indulge him and it’s at this point that Taehyung realises he’s been creepily staring at his best friends flirting their asses off for the past 30 seconds.

He’s not some kind of pervert. Hoseok and Jimin are a joy to watch in any case, but he’s still not a pervert. It’s just that he’s been quite suddenly hit with the realisation that he is fifth wheeling in a big way right now, especially with Seokjin over there gazing at Namjoon like he’s a gift from the heavens themselves while he practices his verse under his breath with his eyes shut, brow furrowed in concentration. And Taehyung is not an awkward person – Kim Taehyung is the Anti-Awkward – but he does have his limits.

‘Okay, uh, well… I’m gonna go get drinks,’ he announces, standing up quickly and shrugging off his jacket to drop on the seat, the heat already starting to get to him. ‘Who wants what?’

With the drink orders taken, Taehyung fights his way to the bar, spends almost ten minutes just trying to get a bartender’s attention. By the time he wanders back, the couples seem to have worked most of it out of their systems, Hoseok and Jimin no longer locked at the lip, Seokjin back on planet Earth with the rest of them. The act on stage changes over as Taehyung takes his seat again and he senses Namjoon getting antsy next to him.

‘Nervous, hyung?’ he asks, knocking his shoulder into the older boy’s as Namjoon gulps down some more beer.

Frowning, he shakes his head. ‘No, it’s just, we’re on soon and Yoongi-hyung still isn’t here,’ he says, glancing up to catch Hoseok’s eye. ‘Has he said anything to you?’

Hoseok shrugs. ‘He’s held up at work. Someone was late for their shift, so he had to cover.’

That doesn’t seem to placate Namjoon in any shape or form, his cheek shifting as he chews on it from the inside. ‘He realises there’s only this act and one more before we’re on, right?’

‘He knows, Joon-ah, he’s freaking the fuck out, too,’ Hoseok assures him, in what sounds like his very best soothing tone. ‘But worst case scenario, we ask Hyosang-hyung to work his magic with the line-up, okay? Don’t lose your shit over this, bro.’

‘He’ll turn up, don’t worry,’ Seokjin says, sliding a comforting arm onto the seat behind Namjoon’s shoulders before peering around his boyfriend. ‘But on to more pressing matters, Taetae, has Min Yoongi finally asked you out on a date?’

Taehyung rushes to cover up the fact he just choked on his beer by… well, actually he doesn’t cover it up at all, fist flying to his mouth as he splutters. ‘Wh-what d’you mean?’ he finally gets out, eyes wide as he stares at his cousin because seriously, is he drunk already?

‘Well, he invited you here, didn’t he?’ Seokjin asks, with a slight shrug, the definite hint of a very sober smirk playing around his mouth. Not drunk, no, just being a gigantic douche bag.

‘Yeah, but not in a date way,’ Taehyung says, frowning as he takes another sip of his beer.

‘So, in a friend way?’ his cousin presses, the rest of them seeming to enjoy his torment far too much, expectant eyebrows raised all round.

No,’ he says firmly, maybe a little too firmly, mouth curving into his most smug of grins as he prepares his next line. ‘In a we’re gonna ditch you all and fuck after kinda way.’

‘Right,’ Seokjin mutters, disgusted frown crinkling up his nose. ‘Why did I even ask?’

Taehyung sticks out his tongue at him.

‘You two were pretty cosy this morning, though,’ Hoseok says, grinning across the table like the goddamn Cheshire cat. Taehyung glowers, holding it even as he takes a sip of his beer, only making Hoseok chuckle in delight. ‘What, you got nothing to say, Taetae?’

‘We were drunk and tired and we fell asleep,’ Taehyung mutters, voice measured, face composed. He’s not about to blush or snap or doing anything else that might incriminate him – not that Jung Hoseok needs incriminating information to be a dick.

He lets out a breathy laugh, eyebrows rising. ‘Yeah, all wrapped up in each other’s arms,’ he teases, demonstrating with an all-too-willing Jimin, tugging him close and nuzzling into his neck, making the other boy giggle.

Hyung,’ Taehyung groans, as the rest erupt into a chorus of raucous cooing, Namjoon reaching over to poke him in the ribs. Taehyung almost knocks his own beer trying to swat him away.

‘Alright, alright,’ Seokjin sighs, reaching across Namjoon to steady Taehyung’s bottle, a smirk still curving his lips. ‘Pretty sure we’ve tormented him enough for now.’

‘Oh, y’think?’ Taehyung grumbles, shooting him a glower as he snatches up his drink again. He can feel his face burning right up to the tips of his ears, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the teasing or the memories the teasing stirred up.

Either way, he’s glad when they drop it, Seokjin shifting the conversation smoothly onto other topics for a while until Hoseok’s phone rattles against the wooden table top.

‘Yoongi just texted, Joon-ah,’ he announces, scooping up his phone and getting to his feet, ‘says he’s backstage getting changed. We should get down there.’

‘Thank god,’ Namjoon mutters, and Taehyung’s pretty sure he can feel some of that tension leaking out of the other boy’s bones.

‘You guys coming, too?’ Hoseok asks, as Taehyung’s sliding out of the booth to let Namjoon get up.

Jimin’s face brightens in an instant, eyes going wide with excitement, practically bouncing in his seat. ‘Yeah, can we? We gotta watch them from down there – I wanna dance.’

‘Hell, yes,’ Taehyung agrees, scrambling out of the booth after him. All four of them left standing around staring in at Seokjin, who hasn’t moved a muscle (save for his nose, which is scrunched in distaste). He looks pretty unenthusiastic about the prospect of venturing into the chaos below, but majority vote and Taehyung’s insistent tugging at his arm has him knocking back the last of his vodka-and-something and following them towards the stairs.

 

 

Taehyung was right. Unlike earlier, it’s almost impossible to push through the bodies packed onto the stairs. Most of them are there to spectate now, drinks in hand, some bouncing up and down in a tame reflection of the crowd below, a total health hazard, but god, it looks like fun. The heat down there in the pit is unbelievable, only growing worse when the others have said their rushed and slightly wet good lucks and goodbyes, and Seokjin’s putting his shoulders to good use, cutting a jagged path through the crowd to find a decent spot from which to watch the performance. The current act is something reminiscent of old school hip-hop and far too catchy, has Taehyung bouncing on the balls of his feet as they move through the crowd. Jimin gives him a shove at one point, telling him he looks ridiculous, but by the next chorus, he’s doing the exact same thing.

They stop near the heart of the crowd, close enough to the stage, but not so close that it’s difficult to see. By now, the four guys on-stage are nearing the end of the song, tearing their way through an English bridge which seems to largely consist of them yelling repeatedly into the microphone that this is, in fact, the bridge. It shouldn’t work, but somehow it does, the crowd starting to chant along when they get the idea, Taehyung yelling right along with them. By the end of the song, even Jin’s been pulled into it, clapping as instructed by the guys on stage, doing something awkward that could nearly qualify as jumping.

When the song wraps up, the stage lights dim slightly, allowing two of the guys to duck off into the wings, the last pair staying behind as the opening strains of a new beat start up. Parts of the crowd erupt into cheers and whoops as if some of them might’ve heard this one before. The track is stringy and oddly foreboding, even more so when both guys start growling “hey, come here” into the mic at slightly off-beat intervals. It has Taehyung’s hair standing up on the back of his neck, a delighted shiver running through his body when the beat drops properly, thumping like a heartbeat through the building.

Within no time, Jimin has him dancing, both younger boys laughing their heads off at the scandalised look on Seokjin’s face when Jimin starts rolling back on him, slow and sensual. He gets over it, eventually, after pretending to ditch them for a couple seconds, edging back over with his eyes crinkled in the promise of a laugh and proceeding to do something with his hips that has them both groaning with second-hand embarrassment. Every noise they make is lost in the music, each of them relying on the art of mime to communicate as they try to teach Seokjin something slightly more passable. This ends with all of them adopting the eldest’s method instead, a lot of flailing limbs and falling into each other, laughter fading into the general noise as a few people cast them odd looks.

Taehyung’s so busy making a face at one such person that he almost doesn’t notice the song ending, the lights dimming, the two guys running off-stage. When a bodiless MC finally announces, ‘J-HOPE, RAP MONSTER AND SUGA~!’, Jimin catches Taehyung’s hand and squeezes so hard he swears the adrenaline pumping through his veins is the only thing that stops his knees buckling.

Taehyung-ah!’ he’s yelling, just barely audible by Taehyung’s ear as the crowd goes wild – distinctly more insane than they went for the last few acts, if Taehyung isn’t mistaken. He pulls Jimin close to try and figure out what the hell he’s saying. ‘I wanna see properly for this! Can I get on your shoulders?’

Taehyung allows himself an indulgent smirk down at his friend, who knows better than to lash out at him right now, opting instead for pushing his ridiculously plump lower lip out into a pout nothing between heaven and hell could resist. Luckily, Taehyung’s had to put in some gym time lately for a dumb Christmas advertisement that wants him with decent muscle mass, so it’s not as hard as it should be ducking down to slot his head between the older boy’s legs and hoisting him up with Jin on-hand to steady. The backing track has just started by the time they’re done, a heavy beat dropping from the start. Three silhouettes are prowling around the darkened stage, the flashing lights revealing a sliver of a human every now and then, not enough to identify anyone really, though Namjoon’s height stands out a mile.

Hoseok’s voice starts ringing out, hyping up the crowd before the main verse starts, and Jimin’s wolf-whistle is audible even over the music and screaming, legs kicking with excitement in a way that has Taehyung whacking reproachfully at his thigh before he topples them both over. A spotlight flares to life then, revealing Hoseok in full, following him while the rest of the stage remains in near darkness, the other two appearing in brief flashes of rainbow colour as they back Hoseok up with shouts into their mics. And dear god, Hoseok is amazing. To say he owns the stage is an understatement, really. The stage is his bitch, one hundred percent. He knows exactly how to get the audience screaming along with him, but Taehyung feels bad for whoever the hell is operating that spotlight because Jung Hoseok doesn’t stay in one damn place for more than a split second. He’s centre-stage, playfully spitting his lyrics in Namjoon’s face, leaping to crouch by the front when Namjoon shoves him away, all the while pouring his focus into getting the crowd going. Hoseok is always the mood-setter in their daily life and it looks like that rings true for this J-Hope guy, too.

When the beat suddenly drops into something darker, heavier, the roar of the crowd swells up again and Namjoon takes over. He’s a little less squirrel on crack in his movements, staying mostly around centre-stage, but his voice is much more powerful, commanding, stealing the crowd’s attention whether they want to give it or not. Every word booms out over the venue with the kind of passion and ferocity expected from someone with a stage-name like “Rap Monster”. Considering that Taehyung is used to the Kim Namjoon who likes novelty pyjamas and sulks when he loses at Mario Kart, this is like a punch in the gut. A really fucking awesome punch in the gut, eyes wide and jaw agape with unbridled joy and pride as he watches. The crowd are more subdued during his verse, but no less rapt, every set of eyes in the room on him and him alone, drinking it all in.

Hoseok bounces back in for the hook and by this time, Taehyung is already more into it than he ought to be, desperate to jump up and down to the catchy beat with the rest of the crowd. When he tries that, however, Jimin grabs his head, growling out a warning that definitely has something to do with his balls, so Taehyung doesn’t try that one again. Seokjin is on his other side, fist in the air, bouncing a little awkwardly, but his face is glowing bright and he seems to be mouthing along with some of the words, as if he knows the lyrics by heart already. Taehyung doesn’t even have time to wonder how before the hook drops into the heavier beat of the verse again.

Immediately, a third voice starts spitting lyrics with at least as much raw venom, if not more, than Namjoon. The spotlight flares up dramatically to reveal the figure clad mostly in black, dark hood pulled up, so only a few wisps of blonde fringe remain visible, glowing white in the light, ethereal. Taehyung’s mouth goes dry at the sound of the voice, familiar and yet somehow utterly different. This isn’t the lazy drawl he’s used to. These words are sharp, each one punched out like it’s got something to prove, relentless Daegu twang still strong enough to tug up the corners of Taehyung’s mouth. He’s caught somewhere between Namjoon and Hoseok with his stage presence, not quite squirrel-on-crack, but still a ball of raw energy as he prowls around the stage, arms flailing and long fingers working to emphasise his words.

It makes Taehyung’s head spin, the Yoongi he’s used to and this “Suga” creature colliding up there on that stage to create something as terrifying as it is fucking stunning. Even though his movements are haphazard and deliberately harsh, there’s a grace to them that has Taehyung thinking of the jungle cats he watched a documentary about a few days ago during a boring theatre soc meeting. The way they looked as sleek and beautiful as ever, even when lunging for the neck of some tiny, helpless creature, teeth bared in a growl. And Min Yoongi certainly knows how to growl, each biting word snarled into the mic with the kind of passion Taehyung can barely comprehend. Even the way he crouches by the front of the stage like a cat ready to pounce as his tongue rolls its way fluidly, unbearably through a section so fast that the crowd falls almost silent until he finishes with a sharp gasp that echoes around the entire venue.

There’s stillness for a split second, a quiet so heavy it has Taehyung holding his breath, nothing but the sound of Yoongi’s breathing into the mic and dear god, Taehyung can feel a flush of heat flooding through him that has nothing to do with the press of bodies around him.

Then, with one last rough snarl, Yoongi seems to break the spell. The crowd explodes with a deafening roar of whoops and cheers, screams and applause, a few wolf-whistles as thank yous  are yelled breathlessly into mics and the lights on stage dim right down again, three dark figures running out into the wings.

‘HOLY SHIT!’ Jimin yells, as Taehyung, body aching, lowers him back down to ground level. Jimin almost leaps on top of them as soon as Taehyung straightens up again, eyes alight with excitement. ‘Did you see that? Did you fucking see that? They were amazing! Oh, my fucking god!’

‘We saw, we saw!’ Seokjin assures him through his laughter, catching him by the shoulders to stop him bowling them over and starting some kind of drunken human domino effect throughout the club’s lower floor.

Jimin looks like he’s going to burst with pride at any moment, eyes shining bright with excitement. ‘Wasn’t it fucking sick?’ he squeals, and Taehyung would laugh if he didn’t feel like doing the same thing. The only reason he isn’t hysterical right now is because he’s still fucking speechless, breathless, eyes wide with the shock of what he just saw and also, horrifically turned on.

‘If I had panties, I’d throw them,’ he says solemnly, and the other two can laugh, but he’s not even joking.

Jin starts leading them back through the crowd, saying something about catching them at the stage door. The moment Jimin gets a glimpse of Hoseok, he is on him, the his boyfriend barely managing to catch him, eyes wide with surprise until his face is promptly obscured by the back of Jimin’s head. Again, Taehyung might judge if he didn’t wholeheartedly understand, his pulse throbbing in his temples with the effort not to do anything stupid when Yoongi makes an appearance, followed up by Namjoon, unmarked stage door swinging shut behind them both.

This section of the club is slightly less crowded, kept clear for the traffic on and off stage, the noise a few decibels less deafening, but even if Taehyung wanted to say something, his throat is closed up tight, mouth dry. Yoongi is using his hood to try to towel some of the sweat out of his hair, finally yanking it down to reveal the damp, blonde mess on top of his head. His skin is shining, stained silver and all the colours of the rainbow by the lights as the next act starts up their set. When he meets Taehyung’s gaze, his eyes are still burning with remnants of that stage high, bright in way Taehyung has never seen them before. He looks slightly wild and Taehyung can’t breathe.

Yoongi looks away to greet someone else heading backstage, grinning graciously as the guy claps him on the shoulder, clearly complimenting the performance. And, yeah, okay, maybe Taehyung manages to exhale at long last, but it’s only so he can sigh, his throat doing that weird aching thing that he still doesn’t fully understand.

When Yoongi turns to him again to find his gaze still on him, a line appears between his eyebrows.

‘The fuck are you staring at?’ he demands, once he’s close enough for them to speak – which is really quite very close, close enough that Taehyung can see the way the sweat pulls his eyelashes into spiky little triangles, drips collecting at his temples, shining bright along his collarbones. (Taehyung really wishes he hadn't noticed how low the scooped neck of Yoongi's t-shirt dips.)

He swallows hard. ‘I—‘ he begins, and stops again, with absolutely no idea what he should say right now. ‘Hyung… hyung—you—that was—that was fucking amazing,’ he finally manages to blurt out, and he knows he must look slightly demented, messed up from all the leaping, hair stringy with sweat, eyes wide, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. ‘It was—‘ Taehyung’s gaze flicks briefly to the stage where another duo are performing, though neither one of them glows like Yoongi did. ‘I—I’ve never seen anything like—‘ You. ‘—like that in my entire life.’

Yoongi is still looking at him, expression impossible to read, though the line between his eyebrows has softened out and he seems fractionally less hostile. If anything, he starts to look at tad awkward, ducking his head as he mumbles something that sounds more or less like, ‘Yeah, well, thanks.’

It helps, a bit. Helps Taehyung forget about the predatory creature he just watched stalk the stage and remember who the hell he’s talking to – Min Yoongi, the guy who gets embarrassed over a simple compliment and blushes a prettier pink than any of these neon lights. It gives him a shot of sudden courage, reminds him about the heat bubbling soft just under his skin, and he takes an extra step into Yoongi’s space.

‘Like I said to the others, I’d have thrown my panties, but uh…’ He leans down, lips right by Yoongi’s ear, so he can whisper, ‘I’m not wearing any.’

Taehyung can hear the hitch in Yoongi’s breath, practically sense him going still right before he draws back, eyes wide with warning. ‘If this is some dumbass fucking joke about you wearing boxers and not panties, I swear to god, Kim Taeh—‘

‘You wanna check?’ Taehyung cuts across him, biting his lip to try and hide the smirk, but it’s impossible because he swears that in that moment, he can see Yoongi’s pupils dilating wide, tongue just peeking at his lips as he wets them, gaze heavy on Taehyung’s and Taehyung’s whole body throbs with the need to have Yoongi closer. God, it nearly hurts – but Yoongi seems all too aware of where they are, self-conscious even of people who will pay them no attention and are probably too drunk to care if they did. Taehyung gets a part of his wish, though – gets Yoongi closer, just for a second, close enough that a hand on the waist while Yoongi stretches to murmur in his ear is fully acceptable.

Later.’

The word sends a hot curl licking down Taehyung’s spine, a whine threatening in his throat when Yoongi pulls away, expression neutral, but his eyes as dark as pitch. God. Taehyung can’t help the way his gaze keeps flicking down to Yoongi’s mouth, still flushed bright and slick from the performance. He thinks back to this morning and all the imaginative ways he thought of to pink up those lips and they might not need it anymore, but surely it couldn’t hurt to just—

‘SHOTS!’ comes Jimin’s sudden shout, audible even over the pounding music, and Taehyung blinks himself back into reality just in time to see Yoongi’s eyes flicking away from his own mouth. Okay, so it’s not a kiss, it’s nothing like it, but it provides Taehyung with some kind of satisfaction to know he’s not the only one, grin stretching wide as he follows the others back upstairs.

 

 

Taehyung knocks back a shot, just to keep Jimin happy, something bright red to match his friend’s hair, but he orders a Coke after that, not missing the way Yoongi smirks at him across the table. He feels a soft flush of heat creep into his cheeks because yeah, okay, he’s taking it easy to ensure he gets laid and maybe he’s being terribly obvious about it, but Taehyung is not ashamed of this fact. He quirks his eyebrows up defiantly, daring Yoongi to comment, but he doesn’t, fighting a smile and shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the main conversation.

Taehyung is barely finished his first Coke when the latest act to take to the stage starts playing something that seems to pique Jimin’s interest, has him moving subtly to the beat where he sits, drink in hand. The conversation at the table has moved onto a heated discussion over which of two artists Taehyung has never heard of are the most like another artist Taehyung has never heard of, and he finds himself just slightly slumped over his drink, zoning out in favour of watching the dancers nearby, swaying to the beat. With Seokjin gone to fetch the next round, there’s no one to steer the conversation in a better direction, so when Jimin catches his eye across the table, eyes sparking as he jerks his head towards the dancefloor, Taehyung practically leaps to his feet, grinning as he watches Jimin down the last of the soju in his glass and reach out for him.

The first time Park Jimin tried to drag him out onto a dancefloor, you’d swear he was Satan himself trying to lure him down into the sulphuric pits of Hell. Taehyung dug his heels in, kicked, yelled, flailed, begged to be spared, offered his body and soul in exchange for his freedom – that sort of thing. At some point, though, dancing with Jimin became one of his favourite things to do ever. Jimin helped him realise he actually kind of loves dancing, loves the fluidity of a well-executed body-roll and the absolutely sinful grind of hips on hips. It’s never been sexual – not with Jimin – but still also kind of is because no one is immune to the ways Park Jimin can work his body. Taehyung’s always considered it kind of an honour to dance with him.

They can’t see the stage from back here, but the current voice booming strong over the venue is a woman’s, the beat fast and bass-heavy, dropping into and almost cutesy chorus. It’s not the kind of song that makes Jimin go all demon hips, but Taehyung nearly likes it more when his friend’s just as down for goofing off on the dancefloor as he is. In between ducking back to the table for another round of shots, Jimin manages to match up some grossly adorable Red Velvet choreo with a grungy hip-hop track, which has the older guys dying in the booth, Yoongi practically bent double over the table at one point watching them. Hoseok comes out after a while to literally teach them how to dougie, using their teasing crows of that one American song as a backing track to his first example. He even succeeds in dragging Namjoon out (‘It’s the only dance he’s actually decent at.’), while the two eldest stay behind in the booth, alternating between watching them in amusement and clearly pretending not to be in any way associated with them.

By 1:00 AM, Jimin is drunk, swaying on his feet, smile woozy as he links his fingers through Taehyung’s and tugs, mumbling something about needing to pee. Taehyung lets himself be tugged because he kind of needs to go too, plus a drunk Park Jimin is very soft and clingy and pink-cheeked and it’s kind of adorable and Taehyung still hasn’t learned how to say no to him – not that he would if he could.

The bathrooms are busy, but not packed, and they stand in the short queue for barely a minute. In that time, however, Jimin still manages to squeeze in four declarations of love and lifetime’s worth of quiet giggles muffled against Taehyung’s shoulder.

‘Yeah, yeah, I love you too, bro,’ Taehyung murmurs, keeping an arm around his friend’s waist to steady him and trying not to laugh. They get a couple of odd looks from guys passing by on their way out, but no one really pays them all that much attention.

‘I’m glad Yoongi hyung invited you,’ Jimin tells him, when they’re both done, clinging to Taehyung with an arm around his shoulders as they wait for a sink to free up (Taehyung, at least, is still sober enough to think about things like basic hygiene). ‘I knew you’d like this place.’

‘It’s the coolest place I’ve been in Seoul so far,’ Taehyung agrees, moving forwards to take a sink, groaning quietly at the almost painful cold of the water against his burning skin.

‘Taetae, you should—you should get him to dance,’ Jimin slurs between hiccups – a testament to his sobriety, really.

‘Nah, Jiminnie,’ Taehyung laughs, casting him a glance over his shoulder as he soaps up his hands. ‘You really think Yoongi-hyung wants to dance?’

‘I think he wants to dance with you.’ Jimin sidles up to lean against the block of sinks right next to him. ‘He’s been watching you, my friend. I think he wants a piece of that fine booty you got there grindin’ all up on him,’ he says, giving said booty a decent slap and grab as if to drive the point home. ‘Y’know what I mean?’

‘Could I have misunderstood?’ Taehyung asks, smirking at his friend as he raises an eyebrow. ‘But I think you got it wrong, Jiminnie. Maybe he wants my ass, but not on a dancefloor. And anyway, I thought you weren’t encouraging this?’

Jimin shrugs, slipping his hand comfortably into Taehyung’s back pocket, barely even seeming to realise he’s done it. His face is 104% too close to Taehyung’s face, so close he can smell the sweet alcohol on his breath, but at some point with Jimin the words “too close” lost all significance. ‘Yoongi-hyung’s good to you, Taetae,’ he says softly, leaning his head onto Taehyung’s shoulder as he shakes his hands out, reaching for the paper towel dispenser. ‘I didn’t think he would be, and I was wrong and I feel kinda shitty for thinking that about him, but…’ Catching Taehyung’s eye in the mirror, Jimin’s brow creases, shifting the bright hair that’s fallen over his forehead. His full lips are pulled into a thoughtful pout. ‘I dunno, but I—I think he likes you.’

It takes Taehyung a moment to fully register the words, busy picking pieces of the shitty paper towel off his fingers. But when he does, something prickles under his skin, eyes going wide as he turns to Jimin. ‘Jiminnie—‘ he begins, but he’s cut off by the sound of another voice behind them, low and harsh, making the hairs stand up on the back of Taehyung’s neck.

‘Ah, what kinda faggot shit is this?’ some guy mutters, shoving past them hard enough that Jimin is forced to stagger away a couple steps, Taehyung immediately reaching out for him – because a drunk Park Jimin is as hot-headed as he is horny and affectionate. He can feel the tension in the other boy’s bicep as he tugs him back, but Jimin lets himself be pulled along easily.

‘What, you want in on it, babe?’ he calls out, pressing up even closer to Taehyung, arm winding around his waist and dropping a little too low, as he turns to give the guy a heavy-lidded look. ‘Is that it?’

The guy’s face is twisted with nothing but disgust, only twisting further when Taehyung plays along, catching his eye as he presses a soft kiss to Jimin’s temple.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he spits, glancing around the room as he gestures at them with a heavily inked up hand. By now, they’ve attracted the attention of the handful of other men at the sinks or waiting to pee. ‘You fucking seeing this? Fucking disgusting.’ With a last filthy look over his shoulder at them, he stalks off, bypassing the urinals to lock himself into a stall, door slamming shut hard enough to make the entire block shake.

There’s a split second where the long room is eerily quiet considering the amount of men, but none of the others seem to give a shit, turning back to pissing or talking or whatever the hell else they were doing, some shaking their heads – though Taehyung can’t tell if it’s in agreement or disdain towards the guy. Still, he breathes out a soft sigh of relief, grip loosening on his friend.

‘Fucking asshole,’ Jimin mutters, faux sultry look replaced with a scowl now as he stares at the locked door the guy disappeared behind.

‘Exactly, Jiminnie,’ Taehyung murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he pulls away, starts guiding Jimin towards the door before the guy reappears. ‘An asshole, don’t let him ruin your night. Come on.’

 

 

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Yoongi asks quietly, once Taehyung has slid back into the booth, only to find someone’s bought him another Coke. He picks it up, gulps back a very grateful mouthful. (Dancing is thirsty business – sitting next to Min Yoongi even more so.)

Yoongi’s gaze is across the table, where Jimin dropped in next to Hoseok with his face in full glower, his boyfriend poking at his cheeks, trying to figure out what’s wrong with him.

‘It’s nothing,’ Taehyung murmurs, with a shrug, though the guy's snide tone is still heavy in his ears. ‘Just some guy in the bathrooms.’

Yoongi’s face immediately falls into a frown, sitting back to better look at Taehyung. ‘What d’you mean “some guy in the bathrooms”?’ he asks – demands, really, the edges of his voice a touch too hard.

But Taehyung shakes his head, brushing it off again. ‘He just said some stuff, hyung,’ he explains vaguely, taking another sip of his drink, quirking up his eyebrows when Yoongi continues to watch him. He’s clearly trying to figure out what the guy might’ve said to leave Jimin in such a state, now being thoroughly coddled by Hoseok, an arm around his shoulders as he murmurs in his ear, nudging a glass of water into his hands.

‘Was he looking for a fight?’ Yoongi asks, after a moment, which only seems to piss him off more, dark brows pulled together in a way that almost has Taehyung gulping, edging away. ‘Did he touch either of you? Because I swear—‘

‘No, no,’ Taehyung cuts in quickly, hands waving to slow down Yoongi’s racing mind. ‘He just… he said some homophobic shit, that’s all.’ He shrugs some more, reaching for his bottle again when Yoongi’s expression softens – only slightly. ‘You know how Jimin gets when he’s drunk, all touchy and stuff,’ Taehyung goes on to explain, bottle hovering near his lips. Yoongi nods, because even he’s been subjected to a couple of hugs over the course of the night. ‘Well, the guy took it the wrong way, said some nasty shit. I don’t think he would’ve hurt us or anything, he was just an asshole, but that stuff’s still kinda sensitive for Jiminnie.’

When Yoongi frowns this time, it’s less hostile, more curious, his thumbnail picking at the soggy label of his beer bottle. ‘What, and it’s not sensitive for you?’

Taehyung makes a face, eyes on his own drink. ‘I know how to deal with bullies, hyung,’ he explains softly. ‘I’ve met a lot of them and they’re all the same, whether they’re fifteen and yelling fag in high school hallways, or thirty and yelling it in club bathrooms at total strangers.’ He smirks slightly at that, shrugging up a shoulder as he glances over. ‘They never change. Best just to ignore them.’

Still watching him, Yoongi’s eyebrows rise a fraction, almost like he’s surprised in some way, but after a moment he nods, as if in agreement. Taehyung doesn’t know why, but it makes a flush of warmth bloom in his cheeks, something soft flutter in his stomach. (I think he likes you.) He watches with his teeth worrying at his lower lip as Yoongi takes another swig of his beer, eyes roaming out over the dancers.

As far as Taehyung knows, that beer he’s nursing is only his second, but Min Yoongi’s enough of a lightweight that even after one, his cheeks were flushed the same soft pink they always go when he’s drinking. It would be cute, almost, if the sweat on his skin didn’t bring the ends of his fringe into spiky points, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the wicked curves of his mouth. Taehyung’s pretty sure he’ll never understand how Yoongi’s brand of beauty can shift so easily from soft to diamond-hard. It’s fascinating, but it scares the shit out of him, makes him shudder in the best way.

He realises properly that they’re alone in the booth. The stage switched from open mic to DJ just after midnight, so the music now ranges from Jay-Z classics to the most obscure hip-hop remixes, and the others are all out there on the floor, dancing their hearts out. Eyes flicking downward, Taehyung realises he could slip a hand onto Yoongi’s thigh right now. He realises he could lean over and kiss his neck, murmur something about getting out of here. The thought makes his skin tingle weird and he wants to – god, he wants to.

(I think he likes you.)

There’s just something else he wants to try first.

‘Hey, um… I’m going back out,’ he says, sliding to the edge of the booth and getting to his feet. ‘You coming, hyung?’

Yoongi snorts lightly, shaking his head, long fingers tapping against his bottle on the table. ‘I’m not a dancer,’ he murmurs.

‘Neither is Jin-hyung,’ Taehyung points out, turning to find his cousin in the crowd, currently with Namjoon’s arms around his neck, head thrown back in laughter – probably at himself and his attempts to dance sexy, ‘but look at him go.’

‘Jin-hyung has more balls than I ever will,’ Yoongi says, and Taehyung turns back to find the older boy’s gaze out on the floor as well, shaking his head in amusement as he watches them, ‘and he’s the only guy I’ll say that about apart from my hyung.’

Taehyung quirks up his eyebrows, leaning forward to brace his palms on the edge of the table. ‘That wasn’t a no,’ he points out, biting his lip against a grin at the withering look Yoongi sends his way. He lets his face fall into a pout, whipping out his best puppy eyes. ‘Ah, come on, hyung, I don’t wanna leave you here on your own.’

And he sees it, he does. He sees the waver in his resolve past the get the fuck outta my face glower Yoongi’s shooting his way. (I think he likes you.) Taehyung isn’t sure he’ll be able to convince him entirely, but he can see that waver and fuck if he isn’t going to try.

Hyung,’ he’s is in the middle of whining, when he’s suddenly nudged out of the way by an incoming Park Jimin.

‘Sorry, there, Taetae,’ the other boy grunts, leaning into the booth to catch hold of Yoongi’s arm. ‘Just speeding things along.’

Yoongi’s eyes go round with indignation as Jimin starts tugging him unceremoniously out of the booth, ass sliding easily on the slippery leather of the seats.

‘Park Jimin, un-fucking-hand me this second!’ Yoongi snaps, face flushing as he struggles, tries to kick out even though that’s pointless from his angle. ‘What are you even doing?’

Jimin sighs impatiently, getting Yoongi to the edge of the booth and yanking him onto his feet. ‘What your idiot lover-boy won’t do,’ Jimin says, hands still on Yoongi’s shoulders, staring dramatically into his eyes for a moment, like he’s trying to convey some kind of message with that drunken telepathy he no doubt thinks he has. ‘Come on, hyung, get out there. We’re gonna go downstairs now and we’re gonna dance.’

‘Jimin—‘ Yoongi begins, face crumpling in something a lot like pain, but also a little like a kid trying to get out of wearing a nice suit for grandma. Taehyung can’t help but laugh at the near pout pulling at Yoongi’s lips as Jimin prods him out in the direction of the others.

‘Hell fucking yes!’ Hoseok yells in delight, making grabby hands as he breaks away from Namjoon to come help with Yoongi. ‘Hyung, get your cute little ass out here!’

‘You can thank me later,’ Jimin murmurs, with more than a touch of smugness, leaning over to sling his arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. ‘I accept payment in sexual favours and/or sweet pastries.’

Taehyung smirks at him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

 

With the performances over and the heavy dance beat of something Epik High blasting out through the venue, the pit seems that much more chaotic. While the crowd hasn’t quite lost the hype from the live music, the setting is much more like that of normal club now, just with a slightly stranger clientele. There’s more leather and hair dye and ink and metal on skin than Taehyung’s ever seen in one place in his life, but it’s weirdly beautiful – the glints of piercings at the corners of his vision, the otherworldly glow from that guy’s tattoo as it reacts with the UV lighting. The dragon stands out in brilliant luminous blue against his dark skin and Taehyung can’t stop staring, even as Jimin’s pulling him away, deeper into the mob.

It’s thick and hot, like trying to move and breathe in soup, but Taehyung has always loved this, the feeling of being sucked into a crowd, every single person moving to the same music, like they’re all part of one gigantic pulsing monster. He gives himself over to it easily, leaping up and down with the others when the song is right, laughing as Jimin and Hoseok trap him in some weird, grinding sandwich during a Jay-Z hit the other three are busy yelling the lyrics to – even Seokjin, every damn word until he’s red in the face from oxygen deprivation, falling into Namjoon as he giggles breathlessly.

He has no idea how much time passes. It’s just song after song after song. They’re all soaked in sweat, grins flashing violet in UV lights, giddy with the heat, laughter lost in the pounding bass. Something comes on that has Hoseok hooting and Jimin smirking. They seem well acquainted with the song, though the only thing Taehyung recognises in the jumble of English is “porn star”. It has a nice rhythm, though, definitely the kind of beat that has Jimin going all demon hips, a wolf-whistle from Hoseok cutting through the noise as his boyfriend starts rolling his body in ways that would probably get him arrested out on the street. Bashful grin creeping across his face with everyone’s eyes on him, replacing the smouldering look he started with, Jimin stops a moment, nudges into Taehyung in a clear attempt to get him to join in, which Taehyung is only too happy to do.

He copies Jimin’s movements easily (because, if he’s going to be honest, it’s one of his favourite dance moves), arms in the air, knees bent, hips swinging. He can’t help but grin as he moves to the music, but he manages to drop his face into something mockingly close to sexy when he catches Jimin’s eye. It usually makes him laugh, stumbling over to hit Taehyung and make him stop, but not tonight. Tonight, Jimin’s eyes are wide when they meet Taehyung’s, clearly trying to tell him something, though Taehyung’s not sure what – not until Jimin manages a subtle jerk of his chin and Taehyung follows the gesture to—

To Yoongi.

Yoongi, who is all but gawping.

(I think he likes you.)

It takes him a second to realise Taehyung’s caught him watching (mostly because his gaze was quite firmly on Taehyung’s hips and not his face), but when he does, his eyes are dark and his lips are parted and he is so breathtaking that Taehyung forgets to dance, movements easing up as the song hits the chorus. He’s so wrapped up in the sheen of sweat on Yoongi’s throat, the way his t-shirt sticks to his skin, dark fabric only stained darker – he’s too wrapped up in him to notice what the others are up to, the scheming looks and the sneaky hand signals. He spies the evil glint in Hoseok’s eye a moment too late as he slinks back behind Yoongi and—

—and Yoongi is stumbling forward, practically falling face first into Taehyung’s chest as the others cackle wildly behind him, their laughter drowned out by the deafening music. Taehyung steadies him easily, Yoongi’s fingers curling reflexively into his shirt as Taehyung catches his shoulders, too shocked himself to laugh (even though the look of outrage on Yoongi’s face is kind of priceless).

Seeming to realise there’s no point in actually yelling obscenities, Yoongi turns to flip them off, though that only seems to make them laugh harder, Hoseok clinging to Seokjin for dear life to stop himself falling over. Yoongi is close enough that Taehyung can feel more than hear Yoongi speaking. (From his limited lip-reading skills and some educated guesswork, he’s pretty sure it was “fucking bastards”).

He’s grinning when Yoongi turns back to him, glower still in place, though not as strong. Everything about him says back the fuck off and Taehyung is tempted. With the others over there trying to look like they’re not still watching them, with Yoongi looking like he’s ready to bite the next thing that violates his personal space – Taehyung is tempted. But he’s gotten this far. (I think he likes you.) He’s gotten this far and there is something in Yoongi’s face – a dark glint in his eyes, maybe, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth – that tells Taehyung he might not get bitten. Not yet.

Still standing too close, even if they’re not quite touching, Taehyung takes a half-step in closer again, quirking up his eyebrows a little as if to say, Well, we’re already here, so… Yoongi holds the glower, doesn’t move, doesn’t try to speak, but Taehyung’s learned to take this as a certain kind of confirmation. He lets his hands curve around Yoongi’s hips, tightening his grip to ease him in the last of the distance, so they’re almost chest to chest – would be if Yoongi’s hands weren’t in the way, still curled into Taehyung’s shirt from when he stumbled over.

In the heavy pause that follows, the song changes, but Taehyung barely hears it. His heart is throbbing so hard he can hear it as loud as the bass beat pounding at his ears. He’s distantly aware of Hoseok yelling something crude – mainly because of the way Yoongi turns his head to scowl, Taehyung following his gaze to find Hoseok cackling as he moves his attention back to Jimin, who’s pressed up close to him now, thumbs hooked into Hoseok’s belt loops as they move to the beat. Yoongi doesn’t turn back to Taehyung, not immediately and Taehyung starts to think he might be stalling. Maybe he’s really uncomfortable with this? Maybe he actually does hate dancing? Maybe he really doesn’t want to be here?

Frowning, Taehyung ducks his head a little to get at Yoongi’s ear. ‘Hyung—hyung, we don’t have to—wait, what?’ He could’ve sworn he heard Yoongi say something, voice lost in the music. When he pulls back to look at his face again, Yoongi rolls his eyes.

‘I said, shut the fuck up!’ Taehyung sees more than hears him yell as he uncurls his fingers, bringing his arms up instead to rest on Taehyung’s shoulders, crossing over behind his neck somewhere and god –

God.

Even as the grin stretches wide across his face, there is a part of Taehyung that can’t believe this is happening. That he’s in an actual club, on an actual dancefloor, with his hands on Yoongi’s actual hips and Yoongi’s arms around his neck, and Yoongi’s chest pressed too hot up against his own now, his face within kissing distance as Taehyung’s body starts to move to the music in earnest again. Yoongi’s still a little rigid, wooden, only really moving because Taehyung is, but Taehyung tightens his grip on his hips to try and coax him gently into it. He’s pretty sure he’s had wet dreams like this one, with Yoongi’s skin shining rainbow under the lights, his hair too dull and damp with sweat now to really reflect, but falling over his forehead in the worst kind of way – the kind of way that makes Taehyung want to brush his fringe back, taste that sun-deprived skin they rarely ever get to see.

(I think he likes you.)

He ducks his head in closer because that seems like the natural thing to do as the beat drops properly, noses almost brushing, foreheads bare millimetres apart. Taehyung can almost feel the soft sweep of Yoongi’s eyelashes as his gaze flits over his face, his eyes, his mouth, lower to the slope of his neck and his collarbones where they jut out over the loose white tee he wore for exactly that reason. It’s like he can feel the moment Yoongi loses the last of that self-enforced restraint, decides to let himself get into it, hips moving in time with Taehyung’s, body rolling just slightly up against his own like he didn’t just say he couldn’t dance.

Liar, Taehyung would whisper if Yoongi could actually hear him. For now, he settles with a smirk, the smugness lending him enough courage to slide his grip a little further up, fingers brushing the skin just above Yoongi’s jeans and Yoongi’s eyes meet his own again for a second. It hasn’t really left – the wild look he took with him when he came down off that stage – and Taehyung kind of hopes it never does. It’s hot. That look, Yoongi’s skin, the club, the press of bodies around them, Yoongi’s breath fanning over his mouth, making his lips part in expectation of something they’re not getting, judging by the faint hitch to Yoongi’s eyebrow when he notices.

Taehyung’s smirk creeps back, a little more sheepish this time, but it’s gone as soon as Yoongi moves in closer, leaning back slightly, so that—

Taehyung’s breath catches in his throat because it does nothing, really, nothing of significance, except for up the friction at their hips from zero to oh. It’s less the friction itself and more the faint scratch of Yoongi’s fingertips teasing the hair at his nape, the way his lips look slick under the lights like he licked them at some point – Taehyung’s sorry he missed that, but it must’ve happened when he was too busy glancing downwards, watching the way Yoongi’s body moved against his own, the bead of sweat that tracked down over the bump of his collarbone, slipping under the neck of his t-shirt.

Right then, Taehyung kind of wants to be that bead of sweat – but if he can’t be it, he figures he could at least take some inspiration from it.

The song drops into the chorus and Taehyung’s hands venture further underneath Yoongi’s shirt, one shifting to the small of his back, one still resting just over the sharp jut of his hip. Taehyung is half expecting another scowl for that, but he doesn’t get one. Instead, Yoongi goes with it, arms tightening around Taehyung’s neck as—as he ducks in closer, nose just barely skimming along the line of Taehyung’s jaw. Even in this sweltering heat, the light touch makes him shiver, his body still moving to the beat – subconsciously now, more than anything, because Taehyung’s conscious mind is 140% consumed with the fact that Min Yoongi’s lips are skirting so close to the skin of his neck that he can feel the tiny hairs there shifting under his touch.

He can’t help the low sound that rumbles in his chest, but there’s no way Yoongi can hear it. He can probably feel it, though, Taehyung realises belatedly, teeth catching on his own lower lip and a whine building in his throat as Yoongi’s lips press to the curve of his jaw in something so infuriatingly close to a kiss that Taehyung could scream. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he isn’t about to pretend he doesn’t like this—love this—having Yoongi pressed up against him, touching him, feeling him, breathing him in and not all just for the purpose of getting off. Taehyung knows that’s the end goal eventually, but right now – this is something different. They’re dancing. They’re just dancing. He’s dancing with Min Yoongi – and it’s nice. It’s more than nice. It’s fucking amazing and Taehyung is suddenly all too aware of the fact that he might not get this opportunity again.

(I think he likes you.)

Better make the most of it.

Taehyung removes his hands from underneath Yoongi’s t-shirt, slipping them up his body to catch a hold of his arms, smirking in reply to Yoongi’s narrow-eyed questioning look when Taehyung tugs them away from around his neck. He doesn’t give him any time to ask – or mime – a question, just shifts them both so that in one swift motion, he’s behind Yoongi, chest to back. Yoongi whips his head around, but the look on his face isn’t half as pissed off as Taehyung knows he’s trying to seem. His eyes are too dark for that, dark and glazed over with something hot and hazy Taehyung can’t quite name, but likes a lot.

He doesn’t bother with the pleasantries this time, drops his hands, slips them right back up under Yoongi’s shirt, gripping hips, and maybe his fingertips dip the tiniest teasing bit past the waistband of Yoongi’s boxers – so what? He feels Yoongi tense at that, but it doesn’t last long, the heat of the situation seeming to win over whatever image or pride he was trying to maintain with the hard looks and rigid shoulders. What’s the point? No one’s watching them – even the others have disappeared, ditched them or gotten lost in the crowd, who cares? – they may as well be alone on this dancefloor and Yoongi seems to realise that too. Particularly when Taehyung starts moving again, properly, body rolling rhythmically, a softer version of his earlier dance with Jimin.

Yoongi doesn’t turn his head away, like Taehyung expects him to. After glancing around briefly, almost like he’s checking for sure that no one is paying attention to them, he brings his gaze right back, eyes heavy-lidded, lashes dyed dark and spiked black with sweat. He’s so close, his nose brushing against Taehyung’s at times as they move, their lips practically touching, breathing the same stale club air, close enough that Taehyung can taste the beer he didn’t have (he wonders if Yoongi can taste his Coke). He feels heat on his nape, realises Yoongi’s slid a hand up to curve around the back of his neck and the effort not to surge forward and catch his mouth is titanic. It’s unbearable, makes Taehyung’s entire torso ache, fingers tightening on the other boy’s hips, torn down the middle with the urge to kiss him and the need to have this – this careless, dark and ruffled version of Yoongi – for a little while longer.

He might only have had one beer, but Taehyung is drunk on him. On the smell of his woody cologne that he can somehow pick out in amongst all these other scents, on the smooth roll of firm muscles working under his hands and the pale arch of Yoongi’s neck as he tips it back against Taehyung’s shoulder, still dotted with the marks he left last night. He can’t help but duck his head, not quite kissing, but running his lips the length of Yoongi’s neck, mouthing lightly at the dark red bruises that he can barely wait to add to. He feels Yoongi’s fingers grip tighter at the back of his neck, nails almost stinging the skin.

Taehyung has seen Hoseok and Jimin dance. Hoseok and Jimin dancing is like watching a goddamn porno. Taehyung knows they’re not a porno, the moves aren’t flashy enough, the hips aren’t confident enough. They’re not a porno, but Taehyung’s pretty sure he’s never been in a hotter situation. He can feel his heart throbbing in his throat and his pulse beating hard in his temples, making him feel almost weak, dizzy – it’s the heat and the claustrophobic air of the dancefloor, it’s the barely there friction of Yoongi’s ass against his crotch and the very there press of Yoongi’s back against his chest, sweat-soaked fabric doing little to separate them.

It’s nearing the end of the song when something seems to snap. Yoongi breaks easily out of Taehyung’s grip, turns to reverse their positions entirely, his hands catching roughly at Taehyung’s hips. He seems to hesitate a moment, mouth open like he’s about to speak, though he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are black enough to make Taehyung shiver and he looks a lot like he’s about to kiss him, so much that Taehyung is ready for it, eyes fluttering shut, flicking open again when he feels Yoongi ducking past his mouth, lips brushing his ear. He knows exactly what he’s about to say even before he speaks, his words just barely heard during a quiet drop between songs.

‘We’re leaving.’

It’s not a suggestion, Taehyung knows that, and he doesn’t need telling twice.

Chapter Text

I think he likes you.

Park Jimin knows things. In freshman year, when they were still total strangers, he knew Taehyung was sitting out in the corridor, wrapped in his quilt and playing Crossy Road, because he was afraid of the storm noises. (Somehow, that night, he also knew Taehyung’s favourite movie would be How To Train Your Dragon, which was true sorcery in Taehyung’s opinion.) He’s always been able to guess who Taehyung’s slept with, even if he’d barely met them (“It was the blonde from the cafeteria”, “It was that exchange student from Interpretive Dance Soc”, “It was Nose Guy, wasn’t it? You know, with the nose?”), and he’s gained a reputation foretelling frighteningly accurate exam scores for his classmates. He knew without asking why Taehyung hates April, he knows when he wants to talk and when he doesn’t – hell, he knows when their server at McDonald’s wants to talk and when they don’t. It’s not magic, it’s just that Park Jimin can read people like books, so he knows things.

Taehyung has never doubted his knowledge because he’s never had reason to. When Jimin predicted Minjae would ask him out within the first week of the new term, it happened. When he assured Taehyung he’d hand in his astro assignments on time, he did, yesterday, against all odds. Even last year, when Seokjin got weird and didn’t speak to Namjoon for days, when they all had to tiptoe around them like wide-eyed kids watching mom and dad fight, Jimin was the one to soothe them all: ‘Guys, no. Jin-hyung’s only being weird because he’s nervous. Something’s about to go down. Let’s be real, he’s not gonna propose, so it’s gotta be moving in together. He’s gonna ask Joonie-hyung to move in with him. Just wait.’

Two weeks later, they were apartment hunting.

Taehyung has never had reason to doubt Park Jimin’s knowledge, but this is testing him. I think he likes you. This is testing him big-time.

All the trains stopped at midnight, so right now, Yoongi sits next to him on the bus, at the very back. Since Yoongi disappeared in search of their jackets, leaving Taehyung by the club entrance to text Jimin, he’s barely looked at him, has spoken only in grunts. At the bus stop, he sat close enough that their shoulders were pressed together, which was nice and all, but Taehyung’s pretty sure it had a lot to do with the bitter winter cold and less to do with him. Even now, his gaze is directed down the front of the bus, face blank. It’s all normal behaviour for Yoongi, Taehyung’s not about to deny that, but maybe he just thought…

Well, he just thought.

And it’s the just thinking that always ruins things. Because thinking leads to wondering and wondering leads to ideas and expectations, and expectations almost always lead to some kind of quiet and prickling disappointment – at least, that’s how it’s always worked for Taehyung. Park Jimin thinks Yoongi likes him and Park Jimin knows things, so Taehyung hoped that he’d be right this time too, with the civil conversations and the dancing and Yoongi nearly smiling at him those couple times, nearly kissing him in a crowd of people. Taehyung thought and wondered and hoped like he always does and probably ruined it, like he—

‘You’re fucking doing it again,’ Yoongi informs him, making Taehyung jump halfway out of his skin because A) he has no idea what he’s doing and B) he quite clearly wasn’t even aware Yoongi was paying attention to him. The realisation that he must’ve been has heat rising into Taehyung’s cheeks.

‘What, uh… what was I doing, hyung?’ he stammers out, eyes wide.

Yoongi turns his head to cast Taehyung a withering look. ‘You’re fucking staring at me – I can feel it, I don’t need to be able to see you,’ he says. ‘What’s your problem?’

The flush of the club is still leftover in Yoongi’s cheeks, though the sweat dried easily on the cold walk to the bus stop, leaving his hair to hang soft and almost wavy over his forehead. He looks gentler like this – even his scowl doesn’t have quite as much venom as usual and it makes Taehyung’s face feel warm and sort of tingly.

(I think he likes you.)

Maybe Park Jimin’s wrong this time, but Taehyung’s smart enough to know that this is not the moment to be dwelling on it, not when he’s got Yoongi sitting right next to him, maybe still as worked up as he is, his veins buzzing with anticipation even under all the strange and prickly thoughts. So, Taehyung is leaning in to speak before he can think twice about it, voice low even though no one would be able to hear him over the cheap pop music playing on the radio.

‘I really wanna kiss you,’ he whispers.

Yoongi blinks and Taehyung doesn’t miss the way his gaze drops, just for a second, before he drags it back up again, a line appearing between his eyebrows. ‘We’re on a bus, Taehyung, you can fucking wait,’ he mutters, turning his head to face front again.

Besides themselves, sitting at the very back, there are only a handful of other people on the bus, well-spaced out across the seats. Save for the couple up near the front sharing the earbuds, the others are alone, sitting by the windows, their attention focused outwards or on their phones. No one is paying them any heed and Yoongi seems to know this judging by how he doesn’t flinch away as Taehyung leans in closer to him, arm sliding around the back of his seat.

‘I dunno, hyung,’ he murmurs, lips inches from Yoongi’s ear. He reaches up to tug gently at the collar of his jacket, pulling it away from his neck. He noses more than kisses the sensitive skin just under his jaw. ‘Don’t think I can.’

‘Taehyung.’

Taehyung thinks that maybe the word was meant as a warning, but it doesn’t come out sounding much like one. Yoongi’s voice has lowered to a breath and Taehyung’s kind of hoping that shiver that just ran through him had very little to do with the cold.

‘Yeah?’ Taehyung whispers, mouth brushing Yoongi’s jaw as he speaks. He feels that stubble he noticed earlier slightly rough against his lips.

‘I’m serious,’ he says, turning to shoot Taehyung a very serious look indeed. His brows are pinched and his lips are tilted down at the corners, but his eyes are doing a thing, shifting rapidly over Taehyung’s face, as if he’s trying to hide the fact that he can’t stop looking at his mouth. Trying and failing miserably, Taehyung is delighted to note. ‘Behave.’

Taehyung can’t stop the grin spreading across his face, making Yoongi roll his eyes because his firm and serious act clearly isn’t working. ‘Or what, hyung?’ he challenges quietly, leaning in a little more, doing his best not to let his surprise show when Yoongi doesn’t move away this time, keeps staring at him in that same shifty way. Taehyung can only take this as encouragement, scooting over none-too-subtly till they’re sitting pressed thigh-to-thigh, Taehyung’s arm still slung over the back of Yoongi’s seat. Yoongi’s eyes narrow a touch, but he doesn’t budge, isn’t going to be the one to back down. Taehyung wonders vaguely if this has turned into the most pointless game of Gay Chicken ever to happen.

‘No one’s looking, hyung,’ he goes on, whispering now because Yoongi’s not quite glowering anymore and his mouth looks soft and his hair is falling over his forehead in uneven locks and the urge to kiss him is thick in Taehyung’s throat. ‘No one’s gonna turn around.’

Taehyung can’t guarantee that, of course, but Yoongi doesn’t point this out, and Taehyung thinks that maybe he’s won as he nudges in a little further, close enough that Yoongi’s fringe tickles his own forehead, their noses brushing gently. Close enough that he can see the light fan of Yoongi’s lashes falling downwards as his gaze shifts to Taehyung’s mouth again. Something about it makes Taehyung even more desperate, his breath shuddering out of him in a soft sound awful close to a gasp when he feels Yoongi’s hand slide onto his thigh, their lips close enough that Taehyung can feel the heat of Yoongi’s against his own and—

And then they’re touching, Yoongi’s lips on his, the lightest pressure, softer than they looked because they’re always softer than they look, even though they look like the softest thing in the whole entire world and Yoongi tastes like—

Actually, Taehyung has no idea what Yoongi tastes like, because the second he’s over the softness of Yoongi’s lips, just as he’s starting to melt into it, Yoongi’s mouth is gone, leaving Taehyung there with slack lips, eyes fluttering open in surprise.

‘There’s your kiss,’ he says flatly, head turned to face front again and Taehyung swears he sees the hint of a smirk tugging up that one corner of his mouth he can see. ‘Now, shut the fuck up and leave me alone.’

‘Hyung, no,’ Taehyung groans – whines, really, letting his head drop down onto Yoongi’s shoulder, nuzzling in frustration, which was the most terrible idea because Yoongi smells good. Of course he smells good. He always smells good. Leather and the light mint of his shampoo, that subtle cologne he wears when he’s Making An Effort™, a faint tang of sweat underneath it all. Taehyung has the worst urge to bury his nose in the crook of Yoongi’s neck and just breathe for a little while, but he tamps that down, lifts his head, narrows his eyes, pouts.

Yoongi side-eyes him a little, but he doesn’t look like a man who’s about to be moved. He planned this, Taehyung realises, orchestrated that whole thing to get him worked up and squirming and hot, his cheeks flaming and his t-shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back underneath the jacket. His hand is still on Taehyung’s thigh, though, fingers shifting slightly as if to remind him that there’s going to be more to all this than quiet, sneaky kisses in the back of a bus.

‘You can wait,’ he says again, a touch softer, and Taehyung would beg to differ – he really would – but Yoongi has made up his mind, head turned now to look out the windows on the opposite side of the bus. Taehyung can’t even see his face anymore, but Yoongi’s hand his still there, thumb rubbing slow, little circles on the top of his thigh.

Taehyung takes a shaky breath in, steadies himself, slumps down in his seat to alleviate some of the pressure threatening in his jeans and turns his unfocused gaze to his own windows, the city lights sweeping past them.

He can wait.

 

 

The bus stop is only a couple metres from the entrance to their complex, situated conveniently close to a cosy-looking alley that Taehyung can’t help eyeing up as he steps down onto the rain-soaked pavement.

‘Hyung—‘ he begins, reaching out to snag at Yoongi’s elbow, but Yoongi’s having none of it, turning to face him, continuing to walk backward towards home.

He casts his eyes around, an eyebrow raised as if he’s concerned for Taehyung’s current state of mind. ‘What, you think this is better than the bus?’ he asks, pulling a hand from his jacket pocket to gesture generally at the light stream of night-time traffic moving past on the street.

Shrugging slightly, still walking with Yoongi, trying to catch up without making it obvious, Taehyung rolls his eyes with astonishing subtlety towards the alleyway, met with an immediate snort from Yoongi.

‘Oh, so now you wanna fuck in the alleyway?’ he asks, amused smirk seeming genuine enough that Taehyung feels a gentle flare of pride. When he doesn’t deny it, shrugs a little more instead, Yoongi snorts again, turning around to start walking properly. ‘I’m not getting naked in a fucking alleyway, Tae, come on.’

Ah,’ Taehyung coos, throwing pride to the wind and jogging a few paces to catch up to him, leaning in too close, shoulders bumping, ‘so you want me naked, huh, is that it?’

Yoongi shoots him a stony sideways look, holding it for a moment before he replies. ‘You’re definitely easier to deal with when you have no clothes on.’

‘Mm,’ Taehyung hums in agreement, keeping his gaze squinted on the buildings ahead in an attempt to maintain a straight face. ‘So are you, hyung.’

‘Fuck you,’ Yoongi mutters, but there isn’t much venom in it and out the corner of his eye, Taehyung sees him shove his hands back into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.

Taehyung lets his face fall pitifully, whipping out his best pout. ‘But I wanted to fuck you, hyung,’ he whines, bumping his shoulder into Yoongi’s again, though he doesn’t move away so much this time, stays close, watching Yoongi as he side-eyes him some more.

There’s still that amused curl to his mouth and Taehyung licks his own lips, wondering how that smirk might taste. ‘Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,’ Yoongi says, soft and low, his eyes dark and gleaming before they flick away, and Taehyung is less sure about what he wants all of a sudden – except for the kissing part. He definitely still wants the kissing. Lots of kissing and all this walking is definitely a waste of precious kissing time as far as he’s concerned.

They’re inside their complex now, the entrance and the street and the thin trickle of pedestrians left behind a few feet back. The pathway between the buildings is deserted and the carpark seems quiet too, most of the other students in the complex either asleep or out for the night. Taehyung has no idea what time it is, but he knows it’s too late for the stragglers and too early for the walks of shame. The chances of them being disturbed are so slim and while Taehyung’s not sure he cares much either way, he knows Yoongi does.

‘Hey, hyung,’ he says, trying to curb any whining edge his voice might have, reaching out to catch lightly at the back of Yoongi’s jacket.

‘No, Tae,’ he says flatly, as if he already knows what he’s about to say (which he probably does, Taehyung figures, if he’s being honest with himself).

‘But, hyung, there’s no one here,’ he whispers, leaning in far enough that he can speak right into Yoongi’s ear and maybe his arm slips around his waist to keep him from speeding off again, but Yoongi doesn’t try to pull away. It’s fine. ‘It’s deserted, no one’s even awake.’

Yoongi gestures up ahead, to the distant blue glow of the emergency light that hangs above the front door to their building. ‘We’re literally thirty seconds from the door,’ he mutters on a sigh, as if this whole thing is getting very tedious for him, but they both know for a fact that if Yoongi was pissed, Taehyung would not be getting away with that arm around the waist. He’d be getting shoved into next Tuesday and filthily sworn at and not in the hot way (kinda in the hot way). ‘You can wait.’

Taehyung tips his head back to groan at the sky. ‘But I did wait, hyung.’

‘You’re a big boy,’ Yoongi drawls, and Taehyung rights his head again in time to see Yoongi shaking his own in what appears to be amused disdain, ‘you can wait some more.’

Taehyung knows that he could resist the temptation if he wanted to, but the thrill of poking Yoongi’s buttons is always going to win with him, a grin spreading across his face as he tightens the arm around Yoongi’s waist. ‘Was that a reference to my dick, hyung?’ he asks, dropping his voice a good few octaves on purpose, his nose brushing Yoongi’s ear as he ducks in close to speak.

Yoongi, however, is unfazed. (Yoongi is always unfazed.) ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he mutters, tilting his head slightly away from Taehyung’s lips, though he makes no attempt to actually pull away.

Taehyung lets his grin slip back comfortably onto his face. ‘Well, I don’t have to, hyung, you’re doing it for me,’ he points out, and when Yoongi rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt, Taehyung can’t stop the giggles that slip past his teeth, his forehead falling down onto Yoongi’s shoulder as he laughs.

Of course, this slows them both down, Yoongi sighing heavily, the breath shifting Taehyung’s hair. He wonders if those few shots he did with Jimin somehow managed to go to his head, or if it’s a full moon or something, with madness in the air, because Taehyung feels terribly giddy all of a sudden, his grin wide and the laughter light in his chest. Or maybe it’s just Yoongi because Taehyung can’t quite figure out when his smell became so familiar.

‘Tae, are you gonna—wait, are you smelling me?’ Yoongi demands, stopping dead without any warning, Taehyung catching Yoongi’s arm with his free hand just to steady himself before he sends them both sprawling to the wet concrete. Naturally, this leads to both Taehyung’s arms wrapping around Yoongi’s waist from behind, his nose still pressed to the leather at his shoulder, eyes shut because this is all he wanted to do on the bus. Breathe him in, maybe drown a little bit. It’d be a lot nicer if he could also kiss his neck or something, but Taehyung knows when to stop pushing his luck.

‘No,’ he mumbles, smirking quietly to himself at the blatant lie. ‘You smell really good, hyung,’ he adds, softer, tilting his head to the side so it’s his cheek on Yoongi’s shoulder instead. He can see him, though the angle is strange; Yoongi’s jaw looks sharp enough to carve a diamond and his eyes are too dark before he looks away.

He grunts or something, sounding a little disgusted. ‘You’re so fucking weird,’ he mutters, his fingers curling around Taehyung’s wrist, though there’s no pressure in them. ‘Yah, get off me.’

‘I will if you kiss me,’ Taehyung counters, smiling up at him from his spot down on his shoulder – a fair trade, he reckons, though Yoongi seems to disagree.

‘You serious?’ he sighs, looking down at Taehyung again, the angle turning his eyes to black slits.

As best he can, Taehyung nods. ‘The most serious,’ he says solemnly, one of his hands, slipping underneath Yoongi’s jacket because it’s warmer in there and Yoongi seems to be feeling generous tonight, so Taehyung is going to take until he hits the inevitable brick wall of Min Yoongi’s Don’t Fucking Touch Me scowl. ‘And I don’t mean the same evil crap you pulled last time, hyung,’ he adds, nosing at the collar of Yoongi’s jacket. ‘I need—‘

‘Oh, you need now?’ Yoongi scoffs, and the way his eyes are crinkled slightly at the corners makes it look a lot like he’s trying to fight a smile as he turns out of his grip to face Taehyung.

Taehyung nods. ‘Yeah, hyung,’ he whispers, and he means it, because Yoongi’s hands are curving around his hips and he’s stepping in closer, Taehyung’s hands left with nowhere to go but his shoulders. His fingers are quickly unsatisfied by the lack of skin and they sneak upward to Yoongi’s neck.

Yoongi has the definite hints of a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth now, even as his head tilts upward. He looks… He looks soft. Playful. His eyes gleaming in the dark, his nose bumping lightly against Taehyung’s like he’s trying to tell him to get a move on.

(I think he likes you.)

Taehyung laughs, once, quiet, the sound all breathy and shaky, which he’d blame on the cold if anyone asked, but he’s not cold. He’s warm and Yoongi’s lips are warmer and his breath is even warmer again, fanning over his cheek as their mouths meet, almost like a sigh. Taehyung wonders if Yoongi’s been aching for this too, even just a little, and the quiet noise he makes when Taehyung sucks gently on his lower lip lets Taehyung humour himself with the idea that yeah – yeah, maybe Yoongi needed this just as bad as he did.

It’s slow at first, almost tentative, as if Yoongi’s still wary of where they are, holding back enough that Taehyung doesn’t want to push him. Still, he keeps kissing him, soft, quiet brushes of his mouth on Yoongi’s, barely even within the regulations of what constitutes an actual kiss, but Taehyung likes it. Likes the way Yoongi’s lips react regardless, catching lightly on his own. Likes the way Yoongi steps in closer after a while when Taehyung’s hands move to cup his neck properly, his fingertips pushing into the hair at Yoongi’s nape. It’s damp again from the dewy mist of drizzle coating the city, their skin and the kiss getting a little slippery even without the help of any actual tongues, but Taehyung barely notices it, more focused on Yoongi’s hands letting go of his hips to move up his back in the space between his jacket and t-shirt, the heat of his chest against Taehyung’s.

It’s seamless almost, the way the kiss shifts from possibly a certifiable kiss to a fully registered kiss with papers and everything to show for itself. It starts with the soft graze of Yoongi’s teeth on Taehyung’s lower lip and Taehyung can’t hold back the quiet groan that rumbles in his throat because he needs this. He needs this so bad. And that groan does something, has Yoongi’s fingers curling into the thin fabric of Taehyung’s shirt, has him surging into the kiss in a way that makes Taehyung pretty darn sure he’s standing on his toes now, but he doesn’t have much time to think on that before—

Shit, Tae,’ Yoongi growls, a flush of heat trickling down through Taehyung at the sudden gravel in his voice, the sudden force behind his mouth. He’s not giving it his all, Taehyung knows that; Yoongi’s lips are still soft and his tongue is still teasing, but his breathing’s picked up, gotten heavier, and when he gasps into his mouth, Taehyung tastes that hint of beer again, the barely there mint of his toothpaste.

Moaning quietly against his mouth as Yoongi’s tongue traces the seam of his lips, Taehyung lets his hands slide up, fingers curling gently into Yoongi’s hair, earning himself a low hum of approval and a proper kiss. The kind of kiss Taehyung has been waiting on, Yoongi’s tongue sliding thick and hot against his own, knocking the breath right out of him, a whimper catching his throat. He doesn’t do it on purpose, but he knows Yoongi likes the sounds he makes, and he can’t help but smile when the whimper only has Yoongi pressing in closer, his hands dropping and—oh.

‘Oh, fuck, hyung,’ Taehyung breathes, because Yoongi’s hands have slipped down into his back pockets, fingertips digging into his ass through the denim, and Taehyung’s jeans definitely weren’t this tight five minutes ago. What’s really great about it though, is the way Yoongi’s grip brings their hips closer together and Taehyung finds out in the best way possible that he’s not only one who’s going to need to be without his jeans pretty soon.

There’s no friction, not really, no way to achieve it right now without busting some awkward moves in the parking lot, but Yoongi’s mouth is hot and wet and his teeth are terrifying and his grip on Taehyung’s ass is the most perfect thing that’s happened all night, and maybe Taehyung needs so much more than this, but it’s okay. For now, it’s okay, nipping at Yoongi’s tongue to make his breath catch and tugging on his hair to get him to make that rough noise low in his throat, which only makes Taehyung harder, if he’s honest, but whatever.

It’s good. It’s good enough to get lost in and Taehyung throws himself in headfirst, losing track of where they are or how long they’ve been here, and he reckons that Yoongi must do the same.

Which is probably why they both jump halfway out of their respective skins when a lewd wolf-whistle cuts suddenly through the still night air.

They break apart immediately, Yoongi’s head whipping around for the source of the noise, Taehyung’s gaze also flicking curiously around the parking lot, though he’s more concerned with Yoongi and how fucking dead he’s going to be after promising no one would see them here.

‘Yo, get a room, Kim!’ a voice yells, coming from one of the windows high above and Taehyung shuts his eyes with a quiet curse as he recognises the voice. There’s some distant cackling and the dull thud of a window being tugged shut before the only sounds left are the muffled city roar and their own heavy breathing.

‘What the fuck?’ Yoongi says, and Taehyung cracks open an eye to survey the damage.

In the dark parking lot, Yoongi is a picture painted in blues and blacks, tousled hair and dark, dazed eyes. He looks beautiful – really fucking beautiful – but he doesn’t seem angry, eyebrows slanted in plain confusion. Taehyung realises that his hands have slipped from Taehyung’s ass back up to his hips, but he hasn’t pulled away, his thumbs tucked under the hem of Taehyung’s t-shirt, resting snugly in the dips of his hipbones.

‘I—uh—Jackson,’ Taehyung stammers out, because he was ready for death, but Yoongi doesn’t seem in the mood to deliver it. It’s jarring, to say the least, has him blinking fast in surprise.

‘Jackson?’ Yoongi echoes, eyebrow arching up. ‘Who’s Jackson? You know him?’

‘Neighbour,’ Taehyung replies. ‘Exchange student. He’s from Hong Kong.

‘Ah,’ he says, nodding slightly, understanding smoothing out the lines of his forehead. ‘Is he the one who can’t speak Korean?’

‘No, he’s the one with the good Korean,’ Taehyung explains. ‘His roommate’s from Thailand, though. His Korean’s not so good yet, but he’s doing well. We’re helping him.’ Taehyung pauses a moment, still catching his breath from all the kissing, from the fright, from the way Yoongi’s lips are still flushed bright. ‘His, uh… his current main focus is pickup lines.’

‘An important module,’ Yoongi murmurs, smirking a little.

‘Yeah.’ Taehyung laughs softly. ‘He’s, uh, very enthusiastic.’

‘Are they working for him?’ Yoongi asks, but the way his thumbs stroke absently along the lines of Taehyung’s hips and the way his gaze keeps dropping unashamedly to his mouth is just a tiny bit distracting.

‘He’s… he’s doing his best,’ Taehyung murmurs, tongue running out over his own lower lip, heat coiling in his stomach when Yoongi’s eyes follow the motion with the kind of intensity that makes it hard to breathe and he just wants to kiss him again.

But Yoongi is pulling back, his hands gone from Taehyung’s hips, stepping out of Taehyung’s grip. He jerks his head a little, motioning towards the door, stuffing his hands back into his pockets like he’s just starting to notice the cold again – Taehyung knows the feeling, chill air suddenly harsh on his cheeks and neck.

‘C’mon, let’s get inside,’ Yoongi murmurs, starting across the carpark again, leaving Taehyung to count to five, steady himself and follow quickly behind him.

 

 

The lobby of their building is as deserted as always and the geriatric elevator is on the ninth floor as always and will likely take 20 minutes just to huff its rusty way down to them as always. Yoongi stabs the call button a couple times and leans back against the wall next to it, obscuring the Sharpie sign telling people that continuous pressing of the call button will not make the elevator move faster.

The flickering fluorescent lights of the lobby are about as unforgiving as lighting gets, giving every dark circle, blackhead and long forgotten acne scar its chance to shine, but Yoongi still manages to look like one of those urban grunge photographs Jungkook used to collect during his emo phase. With his leather jacket, scuffed boots, tattered jeans, the hood-ruffled mess of his hair and the piercings glinting on his ear. The faint marks still visible on his neck and the sharp curve of his jaw also help. All he’s missing now is a cigarette and a few tattoos – though, come to think of it, Taehyung’s fairly sure he’d cry if Yoongi got that skin of his all marked up with ink. It’s too soft, too fragile for that, too precious (and maybe Taehyung kind of likes knowing that the only manmade marks on Yoongi’s skin have been put there by him).

The distant sound of the elevator beginning its creaky descent snaps Taehyung out of his warm and twisty thoughts. By now, they really could’ve taken the stairs, but he’s tried proposing that idea to Yoongi before and sure as shit won’t be trying again (the look he got still makes him shudder sometimes). The look he’s getting now, however, isn’t much better on the shuddering front. It’s the kind of dark gaze Taehyung can never quite figure out, though the heat the throbs softly in the pit of his stomach suggests that maybe his body knows more about that look than it’s letting on.

‘You were staring again,’ Yoongi informs him, though he doesn’t seem all that bothered this time. He seems relaxed, shoulders low, head tipped back against the wall. Maybe it’s this that sends a cheeky shot of courage through Taehyung, wandering over to lean against the wall next to him.

‘You look good,’ he says bluntly, because they’re alone and the elevator’s on its way and he really doesn’t see the point making up excuses. He shrugs when Yoongi’s eyebrow hitches up a little, making him look almost amused, but Yoongi doesn’t say anything, drops his gaze, picks lazily at his fingernails while they listen to the elevator rattling down towards them.

When it arrives, it comes in with a bang as always, the metallic clang echoing loud enough for Taehyung to wince as he turns to the doors. They scrape open sounding like they’d really rather be doing anything else in the world and Taehyung moves to get inside. He’s barely two steps into the elevator when he jumps at the feeling of hands catching his hips. Yoongi’s grip is tight as he turns him round, backs him up against the cool metal wall without a word, just that same dark look that makes Taehyung gulp, nerves and excitement thick in his throat. And that’s all he does for a moment – he looks, eyes sliding slowly from Taehyung’s face, down his throat, over his collarbones, his chest, his palm slipping up to press him back more securely against the wall before dropping down to join his other hand in stroking lightly along the skin just above Taehyung’s waistband.

Taehyung licks his lips, nervous habit, taking a slow breath to steady himself before Yoongi brings his gaze back up again, his eyes lingering, heavy-lidded, on Taehyung’s mouth. It’s like he wants to watch as he moves a hand lower to palm at Taehyung’s hardening cock through his jeans – not that Taehyung has to work to put on a show for him. He’s already half hard, the rough fabric with no softer barrier almost too much, breath hissing out between his teeth as his head tips back against the elevator wall with a dull metallic thud. His nails scrape against the metal before he brings them up, fingers digging instead into Yoongi’s biceps and Taehyung’s not sure if it’s to get him to stop or to get him to give him more.

He groans softly, his stomach doing something hot and acrobatic as Yoongi’s mouth moves in to find the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucking the skin gently into his mouth. Taehyung’s head lolls automatically to the side, breath hitching when the pressure of Yoongi’s palm on his crotch becomes a lot heavier, his breathing quick and hot against Taehyung’s throat.

Hyung,’ he says, almost too far gone to be embarrassed at the fact that he’s all but whining, his voice thin and nearing desperate because it’s good, it’s really good, but it’s all at once not enough and too much and Taehyung’s head spins with it.

He feels Yoongi pressing closer, his own hips rolling forward shallowly to grind himself against Taehyung’s thigh enough for him to feel the vague outline of his cock through his jeans, and Taehyung can’t help but gasp, neck arching, fingers weaving into Yoongi’s hair as his teeth lightly trace the length of his jugular, up to the curve of his jaw. Taehyung shudders when Yoongi’s lips move to suck at his earlobe, breath hot against his cheek as Yoongi seems to pause for a breather – but his hand doesn’t let up and that pressure against Taehyung’s cock is growing rapidly from pleasure to the dull burn of overstimulation. His nails dig into Yoongi’s bicep as he hisses through his teeth.

Ah—s’too much, hyung—god, please,’ he croaks out. He doesn’t really know what he’s asking for, but Yoongi seems to, removing his hand immediately, leaning away to hit a button on the panel.

By the time he’s back, the elevator doors are rattling shut, and Yoongi’s fingers are making such quick work of Taehyung’s button and fly that his hand is already on Taehyung’s cock by the time Taehyung manages to choke out a groan, his forehead creasing, eyes squeezing shut because god he needs this so bad.

‘Shit,’ Yoongi breathes, and Taehyung’s eyes flicker open to find Yoongi staring at him as he curls his fingers around his cock. His lips are still a tad swollen, cheeks flushed, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat under the dim elevator lights. His eyelids hang low, but he sounds awestricken, kind of. Harsher, maybe, like awestricken that’s been charred in the pits of hell, turning it dark and rough and sinful. His grip tightens. ‘Shit, Tae, you weren’t joking.’

If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s so worked up that his legs are shaking from this teasing alone, Taehyung might laugh at the surprise in Yoongi’s voice. What did he expect? ‘I—I know you like it,’ he manages to pant.

One day in particular sprang to mind earlier when Taehyung tossed his boxers back in the drawer, reached straight for his jeans instead – a couple weeks back, when Yoongi came over on one of Taehyung’s designated lazy days, found out the hard way that he doesn’t like wearing boxers under his sweats on said designated lazy days. Yoongi fucked him into the couch till Taehyung came so hard he swears he blacked out for a second and he 10/10 would recommend it to a friend.

Yeah—fuck, yeah, I like it,’ Yoongi practically moans now, his head falling forward against Taehyung’s collarbone as if he needs to gather himself, and somehow that makes it worse, has Taehyung’s hips bucking up, fucking himself into Yoongi’s fist already because Yoongi likes it and Taehyung can’t help that sense of pride at pulling Yoongi apart so much and so early on.

Hyung—‘ he groans, and Yoongi seems to get the idea.

His mouth finds Taehyung’s again almost immediately and Taehyung’s groans of frustration at Yoongi’s teasing touches trail off into a hum of pleasure against his lips. His hips still jerk forward, desperate for more and Yoongi’s grip doesn’t tighten much, but he starts to move his hand, the pressure too light, the slide too dry, but god, it’s good enough for now, has Taehyung’s hips squirming even as Yoongi slips a hand up underneath his shirt to his stomach, keeping him pinned back against the wall.

The kisses are teasing, soft and shallow, nowhere near enough tongue, but there’s this quiver of restraint in every brush of Yoongi’s mouth against his that has Taehyung convinced he must be feeling some of this same desperation, tight in his chest, throbbing low in his stomach. His hunch is all but confirmed when he moves his hands back up to grab mindlessly at more than cup Yoongi’s jaw, tugging him in deeper and meeting no kind of resistance. No sharp nippy teeth telling him he’d best behave or warnings growled against his lips, just Yoongi’s hot, wet mouth opening right up for him, his hand picking up the pace on Taehyung’s cock, a moan catching in his throat.

Taehyung figures he should have something against this, really, having his dick out and in Yoongi’s fist right here in the elevator, but if he’s being honest, it isn’t the first time – ever, or even with Yoongi. He has no idea if there are cameras, but with Yoongi’s free hand slipping down the back of his jeans to grip his bare ass as he continues stroking at his cock, Taehyung can’t bring himself to care. Even when the elevator grinds to a halt and the doors slide open, he’s too busy choking back noises as Yoongi sucks at his lower lip to pay much attention. Anyone could’ve been standing there waiting, a distant part of his mind realises, but Taehyung ignores it in favour of humming his frustration against Yoongi’s mouth.

‘Hyung—‘ he starts to moan, but Yoongi cuts him off before he can get any further.

‘Save it,’ he murmurs, suddenly withdrawing his hands from all parts of Taehyung, answering his desperate, questioning look with a steady stare of his own, a gentle tilt to the corner of his mouth.

He’s enjoying this too much, Taehyung thinks, barely registering that Yoongi has tugged his jeans closed for him, refastening the button, until he’s stepping away without another word, leaving Taehyung slumped against the elevator wall.

Knees weak, heart hammering, cock throbbing in his jeans, Taehyung stands there a moment, reaching up to rub at his face and try to collect himself. Each wall of the elevator is set with a strip of mirrored glass and he happens to catch sight of himself in one. He looks like he’s been through untold horrors, eyes wide, lips slack, cheeks flushed, his chest heaving with every breath, marks blooming soft pink on his throat. He looks wrecked and all he’s had is an unfinished, half-assed handjob in the elevator. He almost dreads seeing himself when this is all over, but there’s a part of him that craves it and it’s probably that part that gets him to take a deep breath and push himself away from the wall, stumble out of the elevator, down the hallway on clumsy feet.

By the time he catches up, Yoongi already has his apartment door open, fingers curling into the front of Taehyung’s jeans, tugging him inside and shutting the door. He’s got his jacket off, too, Taehyung notes, as his fingers skim bare arms before finding Yoongi’s waist, fists curling into the fabric and pulling him close as Yoongi deepens the kiss.

It’s desperate, all of a sudden – more desperate now with closed doors and privacy and the promise of soft surfaces. Yoongi licks into his mouth, tongue stealing the breath right out of Taehyung’s lungs, and he feels Yoongi gripping hard onto his shoulders for balance as he trips out of his boots (because he never ties his goddamn laces) before they stumble out of the entryway.

This is the part where Taehyung places both their lives in the hands of Min Yoongi, blindly following his lead through the apartment to the living area. Their mutual stubborn refusal to quit the kissing for ten seconds in order to get from door to couch or bed has almost gotten them killed more than once in the past, but tonight, with both of them more or less sober, they make it alive. Taehyung feels the backs of his calves hit the couch base and a distant part of him wonders when Yoongi managed to turn them around, but it doesn’t matter. Yoongi’s pushing him onto the couch and he’s settling down to straddle Taehyung’s lap and his hands are on Taehyung’s neck, pushing into his hair, and very little else matters at all.

The kisses are frantic and messy, six parts saliva, four parts heavy breathing, with lips and tongues and teeth thrown in on top and it probably shouldn’t even be hot – Taehyung’s pretty sure his nose just got caught in the fray and his chin is definitely damp – but he couldn’t care less right now. Not when he has his hands on Yoongi’s skin and the taste of him in his mouth, can feel his cock hard against his hip when he ruts down. It’s only been two weeks – less than two weeks, really – but somehow it feels like triple the time since he last felt the weight of Yoongi on top of him like this, months since he got to hear the way his breathing gets all shaky when he’s turned on. It’s only been two weeks, but it’s been too long and Taehyung needs this so bad he can barely stand it, eyes fluttering shut with a hiss of breath as Yoongi ducks down to kiss his neck again – properly this time, no teasing pecks and brushes of his lips, just wet heat and that sweet, stinging tingle when he sucks hard.

His throat is going to be a mess – that much is clear pretty early on – and with the holiday season shoots coming up, his manager is going to kill him, but Taehyung’s not about to stop Yoongi, not when it feels this good and every teasing graze of Yoongi’s teeth on his skin makes him shiver into the cushions. Taehyung tilts his head back and all but asks for more, fingers threading through the tangled strands of Yoongi’s hair as his tongue traces the line of his collarbone, pausing in the dip between to suck another mark. He has to come up for air eventually, even with the rapper’s lungs, reappearing with his eyes glazed and his mouth slick and sweat shining across his flushed cheekbones again. He looks a lot like he did when he staggered off stage, drunk on something distinctly stronger than any kind of alcohol. In this case, Taehyung guesses that thing might be him, but before he has time to think much on that, Yoongi’s scooting back slightly.

Taehyung doesn’t even bother trying to hold down the desperate whimper rising in his throat when Yoongi’s fingers fumble at the button of his jeans again, his fingers digging into Yoongi’s thighs, feeling skin through the rips in the denim, watching with heavy eyes as Yoongi spits filthily onto his palm and—

Sh-shit—’

The word is groaned, long and strained, when Yoongi’s fingers wrap around his length, and Taehyung thinks it’s one of the universe’s greatest cruelties that his own lubed-up palm feels guilty and unsatisfying, when Yoongi’s feels like this, one slick slide of his hand enough to send shudders through Taehyung, have him gasping into his mouth. Those touches in the elevator seem like torture now compared to this, these firm, smooth strokes of Yoongi’s fingers, no fucking around anymore. Yoongi’s other hand comes up to Taehyung’s neck, tilting his head to a better angle, sitting up a little higher on his knees to kiss him in that slow, deep way that makes Taehyung want to just kind of crawl inside his mouth and live there, weird and unsexy as that image might be. Yoongi’s tongue is thick and hot and dizzying against his own, grip around his cock tightening in tiny, increasing increments that are making it very hard for Taehyung to catch his breath between sighs and groans and gritted curses.

It feels incredible, but while Yoongi’s hand might be slick and soft and highly skilled in the art of coaxing Kim Taehyung to a blinding orgasm in under ten minutes, it’s not enough. Not right now. Right now, Taehyung needs so much more that he can barely stand it.

Gathering himself to sit up a little straighter, mouth pressing harder against Yoongi’s, Taehyung slips his hands under Yoongi’s t-shirt, palms smoothing over the juts of his hipbones, fabric bunching around his wrists as he pushes upwards. Yoongi chooses the exact moment that Taehyung’s mouth meets his throat to dig his thumb mercilessly into his leaking slit, earning himself a none-too-gentle scrape of teeth as Taehyung groans loud, pressing his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck to try and tamp down the inevitable heat tightening low in his gut. He feels Yoongi’s fingers fist in his hair with a hiss at the sting, but they both know he likes it – likes it even more when Taehyung angles his head to suck at the redness, tongue flicking out gently to soothe. That soon has the hiss replaced with a hitch in Yoongi’s breath that sounds a little too much like Tae.

‘Hyung,’ he croaks, sliding his hands back out from underneath his t-shirt to tug at the hem instead. ‘Hyung, off.’

And after another maddening slide of his palm over the head of Taehyung’s cock, he obliges, leaning back in Taehyung’s lap, trusting in the hands steadying his hips, and catching at the end of his shirt, pulling it up over his head in one smooth motion. Taehyung wishes he wouldn’t do it so fast, give him a little time to prepare or something, because he’s never quite ready for this – the strange and breathtaking contrasts of Yoongi’s chest and stomach, the faint but solid muscle underneath the fragile skin, the delicate juts of bones giving some illusion of vulnerability. Taehyung knows damn well Yoongi could floor him in under a second, but seeing him like this always makes some odd, soft thing flare up inside his chest and he has to remind himself that hugging is not okay unless there’s a tongue in a mouth.

So, Taehyung settles for touching instead, his fingertips running down the slight bumps of Yoongi’s ribs, his lips moving in to mouth gently at the shallow divot in the centre of his chest. He kisses his way right up and along Yoongi’s shoulder, making his way back across to his neck as his palms slide to get reacquainted with the planes of Yoongi’s back (maybe with a brief pit stop at his ass, whatever) and Yoongi doesn’t even stop him like he sometimes would (Quit fucking around, Tae, Jesus – where’s the lube?), which is nice. Yoongi’s hands and breath in his hair are pretty nice, too, and feeling the low hum of Yoongi’s groan under his lips is a lot more than nice. It rolls through Taehyung and sets the hairs at his nape on edge, has him moving quickly in search of Yoongi’s mouth again, finding it without even trying – it seems he wasn’t the only one with that idea.

Dicks miraculously forgotten for the time being, Taehyung lets his hands move over Yoongi’s skin, pulling them away only when he feels Yoongi trying to push his jacket down off his shoulders. He yanks his arms out quickly and lets Yoongi toss it to the floor, refusing to break this kiss for something as trivial as a designer brand jacket that cost him three months’ wages. Doing the thing where his teeth catch Yoongi’s lip and tug hard to make him huff out a breathy groan is definitely more important. It’s more rewarding, too, with Yoongi pressing closer, fingers under Taehyung’s jaw titling his head up to deliver those heavy, warm sorts of kisses that turn his bones to butter.

‘Hyung—god, fuck—how’re we—what d’you want? What’re we doing?’ he chokes out in the brief moments Yoongi’s mouth isn’t on his, and usually Taehyung isn’t such a stickler for the details, all for spontaneity, but he’s fairly sure he’s in danger of coming right here on the couch in his jeans if they don’t get going with things.

When Yoongi pulls back, he’s panting at least as hard as Taehyung and Taehyung is a little transfixed by the way his bare chest rises and falls, the quiet movement of bone and muscle rolling under skin. Yoongi’s eyes look glazed, a little vague, punch-drunk, his mouth a slick, swollen, kiss-stained mess when he brings his hand up to rub the back of his wrist over it. He’s blinking the way Taehyung’s noticed he does when he’s thinking hard about something, but he seems to find his answer pretty quick.

‘You’re gonna fuck me,’ he says simply, but with no room for argument – not that Taehyung would dare even if he wanted to.

(Which he doesn’t, for the record. He really doesn’t.)

Maybe he whimpers at the words, but he covers it up fast. ‘Y-yeah, I can, um… I can do that,’ he mumbles, barely getting the chance to finish before Yoongi’s putting his mouth to better use by mashing it against his own, biting softly on Taehyung’s lower lip to make him gasp.

‘I know you can,’ Taehyung hears him breathe, between one kiss and the next. It’s so soft that Taehyung could almost convince himself he heard wrong – it was the wind, next door’s shower, a trick of the silence – but he doesn’t want to do that either. What he wants to do is catch Yoongi’s waist and shift them round and press him back into the cushions and push over him to kiss him till he’s rolling his hips up against Taehyung’s, hissing threats into his ears to try and get Taehyung to touch him. So, that’s what he does, meeting no resistance from Yoongi, instead being dragged down again by the back of his neck before he even has the chance to arrange himself properly. With a grunt, he lands his full weight on Yoongi, though Yoongi doesn’t seem to care and after a split second, neither does Taehyung.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Yoongi kisses, soft and almost ticklish one minute, hard and frantic the next, from chaste and teasing to filthy and demanding in the blink of an eye. It’s as unpredictable as the goddamn wind, but it never gets boring. Whether he’s melting under the light brushes of Yoongi’s lips or moaning with want as Yoongi sucks on his tongue, Taehyung is never bored, never anything less than dizzy and hot and so turned on it hurts to think about anything other this. It’s a little like getting drunk without the bad parts, the lightness without the creeping nausea, the confidence without the blurry vision – confidence born from the fact that what little filter he has just sort of melts away in the pool of fuzzy goo his mind has become and—

God, I missed you,’ Taehyung breathes before he can think twice about it, and he knows as soon as he’s said it that it was a stupid fucking thing to say, knows even before he tenses up in shock at his own words that he’s probably messed everything up, that he should be backtracking already, replacing “you” with “this” at least and—

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi mumbles between kisses, his words warm in Taehyung’s mouth. ‘Yeah—me too.’

And there’s a moment, right after Taehyung goes still, that Yoongi seems to realise what he just said – what they both just said – pulling back slightly with his face slack and his eyes dazed. For once, there’s a crack in his careful mask and Taehyung can see the same flicker of panic and confusion that just went through his own mind reflected back at him on Yoongi’s face. The sinking feeling that rushes through him is something worse than terror, his mouth opening to speak, shutting again without a sound. Because the tiny part of Taehyung’s brain that hasn’t frozen up like a rabbit in the headlights seems to know what it’s doing, seems to realise that talking is what got him into this mess and probably won’t help him get out of it.

It’s this revelation that snaps some of his senses back into action mode because it’s ruined if he doesn’t push it, frozen and awkward, bound to escalate into the rushed gathering of clothes and Taehyung being asked to leave. It’s ruined if he doesn’t push it and maybe it’s ruined if he does, too, but Taehyung thinks it’s worth the risk, steadying himself on his elbows, steeling himself for his next move.

Yoongi’s face is still the same shade of closed-off and tight, but Taehyung keeps going, inching downward slow and careful, eyes clinging to every slight movement of Yoongi’s face. Yoongi doesn’t speak, though, his only reaction the line pinching between his eyebrows and Taehyung’s half certain that’s it – that line, right there, is the thing that’s going to stop this, to push him away any second now.

But when their noses finally brush, it’s Yoongi who seems to snap, who surges up to meet him hard enough that Taehyung grunts in surprise. And he knows that this – Yoongi’s mouth moving sudden and frantic against his own, his hands clawing at Taehyung’s shirt, his back, his neck, pulling him down closer – it’s a wordless agreement: I’m too horny to deal with this right now. Shut up and take your clothes off. (He can almost hear the words in Yoongi’s voice, grumbling in his ear and it takes everything he’s got not to smile as kisses him back.)

It moves quickly from there, Yoongi growling at him to get rid of his fucking shirt, Taehyung doing as he’s told before diving right back in again. Yoongi’s leg ends up hooked around one of his, somehow, the leverage allowing him to roll his hips up against Taehyung’s, his hand wandering down the back of Taehyung’s jeans again and Taehyung can’t help the way that has him grinding down harder against Yoongi, gasping into his mouth.

‘Tae,’ Yoongi croaks, after god knows how long, both of them breathing way too heavy, Yoongi’s hand slipping back out from his jeans, up his back. ‘Tae, we need to, like—’

‘Bedroom?’ Taehyung pants out.

‘S’too cold for couch fucking,’ he grumbles. ‘And I don’t want carpet burns on my knees again.’

Taehyung can’t argue with that (although he does think Yoongi’s knees look prettiest when bruised).

Taehyung,’ Yoongi grunts, giving his shoulder an impatient (if half-assed) shove when Taehyung keeps mouthing at his neck, too caught up in the way Yoongi arches into him to want to stop.

‘Okay, I’m moving, I’m moving,’ he assures him quickly, nearly tripping over the coffee table in his haste to get off the couch. Hauling himself to his feet, Yoongi catches him by the arm, steadying him with a roll of his eyes, but he doesn’t bother letting go of Taehyung’s wrist as he tugs him towards the bedroom, which kind of takes the sting out of that look.

It’s a well-worn routine at this point, Taehyung dropping down onto the edge of the bed, hunching over to deal with his boot laces while Yoongi roots around in a desk drawer for the condoms and lube. Taehyung slips his second boot off just as Yoongi’s shutting the drawer, and he leans back on his hands to watch Yoongi fumble with the new lube bottle in his hands, picking at the sealed cap to try and get it open. It’s not really the bottle that holds Taehyung’s attention, though, or his hands, nice as they are. It’s the slope and shallow dips of his torso stained in bars of black and orange from the streetlight leaking through the blinds. It’s the way his jeans hang too low on his hips without a belt and his bare toes curl against the cold wood floor.

‘How many fucking times, Taehyung,’ he grumbles, finally popping the cap off, dropping the plastic wrapping onto the desk without a care and turning to pin Taehyung with a lazy glower. ‘You’re gawping at me like I’m fucking zoo animal.’

This time, Taehyung doesn’t bother with excuses or explanations. He keeps watching, chewing on his lower lip as Yoongi starts back towards the bed, his bare feet almost silent on the floor.

‘Hey, wait,’ he says softly, before Yoongi can move past him to drop onto the bed.

He stops, stands there, a few steps short of being between Taehyung’s legs, and stares down at him with an eyebrow raised. ‘What?’ he demands, though there’s no bite behind it, just a touch of impatience. ‘Yah, come on, spit it out. Moving around isn’t good for my boner.’

Almost grinning to himself, Taehyung thinks of a few choice comments to do with Yoongi’s dick being as lazy as its owner, but he doesn’t have a death wish. He holds his tongue and scoots forward to the edge of the bed, catches hold of Yoongi’s hips.

Yoongi seems to realise pretty quick what’s going on (probably around the time Taehyung starts unbuttoning his jeans – bit of a giveaway, really) and stops glowering so much, scowl softening out as he watches Taehyung’s fingers work at his fly and tug his jeans down, watches him glance up through his lashes as he leans forward to kiss Yoongi’s stomach, hands smoothing up the backs of his thighs, over his hips, to find the waistband of his boxers.

Taehyung’s slow about tugging them down, busy kissing down the line of thin, dark hair underneath Yoongi’s bellybutton, watching his lips part that way they do when he’s turned on and has nothing else to do with his mouth. Even when he has them down far enough to expose the head of Yoongi’s cock, he slows on purpose, moving to kiss the skin just to the right, nipping lightly with his teeth when Yoongi bites his lip in a sign of clear frustration. He breathes in sharply at that and Taehyung can feel the shudder of it under his lips.

‘How’s your boner now?’ he murmurs, pecking softly at the spot he just bit, grinning a little too wide when Yoongi’s mouth twitches. He moves his lips just a little to the left, the next gentle kiss landing on the flushed tip of Yoongi’s cock. ‘Is it feeling better, hyung?’

Without a word, Yoongi tosses the lube onto the bed somewhere behind Taehyung, his hand coming up to scrape Taehyung’s bangs off his forehead, fingers weaving through the strands. He doesn’t tug or pull, he knows that’s not the way to get Taehyung going, just lets his fingertips scratch softly, almost soothing, against his scalp, his teeth releasing his lip with a faint gasp as Taehyung’s tongue rolls languidly over the head of his cock.

He doesn’t break eye contact, not yet while he can still watch the need darkening in Yoongi’s eyes and the way the colour rises up his throat, into his cheeks, flushing right up to his temples. Taehyung keeps tugging at the band of Yoongi’s boxers as his mouth does his best to rile him up, the kind of wet and dirty laves of his tongue around the leaking tip that could drive a man mad pretty quick. But Taehyung doesn’t want to drive him mad. He just wants to hear him choke out his name that way he does sometimes, get so lost in the feeling of Taehyung’s mouth that his fist curls tight in his hair and he rushes to apologise, breathless and hoarse, because Yoongi’s the kind of guy who remembers that stuff – go figure. Taehyung keeps tugging on the band of Yoongi’s boxers till they fall away, pooling around his ankles, and maybe his hands slide right back up Yoongi’s thighs to find his ass, but whatever – it’s not as if Yoongi doesn’t like it, cock twitching against Taehyung’s lips as he glances up through his lashes one last time before—

‘Oh—oh, f-fuck, Tae—‘

And there it is, that choked groan he’s been waiting for. The first syllable of his name has never sounded better than rasping from Yoongi’s throat as Taehyung’s mouth slides down around his cock. The salt tang of it hits him like a freight train because it’s been two weeks, but it’s still been too long and he’s never been the hugest fan of the taste of anyone’s dick, but something about this – about the light pressure of Yoongi’s fingers on the back of his head, and the tense muscles of his thighs under Taehyung’s hands, the weight of him on his tongue, the hitched curses whispering in and out of his lungs – something about it is definitely part of what he’s been craving.

Hands smoothing up over Yoongi’s hips and back down, Taehyung takes him as far as he can until his throat suggests that now might be a good time to stop. For once, Taehyung listens because Yoongi always comes quick like that – deep-throating is saved for time-sensitive library encounters and when Hoseok texts that he might be home early. Instead, he does his best with what he’s got, hollows his cheeks out around what he can easily take, pulls back until the point of his tongue flicks into Yoongi’s slit, making his hips stutter forward.

‘Tae—Jesus—‘ Yoongi’s words are stilted and breathy and Taehyung can feel the tension in them skittering down his spine, making him shiver as his fingertips press into the soft muscle of Yoongi’s ass, sucking him in deeper, just a little, nose barely brushing Yoongi’s stomach, just enough to get him to—

Fuck—fuck, Tae—shit, stop—‘ he stammers out, fist tightening in Taehyung’s hair for the sole purpose of pulling him away.

Panting, wiping spit from the corner of his mouth, Taehyung swears he sees the flicker of regret in Yoongi’s eyes the moment his lips have left his cock. He was clearly tugging on his own hair with the one not curled into Taehyung’s because it’s pushed off his forehead now in a mess of damp, blonde tangles, eyes gleaming, pupils blown, lips bitten bright. He wastes no time in shoving Taehyung back onto the bed, Yoongi’s mouth on his before he even has the chance to fully catch his breath. He gasps between kisses as Yoongi shoves at the waistband of his jeans, getting them down far enough for Taehyung to kick off, and then they’re both naked and Taehyung groans loud and hoarse at the feel of Yoongi’s skin on his. It’s everywhere – the hot press of his chest, the hardness of his cock against Taehyung’s, the strangely sweet tangle of their legs as Yoongi pushes him back against the headboard, mouthing hungrily down his throat.

There’s some shuffling to unknot limbs, so Yoongi can straddle him, but it only takes a moment before Yoongi is kissing him again, mumbling something into his mouth about finding the lube. With Yoongi’s head ducking down to suck at his throat, Taehyung’s head tilts back against the headboard, one hand patting blindly around the bed for the bottle, while the other is busy digging nails into Yoongi’s hip as he rolls down languidly against him, his cock still slick enough with Taehyung’s saliva that it’s good – too good. Before he knows it, his fingers are fisted in the sheets instead of patting, all thoughts of lube gone as Yoongi’s cock slides hot against his own, a hand in his hair to keep his head tilted to the side as he sucks hard enough to make Taehyung moan, the fingers of his other hand trailing down to tease at Taehyung’s nipple.

‘It’s on the nightstand,’ he murmurs, out of the blue, before his tongue flicks out to lick at a tingling spot on Taehyung’s neck, no doubt blooming bright already.

‘Wh-what?’ Taehyung stammers out, because his mind is mush and his limbs are jelly and his fingers and curled into the sheets and he has no idea what on earth Yoongi might be talking about.

‘The lube,’ he says, leaning over with what sounds a lot like a snort of laughter to grab the bottle himself. His hips have stilled and Taehyung kind of wants to complain, but Yoongi’s eyes are on him, lids low, gaze heavy enough that Taehyung can feel it like warm fingers trailing down his body, from his lips to the marks on his neck and chest, to his throbbing cock, back up to his eyes. Yoongi uncaps the bottle lazily with one hand, holding it out to squirt onto Taehyung’s fingers, a line appearing between his eyebrows when Taehyung doesn’t react fast enough. ‘Come on, Tae – your hand—I need—‘ Yoongi cuts off abruptly at that, ignoring the way Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up in favour of squirting the lube out onto his fingers. ‘Just—just, stop fucking around,’ he finally finishes, dropping the bottle next to Taehyung’s thigh.

But Taehyung is not about to let that one go, a shiver of excitement running down his spine at the crack in Yoongi’s voice. ‘You need?’ he murmurs, trailing cool, slick fingers along the line of Yoongi’s hip, down over the swell of his ass. ‘What d’you need, hyung?’

Yoongi snorts, sounding entirely unamused. ‘No,’ he says, leaning in for another kiss, his voice taking on a much breathier edge as Taehyung’s fingers dip lightly between his cheeks. ‘We’re not playing this game, Taehyung.’

‘Why not?’ he asks, still fighting hard against a grin and that shiver of excitement coiling in his belly. He has the hint of a whine in his voice, pout pulling at his lower lip. ‘Huh?’

‘Taehyung,’ Yoongi bites out, no doubt frustrated by the lack of action, Taehyung’s fingers yet to make any actual contact with his hole. Yoongi has a fist curled into the hair at Taehyung’s nape and he is mildly terrified, but he’s okay with it.

‘Tell me what you need, hyung,’ he murmurs, the grin breaking through slightly, tugging at the corners of his mouth and lightening his voice to a playful drawl – but Yoongi is having none of it, eyebrows stormy, voice tight.

‘Taehyung,’ he says again, low and warning this time, liked he’s gathered up the last dregs of his control and is not afraid to use them.

‘Yoongi,’ Taehyung retorts in a mimicry of the same serious tone, pausing just long enough to watch the annoyance and—and something else darken in Yoongi’s eyes, before adding, ‘hyung.’

The silence that follows is heavy. Heavy enough that Taehyung can hear his blood rushing in his ears as it all joins the Great Migration south, dragged downwards by the slick, pink, perfect mess of Yoongi’s lips and the harsh slant of his eyebrows as he stares at him, dead on. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough, a spilt second later, Yoongi smiles – smirks, really, slow and lazy, like a shark that’s just noticed a lonely fish swimming about its business, no shoal to protect it. It only adds to the wildness in his eyes and Taehyung bites his lip against a moan.

‘So, you wanna play that game, then?’ he murmurs, and Taehyung can feel cool fingers on his wrist, but he can’t speak. Pressed back against the headboard, frozen with anticipation, he can’t even glance down to see what Yoongi is doing, half expecting him to cuff him to the bed or something, not entirely sure if that frightens him or if it’s contributing to the growing ache in his groin. ‘Fine,’ Yoongi whispers, his mouth so close to Taehyung’s that he can feel the word ghosting over his lips, and just when he thinks his life might actually end somehow, he feels the lube bottle being tugged free of his fingers.

He frowns, glancing down at his empty hand before his head snaps up again, watching as Yoongi moves back a few inches, straddling Taehyung’s knees more than his thighs now, that smirk still in place. And Taehyung is confused for a moment, wonders if maybe Yoongi’s decided he wants to fuck him now, which definitely wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, Taehyung thinks. But after a second, it becomes horribly apparent that this is not what Yoongi has in mind, when he’s squirting the pink-tinted liquid out onto his own hand, rubbing it between his fingers. He drops the bottle again, licks his lips and tilts his head back slightly as he—

Oh.

Oh, god.

Taehyung swears his vision goes black at the edges, his stomach performing an entire circus routine – acrobats, flame artists, the whole goddamn works – as Yoongi reaches behind himself. And maybe Taehyung can’t see his actual hand, but he can see the effect it’s having on Yoongi, can see the way his eyes shut and his chest hitches with a bitten back groan, the way his hips stutter as he sinks a finger into himself… Or is he teasing himself? God, Taehyung nearly whines aloud at the mere thought of it, of Yoongi rubbing slick fingers over his own hole, running a light fingertip around his rim to work himself up – it’s enough to have Taehyung squirming against the sheets, toes curling. It’s all in his head – part of him knows that, knows that he has no idea what’s really going on back there. All that’s certain right now is that Yoongi’s going to prep himself.

He’s going to prep himself.

He’s going to fuck himself open on his own fingers and he’s going to make Taehyung watch.

And everything about that hint of a smirk tugging at the perfect, savage pout of his mouth suggests that if Taehyung dares make a move to touch, he’s going to get his throat torn out, his face ripped off, be left with blue balls – something horrific like that. That smirk reminds him exactly who he just tried to fuck with and god – god, it’s so fucking hot. From the sheen of sweat on Yoongi’s collarbones and the fresh blooming marks on his throat and shoulder, to the way his lips part in that way they do, the line between his eyebrows and the twitching of his flushed cock telling Taehyung everything he needs to know about the current location of one or more of Yoongi’s fingers.

It’s too much.

Hyung,’ he groans, too far gone to be embarrassed by the high pitch to his voice, his hands fisting in the sheets as Yoongi leans forward slightly, steadying himself with his free hand on Taehyung’s thigh. It’s so close to his dick, he could and may cry. ‘Hyung, please—‘

When it came to Yoongi, Taehyung lost all sense of pride very early on. Yeah, sure, he’ll try his luck at getting his own way, but the moment he fails, he’s on his knees, ever the gracious loser. And he’s lost this one. If his throbbing cock and hitching breath and the blunt pressure of Yoongi’s nails digging into his thigh every time he thrusts his finger (fingers?) into himself are anything to go by, then Taehyung has lost this one. And he has more than accepted his defeat.

‘Shit, hyung, please—I—I just wanna—‘

‘What?’ Yoongi asks, and fuck, his voice is rough, low, his accent thick and dripping off his tongue like honey. The way he looks up at Taehyung through the sweat-spiked curtain of his bangs makes his bones melt, his breath catching in his throat. Min Yoongi is so beautiful it’s horrifying. ‘What d’you want, Tae?’

Taehyung’s tongue is a tangled mess of lead in his mouth. It wants Yoongi’s skin and not a whole lot else and words are hard, but Taehyung tries his best. ‘You—shit—I wanna touch you, hyung, please—‘ And he’s already moving forward, fuck the consequences, his hands smoothing up Yoongi’s thighs, curving around his hips and tugging him closer, mouth seeking blindly till it finds what it’s been looking for. Yoongi’s collarbones taste like sweat and the chemical tang of what might’ve been cologne, but shit, Taehyung’s into it.

‘See, that game only works one way, Tae,’ Yoongi murmurs, somewhere near his ear (Taehyung swears his spatial awareness is slipping through his cupped palms – Yoongi could be anywhere and everywhere, the heat of arms around his neck, skin pressed against his chest, warm breath on his cheek and fingers in his hair).

Taehyung groans, pressing his lips down against Yoongi’s shoulder because he lost – he’s the one who broke first, but somehow, it doesn’t feel half as bad as it should. ‘Why are you so good at this?’ he breathes, and he swears he hears – no, feels Yoongi laugh, a soft rumble in his chest that vibrates through Taehyung’s own bones.

‘Thought you wanted to touch me,’ Yoongi reminds him, hands under his jaw, tilting his head up.

‘Fuck—‘ Taehyung manages to choke out, before Yoongi is kissing him again and his hands are sliding lower, clumsy, still punch drunk from the force of Yoongi’s merciless punishment. Although, his fingers find their feet quick enough when they’re pressing into that tight heat and Yoongi is arching into him, cursing harshly into his mouth because they both know Taehyung’s fingers are thicker and they both know this is something of his forte.

After months of practice and with Yoongi already so wound up, it doesn’t take long for Taehyung’s fingers to crook against that spot that earns him a harsh tug on his hair and a mumbled apology and another kiss that’s more teeth and breathy gasp than anything else, but god, it only has Taehyung pressing in another finger. The speed of his thrusts picks up from the pace Yoongi set, wrist aching with the force of it, but this is how Yoongi likes it and who is Taehyung to deny him? He wouldn’t think of it, not when Yoongi finally feels like he’s losing that cool control, a little like he did on the dancefloor earlier, giving in to it, his kisses getting deeper, hotter, less tension in his hips as if he’s stopped trying to hide the fact that he’s rutting down against Taehyung’s fingers. It’s overwhelming – it always is with Yoongi, but this is something different, something that has Yoongi shuddering against him and—

No, wait.

Still working his fingers, Taehyung frowns. ‘Hyung?’

There’s a grunt in reply, Yoongi seeming quite reluctant to be verbal right now.

‘You okay?’ he asks, ignoring how wrecked his own voice sounds – it’s the kind of voice that should be groaning expletives at the ceiling, not checking on someone’s wellbeing. ‘You’re like, shaking. I mean, I know I’m good, but…’

Yoongi sighs, sounding agitated as he pulls back – looking agitated. ‘It’s fucking freezing, okay?’ he mutters, teeth gritted as if he is genuinely trying to keep them from chattering or is just really mad – both options are possible right now, considering the slowing pace of Taehyung’s fingers and the very frustrated-feeling clench around them. (Taehyung never thought he’d see a day where he’d be reading body language from inside someone’s asshole, but here they are – Min Yoongi’s asshole is cranky and who’s surprised?)

‘Shit, why didn’t you say something?’ Taehyung asks him, and maybe he’d feel guilty if he wasn’t half comatose with arousal right now, because even a cranky Yoongi is still pretty fucking hot. And he still smells good and looks good, with that rosy flush to his skin and the savage look in his eyes, and when he opens his mouth to speak—

‘Because half your hand is up my fucking ass, Taehyung,’ he snaps, eyebrows dropping into full glower now, all sharp angles and furrowed brow, ‘and I didn’t want you to do what you’re doing right now.’

Knowing he’s only going to be snapped at again, Taehyung thinks hard for a second about what that might be, but he comes up blank, nose crinkling as he braces himself for the harsh words to come. ‘And, uh… what’s that? The thing that I’m doing?’

Stopping,’ Yoongi growls, which is when Taehyung realises his fingers have come to a total standstill as he’s been talking.

‘Oh,’ he mumbles, with a sheepish smirk. ‘Sorry.’

Fuck.’ The word is small and pained and groaned into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, and Taehyung can’t help but grin because there is something very adorable about angry Yoongi and there’s also something very adorable about cold Yoongi. All in all, it’s just very adorable and Taehyung is powerless against adorable things (even with three fingers still up said adorable thing’s ass) and he has to work really hard not to pat his back or stroke his hair or do something else just as Inappropriate.

‘Look, just get under the covers,’ he says, ignoring Yoongi’s snarled “I hate you” when he removes his fingers and tugs down a corner of the quilt to prompt him underneath. ‘We can do this the proper Christian way,’ he goes on, rolling underneath as well, ‘—you know, lights off, under the sheets, probably missionary, zero eye-contact. Really, we should still be as fully clothed as possible and afterwards, we’ve gotta roll over and feel guilty for at least—‘

‘Tae?’ Yoongi mutters, but Taehyung is too busy tugging the quilt right up to their shoulders to catch the look being cast his way.

‘Mm?’ he hums, once he’s satisfied with the level of cosiness, letting out a yelp of surprise when Yoongi catches him suddenly by the back of his neck, yanking him down with zero warning.

Shut up,’ he growls against his lips, and Taehyung is sure as shit not about to argue with that tone.

The near-whine he lets out at the hot pressure of Yoongi’s mouth on his is entirely unintentional, but he’s beyond the point of blushing at this stage, more concerned with trailing his fingers back down to finish what he started. He’s barely got himself a handful of Yoongi’s ass before he stops him, breaking the kiss to shake his head while he catches his breath enough to speak.

‘Fuck that, I’m ready,’ he pants out, and Taehyung’s next noise is less of a near-whine and more of a real, live undisputed whine, stealing a few more kisses before the fumbling search in the rumpled sheets for the condom begins.

It takes at least 3 hours to find it, Taehyung swears, even if the bedside alarm clock with the broken alarm hasn’t ticked out a solid 10 seconds – Taehyung and his dick are both in full agreement that it takes 3 hours, minimum. And this part is always clumsy and confused because it’s dark and there’s a quilt and Taehyung’s fingers are slippery, but last time he tried to open the packet with his mouth, he got foil stuck between his teeth and they don’t have time for that right now. So, it’s a mess of whispered curses and Taehyung trying not to be distracted by the overly erotic sound of Yoongi’s heavy breathing and how soft the light fan of his hair looks against the dark fabric of his pillowcase. It’s the kind of pretty that just makes him want to touch, but the foil finally splits open between his fingers and it’s go-time.

‘Oh, are you done?’ Yoongi asks, rough voice dripping with sarcasm as Taehyung tosses the packet somewhere—anywhere—and starts fumbling with the condom.

Hyung,’ he whines quietly, because he’s too desperate right now to think of a decent comeback and he’s honestly trying his best (it’s Yoongi’s fault for being so distracting, but Taehyung’s not about to toss that one out there). Yoongi snorts softly at that and the still functional part of Taehyung’s brain realises that the crankiness was mostly for show as he passes him the lube bottle again.

Yoongi’s ridiculously skilled right hand has already gotten him so worked up that even the feel of his own slick fingers wrapping loosely around his cock is almost too tempting, but—

‘Come on, Tae, shit,’ Yoongi hisses, and Taehyung swears he slits his eyes open on time to see him squirm a little, neck arching back, his hand under the covers somewhere and unaccounted for. Taehyung has no idea what he’s doing under there, but he does know that he can do better, leaning down and groaning into Yoongi’s mouth when he kisses Taehyung back just as hungrily, nails digging into his bicep as he lines up and starts to press in, excruciatingly slow.

Oh my god,’ he hears himself groan, thin and reedy, fighting hard against the urge to just snap his hips forward, bury himself to the hilt in one sharp thrust – Yoongi would probably like it, to some extent, but that’s not what Taehyung wants, not how he likes to do things, and this seems to be one of those rare occasions when he has some semblance of control.

Because Taehyung was joking about the missionary thing, but in their rush, it happened anyway and maybe the position gets slashed for being the most basic, the most vanilla, but this sure as hell doesn’t seem basic to Taehyung. He can feel Yoongi’s thighs bracketing his hips as he pushes forward with shallow little thrusts, can taste him as he presses his mouth down against his shoulder to stifle noises, to ground himself while he tries to keep his focus here. His arms are holding most of his weight, fists curled into the pillow either side of Yoongi’s head and Yoongi’s fingers grip like a vice around his bicep, as if he’s maybe trying to ground himself too. His other hand has worked its way down to Taehyung’s ass, gripping firm and insistent, quietly telling him to get a fucking move on, but Taehyung is already there, bottomed out and breathless, panting hard as he lifts his head from the crook of Yoongi’s neck.

It’s as if the realisation hits them both at the same time, in that little moment of stasis where Taehyung stops and waits for the green light, prepared to wait a little longer because Yoongi’s always too impatient. He lifts his head from the crook of Yoongi’s neck and feels that hand, having served its purpose, travel lightly from his ass back up to rest at his waist and the soft touch makes him shiver as he catches Yoongi’s eye. He looks a little like he did during that weird moment earlier, confused blinking, something sharp and uncertain pinching faintly at his brows, a stark contrast to the dazed arousal clouding his eyes.

It’s too close. It’s too tight. It’s too hot. It’s too much. It’s too everything. With Yoongi’s thighs at his hips and Yoongi’s hands on his skin, the impossible heat of him wrapped around his cock and the warmth of his breath on his face – Taehyung feels ready to pass out, head filled with helium and hot steam, fogging up all the rational parts of his mind that know how to deal with this stuff. Because Min Yoongi’s face is right there, staring at him like he’s just realised he’s in the room and doesn’t know how to feel about that fact. He’s staring at him with blinky eyes and pinched brows and soft, parted lips and Taehyung doesn’t know where to look or what to do.

What if this is too much? What if Yoongi doesn’t like it? What if he wants to stop, switch to something more familiar, even if it means being cold?

So, Taehyung says the only thing that the stewed chunks of his brain can whip up for him:

‘O-okay?’ he whispers, tongue tripping over the simple word, but it’s not his fault his mouth went and got itself high off the taste of Yoongi – it’s a problem, addiction is an illness, but Taehyung will deal with it some other time.

Right now, Yoongi isn’t speaking and even in his parboiled state, Taehyung’s is getting more anxious by the second. He needs to move, he needs to know this is okay and he needs to move and he needs to know that Yoongi isn’t silently freaking out or something. He needs to kiss him, and his neck, and grab his hair and fuck him and make him moan his name and he needs to know it’s okay.

Yoongi doesn’t speak, but after a moment that feels like a hundred, Taehyung notices the tilt of his chin, the way his lips part and that only ever means one thing. Slowly letting out the breath he was holding, Taehyung inches in to kiss him, feeling that horrible tension unravel in his chest when Yoongi’s fingertips dig softly into his back, pulling him closer, his mouth open and ready and soft and wet and god, Taehyung almost forgets he’s supposed to be doing something here, once again too caught up in Min Yoongi and his wonderful mouth.

But Yoongi, as always, isn’t feeling quite so sentimental.

‘Fucking move, Tae,’ he growls quietly, and Taehyung can’t remember exactly when those words became some of his absolute favourites.

He gets his weight rebalanced on his elbows and maybe this means he can’t kiss Yoongi quite as deep, but it’s fine because Yoongi’s not up for kissing right now anyway, his teeth digging hard into his own lower lip, eyes shut, the tendons of his neck standing out in sharp relief, as Taehyung draws his hips back.

‘Fuck, fuck,’ he hears Yoongi hiss, when he starts to push in again, slow, steady.

Nothing ever has him prepared for this, for how incredible it feels when Yoongi tenses up around him, so goddamn tight that Taehyung feels like his soul is being sucked out through his dick, lightheaded with the rush of pleasure that courses through him. He presses his mouth down against Yoongi’s skin to stifle noise, but abandons that idea pretty quickly in favour of mouthing over his neck and shoulder, both of them gasping soft and shaky when his hips meet Yoongi’s ass again.

It's hard to find a rhythm. He’s not used to the position and there’s so much to process that his body’s gone into overdrive, flinging stuff at his brain with no warning, zero chill, and his poor brain feels kind of like it might just crash out on him. But he does it, he manages it, a slow, steady rhythm that sets his blood singing, shivers running down his spine when Yoongi drags blunt nails up his back, arching as Taehyung slides in again. He isn’t moaning his name yet – Taehyung knows he’ll have to work a lot harder for that – his teeth still gritted against any noise, though his breath hitches with every roll of Taehyung’s hips, quiet, stifled grunts accompanying every slap of skin.

It’s hot and Taehyung knows there’s no chance Yoongi is still cold, can feel the sweat beading in the hollow of his shoulder when he kisses his neck, can taste it on his tongue, and Yoongi’s skin is burning up under his lips – all around him. He reckons he isn’t much better off, is vaguely aware of the sweat spiking the ends of his hair, dripping from his temples, but he couldn’t care less. He rolls his hips, his pace something close to languid, reminding him of the way Yoongi jerked him off earlier, those slow, loose strokes meant only to tease him, to pull him apart. It just so happens Taehyung likes being pulled apart, thrust by thrust, stroke by stroke, no matter what end he’s on, but Yoongi only has so much patience for it and Taehyung can feel that patience wearing thin.

Lifting his head to take a couple gulps of cool, clean air, he wonders if it’d be weird to tell Yoongi he looks good again. Because he does. Not magazine model good, not anymore, not with his hair tugged into a tufty mess and his mouth flushed in an uneven collage of pinks. He looks good in the kind of way that Taehyung wants to keep just to himself, a photograph tucked away in his favourite manga volume, a secret.

The secret chooses that moment to slit his eyes open, meeting Taehyung’s gaze head on like he expected to find it.

‘Thought you said no eye-contact?’ he grumbles, voice cracked and hitched and fucked, but still cranky, always cranky.

Taehyung grins, a soft laugh gasping out of him. ‘Don’t look at me, then.’

‘Stop fucking staring at me, then,’ Yoongi shoots back, biting out the last few words as his spine arches with a particularly deep thrust in. The entire movement makes him look unreal, hair falling back off his forehead, the sweat-damp column of his neck stretching out, gritted teeth making the bones of his jaw stand out in razor-sharp definition and god, he’s fucking beautiful.

‘Don’t want to,’ Taehyung half moans, even as he’s dropping his head back into the crook of Yoongi’s neck because if he keeps watching, he’s going to come any moment now and that wouldn’t be fun for either of them. ‘You just look—look so good, hyung, fuck—‘

His words cut off with another gasp as a spike of pleasure rolls through him, his hips snapping forward with a touch more force, the angle shifting slightly with the curve of his spine, but that seems to do the trick, has Yoongi choking back a moan, his thighs tightening at Taehyung’s hips.

There, right—fuck, Tae—‘ he bites out through teeth still stubbornly gritted against the sounds Taehyung is so desperate to hear, taking Yoongi’s cue to keep going just as he is, fucking whatever gasps and hitched breaths he can get out of him.

When he moves to kiss him, he’s greeted with a fist in his hair and teeth against his tongue and the not-so-gentle scrape of nails down his neck, shocking a moan out of him. He might not be into the stinging lines of heat left on his skin, but he’s very into Yoongi falling apart underneath him, losing his usual restraint, so Taehyung goes with it, veins tingling, fingers curling into the sheets. He sucks on Yoongi’s tongue, nibbles his lip the way he knows drives him crazy, but that’s as far as he can get with teasing in his state. He’s too far gone to think beyond it, falling easily back into Yoongi’s lead when Yoongi rakes his fingers through his hair and pulls him in hard, moaning roughly against his mouth as if Taehyung won’t notice that way. It’s too late in the game to tease him, anyway, with Yoongi pulling out of the kiss, his head sinking back into the pillow, brow creased like he’s in pain.

‘Tae, fuck, faster—‘ he groans, and Taehyung can feel him trying to roll his own hips up, can’t help the smirk of satisfaction when he’s unsuccessful, the position and Taehyung’s weight on top of him making it impossible.

‘No,’ Taehyung murmurs, slowing his next thrust a little on purpose, just enough to annoy him, to watch the conflict on his face because even if it’s torturous, they both know it feels so fucking good.

‘Taehyung—‘

‘I like it like this,’ Taehyung says, lips brushing Yoongi’s jaw as he continues at his original languid pace, like a two-four beat, long thrusts that end in a sharper snap of his hips, the slap of them against Yoongi’s ass making his lashes flutter every time, even as he’s trying his best to glower up at Taehyung.

‘Well, I don’t,’ he hisses, the fist in Taehyung’s hair tightening a touch, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Taehyung thinks it might be some kind of a warning, but he’s bluffing – he’s got no leverage and they both know it.

‘Lying is a sin, hyung,’ he says, grinning into the crook of Yoongi’s neck.

He snorts at that, actually snorts, and Taehyung can feel it, which is both incredibly hot and also the weirdest goddamn thing he’s ever felt. That’s it, though, the end of Yoongi’s attempts, because Taehyung starts adding more force into those little snaps, hearing the half-formed moans rumbling in Yoongi’s chest with every drag of Taehyung’s cock against his prostate.

Kissing in general is sloppy and difficult at this point, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind at all when Taehyung mouths at his neck, licking over one of the larger marks he left earlier, sucking the sensitive skin between his teeth to work on it some more and nearly losing it at the way Yoongi arches up into it, arms winding around Taehyung’s neck, fingers tight in his hair, holding him there.

He has to pick up the pace eventually because maybe he likes taking his time, but there comes a point where holding back is more pain than pleasure, so Taehyung lets go, his breath, like his thrusts, coming quicker and sharper. It won’t be long now, with Yoongi clenching so tight around him that he kind of feels like crying, his own body burning up from the inside out, so Taehyung trusts his left arm alone with his balance, letting his other hand skim down over Yoongi’s hip, catching his thigh and pulling it up, just to fuck in that bit deeper.

Taehyung was prepared to be growled at or snapped at or bitten or something for manhandling Yoongi in this way, but what he was not prepared for was Yoongi taking this as a cue to lock his legs at the small of Taehyung’s back, his arms around his neck, his skin against his mouth and Taehyung wonders, fleetingly, if you can overdose on a person. Because he feels dizzy and breathless, feverish and shaky and none of that sounds healthy, but he likes it. He likes it so goddamn much.

Yoongi,’ he breathes, whines, somethings – all the sounds are kind of blending together at this point, a soup of gasps and curses trickling into Taehyung’s woozy ears. The honorific gets lost somewhere in his next moan, but he doesn’t rush to fix it because Taehyung doesn’t miss the way Yoongi’s fingers curl tighter into his hair, the way he seems to snap, a rough groan finally rumbling in his chest.

‘You like that,’ Taehyung realises, his voice a thin breath against Yoongi’s throat. He kind of wishes it came out a little stronger, cockier, like those cool guys in the pornos, but Taehyung can’t breathe and everything is panted, stuttered, clumsy and awestricken because Yoongi doesn’t even have a snappy comeback. He’s ruined, his eyes glazed and his chest heaving with desperate breaths, his mouth smeared slick and stunning. ‘Yoongi.’ Taehyung says it again, just to check, because he’s suspected it before, sure, though he hasn’t been brave enough to try it since.

Yoongi glowers, but Taehyung can see the way his throat moves as he swallows hard, the pink peak of his tongue smoothing quick over his lower lip, and Taehyung knows. For whatever reason, he likes it.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he growls, his breath hot in Taehyung’s hair when he ducks down to hide his grin in the crook of his neck, dropping soft pecks onto his shoulder.

‘Yoongi,’ he hums again, because Taehyung kinda likes it too. Likes the way the vowels roll of his tongue when he moans it as he picks up the pace where he left it off, likes the way Yoongi rolls up into him with a strained curse, likes the way Yoongi’s legs wrapped around him give him the perfect leverage to do so. His left arm is shaking with the exertion, but he can’t bring himself to care right now because his other hand is still gripping at Yoongi’s thigh as he thrusts in, gripping hard even though it feels like a sin in itself, fingertips probably leaving bruises on the soft skin.

‘Shit, Tae, I’m—I’m fucking close, shit—‘

‘You want me to—‘ Taehyung begins, hand leaving Yoongi’s thigh to slip down in between them, but he hasn’t even managed to reach Yoongi’s cock when he feels fingers curling round his wrist, yanking his hand back up.

Yoongi is shaking his head, catching his breath to speak. ‘No, I don’t—just—just keep fucking going, Jesus.’

So, Taehyung does as he’s told. He doesn’t think about how Yoongi’s fingers are still curled around his wrist so tight they might bruise as well. He doesn’t think about the fact that this is the most stunning version of Min Yoongi he’s ever seen, this one that’s shifting against the sweat-soaked sheets every time he fucks into him, skin flushed and shining, lips raw, all marked up and absolutely wrecked, but still glowering at him through his lashes when he catches him staring.

Taehyung can’t grin at this point anyway, leaning in to kiss him instead as he starts thrusting in harder, aiming to get Yoongi’s prostate every single time just to hear those rough sounds tearing from his throat, humming against his own lips. It’s not long until there isn’t much point trying to kiss anymore, both of them lacking any semblance of the right coordination, more teeth knocking than anything else, and he’s so close, can feel it pulling at every inch of him, from his scalp to his toes, like it’s threatening to turn him inside out, but Taehyung is so ready for it, moans, gasps, whimpers spilling freely from his mouth. He barely registers that his own forehead is pressed weirdly to Yoongi’s temple now, nose brushing his cheek when he thrusts in. It doesn’t matter. Yoongi’s fingers are still clutching at his hair, his other hand back down at Taehyung’s ass, gripping hard and god, that feels so fucking good, gets Yoongi exactly what he wants, Taehyung’s hips snapping forward harder, faster—

God, Tae,’ Yoongi moans, and Taehyung kisses him some more, scattered and messy, sloppy pecks landing on his damp hair, his cheek, his ear before he finds himself down in the crook of Yoongi’s neck again, his teeth scraping softly along the tendons standing out there as he grits his teeth. ‘Fuck, I’m gonna—‘

Yeah,’ Taehyung groans, pulling back, propping himself up again because he wants to see.

He’s fucked and been fucked by Min Yoongi through enough orgasms now to know what it looks like, but the novelty still hasn’t worn off and he can’t imagine that it ever will. The sight of him alone has Taehyung gasping, fighting hard against the heat coiling low inside him, threatening to burst, because sweat shines on Yoongi’s face, his cheekbones and his chin, the bridge of his nose, droplets clinging to his throat where they’ve slipped down from his jaw. His expression is probably one that wouldn’t be remotely attractive in any other situation, but right now, it’s the hottest thing Taehyung’s ever seen, brow knit with pleasure, mouth open in a silent groan, chest heaving. Taehyung couldn’t stop himself from kissing him again even if he wanted to, open-mouthed and hot and with way too much tongue, but in the moment, there’s no such thing.

Taehyung hikes Yoongi’s thigh up a little more, adjusting the angle just enough that his teeth catch Taehyung’s lip as he snarls out a curse, head arching back into the pillow again, giving Taehyung the most breathtaking view of his neck, all flushed pink and littered in blooming marks, that monster under his ear that Yoongi’s going to text him angrily about tomorrow morning.

Yeah, come onfuck, Yoongi—‘ he rasps out, and Yoongi doesn’t even glower at him this time, doesn’t bother biting back the moan. He’s so close and he hasn’t even touched himself, hasn’t let Taehyung touch him and some distant, level-headed part of Taehyung’s mind realises what this means, has him fucking in as hard as he can, Yoongi’s legs tightening around him to pull him in even deeper.

‘Oh, god, hyung, please,’ Taehyung moans weakly, because he refuses to come till Yoongi has, but his arms are shaking, his head is spinning, the effort of holding it back and tamping it down is immense. ‘I’m so close—o-oh my fucking god—‘

His words choke off into nothing as Yoongi tightens impossibly around him, in every conceivable way – arms, legs, ass, he’s pulling Taehyung in and clinging for dear life and Taehyung doesn’t know why it’s such a turn-on, but it is, has him burying a broken moan into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, his arm giving out till he’s reduced to propping himself up on an elbow alone again, no room to watch, but he doesn’t need to. Not anymore.

Taehyung can feel everything. Can feel it start in the way Yoongi holds his breath for a split second before his chest hitches with the first wave of it, a rough, gasped curse huffing out from between his lips like someone just punched him in the stomach. He feels it in the way Yoongi’s fingers curl into his hair and scratch at the back of his neck, a blunt nail catching his jaw as Taehyung turns his head to try and kiss his throat, ends up doing little more than breathing against his skin. He feels it in the shudder that runs through Yoongi, in the heavy, pulsing pressure around his own cock as he continues to fuck him through it, dragging himself closer to the edge and finally, he can feel it in the jump of Yoongi’s cock against his stomach as he comes between them, a spurt well timed with every slap of Taehyung’s hips against his ass, with every curse and every Tae that’s gasped into his hair, Yoongi’s chapped lips warm against his temple.

It’s too much.

With Yoongi’s arms around his neck and his legs around his hips and his hands in his hair and his tongue in his mouth because they’re kissing again, though Taehyung has no idea when that happened. With Yoongi literally everywhere, his cum slick and lukewarm against the overheated skin of Taehyung’s stomach, with him still so goddamn tight as he comes down from his orgasm, Taehyung can’t take it. Once again, it’s too much, overwhelming and Taehyung feels like he’s drowning and it scares him how much he likes it.

Loves it, a little, maybe.

So, he lets go, freeing the metaphorical bunch of helium balloons he’s been clinging to all this time, except those balloons are all equipped with fucking rocket launchers, blowing him to smithereens on their way out. His hips slam up against Yoongi’s ass one last time and finally gives into it, his arms shaking and his hips stuttering, every muscle in his body quivering at the release.

H-hyung—Yoongi—fuck—‘ he gasps out, fingers fisting in the sheet, nails digging into Yoongi’s thigh. Yoongi is still kissing him, groaning against his lips as Taehyung’s shallow thrusts continue poking at his oversensitive prostate, and he swears to god that sound that just caught in his throat was not a sob, it was not.

‘Tae—shit—‘ Yoongi moans, his voice hoarse at this point, hand still gripping at Taehyung’s ass as he fucks himself through it. He can feel Yoongi’s groans and rasped curses under his lips as he ducks his head back down again, presses his mouth to the skin of Yoongi’s throat – not that it muffles the way he whimpers his name as he spills into the condom.

He keeps moving, his brain reduced to autopilot, hips jerking as he continues with shallow thrusts to drag it out, electricity humming bright and feverish through his body, pulse pounding louder in his ears until it’s all he can hear – that and the ragged gasps of Yoongi’s breath that shift his hair as he drifts slowly down from it.

 

When his hips finally go still, it’s immediate – the high fading fast and leeching every last drop of Taehyung’s life force along with it. He all but collapses on top of Yoongi, face still buried somewhere between the pillow and Yoongi’s shoulder, his breath coming in shallow rasps and his arms numb with the exertion.

‘Fuck,’ he hears Yoongi whisper, somewhere between the panting.

Taehyung would agree if he could convince his lungs to function like proper lungs again, to do the in and out thing, but he can’t right now. He can’t do anything with his veins feeling like they’re filled with honey and white spots still dancing behind his eyelids.

Yoongi still has an arm draped around his shoulders. It feels pretty limp and Taehyung suspects Yoongi just doesn’t have the strength to move it at the moment, but it’s nice all the same, a comforting pressure, light fingertips doing something to his bicep that could almost be classed as stroking. Taehyung realises his own fingers are still gripping at Yoongi’s thigh, stuck like that for so long now that they’re stiff and unwilling to surrender their hold, but with a quiet groan, Taehyung manages to let go, Yoongi lowering his leg with a grunt.

‘Okay?’ Taehyung says, his voice thin, but audible.

‘Go for it,’ Yoongi mutters, though he still tenses up as Taehyung pulls out carefully, propping himself up again to find Yoongi’s brow furrowed deep with discomfort. So, Taehyung kisses him some more because it helps – at least he thinks it does – and he’s rewarded with a quiet hum of satisfaction from Yoongi, a hand on his neck and a lazy tongue laving into his mouth.

It’s not the first time Taehyung’s wondered if this is maybe his favourite Yoongi, the post-orgasm kind, fucked out and pliant, the kind of Yoongi that seeks out soft kisses and makes Taehyung’s chest ache in that one strange way. Then again – there are so many Yoongis to choose from, Taehyung feels like a kid in a candy shop sometimes.

The kisses are nice, but they can’t last for long, both of them much too low on oxygen for that sort of thing. It’s only a minute or two before Taehyung’s rolling off Yoongi, landing on his side on the barest edge of the mattress, Yoongi’s body barring him from the other two thirds of the bed, but he doesn’t mind. It gives him an excuse to inch closer, skin still pressed up hot against Yoongi’s.

He can see him now, properly – his side profile, at any rate. In the strange orange half-light that filters through the blinds, he looks like one of those chiaroscuro prints his mother used to collect at weekend markets. He’s all strong shadows and soft, tangerine light, his eyelashes casting thin lines on his cheeks, the sweat shining on his skin like an otherworldly glow. He looks spent and wrecked and perfect and Taehyung licks his lips.

‘Hyung?’

A grunt.

A mischievous smile creeps onto his face, but he can’t hold it back. ‘You didn’t touch yourself.’ He says it quietly, but there’s nothing timid about it – that soft flare of pride in his chest doesn’t know how to feel timid right now.

‘No,’ Yoongi says, after a beat of silence, tone dead flat, giving nothing away.

‘And I didn’t—‘

‘I know,’ he cuts across him.

‘So, you just—‘

‘It happens,’ he says, and Taehyung thinks he can detect a hint of impatience now.

His smirk only spreads further as he props himself up onto an aching elbow, but Yoongi’s eyes are still shut – he’s clearly doing his best to ignore him. ‘Not really,’ Taehyung murmurs. ‘Never happened to me before.’

Taehyung swears he can see his eyes rolling behind the thin skin of his lids. ‘First time for everything, Tae,’ he sighs, but Taehyung isn’t done. Far from it, scooting a little closer, his toes poking at Yoongi’s calf under the sheets.

‘I think it might be a compliment to my sexing skills,’ he says, with only the tiniest touch of smugness, unable to stop the giggle that rises in his throat when Yoongi opens his eyes to a lazy glower.

‘It really wasn’t,’ he insists.

Taehyung shrugs. ‘I’m gonna take it as one anyway.’

‘’Course you are,’ Yoongi sighs, shutting his eyes again, irritated crease between his brows. ‘You know, that’s not even what sexing fucking means.’

Taehyung laughs again. ‘Ahh, are you getting defensive, hyung?’ he asks, coos a little maybe.

‘No,’ Yoongi mutters (defensively, definitely defensively).

‘You embarrassed?’ Taehyung presses, nudging up against his arm, only to get a gentle whack to the chest as Yoongi swats him away.

‘Fuck off,’ he grumbles, attempting to roll over onto his side, but Taehyung’s on him before he can, muffling his giggles against Yoongi’s mouth.

Yoongi grunts in a way Taehyung assumes is supposed to convey his unhappiness at being kissed while he was clearly trying to sulk, but with his lips moving against Taehyung’s, that sigh low in his throat, he doesn’t make the most convincing of cases. So, Taehyung keeps kissing him, even once the last hiccup of laughter has died down to nothing more than a hum of contentment at the gentle pressure of Yoongi’s lips, the way he angles his body towards Taehyung’s to make it easier, legs knocking under the sheets.

Honestly, there’s no part of himself that feels fully solid at the moment, but when Yoongi’s mouth opens easily for him, Taehyung thinks that maybe he could go another round already. Or make that a definitely, he realises, when Yoongi’s fingers creep up into his hair, when Taehyung sucks hard on his lower lip and draws a small moan from him. His cock is already showing vague, weary signs of interest by the time Taehyung drapes an arm over Yoongi to catch at his hip and pull him closer, that hand then smoothing up towards his ribs, over his stomach and—

And getting caught up in the clammy pool of cum on Yoongi’s skin.

His lips stilling on Yoongi’s, Taehyung makes a noise caught between a laugh and a groan of disgust, gingerly lifting his sticky fingers.

‘Gross,’ Yoongi mumbles, against his mouth, right before Taehyung pulls away to inspect the damage, holding his hand high because he’s nice like that, even though he’s sure these sheets have endured worse than a little smeared cum.

Wrinkling his nose, Taehyung laughs some more because it really is gross. There may have been a time, a couple minutes ago, when it might not have been quite so gross, but it’s sticky and cold and the afterglow has faded a tad too much for that now.

‘Unless you’re gonna lick it off your fingers for me, go get a cloth or something,’ Yoongi grumbles, though even his eyes look a little brighter, corners of his mouth downturned like he’s trying not to smile. ‘Have some fucking manners.’

Taehyung’s eyes go wide. ‘We’re in your apartment,’ he points out, because last time he checked, you did things for your guests, not the other way around.

But Yoongi shoots him a dark look, eyes narrowed. ‘And you expect me to be able to walk after that?’ he demands. ‘Are you kidding me?’

‘Ah,’ Taehyung murmurs, shoulders slumping sheepishly as he grins over at him. That’s a pretty solid excuse, if he may say so himself. ‘Sorry, hyung.’

Yoongi hums in something like acknowledgement while Taehyung untangles himself from the sweat-soaked sheets, hauls himself to his feet, toes curling against the icy wood as he pads towards the door, still lying ajar.

Every apartment in the building is, by default, more or less identical, so really Yoongi and Hoseok’s bathroom should be the same as his and Jimin’s, but it’s not. It’s smaller and darker somehow, and the light flickers and Taehyung hates flickering lights. He cleans up quick, only pauses to lean over the sink to dampen a cloth for Yoongi – which is when he catches sight of himself in the mirrored door of the tiny medicine cabinet. He almost coughs out a laugh at the bedraggled creature he sees in there, all lank, sweaty bangs, flushed cheeks and bruised skin, made worse by the weak, erratic light in the bathroom. His hunch in the elevator earlier was right – he looks like he’s been to hell back, his mother would probably faint if she saw the state of him – but Taehyung can only feel a soft tingling under his skin, pulling at the corners of his mouth, making his stomach feel light.

After escaping the bathroom without being accosted by whatever restless spirit is causing those lights to flicker, Taehyung stops by the kitchen, chugs an entire bottle of water standing by the fridge, before grabbing another one, condensation dampening his fingers.

Yoongi is already dozing when Taehyung drops the lukewarm cloth onto his stomach, waking him with a start. He glowers sleepily and Taehyung grins, bending to poke around the floor for his jeans. He finds Yoongi’s first, distinguishable in the dark by the fact that Taehyung’s entire arm gets tangled up in a hole on the knee. By the time he’s straightening up with own jeans, Yoongi has tossed the cloth to the end of the bed, his gaze on Taehyung.

‘Here,’ Taehyung mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed as he hands Yoongi the second water bottle.

Yoongi shoots him an odd sort of look, but takes it with a mumbled, ‘Thanks.’ He tips his head back and half the water promptly disappears. ‘You leaving?’ he asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist, offering the bottle to Taehyung with his other hand.

Taehyung takes it because his throat still feels sort of cotton-woolly, and he shrugs. ‘Unless you have any more use for me, hyung,’ he says, tossing him a smirk before taking a few long gulps from the bottle.

Yoongi makes a face, like he’s considering it, seems to come to some positive conclusion as he pushes his tangled hair back off his forehead and rubs at an eye. ‘Gimme ten minutes and some more of that water and you never know,’ he says, a burst of heat blooming soft in Taehyung’s stomach at the words, welcome after being out in the cold air of the apartment.

He’s grinning as he hands the water back to a deadpan Yoongi, but that grin fades slowly as he leans into the pillows, pulling his legs up onto the bed again. He chews quietly on his lower lip, watching Yoongi take a few more sips, his throat working, marked up skin shifting as he swallows the water. He should probably keep his mouth shut, Taehyung knows that, knows that it’s opening his mouth that usually ruins things for him, but he also knows that he’s been thinking about this all day. Since he woke up on that couch out there in the living area, Yoongi’s arm around him. Since he stumbled into Seokjin and Namjoon’s shower, hungover mind reeling. Since he sat down in the café with Minjae, his thoughts a million miles away the entire time. It’s stayed with him, like the quiet beep of tinnitus deep in his head, ignorable for a little while until suddenly it’s not, and Taehyung knows it won’t go away.

He has to.

He has to ask.

‘Hyung?’ he says, his voice a touch too quiet, but the apartment around them is silent and Yoongi hears him easily, glancing over his shoulder as he screws the lid back onto the empty bottle. His cheeks are bulging, filled with liquid, and Taehyung has to work hard not to get distracted. He drops his gaze to his hands, fiddling with the unfastened top button of his jeans.

‘I, uh… I don’t remember much from last night,’ he begins, slowly because he’s not going to spew this out in a random gush of word vomit. He’s going to think about it, do it right. He’s going to be cool. ‘But… well, I remember some stuff… that you said.’ He glances up a little at that, catching a glimpse of Yoongi through his lashes. He isn’t quite looking at him – he’s watching Taehyung’s restless hands, so Taehyung lifts his head the rest of the way, clears his throat because he doesn’t want to stammer here. ‘Did you mean it, hyung?’

Yoongi’s eyes flick up to his face. ‘Mean what?’

‘The part about… about not wanting me to suck anyone else’s dick,’ he says, a little sheepishly, because he doesn’t want to use that one potentially scary word and doesn’t know how else to phrase it.

Yoongi drops his gaze back to the bottle nestled in his lap and Taehyung sees him nod a little, almost to himself, as if he’s been waiting for this particular question. ‘If you want,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m not telling you what to do, Tae.’

Watching him, a long index finger tracing around the top of the bottle, Taehyung thinks on that for silent moment. ‘Are you asking me, though?’ he finally says.

Yoongi looks at him again – looks near him anyway, his gaze trained somewhere on the wall a little left of his head. He shrugs one nonchalant shoulder, the king of chill as always. ‘I guess I am.’

Taehyung’s stomach does a thing – an all too familiar thing – and he knows he shouldn’t acknowledge it, never mind give into it, but he does because it’s soft and warm, tingles up and down his spine, making his toes curl and his lips stretch into a grin. He gives into it.

‘Okay,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks, as if he needs to double check.

‘Yeah.’

Without a word, Yoongi drops his gaze back to the bottle in his lap and nods, and that’s that, Taehyung assumes. Not that he expected any kind of fanfare. He didn’t know what to expect, never dared to hope anything like this would even happen. He knows it doesn’t change a damn thing, really, that Yoongi’s still Yoongi and he’s still himself and it would never work anyway, but…

(I think he likes you.)

Clearing his throat, Taehyung pointedly ignores that sneaky little thought in favour of lightening the suddenly heavy atmosphere a little. ‘What about sitting on other people’s dicks, though?’ he asks, matter-of-fact.

Yoongi snorts softly and Taehyung can see him frown, as if he’s actually pretending to consider it. ‘No, I don’t think that’s allowed either,’ he murmurs.

‘Other people sitting on my dick?’

At that, Yoongi shoots him a sideways look filled with enough raw venom to pollute a small stream indefinitely.

Taehyung bites back a laugh. ‘Definitely not, then,’ he says, answering his own question, cheeky smirk spreading further as something else pops into his mind. ‘Not even Jungkook, hyung?’

Yoongi’s jaw all but drops, eyes narrowing as he straightens up a little to better yell at him. ‘What the fuck?’ he demands, tossing the empty bottle at Taehyung. It bounces off his knee and skitters across the floor. ‘Are you trying to—‘

‘I’m not, I’m not!’ Taehyung gasps out quickly, between hiccups of laughter, hands up in front of his face to protect himself from any other missiles Yoongi might find – such as the lube bottle that would’ve hit him square in the nose, ends up on his lap instead. ‘I couldn’t help it, hyung, I’m sorry!’

‘No, you’re not,’ Yoongi mutters, glowering lazily as Taehyung lowers his hands, confident the only other nearby objects are soft, at least.

‘I’m a little sorry,’ he admits, getting himself another narrow look, but he can tell the difference by now between the narrow looks of genuine insult and the narrow looks that are hiding a smile.

‘So, what’s the deal with you and Jeon anyway?’ Yoongi asks, after a quiet moment, settling back down against his pillows (he leaves a little more room for Taehyung this time). ‘Did you go to school together?’

Taehyung shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says, reaching over to set the lube bottle on the bedside locker before slumping down himself, ‘but he was still my first friend in Seoul. My only friend in Seoul for long enough – not counting Jin-hyung. We went to different schools, but they were pretty close by each other.’ Taehyung pauses for a moment here, eyes on the ceiling as he thinks through the various little chapters of a story he’s only told a bare handful of times. He can feel Yoongi’s gaze on the side of his face, though he can’t tell if it’s a look of curiosity or boredom. ‘You want the whole story?’ he asks, turning his head on the pillow to look at him.

Seeming unfazed, Yoongi shrugs. ‘I’ve got nowhere to be.’

Taehyung nods. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs, punching the pillow underneath him into a more comfortable position because they could be here a while. ‘So, I didn’t get on so good my first year of high school,’ he starts, quick and casual – there’s no need to be too dramatic about the whole thing. ‘I didn’t make friends, really, I guess I was shier back then.’ (Yoongi makes a noise, like he can’t quite believe that, and Taehyung grins.) ‘It was kinda lonely,’ he continues, shrugging, because lonely wasn’t the word for it, but Yoongi doesn’t need to know that, ‘but then this guy started talking to me. He was a third year and pretty popular, so I was kinda suspicious, but he was nice to me, wanted help with his physics.’

Yoongi mutters something that sounds a lot like Yeah, right, and Taehyung figures he already has an idea where this story’s going. It’s going where so many stories like it have gone before, a well-worn path of cliché and innocence and hormone-fuelled bad decisions.

‘Anyway,’ he goes on, with a sigh, ‘one thing led to another and I was sucking him off in the library bathrooms and then it was more and he was telling me he loved me and it got real messy. Because, as it turns out, he had a girlfriend the whole time,’ he says, turning his head to see Yoongi’s reaction to that one. He doesn’t seem surprised, necessarily, but there’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, a slight grimace pulling at his lips. ‘She found, uh… pictures on his laptop, but she was a smart one.’ Taehyung laughs softly at that because she really was smart, didn’t panic and break down in tears like some girls might after finding intimate pictures of their long-term boyfriend with some other guy, no less. ‘She didn’t tell him,’ he goes on, a little quieter – it’s not exactly his favourite part of the story, a peppery sting at the back of his throat. ‘Instead, she emailed them to herself there and then. A couple days later, they were all over the school… I mean, luckily they weren’t too racy, or anything – one actually helped me get my first modelling gig,’ he adds, turning to cast Yoongi a smirk at this. He raises a dubious eyebrow, but doesn’t interrupt. ‘– but they did all the right damage. It was okay for him because it was already late May and he was about to graduate, fuck off to the States for college… I kinda hoped it would die down over the summer, but I came back in September and it started from day one.

‘I’d moved in with Jin-hyung by then,’ he says, rolling over onto his side to find a comfier position. He’s facing Yoongi now, but he keeps his gaze downturned, doesn’t want to get distracted by his reactions. ‘Jin-hyung knew some of what was going on and didn’t want me staying in dorms, scholarship or no scholarship. At the time, there was this particular group who liked to follow me home. Back then, Jungkook was living with his aunt – still does, actually,’ Taehyung adds, laughing a little because he really feels for Jungkook’s poor auntie sometimes – that kid drives her crazy and then some with his antics, ‘which is why he ends up at my place so often – and she owns this café near the schools. He used to go there before his evening study sessions to do his homework and get something to eat, and he had this one particular seat by the windows. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I walked by him every day with those guys following me… you know, yelling names or whatever. Homophobic stuff, mostly, unless they were feeling creative. Sometimes they’d shove me, but they usually weren’t violent unless I tried to yell back – which happened one day.’

Taehyung pauses for a moment, picking at a loose thread along the seam of Yoongi’s pillow cover, gaze flickering up to look at him. But Yoongi’s just listening, quietly, that same crease between his eyebrows. ‘I snapped,’ Taehyung says softly. ‘I can’t even remember what I said to them, but I know I tried to hit the guy who pissed me off the most because my Dad always used to warn me that violence was never the answer, but some people still deserved to get punched and I knew this guy would’ve been one of his exceptions, so I couldn’t stop myself.’ With a soft snort of regretful laughter, Taehyung shrugs. ‘Next thing I was on the ground and everything hurt and this kid was cursing in Busan satoori, tell them to piss off and leave me alone.’

He glances up again, grinning wide at the memory of 15-year-old Jeon Jungkook, bangs dyed blacker than his (then very emo) soul falling into his eyes, cartoon doodles and Linkin Park lyrics in smudged ink all over his hands. ‘It was funny because Jungkookie didn’t really hit puberty till, like, last year,’ Taehyung continues, and this information seems to make Yoongi rather happy, if that glint in his eye and the soft snort of laughter are anything to go by. ‘He was this scrawny thing, a head shorter than me, with glow-in-the-dark braces and an Ironman pencil case. And there he was, facing down this bunch of high schoolers. Of course, he didn’t really help – he distracted them from me for a while, which was nice, but it only ended with both of us eating the sidewalk and then some real nice hazelnut croissants and hot chocolate courtesy of his aunt. After that, he started walking me home and sometimes we’d stop at the café on the way, or he’d come back to Jin-hyung’s place and I’d help him with his homework, and it didn’t really get any better – you know, with those assholes. They stayed the same, but Jungkookie made it bearable.’ Taehyung pauses and thinks back on that a moment, coming up with another missed detail that makes him smile. ‘He’d also help me throw rocks at them and run away, which was pretty cool of him.’

Even Yoongi makes a face at that, as if to say, Yeah, okay, that was pretty cool of him.

‘I mean… I probably wouldn’t have stayed in Seoul without him,’ he goes on. The story is technically finished, but he feels like this part is just as important and Yoongi doesn’t seem bored yet, his eyes alert, even if his expression gives very little away. ‘I wouldn’t even have come back for college, if I’m being honest. I’d have moved to my grandparents’ farm and learned the business instead, probably – but then I couldn’t leave my Jungkookie.’

Yoongi rolls his eyes at that and Taehyung grins wide, propping himself up a little better against the pillow now that the heavy stuff is out of the way. ‘These days, he looks out for me like a hyung and lets me dote on him like a dongsaeng.’ He shrugs. ‘We got a good thing going and I love him a lot, but, hyung, we’d never…’

‘I know,’ Yoongi says immediately, the rest of Taehyung’s explanation trailing out into a soft smile. Somehow, he had an idea that story might help.

‘I think you’d really like Jungkookie, you know,’ he murmurs, after a beat of silence. ‘You’re a lot alike, hyung.’

At that, Yoongi outright scoffs, rolling his eyes as if it’s the most ridiculous thing Taehyung has ever said, worse than the rant he had one late night about the existence of ghosts and his theories on how the dinosaurs really died.

Taehyung grins. ‘You know, when I said that to Jungkookie, he said fair enough, but that he’s taller and hotter, so he’s cool with it.’

Yoongi narrows his eyes a little as he turns to look at him. ‘And you agree with that, do you?’ he asks, in a tone very much warning Taehyung to be careful here.

He shrugs, biting back a sheepish smirk. ‘Well, he is taller, hyung.’

Yoongi continues to glower at him a moment longer, mouth set in an indignant pout, thought Taehyung can see the glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘Changed my mind,’ he says, making a big show of stretching out underneath the covers, kicking Taehyung nicely in the shin in the process. ‘I’m pretty tired, so you should probably—‘

‘But I don’t like taller guys anyway,’ Taehyung blurts out quickly. ‘And, I mean, Jungkookie’s not even that hot.’

‘You’re a really bad liar,’ Yoongi says, lips twitching.

Taehyung can’t help but grin. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles, injecting the smallest dose of aegyo to help his apology along a little, getting Yoongi to roll his eyes.

And for a guy who claimed to be unable to walk a while ago, he’s pretty quick about moving over again, legs untangled from the quilt to straddle Taehyung’s hips.

There’s a definite challenge in the subtle jerk of his chin. ‘Prove it.’

‘What—already?’ Taehyung asks, eyebrows shooting up, though his hands have already curved over Yoongi’s knees, creeping up his thighs. There’s something about the contrast of Yoongi’s bare skin against his jeans that turns him on just a little too much.

‘I said ten minutes and water,’ Yoongi reminds him, plucking pointedly at the zipper of his fly. ‘I’ve had ten minutes and water. You game or not?’

Is he game?

Taehyung almost snorts at the question.

‘Y-yeah—yeah, I’m g—oh, fuck, hyung—‘ he gasps, his words trailing off into muffled curses as Yoongi’s fingers curl around his oversensitive cock, the brief flash of a grin gracing his face as he leans forward to capture Taehyung’s mouth again.

 

 

Chapter Text

Taehyung falls asleep without meaning to, but in his (admittedly limited) experience, this is a common side effect of three orgasms in one night.

When he wakes, disturbed by the weak, grey pre-dawn light filtering through the shitty blinds (Yoongi really needs new blinds), he knows it’s not late enough to panic, still too early to really be considered morning. He can’t even hear the birds yet, just his own breathing, mingling with the slightly heavier sounds of Yoongi’s.

Stretching slightly, toes curling, Taehyung grimaces, letting out a quiet sigh because he aches. All over, everywhere, arms, legs, back, neck, ass. He’s covered in enough hickies that he doesn’t need a mirror to know they’re there, can feel them throbbing gently underneath his skin in perfect time with his pulse. He’s sore, he smells like sex and sweat and god knows what else, hair matted with (most likely) a decent selection of bodily fluids, but Taehyung still manages to smile because it just feels so goddamn good. It’s like he’s had a crick in his neck for the longest time now that’s suddenly gone, the relief humming through every tired, worn cell in his body, leaving him boneless and sated.

He doesn’t seem to be the only one either, if Yoongi’s easy breathing is anything to go by, the fan of warm air tickling the small hairs of Taehyung’s arm.

Sometime in the past couple hours, Yoongi’s head slipped off the pillow, got itself caught strangely between the mattress and Taehyung. His cheek is squished right up against Taehyung’s bicep, hot skin sticking to hotter skin, his hair soft on Taehyung’s shoulder. His neck is bent at an odd angle that’s going to haunt him for days, Taehyung’s sure of it, grimacing at the thought, though he can’t quite bring himself to move and free him.

Not yet.

It’s not the best of views, really, Taehyung figures with a smirk – what with that squished cheek scrunching up one of Yoongi’s eyes, the faintly cum-scented breath and that hint of a double chin he’s got going on. It’d be easy to forget the Min Yoongi from last night, all sharp tongue and sinful eyes, but while Taehyung might not have that Polaroid to keep in his favourite manga volume just yet, he has it in his mind, date-labelled and framed: Yoongi caught underneath him, sweat-soaked and glowing, legs locked around his waist, brows furrowed and jaw clenched as he growled at him to move faster.

No, Min Yoongi can certainly be stunning when he wants – now just doesn’t happen to be one of those times (although Taehyung wouldn’t mind a Polaroid of this particular face either).

It’s that though that has the smile fading slowly from his face as his eyes trace their way from the feathery lines of Yoongi’s lashes to shadow of stubble on his chin, has him tugging his lower lip into his mouth, teeth gnawing to try to distract him from the familiar anxiety brewing tight in his gut.

It was fine, before. They were fucking. They were just fucking. It was sex and nothing more and Yoongi kept his distance, cold looks and flat words keeping the flicker in Taehyung’s chest firmly extinguished. And Taehyung didn’t mind. He knows that Jimin, Seokjin, everyone thought Min Yoongi’s infamous icy temperament would only end up hurting him, but it was almost refreshing fooling around with someone who didn’t try to charm their way into his pants with sickly sweet lies and empty promises. Yoongi wanted someone to fuck and be fucked by and he was straight up about it, too, no setting false pretences with dinners and movies. It was simple and Taehyung, while easily confused by people in general, easily misled, quick to get the wrong idea – he was never confused, not once.

In the past two weeks, however, Taehyung has been nothing but.

He’s had questions and thoughts that he never wanted to have, not with Yoongi, because Yoongi was easy, Yoongi was straightforward and consistent and Taehyung liked that. He liked it a lot. And maybe his questions from the past two weeks have been answered, but they’ve only left more in their wake, like tiny, little newt-sized hydras nibbling at his insides with their needle-tip fangs.

Yoongi was jealous. Yoongi stopped talking to him because he got the wrong idea with Jungkook and he was jealous. But why was he jealous? He wants Taehyung to himself, wants to be exclusive, but why does he want that? Why does he care?

Taehyung wants that, too, has wanted that, but he knows his own reasons. The way his heart trips over its untied laces when Yoongi kisses him, the way he shudders when Yoongi rubs at his thighs and smiles without meaning to every time he so much as thinks of those narrow eyes and that grumpy pout he pulls when he’s trying not to laugh.

He likes Yoongi.

Of course he likes Yoongi. Has done for a while because like Jimin said all those weeks ago – Taehyung crushes on everyone he sleeps with. Usually, he only sleeps with that person, once, twice – a handful of times max, but Yoongi’s different. Yoongi’s stuck around and crushes aren’t easily controlled, you know? They’re like puppies: as much as you want them to stay all small and fluffy forever, easily carried around in your arms, it never works out that way. They grow, till they’re as tall as you standing on their hindlegs, almost bowling you over every time they pounce up on you out of the blue. Taehyung’s crush definitely isn’t a puppy anymore, but all this time, Yoongi has continued to keep him in check with his attitude alone, remind him of what this really is and that it won’t be anything more.

Except it is now, isn’t it? It’s already more.

When Taehyung thinks about it, groggy mind whirring much too fast for what little energy stores he has left, he realises they’ve been sleeping together almost as long as Hoseok and Jimin have been dating. That realisation makes his stomach flip, his eyes widening a touch where they’re fixed on the ceiling.

It’s been almost three months. It’s the longest non-platonic relationship Taehyung’s had with anyone since high school and he’s not sure how to feel about that. Nothing, the rational part of his mind provides helpfully. He shouldn’t be feeling anything because Seokjin warned him way back – Yoongi likes convenient. Taehyung might not be his usual brand of convenient, but living right upstairs and always horny, Taehyung sure is some kinda convenient. It’s probably just that – he’s there and he’s handy and he’s not bad in the sack, gets the job done, etc.

But last night, a very drunk Park Jimin – arguably the most insightful species of Park Jimin – reckoned Yoongi likes him and something has changed. Last night, something was different and it wasn’t just the position. Even after that, going through the familiar motions of blowjobs and fingers in butts and whatnot, Yoongi still kissed him liked he’d missed him (told him he’d missed him that one time, not that they’ll ever talk about that) and moaned his name like it was the only word he knew. It was different, all of it, and Taehyung doesn’t know what to make of it.

So, with Yoongi’s breath still moving lightly over his skin, he’s left with no choice but to ask himself the one question he promised himself he never would:

Could Yoongi really like him?

Obviously, he likes him enough to kiss him and fuck him and to play along when he decides to be a brat, to listen to him ranting (sometimes). He likes him, but could he really like like him?

Taehyung glances down again at the face squished up against his arm. Yoongi’s bangs hang haphazardly over his forehead, what looks like crusty lube dried into one particular lock.

He really can’t imagine it, can’t imagine any of it or how it would even work with Yoongi. Would he want to date? Would he want something as traditional as that? Would he be a movie guy, or would he want to go somewhere weird and original? Would he ever bother confessing? What would that look like, sound like? Would he be nervous or his usual monotone self, stating it in exactly the same voice he’d use to read out his grocery list? Taehyung has a grin on his face by the time he’s finished running through little scenarios in his head because they all sound so goddamn ridiculous, but warmth throbs softly in his chest.

Since the start, Yoongi has always seemed “undateable”. It had nothing to do with Taehyung’s self-esteem, either – it wasn’t as if he thought Yoongi was out of his league (Taehyung has long denied the existence of “leagues”; everyone has a shot, as long as they try hard enough), but more as if he was out of Taehyung’s reach.

And he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but Taehyung wonders if maybe – just maybe – Yoongi is starting to inch a little closer.

 

 

Taehyung has already pulled on his jeans and is poking around the floor for his shirt when he hears the sleepy noises from the bed, head snapping up to find Yoongi stretching, rubbing at his face before he opens an eye to look right at him. It’s a heavy eye, still glazed over with exhaustion and when he speaks, it’s clear he’s barely awake.

‘Tae?’ His voice is rougher than Taehyung’s ever heard it (though that’s to be expected, he thinks, with something of a mental smirk).

‘Sorry, hyung,’ he murmurs, finding his shirt, inside out, under the desk. ‘Tried not to wake you.’

Yoongi doesn’t reply, but tugging his shirt over his head, Taehyung hears a faint grunt, fabric rustling as Yoongi moves. He reappears through the neck of his shirt to find Yoongi sitting upright, slumped forward a little, face puffy and creased from the sheets, eyes vacant and barely open. Taehyung can’t help but snort softly at the sight he makes, his sweat-matted hair looking fluffy in the dark, sheets pooling down around his waist to reveal the tapestry of hickies dotted over his chest and throat.

Taehyung finishes slipping his arms back into the right holes and Yoongi blinks blearily at him, like he can’t quite figure out what’s going on right now, and he just looks so goddamn cute, Taehyung can’t help it. He leans down over the edge of the bed and catches his lips in a gentle kiss. It’s pretty chaste, all things considered, but when Taehyung pulls back a little to find Yoongi’s eyes still shut and his lips still parted, he moves in for another. He’s got one knee on the bed to support himself better, one hand balanced on the mattress, the other on what he believes is the blanket lump of Yoongi’s thigh, so he barely notices when he’s being dragged in further, Yoongi’s sleep-clumsy hands tugging on his neck and his hair, till they’re horizontal again.

Still, it’s not like before. The kissing is soft, tongues keeping their distance because morning breath is one thing, but post-coital morning breath is a horror unto itself. It’s quiet and lazy and Taehyung swears he feels himself dozing off to the offbeat rhythm of Yoongi’s lips on his – in fact, he’s pretty certain Yoongi himself is less than 5% awake at this point and the whole thing is probably bordering somnophilia.

‘Hyung, I gotta go,’ he murmurs eventually, laughing a little as he pulls back as much as Yoongi’s hands will allow him – which isn’t far.

Yoongi blinks slowly, eyes narrowing in confusion. ‘Why?’

Why?

‘Uh…’ Taehyung’s entire brain stalls at the question, at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, all quiet and sleepy and just a little whiny. Why is he leaving? He’s leaving because he always leaves because that’s how they do things… right? ‘I, um… my family are coming to town. Jin-hyung’s picking me up at ten to go meet them at the station.’

Taehyung’s made his excuse before he can think twice about it. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows fucked up. His phone is in his jacket, still out by the couch, but he knows it can’t be much after six. He’s lying here next to a soft and sleepy Min Yoongi who’s asking him why he’s leaving and in all reality, he could stay – a little longer, at least, long enough for a few more kisses, maybe a trek back down over Yoongi’s neck and shoulders, give those newest bruises a proper welcome into the world, as short as their stay might be. But he wasn’t thinking straight. Yoongi was soft and sleepy and Taehyung didn’t think straight.

He could kick himself.

He considers backtracking, but Taehyung swears he sees the exact moment that Yoongi crosses that border of 50% awake, the haziness in his eyes clearing up, the lax set of his eyebrows pinching with all those harder, colder awake emotions as he blinks a couple more times, like he’s bring the world properly back into focus.

‘Whatever,’ he grumbles, fist tightening in Taehyung’s hair as he ducks in for another kiss, hoping to salvage even just a little of the moment.

He thinks he does, maybe, when he pulls back to sit up and Yoongi’s still looking at him, eyes dark, lips swollen, his hands falling back down to fold lazily over his stomach. Taehyung smiles – a little weakly, but what the hell – before hauling himself to his feet again.

‘See ya, hyung,’ he says, navigating his way through Yoongi’s clothes to make it to the door unharmed without another attack from those jeans. Yoongi doesn’t reply, but Taehyung does hear a faint grunt, glancing over his shoulder before he pulls the door shut behind him to find Yoongi already rolling onto his side, curling up into something adorably close to foetal position.

Using the couch for balance to stuff his feet into his boots and grabbing his jacket from the floor, Taehyung can’t decide whether to smile or berate himself a little more, but one thing’s for sure. And that’s that Yoongi maybe, possibly, perhaps wanted him to stay.

And that’s something, Taehyung thinks, biting his lip against a smile as he lets Yoongi’s apartment door ease shut behind him.

That’s definitely something.

Chapter Text

I can see your collarbones
and baby, I'm scared;
Never thought I'd be
so unprepared.

Collarbones, Thomston

 


 

 

Upstairs, above ground, the music building’s upper floors are works of art, all windows and wide corridors, quiet study spaces and music-themed murals. Yoongi has some core lectures up there, in those halls made cosy by the sun in the warmer months and heated to a perfectly snug room temperature during the winter, but for the most part, those floors are the domain of the classical and composition majors. Music technology students, on the other hand, are sent into the very bowels of the building, the two basement floors, where the only light is artificial and the narrow corridors create a winding maze of classrooms and studios and computer labs. Yoongi doesn’t hate it; it’s actually pretty interesting since the art students took it upon themselves to decorate the main corridor walls in bright graffiti, and in the warmer months it’s a cool refuge from the summer heat—

Winter, however, is another story.

Arctic barely covers the temperatures in the basement once it starts to plummet. Around the time of first semester finals, freshman year, Yoongi swears he was near hypothermic by the time he crawled above ground one night. Even with snow tumbling from the sky and ice making every sidewalk on campus a fucking death trap, it’s still warmer outside than it is in the tiny undergrad studios, where the heat works around 20% of the time. But they figured it out – himself, Namjoon, Hoseok and even Seokjin pitched in a bit, to buy a cheap space heater and Yoongi swears it’s the best thing he’s ever invested in. Hiking up the university’s electric bill has never felt sweeter.

So, it’s cosy in the studio, the temperature just high enough that they’re not rendered stupid with the heat. Still, Yoongi burrows down further into his hoodie out of habit as he sits back to run his track through the speakers, give his tired ears a break from the headphones. He’s been working on it for several hours now, probably the last piece he’ll manage to finish before his portfolio evaluation on Monday, and he spent most of the night in the library, open 24-hours during reading week for the students to stress en masse around the clock. He’s got work in a little under eight hours, two exams tomorrow afternoon and all in all, he just needs a fucking break. This track, however, doesn’t seem to want to give him one.

‘Hyung, it sounds good,’ Hoseok says, once he’s lowered the volume again with a groan of frustration.

Hoseok arrived around midday with coffee and a breakfast of convenience store kimbap, and proceeded to set up his own study station on the studio couch. Home’s cold and lonely, he said, trying to seem pitiful, but really, the coffee and his honest opinions are the main reason Yoongi let him stay.

He’s taking a break right now, sprawled back with Yoongi’s winter coat tucked around himself as a fucking blanket, eyes shut as he listens to the track still looping quietly through the speakers. ‘You need to lose a layer, hyung,’ he says.

Yoongi frowns thoughtfully at the programme on screen. ‘Yeah?’

Hoseok nods, humming an affirmative. ‘Got too much going on, just a little. You’ve got something hot in there, you just wanna strip it back a bit.’ He’s quiet a moment, still listening, his eyes narrowed in concentration when Yoongi glances over. ‘I could use something like this for the New Year showcase, you know,’ he muses.

Yoongi doesn’t reply, but he appreciates it, recognises it for the compliment it is. Jung Hoseok won’t dance to just any old shit — actually, that’s a lie. Jung Hoseok will (and does) dance to the beep of the fucking microwave at 4:00AM, but he won’t perform to just any old shit.

Yoongi takes a couple sips from his now lukewarm coffee before he gets back to it, starts experimenting with the layers of the track again, only stopping to turn down the volume when Hoseok’s jingly ringtone starts buzzing from his phone. He takes it from the gross way Hoseok coos his greeting that it must be Jimin, but other than that, Yoongi doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation – not until he hears the sudden pitch change in Hoseok’s tone, just a little lower, worried.

‘Babe, what’s wrong?’ he’s saying when Yoongi tunes back in again, frowning at his screen, but not yet interested enough to look over. ‘What d’you mean?’ Hoseok asks, pausing then to listen to Jimin’s reply. ‘What, he actually yelled at you?’ he bursts out after a moment, and that is certainly enough to grab Yoongi’s attention, meeting Hoseok’s eye to find his eyebrows almost hidden under his beanie. ‘Kim Taehyung? Yelled? In anger?’

Now it’s Yoongi’s eyebrows’ turn to react, frown shifting from curious to downright confused as his ears strain in vain to decipher the static hum of Jimin’s voice.

‘Shit...’ Hoseok says softly, still listening to him. ‘Yeah, I—well, hold on—’ He covers the phone with his hand, asking in a low voice, ‘Hyung, you don’t mind if Jiminnie drops by, right?’

Under normal circumstances, the idea of them canoodling on the couch while he’s trying to fucking work might turn him off the idea entirely, but not today – he wants to know what the fuck’s going on as much as Hoseok seems to. He nods and Hoseok relays the invitation to Jimin before hanging up.

‘What happened?’ Yoongi asks him immediately.

‘Taehyung happened.’

‘I got that much.’

Hoseok sighs, sitting up straight and readjusting his beanie behind his ears. ‘He doesn’t do well under stress,’ he explains, with something a lot like sympathy in his tone. ‘Exam season Taehyungie is the worst Kim Taehyung you’ll ever meet. It’s not his fault, really, bit of a stress insomniac and that’s enough to drive anyone fucking mad, especially when you place as many expectations on yourself as Taetae has.’

‘Are his parents hard on him?’ Yoongi asks, turning back to his screen, trying to remember what he was doing.

‘Well, no, his mom’s pretty chill as far as I know,’ Hoseok says. ‘I only met her once, but she didn’t seem the nagging type, you know. She has his kinda temperament, gentle, just wants everyone to be happy and have nice skin.’

Yoongi grunts in vague acknowledgement, finding again the layer he thinks might be causing the problem. ‘What about his dad?’

And Yoongi’s distracted, too caught up in the task at hand to notice the way Hoseok falls silent, gazing over at him from the couch with a frown pinching his brows.

‘Hyung...’ he says quietly, something in his tone catching Yoongi’s attention again, making him glance over to find him looking as confused as he does grim, all tight-lipped. ‘You know Taehyungie’s dad... he’s, like... well, he died.’

For a couple seconds Yoongi does nothing but blink at him. He what? he nearly says, but there isn’t much point. There’s no mistaking what just came out of Hoseok’s mouth, plain and simple.

‘You fucking serious?’ Yoongi asks him, voice hushed, but Hoseok scowls, throwing his arms up.

‘Why would I fucking joke about that, hyung?’ he demands.

‘No, I know—fuck, I know,’ Yoongi assures him quickly, shaking his head as he waves a hand to calm him. He didn’t mean it like that and Hoseok seems to sense this, but what the fuck else is one supposed to say when landed with that kind of information? ‘Just—fuck...’

Hoseok watches him for a moment, biting his lip, clearly empathising with that awkward experience of understanding the gravity of a situation, but not knowing how the fuck to act or feel when it’s not directly related to yourself. Yoongi’s pretty sure there aren’t any guidelines on what emotion best suits the news of your fuck-buddy’s dad’s untimely death.

‘Shit, I thought you knew, hyung,’ Hoseok says eventually, tugging his hat off to fiddle with it some more. ‘I just assumed... I mean, it’s been a couple years, it’s not like it’s fresh news, but...’ He trails off, corners of his mouth turning down in thought like he’s trying to remember something. ‘Far as I know, he’s the reason Tae’s here at all. He could be at KAIST, you know, but his dad went here, studied astronomy for a while as well. I think he taught high school physics in the end, pressured by the parents or whatever, but when Taehyungie talks about him, it’s always in relation to fucking astronomy.’

And that does trigger something in the fuzzier recesses of Yoongi’s memory, weeks ago in their own kitchen, still jelly-legged and light-headed from being fucked against the counter. My dad went to our university, Taehyung said, when Yoongi asked him why the fuck he wasn’t in a SKY uni, mentioned that he’d minored in Astronomy as well, all before going weird and quiet – enough that, even then, Yoongi felt it best to side-step the whole topic.

Shit.

‘I think it’s sweet,’ Hoseok says now, with a half shrug. ‘You know, that he has that... connection or whatever. I guess it’s good for him.’ Jung Hoseok is never one to linger long on the heavier topics, not unless it’s absolutely necessary and right now, Yoongi’s kind of thankful for it. ‘Anyway, you know what I heard?’ he goes on, tone abruptly changing as he sits forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees.

‘What?’ Yoongi asks, turning his gaze back to his screen, once again having clean forgotten what the hell he’s meant to be doing. He’s less keen to remember this time, though. He’s too fucking tired for this, eyes sore, brain buzzing with white noise.

‘Whispers of the E-word.’ Hoseok says it like he’s divulging some sort of filthy secret, complete with hand cupped by the side of his mouth.

Yoongi frowns, clicking through the motions to save his file. ‘Which one?’

‘Well, I hope it’s not engagement,’ Hoseok replies, eyes suddenly going round. ‘You got something to tell me, hyung?’

‘The fuck are you talking about?’ Yoongi demands, spinning now in his chair to face him, stretching his legs over to kick them up onto the edge of the couch. He’s comfy like this and tired enough that he could easily doze, but Hoseok’s got mischief written all over his face again, setting Yoongi’s nerves on edge.

‘You and, uh... “Tae”,’ he says, voice going all squeaky and gooey on the nickname, like a middle-schooler teasing his friend about a fucking crush. He’s ridiculous and Yoongi narrows his eyes at him, but Hoseok only grins back, looking terribly smug as he shoves his hair up under his beanie again. ‘Isn’t that, like, your pet name for him or something, hyung? That’s what I heard anyway.’

‘It’s not a fucking pet name,’ Yoongi snaps, before he can think twice about the tone he just took. Defensive, that’s how he sounded, though he wasn’t being defensive because it isn’t a fucking pet name. Still, he reels himself in a little, setting his jaw, lowering his voice. ‘It’s the first syllable of his actual name. I call you Seok-ah— ‘

‘That’s a fucking pet name, hyung,’ Hoseok cuts across him immediately, pointing at him with an accusing finger, grin splitting his face. ‘You call me Seok-Seokie when you’re sleepy, too, don’t tell me that’s just my name. Even my own mom never gets gooier than Hoseokie. And don’t think I haven’t heard you calling my boyfriend Minnie – which is adorable, by the way.’

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘That’s a joke, not a fucking endearment. It’s because he’s short – you know, mini.’

Hoseok scoffs, slumping back against the couch, tucking Yoongi’s coat snugly around his shoulders again. ‘Hyung, stop lying to yourself,’ he says, reaching over to pinch at the exposed skin of Yoongi’s ankle. ‘You love a good pet name for your favourites, whether you wanna admit it or not.’

‘Fuck off,’ Yoongi mutters, eyes shut now, head tipped against the back of his seat.

‘You love me,’ Hoseok says flatly, pausing for a moment before he drawls, ‘And you must be pretty keen on Tae, too, exclusivity and everything.’

The E-word. Right. Makes a little more sense now, Yoongi figures, but he doesn’t bother replying. No matter what he says, Hoseok’s gonna twist it, find some way to make it mean something more than it does. He’s known Jung Hoseok since high school – he’s grown almost immune to his teasing. He’s figured out all the shit he’s probably gonna pick on and he’s learned to anticipate it, to not give a fuck well in advance of Hoseok getting around to actually poking at the topic. It’s never really malicious either, no matter how harsh he might seem, so Yoongi generally doesn’t mind it, he’ll play along, but this... This is different.

Min Yoongi has never been fond of anything he doesn’t understand. Stubborn as fuck, he used to stay up till the small hours in middle school, poring over his math problems, going at it again and again and again till he got it right. Wouldn’t ask for help either, wouldn’t even accept it when his parents or his hyung offered. He’s always preferred figuring shit out on his own, even if it means staying up all night, even if it means not speaking to anyone for days. Whether it’s an equation or a rhythm or all the knots inside his own mind, he’ll deal with it in his own way, in his own time.

He thought he had this thing with Kim Taehyung all figured out and he really wishes he could blame someone else for fucking that up, but it wasn’t anyone but himself. Himself, when he asked a very drunk Taehyung not to suck anyone else’s dick; himself, again, when he confirmed for a very sober Taehyung that he had, indeed, asked him not to suck anyone else’s dick. Or sit on anyone else’s dick. Or have anyone else sit on his dick. Yoongi’s fault again with that slip of the tongue after Taehyung told him he’d missed him: Yeah—me too. That was a warning bell all in itself. Kicking him out might’ve been a bit drastic, but Yoongi should’ve taken it back, patched it up. This, he should’ve said. I’ve missed this, the sex, the mindless fucking.

Problem was (and is) that he’s not sure that’s the truth.

That’s the part he can’t figure out, that the rusty cogs of his mind are reluctant to process because he’s even less sure he wants to know the answer. That’s the part that leaves him quiet now, eyes still shut, head still tipped back against the seat, but he can feel Hoseok watching him. And maybe he can sense it, maybe he can hear the cogs because when he speaks again, it’s softer.

‘Hey, I’m not here to make fun of you,’ Hoseok says, his hand gently squeezing at Yoongi’s ankle now.

Yoongi cracks open a lazy eye. ‘Oh, really?’

Hoseok shoots him a meaningful look. ‘Really,’ he says, only sporting a shadow of that smug fucking grin. ‘I’m happy for you, hyung.’

Yoongi’s face immediately crumples in a frown. ‘There’s nothing to be happy about,’ he mutters, yanking his ankle away from Hoseok’s grip so he’ll stop fucking stroking it, trying to butter him up. He turns back to his computer instead with a snort, shaking his head. ‘What the fuck, Hoseok-ah.’

At that, Hoseok groans, loud and unnecessarily fucking irritating, head thrown back against the couch and everything, arms stretched skyward like he’s begging the heavens for strength. ‘Why can’t you just admit you like him, hyung?’ he asks, tone torn between tired and incredulous. ‘You get jealous when you think he’s fucking other guys, although—’ And here, his tone drops, eyebrows doing something unholy. ‘—I don’t blame you for thinking he was fucking that Jeon-whathisface kid because only for I’m dating the only pair of thighs in this fine country that could rival his, I 10/10 would. Repeatedly. On a wide variety of surfaces.’

Yoongi shoots him a frown of utter disgust. ‘You realise he’s not even legal?’

Hoseok shrugs. ‘I can wait,’ he says easily, before he breaks down cackling at the look on Yoongi’s face. ‘Anyway – you get jealous when fucks other guys, you’ve given him a pet name, you’ve asked him to be exclusive, not to mention the fact that you snuggle when you sleep together— ‘

Yoongi can take many kinds of slander, but that’s a step too fucking far. ‘We don’t fucking snuggle.’

‘Hyung, I saw you on the couch that morning,’ Hoseok drawls, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. ‘After Donghyuk’s party?’

Right. That.

‘We’d been drunk and it was to make sure he didn’t fall,’ Yoongi mutters, though he isn’t stupid enough to think that’s going to convince Hoseok.

‘You’re precious, hyung,’ he coos, reaching over to nudge at Yoongi’s knee with the toe of his sneaker. ‘Absolutely precious.’

‘Get out,’ Yoongi growls, whacking at his foot, but Hoseok only chuckles, withdrawing his leg and shutting up for almost an entire minute to reply to something on his phone.

The blessed minute passes too quickly, in Yoongi’s opinion.

‘You should follow him on Instagram,’ Hoseok pipes up, eyes still on his phone screen, though he’s grinning again, evil shit. ‘I’m sure he’d love that deep and sensitive photographer side of you, hyung, and trust me, you wanna see his selfies.’

‘No, I don’t,’ Yoongi mutters, ignoring the raised brow Hoseok throws his way.

‘Twenty thousand won says you break within a week and look him up,’ he bets.

Yoongi shrugs. ‘Fine.’

Hoseok lets out a gleeful sound caught somewhere between a screech and a cackle, clapping his hands before he reaches over and forces Yoongi to shake on it. He’s known Kim Taehyung since the start of the semester and hasn’t once felt the urge to go near him on any kind of social network – he has no idea why Hoseok’s getting so excited about this.

Jimin turns up a while later, cheeks flushed bright from the icy cold outside, practically leaping on the heater in the corner before he’s even peeled off his snow dusted jacket. He stays crouched down next to it for a while until Hoseok convinces him he’ll be a much better and less drying source of natural warmth. Jimin moves to the couch instead, also huddling under Yoongi’s coat.

‘So, what’s the deal with Taetae, then?’ Hoseok asks him, after smacking a gross kiss on his cheek. ‘Did you guys really fight?’

Jimin shrugs, though he doesn’t look at all happy, head resting forlornly back against Hoseok’s shoulder, lacking his usual light. ‘I guess,’ he mumbles. ‘I mean, I knew exams made him fucking crazy, but we didn’t live together last year, I didn’t see the full effect. It’s scary. It’s like he’s possessed or something.’ He considers that a moment, frowning at the padded studio ceiling. ‘You know the way he goes sometimes, just fixates on something for way longer than any human person really should – well, he’s like that on his notes, but he’s been stuck like that since Monday. I swear, I haven’t seen him sleep in three whole days, not even a nap. He’s been living off Monster Java and Jungkook’s stash of banana Pocky – which Kookie is gonna fucking kill him for, but he doesn’t even seem to care.’

‘Damn...’ Hoseok murmurs, eyebrows high, glancing over at Yoongi for his reaction to this. He keeps his face neutral, though, listening to Jimin.

‘So, this morning he was just zoned out, staring at his notes and mumbling about failure or something, so I put my foot down and told him to come get breakfast with me, real food, or even just get some rest, but he got snappy and crazy, babbling about how much he still had to do, how I was distracting him and I dunno.’ Jimin tugs his lower lip into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as he glances between them, then down, plucking loose pieces of fluff off Yoongi’s coat. ‘One of us started yelling first, I think it was me, and I told him he was gonna burn out if he didn’t take care of himself and he said I didn’t know anything about studying and made some cheap shot about that econ exam I failed last semester and I knew one of us had to leave before it got bad, so I just told him he could burn the fuck out on his own and left and called you.’ Jimin finishes his story with a little shrug, trying to soften it all even though his brows are knit together, the hurt and frustration on his face clear enough to have Yoongi narrowing his eyes.

‘Ah, Jiminnie,’ Hoseok sighs, catching the side of his head and tilting him in to plant a kiss on his temple. ‘You know he didn’t mean it, about the exam. He was outta line, but that’s not our Taehyungie. It’s the stress talking, all that Monster Java. He’s gonna feel bad the second he comes around – probably already does.’

Jimin nods, settling into Hoseok’s side with lazy looking eyelids and Yoongi thinks that maybe Taehyung’s not the only one who hasn’t been getting much sleep. ‘I know,’ he mutters, a faint smirk quirking his mouth. ‘I hid the last of his Monster anyway.’

‘Good call,’ Hoseok commends, and Yoongi grins appreciatively.

‘You working, hyung?’ Jimin asks him, nodding towards the open desktop. ‘I didn’t wanna interrupt anything.’

Yoongi shakes his head, reaching over now to log out. ‘Nah, I’m gonna go home for a while, I think,’ he says, stretching out his legs while the computer shuts down. ‘Gotta work later, I should sleep.’

‘There’s pizza in the fridge, too,’ Hoseok says, once Yoongi’s on his feet, checking his pockets for his apartment key, ‘heat it up, eat it.’

‘Great.’ Yoongi shares a pointed look between the two of them, all snuggled up way too cosy for his liking. Jimin looks like he’s a couple blinks away from sleep, but Yoongi knows for a fact that these two are real opportunists when it comes to alone time. ‘Don’t get bodily fluids on the couch, please. I love that fucking couch.’

‘We won’t,’ Hoseok assures him, his fingers threading through Jimin’s hair, making his eyes shut the rest of the way, and maybe Yoongi believes him this one time.

Maybe.

‘And here—’ he adds, tossing the studio key set so it lands in Jimin’s lap. ‘Make sure you lock up or security’ll be on my ass again. Your asshole boyfriend never fucking locks up.’

Jimin grins sleepily up at him. ‘Sure, hyung,’ he chirps, with such enthusiasm that Yoongi can’t help but roll his eyes as he lets himself out. ‘Sleep well!’

 

 

Yoongi is already back up on the ground floor, facing down the wintry landscape beyond the glass doors of the music building, when he remembers he left Hoseok and Jimin huddled up under his fucking coat. He does consider going back, but the thought of waiting for the dodgy elevator to rattle its way up to him puts him off. All he wants to do is get home, eat something warm and crash out for a couple hours. It’s only a ten-minute walk from the subway anyway. He’ll be fine, he tells himself.

It takes him approximately five minutes to regret that decision, when he’s diving into the ramen place across the street from the university’s main entrance, the tip of his nose already feeling a little numb, show melting into his hair where his beanie didn’t quite cover his bangs. The auntie cleaning tables scolds him gently for not wrapping up on a day like today while he scans the menu boards, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

It’s Hoseok’s fault, he decides, when he finds himself ordering two portions of his usual. Hoseok’s fault for telling him what he told him, Jimin’s fault, too, for barging in and adding to it, making the muddled knots in Yoongi’s gut pull tighter, distracting him from listening to his own damn common sense. It’s stupid, a stupid fucking idea and one definitely born almost entirely from sleep-deprivation, but even that realisation as he stumbles, some time later, into the elevator of their building, doesn’t stop him from hitting the button for the third floor.

He shivers the whole ride up, lower half of his face buried down inside his hoodie. The snow is already so deep out there his socks are damp, feet two ice-blocks in his sneakers and with only his hoodie sleeves as gloves, he can’t even feel the takeout bag cutting into his fingers. He’s fairly sure his lips would probably be on the blue side if he wasn’t biting them to keep his teeth from chattering with the shudders wracking his body. It’s one of those life-affirming moments where Min Yoongi is forced to acknowledge that the powers of idiocy are great within him.

The elevator is like an ice-box and when the doors grind open, the third floor hallway isn’t much warmer. Still, Yoongi stays there a moment, slumped in his corner of that ice-box, chewing on his lips and wondering what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. It’s not weird, if he doesn’t make it weird. He can dress it up in so many ways to make it not weird: Jimin’s his friend, he’s tired, Taehyung was an ass and needs some sense talked into him – he’s doing Jimin a favour. Seokjin’s stuck deep in that hell of being a med student faced with finals, he’s barely even human right now, but Yoongi knows he’d want someone to be keeping an eye on his idiot cousin. Yoongi’s being a good friend; this is only weird if he makes it weird.

With that in mind, he hauls himself out of the elevator and he’s knocking on the door of apartment number 24 a moment later. There’s no reply at first, no noise from within that might indicate someone’s alive in there, but the elevator’s been called down again and Yoongi can’t face the stairs right now, so he keeps hammering.

‘Taehyung!’ he snaps, giving another final thump before he pauses to stare down the number on the door.

‘Who is it?’ the reply finally comes, distant and wary.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘It’s me, open the fuck up.’

There’s another beat of quiet before Yoongi hears shuffling beyond the door, footsteps and papery skidding sounds that may or may not be Taehyung tripping over his own notes. When the door eases open, Yoongi nearly laughs aloud, if he’s honest. He’s seen Taehyung lounging around on his lazy days in sweats, still looking like something from an Abercrombie & Fitch campaign. He’s seen Taehyung in what Yoongi thought was his most wrecked and ragged of states, too, sex hair and hangover bags under his eyes, though he even makes those look designer. Yoongi really never thought a mix between the two things could be anything less than godlike, but here Kim Taehyung stands, hair that hasn’t seen a brush in days, odd socks and what look like coffee stains on his sweater. His eyes are bloodshot and a little wild looking, lids bruised dark with lack of sleep, lips chapped. It’s the most human Yoongi’s ever seen him.

‘Hyung,’ he croaks, blinking at him in what Yoongi guesses is surprise, though it looks like he’s forgotten how to express emotion with his facial muscles. ‘You’ve got snow on you.’

‘Yeah, it’s fucking arctic outside,’ Yoongi bites out, teeth still clenched slightly against the chattering. ‘You gonna let me in?’

‘Yeah—yeah, just...’ He trails off into a dazed sort of silence as he steps back to let Yoongi past.

The apartment looks like a library projectile vomited all over the living area. There’s note-paper strewn on every fucking surface, books and folders stacked, pens and pencils and weird looking mathematical paraphernalia dotted around the floor – Yoongi makes a mental note not to spear his toe on that compass by the table.

‘What’s in the bag?’ Taehyung asks, wandering in ahead of Yoongi while he coaxes off his shoes in the entryway.

‘Food,’ he mutters, cursing through his teeth when his wet laces refuse to come undone on the first couple tugs. He can feel Taehyung’s eyes still on him from where he hovers near the couch, looking entirely out of it, glassy-eyed and jittery, fingers tugging at the frayed sleeves of his sweater.

‘Jimin came by the studio,’ Yoongi says mildly, straightening up to look at him once he has his shoes off at last, ‘said you were being self-destructive and also a royal asshole.’

That seems to wake Taehyung up a little, brows pulling together in something awful close to a scowl, but it’s not the kind of playful, pouting thing Yoongi’s used to seeing on him. He looks fucking mad, genuinely pissed, for real – not an emotion Yoongi expected him to be capable of.

‘Yeah, well, Jiminnie should mind his own damn business,’ he mutters, nearly slipping on more note paper as he moves towards the kitchen. ‘He shouldn’t have sent you over. I can’t eat anyway. Food slows me down, makes me sleepy.’

Jimin wasn’t fuckin’ exaggerating, Yoongi thinks, dropping the bag onto a particularly tall stack of books as he peers into the kitchen. He’s a fucking mess. ‘Well, sleep’s another thing you gotta do, so...’

‘Can’t,’ Taehyung says flatly. He’s down on his knees with the fridge open, rooting around impatiently inside, though there doesn’t seem to be much in there behind which anything could be hiding. ‘Gotta study.’

‘Tae—’ Yoongi begins, about to ask him what the fuck he’s doing, but he’s cut off by what he can only describe as a growl and not really the hot kind when it’s followed up by the sudden loud slamming of the fridge door, glass contents knocking sharply together. ‘What the fu— ‘

‘I fucking hate him!’ Taehyung roars, at no one in particular far as Yoongi can make out, unless the microwave counts. Still, it’s such an uncharacteristic outburst that Yoongi jumps slightly, eyes going wide, the shock leaving him unsure whether to yell back or laugh at him because who the hell is this this kid and what’s he done with Kim Taehyung?

Who?’ Yoongi asks him.

‘Who d’you think?’ Taehyung all but spits the words, slumping down against a cupboard, knocking the back of his head against it with a force that almost has Yoongi wincing. He doesn’t seem to feel it though, face all thunder, brow furrowed, his words coming out a little manic. ‘He hid my juice—he hid it. That was the only thing—oh my god...’ The last part is moaned plaintively into his own sleeves as he buries his face in them, fingers covered in pen marks and fluorescent highlighter ink tangling into his hair, tugging viciously.

‘Christ,’ Yoongi breathes. He’s still finding the whole thing just a tiny bit fascinating, but the novelty is already starting to wear off. He’s seen Taehyung riled up and throwing tantrums before (generally LoL-related in Yoongi’s experience), but most times Kim Taehyung gets mad like a cartoon villain – over-the-top and more comical than anything else. This, though – this is something different, less superficial, a bone-deep kind of something.

‘I’m gonna fail,’ Taehyung is mumbling into his hands, and shit, Yoongi swears he can hear his voice hitching, breath cutting off in worrying little squeaks. ‘I’m gonna fail an—and—why does he want me to fail?’ He lifts his head to direct his question at Yoongi, eyes glassy, nose pink. ‘Is it—is it ’cause I yelled at him?’

‘I think he’d hidden your shit before you yelled, Tae,’ Yoongi admits, but that only has Taehyung’s face crumpling further, teeth gritted.

‘Why would he do that?’ he wails, slamming his face back down into his hands again – a couple more rounds of that, Yoongi thinks, and he’ll break his fucking nose.

‘Because he’s looking out for—’ Yoongi begins, cutting off when he’s pinned with Taehyung’s wild-eyed, red-rimmed stare and fuck, now he’s starting to understand where Jimin got the demonic possession vibes from.

Don’t say he’s looking out for me!’ he snaps, teeth still clenched. Yoongi nearly laughs aloud at the realisation that Taehyung’s almost intimidating like this – almost. ‘This is not looking out for me, hyung! He’s making sure I have to take breaks away from the studying, he keeps doing shit like this, I’m gonna— ‘

‘Tae, you’re supposed to take fucking breaks,’ Yoongi cuts across him, raising his own voice this time to be heard over Taehyung’s wailing. ‘You study a bit – you study a fuckton, if you can – but then you rest, eat, sleep, jerk off, whatever, rinse and repeat. That’s how it works.’

‘That’s not how I work,’ Taehyung mutters sullenly, dropping his head again, though this time he’s more careful with the face smashing and Yoongi wonders with a smirk Taehyung can’t see if his nose might be feeling the effects of the last hit.

‘That’s how everyone works, you crazy bastard,’ he says, lowering his voice to a normal volume again now that Taehyung seems to be calming down – or miserably accepting his fate, whatever. ‘You’re crashing out. Hard.’

‘I’m only crashing ’cause he took my juice,’ he says, before lifting his head, eyes narrowed as he glowers suspiciously up at Yoongi. ‘D’you know where he hid it, hyung?’

Yoongi snorts. ‘No,’ he says, which immediately has Taehyung knocking his head back against the cupboard, making Yoongi wince again. ‘Jesus, stop fucking doing that. And even if I did know where your shit was, I wouldn’t tell you till you’d eaten and gotten some fucking sleep. And maybe showered, Tae, when was the last time you did that?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asks, voice a ragged monotone, but Yoongi can see just a hint of a pout pulling at his mouth now. He almost smiles – a sulky Taehyung is a much more familiar creature to him.

‘You look like you’ve just crawled out of some crack den after a week,’ Yoongi tells him, biting back a smirk.

Taehyung groans, letting his head loll to the side, brow still knit in frustration. ‘You sound like my mom, hyung, I don’t like that.’

Yesterday, Yoongi wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at Taehyung bringing up his parents, generally takes it as a cue to tune out for a while because he’s only going to babble – but thanks to Hoseok, it’s a little different now. The mention of his mother has Yoongi hesitating for a beat before speaking again, watching Taehyung while his back slides further and further down the cupboard (Yoongi thinks he’s going for a dramatic melting effect, but it’s hard to tell). I thought you knew, hyung. I just assumed. Hoseok probably figured Taehyung had told him, but for all the shit he tended to spew, he really didn’t tell Yoongi much at all. Yoongi isn’t sure why the realisation doesn’t sit right with him, seems to tug on that odd bundle of knots in his stomach that he’s really trying hard to pass off as hunger.

‘I don’t care what you like or don’t like right now,’ Yoongi finally murmurs, making Taehyung crack open an eye to glower up at him as he crosses his arms over his chest, ‘and I’m sure your mom’d fucking agree with me. I’m not leaving till you eat at least and you won’t be able to study with me here.’

Eyes narrowing, mouth pulling into this insolent little smirk, Taehyung pushes himself upright again. ‘Watch me,’ he hisses, his threats, for once, seeming entirely unsexual, which is new, but Yoongi just shrugs.

‘Sure, I’ll watch you,’ he agrees, pausing to grin internally at that flash of suspicion in Taehyung’s eyes because the kid is finally learning how he works. He’s right to be suspicious. ‘And I’ll poke you and blow in your ear and scribble on your notes and wave ramen under your nose. Shit, I’ll even make out with you if that’s what it takes, though I’m sure you’ve got some nasty-ass Java breath.’ (Of course, Taehyung has to fact-check this accusation right here and now, cheeks shifting as he rolls his tongue around his own mouth before crinkling his nose slightly.) ‘And I think we both know I can make that pretty fucking distracting for you,’ Yoongi finishes, trying not to look smug (he probably looks smug).

Taehyung’s shoulders have already sagged in defeat, the fight beaten out of him. ‘Don’t wanna make out,’ he mumbles, picking moodily at the floor tiles.

Yoongi shrugs again. ‘Eat, then.’

Taehyung glowers up at him through the stringy mess of his bangs, eyes huge and dark and sullen. Yoongi’s pretty sure he tries staring him out for a couple seconds, though it’s hard to tell when he’s pouting like a sulky fucking toddler. It’s cruel, really, that in that moment, with the stretched out, ripped up neck of his sweater hanging loose over his collarbones and his hair fucked up as it is, he still looks good. Decent, at least. Maybe not 10/10 Would Bang once the coffee stains and probable death breath have been taken into account, but still a solid 8.5. Not bad for a guy in dirty sweats and mismatched socks.

‘Jesus, fine,’ he finally groans, making a fuss of hauling himself to his feet, lots of grunting and foot stamping while Yoongi rolls his eyes. As soon as he’s upright, Taehyung pushes past him and makes a beeline for the couch (there is a clear nest amongst the papery chaos where Taehyung must’ve made a home for himself), but like hell is Yoongi gonna eat his lunch in Kim Taehyung’s torture pit of a study area.

‘No—no, away from the fucking study materials,’ he says, grabbing the bag of food and then also a fistful of Taehyung’s left sleeve, ignoring his whines of protest. ‘C’mon.’

 

 

Taehyung is quiet while they eat and Yoongi doesn’t much feel like playing mood-maker, so he ends up letting his gaze wander around the room as he shovels noodles into his mouth. He doesn’t remember really being in Taehyung’s bedroom more than a handful of times and even those times were often under the influence and usually at night, little more light than his weak bedside lamp – shaped like a jellyfish, Yoongi has now noticed – to see by. Somewhere along the line, they just fell into the habit of using Yoongi’s room, making the most of the double bed Yoongi squished in there, so he’s never really seen Taehyung’s room in all its, uh... glory.

He always thought Namjoon was bad, with his Ryan shrine and shelves of books, or Hoseok’s room at home in Gwangju with his extensive (and expensive) collection of KAWS toys, but this is a whole other thing entirely. For starters, living in identical apartments, Taehyung’s room should be the same size as Yoongi’s – more space, in fact, without the bigger bed – but he’s stuffed so much crap into it that it feels tiny. Not cramped as much as cosy, the shelves stuffed with books and albums and DVDs and manga volumes, the ones that won’t fit stacked up in precarious piles in the corner. His wardrobe is hanging half open, overflowing with fabric in every colour of the fucking rainbow, though Yoongi swears he’s only seen Taehyung wear five or six different shirts in all the time he’s known him.

Atop the chest of drawers, a small army of what look like Lord of the Rings and League of Legends figurines stand sentry, littered in amongst bottles of cologne and women’s perfumes by the looks of those soft pink bottles – one of them is likely that strawberry scent he wears that makes everything it touches (including Yoongi and his bedsheets and all his fucking jackets) smell like a goddamn cupcake.

On the desk – the only neat surface in the room, likely because its usual contents are spread all over the living area right now – sit a cluster of stuffed toys, turned to face out the window, but Yoongi decides not to question this and is quickly distracted anyway by the realisation that the design on the curtains is not some abstract nonsense – but Pokéballs. Honest to god fucking Pokéballs. Upon further inspection, he also discovers that of course – of course – the bedsheets match the theme which means Yoongi has, in fact, fucked and been fucked on Pokémon fucking bedsheets.

That’s enough to have him slow his chewing, noodles hanging out of his mouth as he stares down contemplatively at the sheets beneath him.

What the fuck has his life come to?

‘Your room’s a fucking nerd sanctuary, you realise that, right?’ Yoongi asks, before he falls any further into that particular existential crisis.

Taehyung shrugs, seeming unfazed. ‘I’m a nerd, it’s my sanctuary – makes sense,’ he mumbles, poking at his ramen. He hasn’t eaten much, from what Yoongi can tell, but at least he’s making an effort, even if it is a sulky one. ‘I knew you wouldn’t like it. Why d’you think we never come in here?’

Yoongi frowns over at him. ‘Never said I didn’t like it,’ he says, licking broth from the corner of his mouth. He’d never have thought Taehyung would give a shit how Yoongi felt about his choice of decor – he’s certainly never paid any attention to Taehyung’s impression of his room. ‘Thought we didn’t come in here because your bed’s fucking tiny?’

‘That, too,’ Taehyung admits, and the corners of his mouth turn down in a faint smirk as he glances over at Yoongi. ‘Though I’m sure we could make it work.’

Yoongi snorts softly at that, pretending not to notice how his own gaze lingers on Taehyung’s broth-slick lips. It’s not exactly the sexiest of activities, eating ramen, but Yoongi finds it a struggle to look at Taehyung’s mouth and not think about all the other times they looked as shiny and plump as they do right now. It’s enough to have him clearing his throat to unstick a mouthful of food as he drops his eyes to his own ramen pot again, shaking his head slightly at this train of thought. Maybe it’s the stress, maybe because it’s been a while – he hasn’t seen much of Taehyung since the gig last Friday night, reading week keeping him busy enough that any thought of Taehyung’s phone number brought a fresh wave of stress reminding him he still needs to finish his essay for that ridiculous studio management course or study those last two chapters for composition.

Even now, Yoongi should be fucking sleeping, not slumped against Taehyung’s pillows eating ramen and seriously wondering if Taehyung might be up for a round after this, while also trying to figure out if he’s actually horny himself. Somehow, the thought of sinking into the soft surface beneath him is practically orgasmic all on its own. Besides, he really doesn’t think Taehyung’s going to be up for much of anything, the way he’s staring blearily down into his take-out pot like he might fall into it at any moment – kid’s whacked out of it, so tired his body doesn’t even understand what tired is anymore.

It’s weird seeing a side of him that isn’t all puppies and fucking sunshine, or dark eyes and daring hands and a filthy smirk. They’re the only versions of Taehyung Yoongi’s ever really known, apart from those slight shifts where his light flickered a little – last Friday night, while he was telling Yoongi about his ex, the bullying; right after he came back from the club bathroom with Jimin, too, whatever had happened with the asshole in there; any mention of chemistry, ever; and of course, that day Yoongi asked him about his dad.

It’s stupid, he thinks, still watching Taehyung frown dejectedly as he nearly drops his chopsticks for the tenth time, noodles slipping back into the pot – it’s stupid that he feels an odd pang of something like annoyance in his gut that Taehyung didn’t mention it before, but he knows he has no right to feel it. After all, why would Taehyung tell him something like that when he doesn’t know shit about Yoongi?

From all his babbling, Yoongi knows the dumbest fucking details about Taehyung’s life. He knows his mom works in a beauty salon and he has twin younger siblings, a boy and a girl, and their dog’s name is Soonshim. He knows his grandparents live in the countryside and own a farm, but now in their old age, they don’t keep animals unless they’re pets; his grandmother focuses on her jam business and his grandfather does something with bees. At home in Daegu, Taehyung has an east-facing bedroom window and his ceiling is, apparently, obscured entirely by glow-in-the-dark stars. He knocked out four of his baby teeth on separate occasions (from falling out of trees, mostly) and that mole on his wrist isn’t a mole; he tried to tattoo himself when he was fourteen, but chickened out and all he was left with was a black-brownish sort of blob (his mom still has no idea and keeps marvelling over the fact she never knew he had a mole there).

The list goes on, just stupid shit that slunk into Yoongi’s memory and took root all thanks to Taehyung’s invincible love of mindless pillow talk. But Yoongi’s realised that, in all his babbling, it was never really anything important, just those inane details about his life and family. Generally, in Yoongi’s experience, when people get talking post-coitus and caught in that murky stage between still drunk and hungover, the deep shit comes out, the ex tales and the daddy issues, the existential crises. It’s always been Yoongi’s least favourite part of any one-night stand, the reason why he makes sure to get the fuck out of there as soon as he gets his breath back, but Taehyung’s never been like that. Yoongi had him pegged as an over-sharer, the kind of person who trusted anyone from the get-go, didn’t believe in the concept of privacy, but when it comes down to the deep shit, it seems he’s more guarded than Yoongi gave him credit for. His shitty high school experiences, his dad – Yoongi knowing about all that held more weight than he first realised and he can feel it now, another knot in his gut, tying itself into a nice, pretty fucking bow.

Watching Taehyung wiggle a piece of chicken between his chopsticks, brow furrowed in concentration, Yoongi’s not sure why he has the sudden urge to fucking tell him something, anything at all that might even the score a bit: My dog’s name is Holly and he’s cuter than your dog – he’s cuter than everyone’s dog. My parents are divorced, but my dad’s mom doesn’t know yet and they’re low-key hoping she’ll kick it soon, so they can stop playing happy couples at family events. My hyung wanted to study fine art, but settled for law instead, so my parents would stop pushing me away from music. I dated Hoseok in high school. I hated kimchi till I was about fifteen. In freshman year, I had a shitty delivery job, crushed my shoulder when this one heavy box fell on me – it never quite healed right. In middle school, I skipped a whole day of classes and bussed it to Seoul to go to a Kanye concert that I wasn’t even old enough for – I still don’t know how I got in without getting ID’ed, but fuck, I’m glad I did. That’s why I’m here.

There’s more, too, countless other little details floating around Yoongi’s mind, some slipping to the tip of his tongue, like he might just say them, but he’s pulled out of his thoughts when he realises Taehyung is staring right back at him. He’s got an eyebrow raised and Yoongi wonders how long he’s been sitting there like that.

‘What?’ Taehyung asks, looking the closest to smiling he’s been since Yoongi got here.

Yoongi blinks at him a moment, wondering what the fuck he should say, but in the end, he just shakes his head, scoops up another mouthful of lukewarm noodles. Taehyung watches him a while longer, a faint line between his brows, but Yoongi pretends not to notice, eyes straying to the photo collage on the back of Taehyung’s door.

It was a weird fucking notion anyway.

 

 

Later, it’s Yoongi’s turn to question Taehyung when he catches him staring, his half full take-out pot forgotten in his lap. He’s got his head tipped back against the wall, neck on show in a way that should probably be illegal at three in the afternoon, in broad daylight, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to give a fuck.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just lifts his eyebrows in silent question as he slides his own empty pot over onto the bedside locker. Taehyung’s watching him with his eyes narrowed, like he’s deep in thought, but the hint of a pout playing around his mouth is all theatrics. He’s gonna say something cheeky.

He sighs heavily before explaining himself. ‘Kinda wanna make out now,’ he says, carefully, as if he’s given this great consideration over the past couple minutes.

Yoongi’s snorts softly, but he can’t say he’s surprised and he can’t say he’s not interested.

‘I’m sure my breath is more ramen than gross now, anyway,’ Taehyung says, lifting his pot from his lap and tipping sideways to flop onto the bed next to Yoongi. For the first time today, he grins – a little ragged around the edges, not quite the perfect rectangle, but it’s close enough that Yoongi smirks back.

‘Only one way to figure that out, I guess,’ he muses, as Taehyung shimmies himself up on his knees, leaning over Yoongi on all fours to oh-so-seductively set his take-out container next to Yoongi’s on the bedside locker. He looks fucking ridiculous, biting his lip and wiggling his ass, even arching his back a little as he stretches over. Yoongi snorts again, shaking his head at the freakshow next to him, grabbing fistfuls of his sweater to tug that freakshow over onto his lap.

Taehyung’s got laughter rumbling in his throat when he curls his arms around Yoongi’s neck, a smile still curving his mouth when ducks his head so his lips meet Yoongi’s. They’re all stress-chapped and salty ramen broth, but the light, lingering kisses Taehyung plants around his mouth have Yoongi huffing out a sigh of satisfaction before he can stop himself. He catches Taehyung’s lower lip with his teeth to get him to quit the teasing, sucking it into his own mouth and earning himself the softest grunt of pleasure, Taehyung shifting to settle properly down onto Yoongi’s thighs, pressing closer. He surges in with more force after that, but his breath skitters when Yoongi’s hands drop to sneak under his sweater.

‘Your hands are cold,’ Taehyung whispers, breath warm on Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi replies with a nip of his teeth while he smooths his hands pointedly up Taehyung’s back, making a shudder run through him, feeling his mouth curve as he squirms in Yoongi’s lap.

He’s never really seen the point in touching Taehyung over his clothes in situations where this is so readily available to him: the warm, smooth skin of Taehyung’s stomach, the divots between his ribs, the quiver of muscles tensing under Yoongi’s wandering fingers when his touch is too light and it tickles. Yoongi would probably never admit to having a thing for the strangled noise Taehyung makes when he’s trying to kiss and laugh at the same time, but if asked under oath in a court of law, he’s not sure he could deny it either.

Hyung,’ he laughs out, breathy and muffled, when Yoongi brushes icy thumbs over his nipples before dropping his hands again to catch him round the waist, stop him jerking away. Taehyung seems to like that, though, a contented hum thrumming in his throat as his hands move upward, palms hot on Yoongi’s neck, fingertips pushing at his beanie till it slips off his head.

Yoongi licks into Taehyung’s mouth and honestly, it doesn’t taste so hot in there, but he pulls him deeper anyway because Taehyung’s started playing with his hair, carding his fingers through the longer strands at the back, and Yoongi is so weak, ass breath be damned. He runs his hands over Taehyung’s back again because fuck it, he can, and the hot skin is working even better than the ramen at getting some feeling back into his hypothermic fingertips. He puts this newfound feeling to good use tracing the lines of Taehyung’s shoulder blades before lowering his hands again, thumbs hooking into the waistband of Taehyung’s sweats.

Yoongi does consider sticking by his usual rule about overcoming all fabric barriers on Taehyung’s body at once and with great haste, shoving his hands down the back of his sweats and groping the life out of his ass because what better way to spend an afternoon? But he knows for a fact they’d never stop there, not once bare asses are involved, and he still isn’t sure he’d rather fuck than sleep right now. Even the way his lips move against Taehyung’s is one step short of lazy, because Taehyung is warm and he’s raking his fingernails lightly over Yoongi’s scalp in a way that would have his eyes slipping shut if they weren’t already. It’s half-assed kissing by all means, but even in this stale state, Taehyung’s mouth is so fucking good at making Yoongi’s mouth feel so fucking good, so he can’t honestly complain. It’s nice. It’s gross, vanilla as fuck, but it’s nice, works wonders for the ache of tension that was building up between Yoongi’s shoulder blades.

‘How bad?’ Taehyung mumbles after a while, landing a peck on the corner of Yoongi’s mouth before littering a couple more down his jaw, pausing at his earlobe to nip at his with his teeth, pulling a breathy hiss from Yoongi. When he sits back on Yoongi’s thighs, he’s clearly trying to look serious, eyebrows low, though it’s hard to see him that way when he’s cheeks are pink and his hair is a certified bird’s nest. ‘Be brutal, hyung.’

Raising an eyebrow, Yoongi bites back a smirk to keep a straight face. ‘Thought you didn’t like it rough?’

That serious front shatters in the blink of an eye. ‘Hyung,’ he groans, shoving at Yoongi’s shoulder as he tries not to grin. ‘Stop, I was being serious.’

‘Kinda bad,’ Yoongi admits, snorting a soft laugh, thumbs still stroking over the sharp lines of Taehyung’s hipbones, ‘but not unbearable.’

Taehyung’s eyebrows hitch in up in interest at this. ‘No?’ he asks, leaning in again, hand moving to tilt Yoongi’s jaw.

‘Nah,’ he murmurs, dragging him down again with a hand at his nape.

Yoongi sinks back against the pillows properly under the pressure of Taehyung’s lips, his grip on his waist pulling Taehyung with him till they’re halfway to horizontal and Yoongi realises this could be a bad idea. The bed beneath him is so fucking soft and Taehyung on top of him may as well be a warm blanket, the offbeat rhythm of their mouths as good a lullaby as any. Yoongi wonders, briefly, if it’s possibly to fall asleep mid-make out and whether it’s considered bad form or not. He’s just about to ask Taehyung how he’d feel about this when—

Fuck,’ Taehyung half whines against his lips, sitting up with no warning till he’s straddling Yoongi’s hips. However good that weight might feel, it’s obviously not Taehyung’s intention to make it fun, his brow furrowed deep with distress, fists curled into the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt. ‘I was really mean to Jiminnie.’

Yoongi blinks at him a moment, a little shaken by the sudden change in atmosphere, but okay. ‘And... he’s back,’ he announces dryly, letting out a flustered sort of sigh as his hands slip down to rest on Taehyung’s thighs.

Taehyung seems entirely unfazed that he interrupted them for this (or Yoongi’s smart comments). ‘Was he upset?’ he asks him, eyes all wide and imploring as he gazes down at Yoongi. ‘Is he mad at me?’

Yoongi shrugs. ‘Well, yeah,’ he says, letting his head tip back to rest against the headboard, ‘but he knows you weren’t in your right mind, Tae. All he’s gonna want is an apology and a handjob – or whatever it is you guys have as a secret handshake.’

Still chewing on his lower lip, Taehyung doesn’t look much reassured, never mind amused. His gaze wanders over to the window, fingers still twisting in the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt, and he stares forlornly out at the white, wintry sky for a moment. To his credit, Yoongi doesn’t laugh at him, but he does watch Taehyung with eyebrows raised as he waits for him to snap out of it, the window reflected eerily in his glassy eyes. When he does turn back to Yoongi, he blinks a couple times, like he’d quite forgotten he was in the room, before leaning down again almost absently to catch Yoongi’s mouth in a couple slow, gentle kisses, more subdued now.

It isn’t long before he’s propping himself up with hands braced on Yoongi’s chest, the hint of a sheepish smirk playing around his mouth this time.

‘Hyung, you smell good and I feel bad for smelling like Monster Java,’ he says. ‘I think it’s sweating outta my pores.’

‘I can’t disagree,’ Yoongi admits, smirking, because all he can fucking smell is stale coffee woven through the vague hints of strawberry hanging in the stagnant bedroom air.

‘Yeah, I’m gonna go take a shower,’ Taehyung announces, patting Yoongi’s chest before he slides off his lap to move around his room. Yoongi watches him searching through various piles for a clean towel, tinkering with the bottles on the dresser. His ass looks good in sweats, Yoongi notices absently. His ass looks good in most things, it’s annoying.

‘You gonna be here when I get out, or...’ Taehyung asks after a moment, backing towards his bedroom door.

Still slumped into the pillows, Yoongi shrugs. ‘Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,’ he says, knowing he sounds like he’s trying to be fucking mysterious, but he genuinely isn’t sure if he’ll be able to convince himself to move from this exact spot.

Whipping his towel up to sling it over his shoulder, Taehyung rolls his eyes at him, but he’s smiling as turns to the door. He pulls it half shut behind him when he leaves, the hum of the shower starting up a minute later, leaving Yoongi with nothing much to do but make himself comfortable and get acquainted with the ceiling.

Or go home, a treacherous little voice in his head reminds him and he should probably go home. Get some sleep. Shower. Get ready for work. Study some more before his shift. He should do that, but his body won’t cooperate in lifting him off the bed, dragging him out of the room, because whether he wants to admit it or not, his stress levels seem to have halved since he flopped down into these pillows with his ramen. He wants to tell himself it was the food because everything’s easier on a full stomach, but it wasn’t that. And he wants to tell himself it was the making out because that makes sense, right? Sex has always been a stress-relief for him, one of his go-to safe harbours when it all got too much, and making out was close enough, right?

Yoongi realises, grudgingly, after a couple minutes, that there’s quite a difference between dicking and playing with hair, between blowjobs and soft kissing. He tries hard to nudge it gently under that umbrella term of sex, but it doesn’t matter what way he tries to twist it, it won’t fit in there.

If it wasn’t a sex thing, what was it then? A comfort thing?

Yoongi scoffs aloud at the idea, reaching up to punch the pillow under his head into a more satisfying shape. He didn’t come here to comfort Taehyung and definitely didn’t come here to be comforted by Taehyung because that’d making things weird and Yoongi swore to himself before he even knocked on the door that this wasn’t gonna be weird. He came here to sort Taehyung out, to make Jimin’s life easier, to stop Seokjin from beating himself up when Taehyung drank himself into an early Monster Java-induced grave or developed a crack habit or something – all very real threats that Yoongi felt he had to see to.

Kim Taehyung isn’t a comforting presence anyway, not to Yoongi. Not with his lip-licking habit and his mouth in general, not with his ass and his hands or that strawberry fucking shower gel that Yoongi has developed some twisted Pavlovian reaction to. He never thought he’d see a day where the artificial scent of strawberries would have his cock twitching in his pants, but strawberries mean Taehyung and Taehyung means getting laid – he can’t help it.

No, Taehyung sure as shit isn’t comforting, Yoongi thinks, rolling onto his side, rolling his eyes behind closed lids when this movement sends a fresh waft of strawberries and Taehyung rising off the pillow. He’s a buzzing under Yoongi’s skin and a flaring heat low in his gut and knots. He’s one of the most disconcerting people Yoongi’s ever involved in his life before, but he’s good with his hips, he’s got a lethal mouth and a non-existent gag reflex – that’s why Yoongi keeps him around. Something like that, anyway, superficial stuff, barely more than skin deep, none of that “happy for you” shit Hoseok was trying to turn it into earlier, though Yoongi can’t deny that something’s different.

It wasn’t the two-week separation that seemed to mean so much at the time. It wasn’t that. It was believing Taehyung was fucking other guys. It was realising Yoongi himself hadn’t so much as glanced at another guy since hooking up with Taehyung that second time in that science building store cupboard. It was worrying that he was more into this than Taehyung was – it was realising he’s into this at all. It was finding out Taehyung hadn’t been fucking anyone else, not in a while. It was finding out he was at least as into this as Yoongi, enough that he didn’t want to fuck anyone else. Fuck, it was even to do with the way Taehyung looked down at him that night after the gig, his lips shining in the dark and his eyelashes stretching from here to forever, and it was the way he said it – God, I missed you. He said it, and Yoongi could taste him in his mouth, was dizzy with the weight of Taehyung on top of him and he looked fucking gorgeous

He wishes it was just the sex. In his years since coming to Seoul, Yoongi’s had a lot of sex with a lot of people. Taehyung’s right up there, but objectively speaking, he probably isn’t the best, too much of that overeager puppy vibe to really sit at the top of the list. But he is different. Yoongi saw him that first time in Seokjin’s utility room and didn’t give a shit what was under the pretty exterior, but Kim Taehyung fucks like he owes you the world and Yoongi can’t say that didn’t spark a vague interest even then. It was rare to find someone so fucking stunning – a model, an actual model – who felt they owed anyone more than their beauty, not in Yoongi’s experience anyway.

And he should know.

He’s always liked the pretty ones, always swung high above his weight as far as he’s concerned, but the pretty ones are so often cold, guarded, kinda prickly, like those flowers dipped in liquid nitrogen. The driven law students and the cut-throat business major sons of top CEOs, the science kids who wanted to cure HIV and make robots to explore Pluto and shit. Yoongi thought that was why he liked them, liked that they were just as ambitious as he was if not more so, just as greedy, liked that they treated sex as coolly as a business transaction or, at the very most, an offhand favour between friends.

Sex is something different to Taehyung and maybe that’s why sex with Taehyung feels like something different, too. Yoongi just isn’t sure what that something is and well – Min Yoongi has never been fond of anything he doesn’t understand. In these past few weeks, Kim Taehyung’s become his most baffling problem yet.

Ending it would be the smart thing, Yoongi knows that, and he’s though about it. Of course he’s thought about it. Cutting off whatever the fuck this is before it gets big and weird – or at least before it gets any bigger and weirder than it already is. He should probably have let things die with the Jungkook situation – probably would’ve, too, had Taehyung not gotten fucked off his face on dodgy cocktails and jumped him in Donghyuk’s kitchen. Even then, he should’ve kept him at arm’s length instead of asking him not to fucking sleep with anyone else, and he might’ve, too, had Taehyung not looked so good in that one striped shirt, if he hadn’t moaned so fucking sweet when Yoongi kissed him.

It’s too easy to blame Taehyung, though.

This kind of slow fuck up takes more awareness than Yoongi’s really willing to admit to himself, numerous fuck-ups on his part, but the worst of it is, he’s not sure he would want to take any of it back even if he could.

What happened after the gig – it’s been a long time since Yoongi’s done that, given himself over like that. Whether he’s taking a cock or giving it, he never considers himself the one getting fucked, not really. He’s doing the fucking, he’s in charge, he calls the shots and whoever’s getting fucked rarely tries to argue with him. That night, he had nothing but the control Taehyung gave him and Taehyung gave him an out, Yoongi saw it, thought about taking it, too, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to. He wanted Taehyung to fuck him and fuck him he did, so good Yoongi is certain he was clinically dead for several seconds after he came. Every time he’s thought of it since, he’s felt the urge to shut his eyes and offer up a prayer of thanks because that was nothing if not a religious experience, even to his atheist ass. Taehyung was good before, but he outdid himself that night – makes Yoongi reconsider his earlier thoughts about previous fuck-buddy rankings.

He had a longish-running thing with this guy once, Jinyoung. He was into some weird shit, had this crazy dom streak that caused some disagreements, but it never fazed him much. One of those frozen roses, med student or psych major, Yoongi can’t quite remember, but they got along pretty well.

Trust, Jinyoung said, that’s your problem, Yoongi-ah. You don’t trust me, you don’t trust anyone, that’s what you can’t let loose once in a while, you know?

And he wasn’t wrong. Yoongi trusts Hoseok. He trusts his hyung and his dog. He trusts his tiny collection of closest friends and he’d trust all those people with his life and more, but that’s it. With Yoongi, trust is all or nothing, which makes it all the more terrifying that, without realising, for whatever reason, he may have accidentally started trusting Kim Taehyung.

Sighing into the semi-dark, he rolls onto his back, eyelids heavy as he lets his gaze wander blearily over the posters taped to the wall. Anime stuff, a lot of it, some bands, some Western artists Yoongi’s never even fucking heard of. He’s never talked music with Taehyung, not really. What does a person like Taehyung even listen to? Seems like the type of guy who might not even know Kanye exists, too caught up in his indie scenes. This thought is troubling, but not as troubling as the fact that Yoongi’s curious, that he wants to ask.

Why can’t you just admit you like him, hyung?

With a soft groan, he reaches up to scrub at his face with the sleeves of his hoodie stretched over his palms. He’s too tired for this. He needs to sleep. He needs to not think about Kim Taehyung or his dick or his mouth or his Pokémon bedsheets. Above all, he needs to not think about last Friday night and that frozen moment right after Taehyung’s hips met Yoongi’s ass and he stopped, looking like a particularly sex-ruffled rabbit caught in the headlights. When Yoongi’s gut started tying itself in all those knots: one for the deep brown glow of Taehyung’s eyes when the streetlight from the window hit them just right, another for the faint bruise on his lip from Yoongi’s teeth, a knot each for his laugh, the way it drops to a low thrum in his chest when his voice gets all wrecked and breathless, and the way his fingers curled tight around Yoongi’s wrist as he came, sobbing his name into the crook of his neck. Countless other knots, too, like a kid trying to tie his shoelaces, every subtle tug leading to another tangle.

Yeah, Yoongi thinks, eyes shut, nose itching with the scents of strawberry and skin, he really needs to not think about any of that.

He needs to sleep.

 

 

 

 

When Yoongi opens his eyes again, his lashes are like lead weights dragging his eyelids back down. He can tell some time has passed from the darkening of the room, but he doesn’t feel like he’s slept more than a couple seconds. Taehyung’s skin is washed in soft blues from the window, his hair inky black with wet, dripping droplets down the side of his face onto his bare shoulder because he’s shirtless. Of course he’s shirtless. He’s shirtless and damp and sitting right next to Yoongi on the edge of the mattress and he is not awake enough for this.

‘Hyung, you fell asleep,’ he says softly, almost a whisper.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi mutters, propping himself up on an elbow as he grinds the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. The backs of his eyelids feel like sandpaper, his temples throbbing with being woken too soon.

‘S’okay,’ Taehyung says. ‘You pull an all-nighter or something?’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi sighs, lowering his hands and opening his eyes again to sticky slits. Taehyung has a towel in his hands, trying to dry off the ends of his hair. ‘Library’s open 24 hours now, so...’

‘Right,’ Taehyung hums, sounding thoughtful. ‘Might go there instead, stay outta Jiminnie’s way.’ He’s half pouting as he says it, still seeming sore on the topic and Yoongi snorts a quiet huff of laughter.

‘Not tonight, you’re not,’ he says flatly, letting himself flop back down into the pillows. Taehyung’s the kind of dork who still has a bedside alarm clock that actually works, the little LED screen lit up with a constant blue glow – Yoongi’s nowhere near late for work yet.

Still scrubbing the towel over his hair, Taehyung scowls down at him, but Yoongi doesn’t meet his gaze, shameless enough in this barely lucid state that he has no problem watching Taehyung’s arms and the way the muscles move under his skin as he works. He bulked up for a while, complained about gym visits for weeks, too, something to do with a Christmas campaign. It’s fading now that he’s stopped working out, but his arms are still all lean muscle and while he’s no Kim Seokjin, those shoulders are better proof of their shared genes than any actual DNA test, far as Yoongi’s concerned. It’s excessive, really, that one family was granted so much fucking shoulder.

‘You need to sleep,’ Yoongi goes on, a little vaguely, gaze certainly not straying lower over Taehyung’s torso, to the light definition of his chest or the way his hipbones slant down into the waistband of his sweats. Fuck. ‘When’s your first exam? Two fuckin' weeks' time?’

‘Day after tomorrow,’ Taehyung mumbles, dropping the towel into his lap, lips pursed as he starts to fold it up. ‘Well, not an exam, really. It's a physics lab, but it's 20% of our grade, hyung.’

Yoongi frowns at him, dragging his gaze upwards again. ‘But you don’t even need to study for Physics,’ he points out – another bullshit piece of information he knows from Taehyung’s babbling. He’s good at physics. He’s good at everything except chemistry, another fucking thing Yoongi never wanted to know.

‘Not really,’ Taehyung admits, smoothing the folded towel carefully over his thighs.

‘Exactly,’ Yoongi says, propping himself on his elbow again to try looking more authoritative here, channeling that inner Seokjin. ‘So fucking rest, Tae, don’t be an idiot.’

Taehyung side-eyes him a little more, all sullen eyebrows, still trying to keep up that scowl. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he mutters, tossing his meticulously folded towel halfway across the room. It falls in a heap on top of his desk chair and Yoongi considers asking him what the fuck the point of folding it was, but he doesn’t get a chance to.

Without any warning, Taehyung flops down next to him on the bed and drags him none-too-gently into another kiss, the force close to bruising. Yoongi drops back with a grunt of surprise against Taehyung’s lips as he falls with him, pressing him hard into the pillows, and it’s like he wants to pick up where they left off. There’s nothing feverish about it, nothing pushy, but it’s no holds barred from the outset, hand scraping gently into Yoongi’s hair, teeth catching on his lower lip to suck it into his own mouth.

Fuck, Tae,’ Yoongi hisses, but Taehyung knows better than to stop at that, when Yoongi’s hands are searching to find purchase on his skin, still all sticky and hot from the shower, fingertips digging into the ridges of his shoulder blades.

Taehyung’s tongue smooths over Yoongi’s lip before pushing past his teeth and Christ, he tastes like toothpaste now, peppermint washing over Yoongi’s own tongue, making his jaw tingle. Maybe the difference in eagerness shows because he feels Taehyung’s mouth curving into a smile.

‘Better, hyung?’ he asks.

‘Mm,’ Yoongi hums. ‘Much.’

He’s honestly not sure who rolls them over, but next thing he knows, he’s straddling Taehyung’s hips with his own hair hanging into his eyes, his hoodie half off his shoulder, but he couldn’t care less, diving in for Taehyung’s mouth again before he’s even got himself properly balanced. Taehyung has a firm grip on his waist anyway, hands tangled somewhere in the space between Yoongi’s hoodie and t-shirt, tugging with little intention, really, just enough to coax his hoodie the rest of the way off. It’s not cold in the room; the shiver that runs down Yoongi’s spine has more to do with the warmth of Taehyung’s palms bleeding through his sweats when he slides his hands up the back of Yoongi’s thighs. He takes his time, another couple slow kisses, before he reaches Yoongi’s ass, but when he does, he makes the most of the squeezing, grinning against his lips at Yoongi’s hissed curse.

‘I like you in sweats, hyung,’ he mumbles.

Frowning, Yoongi hums somewhat suspiciously. ‘Thought you liked me—in jeans?’ he asks between kisses.

Taehyung rubs his palms over Yoongi’s cheeks before sinking his fingers in again. ‘Mm, that, too.’

‘And leather?’

A soft giggle rumbles through Taehyung’s chest. ‘Uh-huh.’

Yoongi pulls back a touch to raise an eyebrow at him, but Taehyung only grins, grip easing up on Yoongi’s ass, though his thumbs keep swirling in these soft, circle patterns – it’s fucking distracting.

Taehyung’s cheeks are stained rose gold with that shower blush still glowing underneath the tan skin. His eyelashes are peaked into tiny, wet spikes, black as night, making his eyes look even bigger still. He’s something fucking else, Yoongi thinks, watching him sink his teeth gently into his own lower lip, slick and swollen, so plush that Yoongi barely stops himself from reaching up to test the squishiness with the pad of his thumb. He doesn’t think he could stand that right now, not with sleep still heavy on his mind and that semi heavy in his boxers.

Instead, he ducks down again, runs his tongue teasingly along the line of Taehyung’s lip, but instead of kissing him, he moves lower, brushing his lips the length of his jaw, noticing Taehyung didn’t bother shaving while he was in there. The light stubble is rough against Yoongi’s tongue, but he couldn’t give a fuck with Taehyung breathing in his ear like that, heavy and stuttering when Yoongi starts sucking kisses down the front of his throat, teeth grazing his Adam’s apple. Taehyung’s fingers slide into Yoongi’s hair again when he starts sucking a mark just over his collarbone, a whisper of Yoongi against the shell of his ear that has him nipping at the thin skin with his teeth. That only gets a broken sort of cackle out of Taehyung, his neck arching high.

‘You can’t pretend you don’t like it now, hyung,’ he says, his voice taking on this cocky drawling lilt, but Yoongi fixes that pretty quick as he continues up his throat, alternating between light, lingering pecks and those harder kisses that always knock the breath right out of Taehyung. ‘W-we need to talk about that, though, I—I wanna know—‘

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Yoongi breathes into the shell of his ear, teeth tugging gently at his piercings, though Taehyung is still huffing with uneven laughter.

When Yoongi lifts his head again, Taehyung’s eyes are bright with amusement, his hair splayed all over the pillow like a dark halo, cheeks even more flushed than they were, the kind of dusky pink that does way more for Yoongi’s cock than a colour should probably do. Kim Taehyung is enjoying this far too fucking much, still grinning when Yoongi leans down to kiss him again, tongue sliding into his mouth to shut him the fuck up.

He’d love to do more. Yoongi can already think of a few creative ways to beat all that bravado out of Taehyung and edging him from here to next fucking Tuesday is only five of them. He wants to fuck him slow, take him the fuck apart after what Kim Taehyung did to him last week. He wants to mark up the smooth, tan skin of his chest, leave a hickey over every single dark freckle he’s got scattered down his body because it’d take hours and Taehyung would be fucking squirming. Yoongi wants to, but he doesn’t have the time right now and he’s not settling for a quick blowjob or a half-assed fuck. Not this time.

There’s a score to be settled.

Right now, he needs to go home. He needs to sleep, shower, get to work, but Yoongi also knows that the second he leaves, Taehyung will be back in his torture nest of study notes without so much as a fucking nap. He’s pliant under Yoongi, soft against the pillows, but Yoongi wouldn’t go as far as to say he’s relaxed, calmed. He’s laughing, but it’s muted at the edges and he’s smiling, but it’s not lasting as long as it usually might. His mind is still out there, on his notes, his exams, and no matter what he might say or promise, Yoongi doesn’t trust him not to be a sneaky fuck about this.

So, he blames his next idea, again, on sleep-deprivation and maybe his half-hard dick – probably Hoseok, too, because it’s just too easy to pin things on Jung Hoseok. It’s another stupid fucking idea, but even still, Yoongi’s already lost over an hour of his day to sorting Taehyung out, he’s not gonna leave the job half-finished now.

‘Hey, turn over,’ he says, rolling off Taehyung so he can move – which he does, but not without glancing over his shoulder, his face a curious sort of smirk.

 ‘What for?’ he asks, unholy eyebrows quirking up under the stringy mess of his bangs. ‘Should I take my pants off for this?’

‘Nah, you’re good,’ Yoongi says, not allowing himself to hesitate before he settles down behind him. (He’s done this with Hoseok loads of times anyway, it’s not a big deal.) ‘Might wanna free the duvet, though, it’s fucking cold,’ he adds, snaking an arm around Taehyung’s waist and trying not to think too hard on the warm, bare skin of his stomach or the way Taehyung stiffens right up for a moment.

‘Hyung—’ he begins, but Yoongi isn’t going to let him talk about this, no fucking way.

‘You said you liked being the little spoon, right?’ he asks, cool, business-like. It’s not a big deal. Eyes shut, calm and not at all on edge, Yoongi pretends not to notice the beat of silence before Taehyung replies.

‘I—Yeah,’ he says softly, relaxing a touch. ‘Yeah, I did.’

Young grunts in acknowledgement, taking that as permission to press a little closer, barely breathing room between their bodies. But Taehyung is still jittering – Yoongi can fucking sense it.

‘Hyung,’ he begins after a moment, a desperate sort of whine at the edges of his voice and not the good kind. ‘Hyung, I really don’t have time—’

It must take a lot to try to protest right now because Kim Taehyung never shuts the fuck about how much he loves all this touchy shit, always hanging off Hoseok or Jimin or anyone else he can get his hands on (except Yoongi, not that he gives a fuck), so this must be a right treat for him. Yoongi almost admires his resolve here, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is now comfy and warm and not moving.

‘Look,’ he says, struggling up onto an elbow. Taehyung rolls halfway onto his back to gaze up at him, all puppy eyes and furrowed brow. ‘I need to go to work in a couple hours, anyway. I’ll wake you, right?’

Taehyung blinks a few times, slow and so obviously sleepy that it’s almost fucking comical. ‘Promise?’ he mumbles, after a moment.

Yoongi shrugs. ‘Yeah, whatever.’

Taehyung stops him just as he’s about to lie down again, the beginnings of a grin playing around his mouth. ‘Pinkie promise?’ he asks, contorting his arms a little to offer a pinkie to Yoongi, but Yoongi scoffs, rolling his eyes.

‘Tae, I’m not gonna fucking pinkie—’

‘Okay, let me up, then, hyung—’ Taehyung says, already starting to struggle out of Yoongi’s grip, and Yoongi could probably pin him down if he wanted to, but the kid is stronger than he looks and Yoongi’s fucking exhausted.

‘Fuck—fine,’ he hisses, to immediate effect; Taehyung melts back down against the pillows with eyebrows raised and right pinkie still extended.

Yoongi shuts his eyes and prays for patience as he does it, but he does do it, lifts his left pinkie, lets Taehyung do some weird curling shit around it. He only opens his eyes again when Taehyung doesn’t let go, keeps his finger twisted around Yoongi’s. He’s giving him this odd look – not odd as in that one face he pulls where he looks like a clown from a horror film, but odd as in the kind of look Yoongi’s never seen on him before.

It’s the type of expression that’s all in the eyes, leaving them wide and dark and syrupy. Yoongi isn’t quite sure how or why, but all of a sudden, Taehyung looks—seems so much older. It’s not often that he’s forced to remember Kim Taehyung isn’t just an overgrown puppy with a skull full of marshmallow cream. He’s an honest-to-god grown man – or something close, at least – with a brain behind those Bambi fuckin’ eyes that’s probably going to discover galaxies someday, or do whatever the fuck great astronomers do before lunch. It’s the kind of odd look that ties another knot in Yoongi’s gut, ties it nice and tight.

‘What?’ Yoongi asks, kind of hates how soft his voice comes out, even in the silence of the room, a quiet croak.

Taehyung blinks at him, licking his lips in that nervous way he does sometimes. ‘Nothing, just…’ He trails off, clearing his throat before using his grip on Yoongi’s pinkie to raise their hands up a little more. ‘You’ve got really skinny fingers, hyung,’ he finally says, but something about his tone makes Yoongi fucking certain that’s not what he was thinking about before. He’s grinning now, though, all mischief. ‘I mean, I thought my asshole was gifted taking four that one time, but—‘

‘Oh my god, shut up,’ Yoongi groans, yanking his pinkie from Taehyung’s grasp and giving him a shove to get him to roll off the duvet. He does not need to be thinking about Taehyung’s asshole right now, especially not in relation to his own fingers, fuck no. There are bad naptime thoughts, then there are worse ones and Taehyung’s asshole is in whatever category comes below that.

Taehyung thinks it’s fucking hilarious, though, still grinning and letting out intermittent bursts of sleepy giggles even once they’ve settled under the sheets.

‘Thought I told you to shut up,’ Yoongi grumbles, tucking his arm round Taehyung’s waist again, ignoring the way Taehyung wriggles back up against him (although he’s pretty sure when Taehyung grinds his ass up on Yoongi’s crotch, making him bite his own tongue against a soft groan, it’s no fucking accident).

‘I’m gonna,’ Taehyung yawns, giving Yoongi’s arm a pat he can only take as condescending. ‘Night, hyung.’

Eyes shut, mind drifting, Yoongi doesn’t reply. He tries his best to put his brain to sleep before he can think too much about the hairs of Taehyung’s nape tickling his nose and how the smell of that sweet shower gel is so strong right now it could probably fell a horse, but Yoongi finds he doesn’t mind it so much.

Exposure therapy, that Pavlovian shit, whatever – it’s fucking growing on him.

 

 

The next time Yoongi wakes, it’s to the grating sound of his own phone alarm buzzing from the pocket of his hoodie. Working on autopilot, still half asleep, he pushes himself up onto an arm, manages to snag the hood and drag it up from the end of the bed. He squints at the time as he taps to snooze the ringing, seeing he has just over an hour before he needs to leave for work.

Groaning, he collapses back down with his phone still clutched in his hand, eyes already shut again. Somehow the alarm doesn’t seem to have bothered Taehyung, his breathing still deep and sleepy, fanning against Yoongi’s face. He must’ve rolled over at some point, out of Yoongi’s grip, turned to face him instead, but their legs are still tangled, the heat under the sheets bordering on too much. It makes a nice change, though, with Yoongi so fucking used to waking up with icy feet and a numb nose in the winter months, no matter how many layers he piles on.

Kim Taehyung is a human furnace.

With some difficulty, Yoongi blinks his eyes open, isn’t quite prepared for how close Taehyung’s face is to his own. He should probably have considered the size of the bed and the fact that they only have one pillow between them in his calculations, but mistakes happen, such is life, and there Taehyung is, bare inches from him.

Taehyung sleeps with his eyes open just the slightest bit. The fact is almost entirely hidden by the dark fucking forest of his eyelashes, ten times thicker now that they’re all woven together, but Yoongi can see the gleam of his eyes behind that. While it might be creepy on anyone else, there’s just something so fucking innocent about Kim Taehyung’s face when he’s asleep, so blissed out and peaceful. Yoongi’s never really seen it before, never really slept with him in that literal sense of the word. There have been times where they both passed out for a couple hours after fucking, but Taehyung was always gone before Yoongi woke. He’s not sure he appreciates having the extra time now to stare at the freckle on the tip of Taehyung’s nose or the one just below his lip – he’s seen them before, sure, but only right before he kissed him or something. Yoongi’s never had this opportunity to watch him without the smirks or the smiles or the eyes scrunched up in laughter, just the plain blank canvas of his face, a Kim Taehyung in its purest form.

It’s not fair, really, that even chapped as they are, his lips look all flushed and plump, slightly parted. His skin, too, is next to fucking flawless, despite the days of bad eating and stress. He has one pimple – one pimple – and not a blackhead in sight, barely a pore visible on his nose. Yoongi knows he has good skin, enviable skin, but even he doesn’t look like he gets airbrushed every night while he sleeps, wakes up glowing and smooth and magazine-ready right down to the frizzy bedhead. It’s sickening, really, and Yoongi can only stare for so long before he feels his stomach start to turn.

With a soft groan, he ducks his head down, ignoring the feeling of Taehyung’s chin brushing the crown of his head (the bed is so fucking tiny) and comes face to face with his bare chest instead.

Great job, Yoongi, he thinks to himself, though he’s still so tired that even his dick barely has the energy to do much more than sigh wistfully at the sight. More airbrushed skin between the freckles and random, tiny scars – Yoongi’s sure they have stories, most likely involving falling out of trees or off roofs or something stupid and bizarre because that seems to be the only way Taehyung does anything. There’s a hickey on his left collarbone, too, from earlier, blooming a delicate red, like a strawberry birthmark. Yoongi knows he shouldn’t, but Taehyung bruises so fucking pretty, he can’t help but twist an arm up between them to brush a light fingertip over the mark.

Taehyung barely stirs at first, a stutter in his breath, nothing to worry about. But when Yoongi moves his finger away again, he feels the huff of a sigh ruffling his hair, a sleepy mumble of something entirely unintelligible. Before he has time to react, there’s a heavy arm winding around him and pulling him close, only his hand between them pressed hard against Taehyung’s chest stopping him from squishing his face right up against those collarbones he was just admiring.

‘What the fuck,’ he rasps, glowering at Taehyung’s neck. ‘Yah, Tae…’

There’s another rumble, Taehyung’s sleep-voice so fucking low it makes his chest vibrate, humming through Yoongi like a bass beat. That’s always been his favourite part of any track, the low throb that makes his bones sing, but it’s not enough to distract him from the weight of Taehyung’s arm around him. Who knew a limb could be so goddamn heavy?

Tae,’ he says again, a touch sharper, though anything above a weak croak is hard right now. He tries to tilt his head up, blow on his face or something, disturb him enough to make him move, but he’s met with the underside of Taehyung’s jaw. ‘Fuck’s sake, Taehyung.’

Taehyung groans again, Adam’s apple bobbing right in Yoongi’s eye-line as he swallows with a dry click. ‘Hyung,’ he mumbles, the syllable so distinct this time that Yoongi’s sure he must be waking up.

‘Yeah, Tae, just—’

Shhh,’ Taehyung slurs softly, arm tightening even more securely around him and Yoongi realises, with an exasperated roll of his eyes, that he’s still out of it.

Even in sleep, however, Taehyung strokes his hand clumsily up and down the length of Yoongi’s spine, another slurred something that sounds a lot like, S’okay, hyung. Then Yoongi can feel the point of Taehyung’s nose nuzzling into the crown of his head and suddenly it changes. Just like it did that night, the flick of a switch from something lighthearted and annoying to something else entirely, something that has Yoongi go still, quiet. He’s suddenly all too aware of Taehyung all around him, the heat, the weight, the smell of his skin – not even the fucking strawberries, but his skin, like the way it smells after sex has sweated away the soap, except far less gross, more like the way his pillow smells, warm and so indescribably distinct to Kim Taehyung. It fills Yoongi’s nose, his chest, invading his lungs, and he’s never had a real a panic attack before in his life, but he swears to god that in that moment, he almost loses it.

It’s a lot.

It’s Taehyung and then Taehyung and then more Taehyung and all the knots in Yoongi’s gut and for a couple seconds, staring dead straight at that little red mark on Taehyung’s collarbone (his little red mark on Taehyung’s collarbone), he can’t breathe.

Shhh,’ Taehyung mumbles again, lips shifting Yoongi’s hair, breath warm against his scalp. His voice is all distant and vague, he’s still dead to the world, but his nose nuzzles softly against the crown of Yoongi’s head, a contented sort of him thrumming strong under Yoongi’s palm.

He feels a little like he’s burning up, face hot from his throat right up to the tips of his ears, his pulse throbbing heavy in his own skull while his brain tries to catch the fuck up with this situation. One minute he was over there, enjoying his personal space and sleepy, drifting mind. Now he’s here and his personal space is Taehyung and his mind is Taehyung and Taehyung’s breath is warm in his hair and… and it’s nice. It’s fucking nice.

Fuck,’ he hisses, finally remembering how to exhale, but he’s scowling to himself even as he lets his head tip forward to rest against the hard, warm lines of Taehyung’s collarbones.

He likes the warmth, he likes the stupid pillow smell and Taehyung’s airbrushed chest with the dark freckles and the tiny scars, and the low hum of his sleep mumbling. He likes the feeling of Taehyung’s legs tangled gently through his own, and breath in his hair and big hands – stupidly big hands – on his back, fingers still attempting some sleepy stroking motion. As much as Yoongi’s heart is pounding and his head is spinning, he likes this, but he hates it a bit, too. He hates that Taehyung looks so fucking beautiful when he’s sleeping and when he’s not sleeping, and he hates that he likes this. He hates that maybe he didn’t stay because he wanted to be a good friend, he hates that it might’ve had more to do with the night of Jimin’s birthday, when Taehyung pressed up close behind him for warmth and Yoongi thought it’d be like stormy nights when Hoseok insisted they sleep together, but it wasn’t like that at all.

And it isn’t like that now.

Why can’t you just admit you like him, hyung?

Fuck…’ Yoongi whispers again, his chest aching from not quite catching his breath. He shuts his eyes, another shaky exhale stumbling past his lips as his hand drops from between them, curving around Taehyung’s waist instead, that dip just above where his hipbone stops, where he’s ticklish as fuck if you get him right. ‘Fuck.’

This is stupid, he thinks. This is stupid and a bad idea and you’re too fucking tired for this, Yoongi, go home before you make a fucking fool of yourself, think something you’re gonna regret.

Min Yoongi smart inside his head sometimes – quite often, actually, has a lot of good advice for himself and others, but fuck if he ever actually takes his own advice, heeds his own warnings. It’s like it was that night, when Taehyung stopped, when he looked down at him with those fucking doe eyes all worried – O-okay? It’s like that, right now, it’s the same fucking thing. Because Taehyung is here and he’s solid and he’s all around Yoongi and inside him – even if it’s not in the literal sense this time, he’s still there, the scent of him filling Yoongi’s lungs and his warmth bleeding into Yoongi’s skin. Like that night, Yoongi knows he fucking shouldn’t, shouldn’t give to Kim Taehyung what he doesn’t give to anyone else because that is a slippery slope, even for boots as reliable as Yoongi’s… But here he is again, barefoot, toes pressed against Taehyung’s calf where his sweats have slipped up under the sheets and Yoongi’s not even sure he’s on that slippery slope anymore—

He’s lying on the ground spread-eagle at the bottom, blinking through a mild concussion and trying to remember how and when the fuck he lost his footing.

‘Hyung?’

Yoongi feels the word more than he hears it, a hum against his forehead. It’s soft, sleepy, Yoongi just assumes it’s more of the unconscious mumbling, barely grunts in response.

It’s then that Taehyung moves, a slight jerk sudden enough that Yoongi startles, snatching his own hand away from Taehyung’s waist. ‘’m I crushing you, hyung?’ he asks, loosening his arm around Yoongi, allowing him to roll onto his back again – as far away as the matchbox bed will allow.

Dry eyes on the ceiling, Yoongi hears Taehyung huff a hoarse laugh into the pillow. ‘You’re all red, hyung,’ he says, which is when Yoongi decides he’s had more than enough, pushing himself upright with his arms, shoving tangled bangs out of his eyes.

‘I gotta go,’ he mutters, swinging his legs out of the bed and turning his back on Taehyung as quickly as possible. He’s missing his hat, his hoodie and a sock and the only place the sock will be is deep in the bed with Kim Taehyung and Yoongi seriously considers leaving it as he stares down as his bare foot.

Behind him, the sheets rustle, Taehyung rolling onto his own back to better look at Yoongi’s. ‘Y’okay, hyung?’ he asks, a thread of worry fraying the light edges of his tone.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Yoongi sighs, waving a dismissive sort of hand before he reaches for his hoodie, starts tucking his arms into the sleeves. ‘I just—work.’

‘Right,’ Taehyung murmurs.

Yoongi can’t tell if he sounds convinced or not, doesn’t care, refuses to dwell on it as he gets to his feet, grabs the edge of the duvet and flips open the bottom half of it. Taehyung yelps like a kicked pup at the sudden gust of cold air, curling his legs up to get his feet back in the warmth.

‘This is your wake-up call,’ Yoongi informs him, snatching his sock, dropping down onto the edge of the bed to tug it on.

Kicking at the duvet till it covers his feet again, Taehyung groans. Yoongi can see him thrashing dramatically in his peripheral vision, pulling the sheets up to his chin, throwing an arm over his eyes.

‘Think I’ll sleep longer seeing as I’m here,’ he says, sounding defeated, but Yoongi barely registers the victory.

‘Good,’ he mutters, getting to his feet, dragging his hat on over his tangled hair and patting down his pockets to make sure he’s taken everything. He does his very best to ignore the fact that Taehyung is watching him out of a small gap from underneath his arm, and finds himself suitably distracted anyway when he realises he must’ve left his phone in the bed.

Great.

Fantastic.

Taehyung is smirking horribly at him as Yoongi kneels on the bed again, searching around under the covers, and when Taehyung slides his arm up to rest on the pillow above his head instead, Yoongi knows he’s going to say something fucking annoying.

‘You should cuddle things more, hyung,’ he says, and wow, even from Kim Taehyung, Yoongi could not have anticipated that level of annoying. He casts him a dark look, continues his searching while Taehyung breaks into an all-out grin. ‘You’re kinda good at it. You look like you’re gonna be a tiny icicle, but you’re so soft and warm. The world should know this.’

Yoongi pauses, glowering, poised on hands and knees, hands lost under the pillow. ‘Did you just call me tiny and soft?’ he demands, before flipping the pillow up to hit Taehyung square in the face. ‘Yah, I’m not a fucking beanie baby!’

Taehyung is giggling – of course he’s giggling – as he pulls the pillow away again, sleep-puffy eyes crinkled. He pats at Yoongi’s head, ignoring the near-growl he gets for that one. ‘You are wearing a beanie, hyung,’ he says, only laughing harder at Yoongi’s eye-roll as he goes back to his searching. ‘You’re totally a beanie baby.’

‘You’re worse than Jin-hyung,’ Yoongi mutters – terrible humour and bad jokes seem to run in that fucking family. Shaking his head, he snatches his phone from where he just spied it tucked in by Taehyung’s side. ‘I’m fuckin’ leaving.’

‘Awh, hyung, just like that?’ Taehyung coos, trying that high, faux-innocent voice he does, but it doesn’t really work when he’s just woken up, vocal cords still rough. Yoongi feels a tug on his sleeve and turns back to find Taehyung gazing up at him through lazy lids, but there’s the faintest pout playing around his mouth and Yoongi knows exactly what he wants.

‘No, let me go,’ he grumbles, giving his arm a light shake, but Taehyung only curls his fingers in tighter, face crumpling sulkily.

Hyung—’ he begins and fuck it, fucking fuck it. Yoongi remembers the days when he had a resolve of steel. He knew who he was, he did what he wanted, he didn’t crumble in the face of fluttering lashes and pouting lips – like he’s doing right now, turning back with something close to a growl in his throat and catching those pouting lips in a kiss.

You’re a damned mess today, he thinks to himself, but it’s an awful distant thought as he rebalances his weight onto his elbows, pressing in deeper with Taehyung’s fingers on his jaw, his other hand already wandering under Yoongi’s t-shirt. His palm is warm on the small of Yoongi’s back, a hot pack, a welcome relief from the cold of the real world after spending so long in that tiny, furnace-heated bed.

Hyung,’ Taehyung groans softly, when Yoongi licks at the seam of his lips, but pulls away a second later, breath coming short. Taehyung’s eyes open to slits to watch him, but he keeps his lips just as Yoongi left them, slick, bright, parted, waiting.

Shit.

‘Shit, Tae,’ he breathes, moving in to kiss him again, hard, Taehyung’s fingers dropping from his jaw to curl into his hoodie, pulling him in, keeping him there. ‘I really—‘ Yoongi gives up trying to speak for a moment to meet Taehyung’s tongue with his own, brief and fucking hot, still the vague taste of peppermint. ‘Tae, work, I—I can’t—’

‘I know,’ Taehyung grumbles against his lips, but it sounds a lot more like a groan to Yoongi’s ears, raw, frustrated, teeth against Yoongi’s tongue.

Yoongi isn’t really sure who he’s indulging anymore when he goes with it, lets Taehyung pull him in, lets him lick into his mouth, shifts his weight to free a hand so he can tip Taehyung’s jaw up to a better angle, give back as good as he’s getting. He should probably be paying more attention to the fact that he’s slowly losing his hoodie again and his dick is suddenly full of the joys of spring, ready to go, making the thought of grinding himself down against Taehyung’s hip all too fucking tempting. He does it without thinking, tentative because his body knows for a goddamn fact his mind has not sanctioned this, and he feels heat bloom strong low in his gut, Taehyung gasping in a hot breath that skitters over Yoongi’s cheek. That hand at the small of his back dips lower, sneaking underneath his waistband – both of them, till his fingertips are brushing the bare swell of Yoongi’s ass, in awful danger of just slipping right—

‘Tae—fuck—okay, no,’ Yoongi pants, breathless, pushing himself up onto his arms and out of reach of Taehyung’s mouth. Taehyung looks like he was expecting it, though, a rueful sort of smile crinkling around his eyes. Yoongi gives him a hard stare – which only strays to his slick, red mouth, like, twice – and Taehyung uncurls his fingers from his hoodie, retracts that one from inside Yoongi’s boxers, too. He brings them both up next to head, palms facing outward in a rather dramatic sign of surrender.

Yoongi rolls his eyes at him, but says nothing else before he’s clambering quickly off the bed, heading to the door without glancing back, until—

‘Hey, hyung,’ Taehyung says, and Yoongi pauses with one foot out the door, turning to look over his shoulder. He doesn’t like Taehyung’s smirk – not at all, but least of all with the flushed cheeks and tousled hair. They make everything worse, somehow. ‘Pass me the lube before you go?’

Yoongi’s face crumples in disgust and he tamps down that urge to groan at the thought of Taehyung lying here after he’s gone and—no. ‘Fuck you,’ Yoongi snaps, yanking the door shut on Taehyung’s cackling. What he says next, however, is loud enough that the neighbours can probably hear it.

‘I wish you would!’ Taehyung calls, just enough of a whine at the edges of his voice to have Yoongi’s dick aching slightly as he rushes for the entryway, not even bothering to stuff his feet back into his damp sneakers before he leaves the apartment.

He pads through the hallway in his socks, bypasses the stairwell entrance out of habit more than choice and leans against the wall by the elevator doors after jabbing the call button. The cold of the hallway seeps into him as he waits, leeching away any warmth leftover from Taehyung and his bed, bursts the bubble Yoongi was able to wrap himself up in and leaves him with nothing much apart from cold feet, a churning stomach and a wilting boner. And his thoughts, which are probably the worst of it. Because in those thoughts are Taehyung’s collarbones and the pillow smell, the tiny scars on his chest and the phantom feeling of his hand stroking the length of Yoongi’s own spine, and the knots that are more like an unravelled ball of yarn now, stretching all the way up that slippery slope Yoongi’s found himself lying at the foot of.

The elevator arrives with some rusty creaking and Yoongi gets inside, retreats to his usual corner, folds himself into it, his eyes blind as they stare at the number panel.

It won’t be weird, Yoongi thought to himself, earlier, right in this exact spot, with a takeout bag dangling from his hand instead of his sneakers. It’ll only be weird if you make it weird, Yoongi.

But Yoongi’s thinking of himself now, sitting there at the foot of that slippery slope with all his knots and yarn and… yeah.

Yeah, Yoongi’s pretty sure he just made it fucking weird.

 

Chapter Text

Taehyung isn’t long awake when he hears the front door open and shut with a shaky sort of thud, the familiar jingle and crash of keys landing on the kitchen counter. His bedside lamp casts his room in a purple glow, the light shifting in these calming, hypnotic patterns within the bell of the jellyfish. Underneath that, his clock tells him it’s just past ten at night. Strange for Jimin to be out so late this close to exams – but maybe he was just looking for an excuse to avoid his asshole of a best friend.

Taehyung groans softly at that thought, harsh and angry words he threw around earlier without thinking twice about them – without thinking about them at all. Yoongi was right – Taehyung really wasn’t in his right mind, his brain stewed in bitter cocktail of Monster Java and stress and the trickiest theorems that have been drilling tiny holes in his skull all week. He knows the damage won’t be lasting, knows it never is with Jimin, but that doesn’t stop him feeling shit, turning to curl into his pillow with another whine.

He listens to Jimin move around the apartment for a while, the gurgle and hiss of the coffee machine warming up, the soft sweep of sock feet on wood. When he hears the rustle of paper, Taehyung knows Jimin must be tidying his study nest, feels his fingers and toes curl up at the thought, but he holds himself in check. Running out there right now to yell more at Jimin for doing nothing more than looking out for him once again isn’t going to help the situation at all. Even if he is messing up my entire system right now, a small part of Taehyung’s brain hisses. Even if he is ruining what little work I actually managed to get done.

That part of his brain speaks in Gollum’s voice and is really quite a nasty little thing – Taehyung tries to ignore it as much as possible. He rolls over and finds his gaze on the stacked takeout pots next to his lamp, but he’s not going to think about that right now, no matter how tight and itchy his skin starts to feel.

It’s not long before he hears Jimin’s footsteps drawing closer, knows he’s on his way to his own room, maybe for the night at this stage with his last cup of coffee.

‘Jiminnie!’ he calls out, as soon as the wood creaks outside his door.

The footsteps stop, but Taehyung’s not sure he’ll answer him. He probably shouldn’t, has every right not to. Taehyung should really just get up off his ass and go to him, but this bed’s already warm. He chances his arm.

‘Jiminnie, c’mere,’ he says, softer.

The door opens, letting in the yellow light from the hall and turning Jimin to a shadowy silhouette. He pauses for a few long seconds before speaking, like he really wants to drive home the fact he’s still mad. ‘What d’you want, Taehyung?’ he asks, voice low.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, just reaches out a hand towards the dark figure in the door, wiggles his fingers, tries to look pitiful.

Jimin rolls his eyes at him, though it’s hard to tell in this lighting if it’s an angry eye-roll or a forgiving kinda one.

‘Come lie down, Jiminnie,’ he says, only the barest touch of a whine in his voice, just enough to pluck at Park Jimin’s tender heartstrings. ‘I wanna talk.’

A soft snort. ‘Oh, you wanna talk now?’ Jimin asks, an accusing edge to his tone, but it’s very subtle, barely there. For the most part he just sounds tired. ‘You don’t wanna yell at me some more?’

Jiminnie,’ Taehyung half groans, squirming a bit because he hates it, he really, really hates it when Jimin’s mad at him. Sighing heavy, he props himself up on an elbow to better see him, dropping the whininess as much as he can in this huffy state. He tries to sound reasonable. ‘Look, we both know you went to Hoseokie-hyung and that he mellowed you out. So, let’s just be adults about this, okay?’

Jimin doesn’t say anything, but he shifts his stance, letting the door swing open a little more. It’s something, at least, a kind of agreement without the indignity of a full-on surrender. Very Libra of him.

Taehyung stretches out his hand again. ‘Now, come over here so I can apologise while petting you, at least.’

Jimin’s soft huff of laughter is a little more genuine this time. ‘Really?’ he says, and Taehyung can hear the judgement, but he knows it’s not sincere. Jimin wants petted. Park Jimin always wants petted.

Taehyung gives him a firm look. ‘Really.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ he sighs, but he pushes himself away from the door regardless, comes wandering in with his steaming mug in hand. After all the Monster Java, real live fresh coffee smells like heaven to Taehyung’s nostrils, his jaw tingling with vague taste memory.

‘You love me,’ he says, flipping open the duvet for Jimin to settle himself in, careful not to spill anything.

He’s just set his mug into the bedside locker when he turns to frown at Taehyung – to frown at his bare chest, to be precise. ‘Why’re you shirtless?’ He sounds highly suspicious.

‘I fell asleep with a hot water bottle,’ Taehyung explains. ‘It left, though.’

‘Yoongi-hyung was here?’ Jimin asks, eyebrows shooting up then down again so quick Taehyung has to blink a couple times to catch up with everything. Jimin’s expression is suddenly baby demon, the lowest (but potentially deadliest) form of his angry face. ‘If I’m lying on your crusty cum, Kim Taehyung—’

Taehyung huffs impatiently. ‘There’s no cum, c’mere already,’ he says, curling his arms around Jimin’s waist and pulling him properly down into the bed. He’s warm in one of his biggest winter sweaters and Taehyung snuggles in, the fabric soft against his nose. ‘I didn’t mean any of it, Jiminnie, I was just crazy.’

Jimin sighs, breath ruffling Taehyung’s hair before his arm comes up to wrap around the back of his neck. ‘I know.’

‘I don’t think your study methods are bad,’ Taehyung continues, mumbling, going the cutesy route – it’s always a winner with Jimin.

‘Yes, you do,’ Jimin says, a knowing sort of firmness to his voice.

Taehyung lifts his head momentarily to squint at him. ‘I think they’re for the weak and spineless, but not inherently bad—’

Biting back a grin, Jimin flicks his forehead with those vicious little fingers. ‘Fuck you,’ he mutters, ignoring Taehyung’s whine, but he does squeeze him tighter as Taehyung nuzzles back down into his sweater.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he says again.

‘I know.’

Taehyung cranes his neck to be able to see his friend’s face without actually lifting his head from this most cosy of pillows. ‘I love you.’

Jimin’s face remains impassive, a subtle nod of his head. ‘I know.’

Taehyung keeps watching him for a moment, his eyes and pout growing bigger by the second, but Jimin’s pretending to be immune. Or he’s still mad. Taehyung kind of hopes it’s the former, but now he isn’t sure because Jimin’s eyes sure do look awfully dark, corners of his mouth downturned like he might not even be hiding a smile after all.

‘Please say it back?’

Maybe it’s the smallness of Taehyung’s voice, or maybe he was just on the verge of breaking anyway, but Jimin’s face finally falls out into a smile. He sighs and shoves Taehyung’s head away. ‘You know I fucking do,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung admits, cracking a bright grin as he rolls over to let Jimin sit up again.

Taehyung watches him reach for his mug on the bedside table and take a sip, eyes shutting like he needed it bad. He does look tired, bags under his eyes and sad lack of his usual rosy-cheekness, but he looks a lot more together than Taehyung feels anyway.

‘I take it hyung fucked the stress outta you, then,’ Jimin says, smirking as he pokes at a spot just under Taehyung’s collarbone.

‘We didn’t,’ Taehyung mumbles, craning his neck down to try and see. There’s a mark blooming there, small and deep red. He runs his fingers over it.

‘Thought you said he slept here?’ Jimin asks, the frown audible in his voice even before Taehyung looks up again.

‘He did,’ he says, and shrugs. ‘He came over, he brought ramen, but we just ate and…’

Jimin takes another slow sip of his coffee, swallows, eyebrows creeping higher all the time. ‘Slept?’ he finishes, when Taehyung doesn’t.

He shrugs again. ‘Yeah,’ he replies quietly, rolling onto his back, only to be met with something lumpy. He reaches underneath himself and tugs out an Eevee plushie.

‘You ate… and slept,’ Jimin goes on, slowly, his mug forgotten in his hands for now, ‘like a normal couple?’ When Taehyung does nothing more than roll onto his side again, Jimin laughs. ‘Christ, wait till I tell hyung.’

If Taehyung’s honest, he kind of wants Jimin not to be a dick and laugh about this, but after earlier, he does deserve it a bit. He keeps his complaints to himself, snuggles Eevee instead.

‘It’s not like that,’ he sighs into soft fur.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment. When Taehyung peers up him, he sees him rubbing absently at the rim of his coffee cup, looking somewhere between baffled and concerned. He raises an eyebrow when he catches Taehyung watching him.

‘I hope you’re not still trying to convince yourself you’re playing casual, Kim Taehyung, because literally everyone can see you’re not.’

Taehyung almost laughs. No. No, he’s under no illusions of that sort anymore, not after last Friday night. Yoongi was so perfect, from his low moans to the sweat that slid down his temples, he was perfect and Taehyung had no choice but to tear down that last false paper wall he had up against this whole thing. He had no choice but to admit that he’s so deep in the softness of Yoongi’s skin and soothing grumble of his voice and the callouses on his fingers from doing… well, Taehyung has no idea, but he wants to know. He wants to know everything and smell his hair without it being weird, stuff like that.

‘Doesn’t matter how I feel,’ he says, instead of any of all that because what’s the point?

‘Well, it sounds a lot to me like hyung’s warming to you big-time,’ Jimin mutters into his mug.

Taehyung shuts his eyes and folds one of Eevee’s long ears through his fingers. He listens to Jimin take a gulp and swill it round his mouth like he doesn’t spend tens of thousands of won a month on teeth whitening products. Taehyung can feel his gaze on him, but he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t speak just yet. He knows Jimin will.

‘You don’t think so?’ he asks, gentle fingers combing into Taehyung’s hair. ‘Hey…’

Taehyung rolls onto his back again to look up him, happy when Jimin doesn’t take his hand away, just moves to brush Taehyung’s bangs off his face instead.

‘Talk to me,’ he murmurs, frowning a little now, a tiny pinch between his brows, like he’s not quite sure whether to be concerned or not. Jimin’s always had a tender sort of intuition like that, can sense unrest in a person before he’s even fully noticed the outward signs himself. He just knows things, always, makes Taehyung wonder sometimes if he really is part faerie in more than looks alone.

He doesn’t reply for a little while, shuts his eyes and lets Jimin play with his hair, listens to him sipping his coffee. Four sips, spaced a bit apart, then Taehyung speaks.

‘Jiminnie,’ he says quietly, looking up at him again. Jimin gives a gentle nod to show he’s listening. ‘You know… when people start to get all… kinda cold and distant right before they… Well, you know. Break up with you—or whatever?’

‘Yeah…’ Jimin murmurs, frowning. It’s a soft thing, but Taehyung still drops his gaze to Eevee’s ear still wound between his fingers.

‘But then you have the other types,’ he goes on. ‘They get, like… guilty, I guess? Start being really nice all of a sudden, like they’re trying to make up for all the hurt they’re about to cause.’

Jimin’s quiet for a beat after that one, though Taehyung expected this, keeps his gaze downcast, waits. The fingers in his hair start moving again, combing lightly.

‘Taehyungie, no offence,’ Jimin says softly, ‘but I don’t date assholes, so that’s never happened to me.’

Taehyung can hear the slight teasing edge to his words, the whisper of a smile to try and lighten the mood a little, so he tilts his head back to glower-pout up at him.

Jimin smirks. ‘Hey, come on,’ he says, giving Taehyung’s hair a more intense sort of ruffle, cajoling. ‘I know you get unlucky, Taetae, but your track record is…’

‘I know,’ Taehyung sighs, then glowers some more, joking. ‘But you do date assholes. Hyung’s an asshole.’

Jimin laughs quietly, taking another sip of his coffee. ‘He might be an asshole, but he’s not the type to start sucking up pre-break up.’ He shrugs. ‘He’d just cry a lot.’

Taehyung makes a face because he does have a point. Jung Hoseok has a terribly sensitive heart and tear ducts – like if hearts could have hay fever, Jung Hoseok’s heart would almost certainly be a candidate.

‘You really think Yoongi’s that type?’ Jimin asks after a moment, not missing out on the root of this mood, despite all the twists and turns of the conversation. He probably saw this whole thing coming, knowing Jimin.

‘I dunno,’ Taehyung mumbles, addressing Eevee’s ear again. His teeth knead lightly at his lower lip and he moves his head a bit, nudging Jimin’s hand to resume its hair-stroking once again. ‘I don’t know him that well, Jiminnie.’

Jimin takes the not-so-subtle hint, but his expression is hard to read when Taehyung peeks up again, soft and worried. He can’t argue, though. It’s the truth. They’ve known each other since the start of the semester, sure, but Taehyung can count on one hand the amount of real conversations he’s had with Min Yoongi. By now, with most people, Taehyung would’ve learned their life story. He’d know their parents by their first names and certainly their pets. He’d know what music they were into, if they liked to visit art galleries, their favourite flavour of ramen and whether they ordered their pizza with pineapple or not. But Min Yoongi remains an enigma because by the time Taehyung realised he cared to know all these things about him, he’d learned how skittish he could be, too, and the last Taehyung wants is to scare him off.

‘Why don’t you ask Hoseokie-hyung about this?’ Jimin says, yanking Taehyung out of his daze. ‘I don’t think he’d tell Yoongi-hyung you were asking, not when it’s something like this. He’s your friend, too, Taehyungie.’

A little sleepy, Taehyung blinks a couple times before he frowns. ‘What would he know?’

Jimin shrugs. ‘Well, I mean, they dated, right? So, hyung would… know…’ He trails off slowly as he starts to recognise the look on Taehyung’s face as utter bafflement. ‘Ah,’ he says gently. ‘Shit.’

Shit, indeed.

Taehyung isn’t quite sure what to make of this new information. ‘When?’ he asks, frowning up at him. Jimin’s got those careful eyes on him, searching over his face.

‘High school, mostly,’ he replies. ‘They were on and off a bit.’

Taehyung nods a few times and they lapse into another short stretch of silence, broken only by the clink of Jimin’s rings on the handle of his mug. It doesn’t mean anything, of course, it’s not a big deal, and it’s none of Taehyung’s business anyway, but it does back up what he was saying. He could probably draw a detailed diagram of every mole and freckle and birthmark on Min Yoongi’s body, but he knows next to nothing about all the rest of it, the head stuff and the heart stuff.

‘I thought you knew,’ Jimin finally says, scratching at his scalp again to get his attention. ‘You’re not mad, right?’

Taehyung shakes his head immediately. ‘No,’ he says, and he means it. He’s not angry. He can’t say the news makes him feel nothing odd, but it’s not anger anyway. ‘Not about that, I don’t care. I guess it’s… cute or something?’

Jimin nods, smiling a touch. ‘I think it’s cute.’

‘But… this is what I mean, Jiminnie,’ Taehyung goes on. ‘I just… If he liked me, I feel like he’d wanna tell me more about himself and… I dunno, he just doesn’t seem to.’

There’s a pause while Jimin seems to think about this, his eyes on his own fingers in Taehyung’s hair. He takes another sip of his coffee and sighs. ‘You know, Yoongi-hyung is a really private person, Taehyungie,’ he says. ‘He probably needs time. He asked you to be exclusive – I’d say that’s a really big step for him.’

But Taehyung’s thought about this. He’s thought about this a lot.

‘Yeah, I bet it’s huge for him and maybe he scared himself with it, Jiminnie,’ he suggests, and Jimin doesn’t really seem to know what to say to that, lips parting, then shutting again without a word. ‘It was… weird the other night,’ Taehyung goes on, not looking at him. ‘Different.’

‘After the club?’ Jimin asks.

Taehyung nods, thinking of those few heavy moments where Yoongi looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Taehyung never would’ve believed those catlike eyes could go so damn round when they wanted to. He looked scared, and Taehyung can’t say he doesn’t get those runner vibes off Yoongi, a typical Daegu guy, keeps up the cold front, 10/10 would abandon ship entirely instead of talking. ‘Intense, I guess,’ Taehyung mumbles, barely paying attention to what he’s saying himself at this point, mind all tangled.

Jimin is quiet anyway, doesn’t seem to have a smart reply for this one. He’s always full of sage advice, gems of wisdom that shock the life out of people the first couple times because how does a mind so vast exist behind that faerie face? How does it fit in such a tiny, cherry-red head? Taehyung loves him for his people skills and his problem-solving, but he had a feeling Jimin wouldn’t be much help with this. Min Yoongi’s proving more difficult to figure out than all his worst chemistry papers combined.

Jimin sighs through his nose as he swallows down his last big gulp of coffee. ‘Just don’t jump to conclusions, Taetae,’ he says, poking lightly at the side of his face. ‘Look out for yourself and all, but… you know how you get under stress. Just don’t be reckless. Ignore the Gollum voice. Don’t make bad decisions, only good ones.’

Taehyung smirks up at him. ‘And how am I meant to know the difference, oh wise one?’

Laughing gently, Jimin reaches down give Taehyung’s stomach a few good-natured pats. ‘You got a good gut, Taetae,’ he says. ‘You just never listen to it.’

‘I feed it shit and it hates me,’ Taehyung mumbles, pouting, rubbing at his stomach as well. ‘It only whispers nasty gossip and terrible puns.’

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up, corner of his mouth twitching as he tries to keep a straight face. ‘Is your gut Jin-hyung?’ he asks, making them both dissolve into giggles.

They both laugh too hard, really, till they’re wheezing and Jimin has to set his cup aside before he drops the thing on Taehyung’s head, but it feels good after such a long day of stress and other nastiness.

‘Look,’ Jimin sighs, once he’s got his breath back, still hiccupping a little. He’s dabbing tears from the corner of his eye with his sweater sleeve. ‘Let’s go study for a while, then we can eat together.’

Taehyung pouts up at him. ‘But we have no food,’ he mumbles, sheepish, because this is technically his fault.

Jimin makes a face, though, this sigh a lot heavier than the last one, lips pursed like an angry auntie. ‘I went shopping, idiot, I wasn’t gonna let us starve just because you’re a crazy person,’ he mutters, poking Taehyung’s forehead, none-too-gently. ‘Hyung bought an extra portion of kimbap, too, made me take it with me.’ These words alone have a grin spreading wide across Taehyung’s face. ‘A feast awaits, but you gotta help me with my clinical psych stuff.’

Taehyung frowns up at him. ‘I don’t know anything about clinical psych?’

‘No,’ Jimin agrees, a smirk playing around his mouth, ‘but you’re a crazy person, we established this.’

Taehyung tries not to laugh, gritting his teeth and pinching Jimin’s thigh instead, but the grin is hard to fight when Jimin yelps like a goddamn seal.

‘Seriously, though,’ he goes on, after a moment of delivering tiny, stinging revenge pinches to Taehyung’s bare shoulder and arm. ‘This isn’t the time to be worrying about Yoongi-hyung. That’ll sort itself out – your exams won’t.’

And he’s right. Taehyung knows he’s right. Jimin’s always right. So, Taehyung trails after him through the apartment as they gather up their studying materials and he fills his head with physics things instead of the way Yoongi looked at him when he curled their pinkies together, or the way Yoongi’s arm felt tucked so securely around his waist.

Because now’s not the time.

Chapter Text

‘I just don’t see why she even gets to have an opinion, y’know?’ Hoseok’s saying, his voice drifting out from the kitchenette along with the smells of dinner.

Seems like it’s something spicy tonight to battle the chill of that new-fallen snow pressing up against the windows. They’re all fogged up from the cooking steam, streetlights diffused like sunbursts. Yoongi has his phone in his hand, fingers slack, an unsent text typed out in the message box, that well-worn you busy? He’s still trying to decide if getting laid right now is a more pressing matter than studying for tomorrow’s psychoacoustics exam. It should probably be a no-brainer, books over dicks or whatever, but after having spent a straight 36 hours cramming this almost credit-less subject, it’s a tough call.

‘And even if she has one,’ Hoseok goes on, addressing the bubbling saucepan on the hob, spoon stabbing the air, ‘she should keep the damn thing to herself, this has nothing to do with her.’

Yoongi sighs heavily, tearing his gaze away from the windows to turn his attention back to his book – and Hoseok’s whining about his sister, of course. He’s been ranting about it all evening, some comment she dropped about Jimin while they were having lunch. Yoongi isn’t even sure what, exactly, she said because Hoseok was spewing so much angry fucking Jeolla that he only caught snippets here and there. He got enough to know that it’s to do with Hoseok wanting to come out to his parents, though – a touchy subject all round.

‘She’s just looking out for you, Seok-ah,’ he murmurs tiredly now, though he knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

Something clatters sharply in the kitchen, that spoon tossed into the saucepan with far more force than necessary. ‘Well, I just wish looking out for me didn’t mean shitting on Jiminnie,’ Hoseok mutters through his teeth, yanking the fridge door open to pull out a beer. ‘Y’want one?’ he demands.

‘I’m fine,’ Yoongi replies, though Hoseok’s already slammed the fridge shut, moving to rummage through a drawer for the bottle opener. ‘And I don’t think she was shitting on Jimin—’

‘On our relationship , then,’ Hoseok amends, tossing the bottle opener back into the drawer along with the cap, anger throwing all his usual rules regarding hygiene and the proper order of things to the goddamn wind.

Jung Hoseok does not get angry often, but when he does, he does it fucking right and he’s in a real fit about this tonight, Yoongi’s noticed. He hasn’t seen him like this in a long time. It’s not the first bust-up he’s had with his sister over a guy, but it is the first time Park Jimin has been the cause. Dawon likes Jimin – Yoongi knows her well enough to know that from the couple times they’ve all had drinks together – but that doesn’t stop her from being fiercely protective of her brat baby brother.

The brat baby brother, however, doesn’t quite see it that way.

‘Well, you have only been dating a couple weeks,’ Yoongi murmurs, which again, of course, is the wrong fucking thing to say, judging by how wide Hoseok’s eyes go.

‘A couple weeks ?’ he echoes, a humourless sort of curl to the corner of his mouth. ‘You sound like her , hyung!’ he bursts out, coming into the living room to pace at the other side of the coffee table like a ruffled jungle cat. ‘It’s been four months – four fucking months , hyung. That’s not nothing .’

Yoongi nods, accepting the mistake, trying to look apologetic, but his mind is suddenly having a lot of trouble staying on the issue at hand.

Four months.

Yoongi keeps track of how long Hoseok’s been dating Jimin by how long he’s known Taehyung. Sometimes he forgets just how long that’s been. The reminder has him frowning down at the darkened screen of his phone again, his left thumbnail between his teeth.

‘I know it’s not a huge amount of time,’ Hoseok concedes, after swallowing down another mouthful of beer, ‘but just ’cause she’s engaged now, noona thinks people need to struggle through the paces for years just to develop real feelings for each other – like she didn’t try to elope to fucking Bali with her freshman year fling.’

Yoongi snorts softly under his breath at that because he’s heard the story before, but he still can’t imagine the Jung Dawon he knows as that hopelessly romantic nineteen-year-old.

‘Hyung, d’you agree with noona here?’ Hoseok asks, after a beat of quiet, eyes narrowing as he looks at Yoongi. It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or simply curious, but Yoongi knows where he’d place his money right now. ‘Are you on her side? D’you think I’m jumping the gun as well?’

Yoongi gives him a look, holding his palms out in a fairly cynical sign of peace, his phone still held in the right. ‘I’m just trying to be Devil’s advocate, Seok-ah,’ he says, but Hoseok doesn’t let up with that beady squinting he’s doing.

He watches Yoongi a moment longer, taking another pull from his beer, swallowing, all with a look on his face that suggests he isn’t the slightest bit convinced. ‘Sounds like you’re taking her side, hyung,’ he finally mutters, turning for the kitchen again, where something seems to be boiling much too hard.

Yoongi sighs once more, slumping back into the cushions. ‘I’m just looking out for you, too, Seok-ah,’ he calls out, picking up his notes from the arm of the couch, but he doesn’t bother trying to read over them right now. He can see into the kitchen easily from here, Hoseok hunched moodily over the cooker, stabbing at some unfortunate thing in the pot. He’s trying to look like he’s ignoring him, but Yoongi knows he’s listening.

‘Coming out to your parents is a big deal,’ he goes on. ‘I know you know that, but you’ve always said you wanted to make sure you were with the right person before you did it and you haven’t known Jiminnie that long. That’s all I’m saying. I think that’s all noona’s saying, too.’

Hoseok doesn’t reply at first, and Yoongi doesn’t bother trying to force him. You don’t force Jung Hoseok to do anything when he’s angry. Instead, Yoongi drops his gaze to his notes again and reaches for his highlighter, fingers brushing over his phone as he does. It’s still only early, and Taehyung has some fucking study group till after nine anyway – there’s still time to shoot him a text and break away from the books and this shitty fucking green highlighter for a couple hours. He taps the pen against his notebook, considering, but he hears the scrape of Hoseok’s beer bottle on the counter before he can decide.

Yoongi glances over to find him wandering in again, sock feet padding quietly on the floor. He looks very solemn all of a sudden.

‘Hyung, I love him,’ he says simply, sinking down to sit on the edge of the coffee table, right across from Yoongi.

He can’t help but feel a little surprised. Jung Hoseok likes to love and loves a lot of things and Park Jimin especially. He declares his love for the kid at least a couple times a day, every day, doesn’t even skip Sundays. Yoongi’s heard him say that a thousand times already, but he’s never heard him say it quite like that, like the words are so heavy that they’re almost hard to roll out.

He looks tired and Yoongi knows for a fact that Jung Hoseok doesn’t give a shit how he does in his exams as long as he passes, as long as he graduates, so it’s not that. He’s been thinking a lot about this, Yoongi realises – worrying, even, knowing Hoseok. (He was definitely the kinda six-year-old who stayed awake nights crying about the eventual death of the sun.)

He shrugs now, dropping his gaze to the bottle neck between his fingers. ‘I just think Park Jimin is the kinda guy that you don’t get second chances with, y’know?’ he says softly, then a slow smirk spreads across his face as he seems to remember something. ‘I swear, I saw it back then, even, the first fucking time he laughed at a dumb joke I made.’ Yoongi rolls his eyes at the sappy smile on his face, but Hoseok soldiers on, his grin only widening. ‘I professed my undying love before someone else could and I don’t regret it one bit, hyung. If I hadn’t done it then, someone else would’ve snatched him up before I ever grew the balls to ask him out, I’m pretty fuckin’ certain of that.’

Nodding decisively to himself, Hoseok takes another drink, eyes straying to the window, like he’s just noticed those sunburst streetlights, too. That vague, dumb smile still plays softly around his mouth. ‘When you find a good’un, you don’t fuck around, hyung, so I’m not fucking around here. I want this whole thing to be legit, y’know, as real as it gets.’

Yoongi is quiet, watching Hoseok take another drink. His own phone still sits, black-screened and silent, atop a stack of books, and Yoongi tries not to think too hard about why that unsent text just came to mind. That unsent text and plenty of other shit, too, yarn and knots all tugging, like Hoseok’s words were another little trapped fruit fly to set the web strands quivering.

After a moment, Hoseok gets up with a soft sigh, leaving his beer behind him on the table to have with dinner. Yoongi’s eyes stay on the phone as he massages the back of his own stiff neck.

After all that strangeness last week when he went to diffuse the hostile Kim Taehyung with ramen and… and whatever else that was, Yoongi wanted to avoid him. He really did. Or at least some part of him did. Most of him just wanted to pretend nothing had happened. Another tiny, but loud part of him wanted something else entirely, something that made Yoongi’s throat close and his stomach twist and his head feel like he was four beers in and about to throw up. Instead of picking just one, though, Yoongi managed to make them all meet in the middle, which sounds great, sure, his diplomacy skills at their very finest, a true feat to be proud of. But it wasn’t quite like that when it came down to it.

That unsteady treaty between all of Yoongi’s warring regions resulted in a week of jumping every time his phone buzzed, hoping it wasn’t Taehyung, hoping it was Taehyung, wanting to delete the text immediately when it was Taehyung, wanting to text him immediately when it wasn’t. Yoongi wasn’t even sure what he wanted from him, not really. You should talk to him was the line that kept looping in his mind, but what about? Yoongi couldn’t figure it out, and the couple times he met with Taehyung during the week, so many other things were going through his head – kiss him, fuck him, get him to suck you off, bite his goddamn neck, ride his—

So many other things. They drowned out whatever instructions that tiny, loud part of brain was giving him. He sucked him off in the library bathrooms, fucked him in an empty study room, walked away from all of it feeling like he’d forgotten something.

Talk to him.

‘You want fried rice or boiled?’ Hoseok calls from the kitchen.

Yoongi blinks, bringing his phone back into focus, still blank-screened and silent.

‘Boiled’s fine,’ he says.

 

 

Hoseok brings his dinner to him a while later instead of demanding he come get it himself like he usually does. He sets the bowl in Yoongi’s lap atop his notes like a kind of apology, passes him over an opened beer as well.

‘Thanks,’ he mumbles, taking it and knocking back a mouthful, suddenly grateful for it.

‘Look, I didn’t mean to get worked up at you, hyung,’ Hoseok says, settling down next to Yoongi on the couch, stealing a textbook from the pile to protect his lap from the heat of the bowl. He does look apologetic, puppy eyes, vaguely pouty. He’s definitely over the temper tantrum, simmered down to just the more mature emotions, that weary frustration that makes his eyes look old. ‘I’m just tired of being told what to do, y’know? My gut got me this far in life, I trust it. I trust Jiminnie, too.’

He shoves a hunk of rice into his mouth and chews slowly, watching as Yoongi does the same. He’s got this oddly thoughtful look on his face and a thoughtful Hoseok always looks so damn sad, Yoongi thinks.

‘It’s just, if this goes sour with my parents, hyung,’ Hoseok says softly, and there it is for the first time, not hidden by anger or humour – the worry at the edges of his voice, ‘I want it to be Jiminnie who’s there and I believe him when he says he wants it to be him, too.’ Still chewing, his chopsticks poking round his bowl, he looks over at Yoongi again. ‘He’s the only guy who’s made me feel like that, hyung. He… he makes me feel ready, y’know?’

Yoongi doesn’t know, not really, but he can see that Hoseok does, his eyes bright and his mind very clearly made up. Yoongi wonders what the fuck that feels like, gaze dropping briefly to where that corner of his phone is poking out from under his notebook.

‘He’s a good’un,’ Yoongi murmurs, trying for a soft smile. His voice is still quiet, but it seems to do the trick, gets Hoseok to grin at any rate, kicking his legs up onto Yoongi’s lap as he reaches over for a side dish bowl.

‘Yes, he is, hyung,’ he agrees, sounding a little more like himself now.

It’s quiet for a moment as he heaps kimchi into his bowl and then some into Yoongi’s, but true to form, Jung Hoseok isn’t quiet for long.

‘So, you meeting “ Tae ” tonight?’ he asks, and yes, he always says it like that now, every fucking time, with that shit-eating grin, too. ‘You’ve been pawing at your phone all evening, hyung.’

Yoongi shoots him a narrow look, shoving a hunk of pork into his mouth and chewing darkly while Hoseok cackles at him.

‘If I am, will you fuck off outta here for a while?’ Yoongi finally asks.

‘A well-fucked hyung is a happy hyung,’ Hoseok says. ‘I’m willing to help facilitate that.’

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at him. ‘You make me sound like some kinda high-maintenance sex fiend.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Hoseok shoots back, with a filthy smirk that has absolutely no place near their food, definitely violates some health and safety regulations. ‘I was gonna stay with Jiminnie tonight anyway,’ he goes on, once he’s done smirking, back to demolishing his rice. ‘He works best with a study buddy and I give the best rewards.’

Yoongi crinkles his nose. ‘Gross,’ he mumbles, through his own mouthful.

‘I’ll shower and be outta your way,’ Hoseok promises, casting him a sickly-sweet smile, but Yoongi shakes his head at once, brandishing his chopsticks.

‘I called the shower first,’ he reminds him.

‘I had rehearsal today, I smell so much worse!’ Hoseok counters.

He does have a point. With the New Year showcase coming up, rehearsals have been getting longer and harder and Hoseok does kind of reek under the more pleasant smells of spicy pork, but Yoongi isn’t about to back down.

‘I’m getting laid first, I should get to shower first,’ he murmurs.

‘But you can’t get laid till I leave,’ Hoseok says, smug, though Yoongi only glances over, a curious eyebrow raised.

‘Says who?’ he asks innocently, making Hoseok’s face crumple in disgust.

Nasty ,’ he mutters, poking around half-heartedly at his food as if he’s lost his appetite. ‘ Bad hyung.’

Yoongi grins, triumphant, but Hoseok did make dinner – he deserves a fair shot at the shower at least. He reaches over the stack of library books between them, hand curled into a fist.

‘Rock, paper, scissors?’ he offers, and Hoseok’s face lights up at the challenge.

(He loses anyway.)

 

 

 

‘It’s too cold for nakedness,’ are Yoongi’s first words once Taehyung’s in the door.

Still fighting with his snow-crusted boots in the entryway, Taehyung snorts softly. ‘Hold up with the dirty talk, hyung, I don’t even have my shoes off yet.’

‘I’m serious,’ Yoongi insists, and Taehyung can hear the soft thud of him dropping onto the couch.

It’s actually pretty warm inside the apartment, infernal after being outside in that snowy, slushy dreamscape the city’s become over the past couple days, but Taehyung knows Min Yoongi was cursed in infancy by a vengeful ice witch. His body simply doesn’t understand the concept of warmth, cool hands and icy toes and a nose so cold it makes Taehyung jump sometimes when they kiss, when he’s not expecting it.

You can get naked if you want,’ Yoongi’s saying, as Taehyung wanders in, bare feet making sticky sounds on the wood. He finds him sprawled on the couch, his laptop on his chest, a stack of library books on the coffee table near him topped off with an empty bowl and sauce-stained chopsticks. ‘But if this sweater comes off my body, I will fucking end you – you hear me?’

Taehyung quirks his eyebrows up with a grin, met only by a dead-eyed stare as Yoongi shuts his laptop lid. The sweater in question is big and black like many of the things in Min Yoongi’s wardrobe.  It drowns him entirely and looks warm, but also like the kind of thing that could be stretched this way and that, perfectly designed for easy access.

‘I hear you,’ Taehyung assures him, bracing a knee on the couch to reach over and catch Yoongi’s laptop. He doesn’t protest when Taehyung lifts it off his chest to set it over on the coffee table, just watches him with that impossible to read look that Taehyung usually assumes is well-controlled amusement.

Probably.

Maybe.

(Hopefully.)

‘I can work around it, hyung.’

With his knee still braced on the couch, Taehyung swings his other leg over to straddle Yoongi’s shins before shimmying his way up. It’s not the sexiest move in his repertoire, and Yoongi doesn’t bother hiding his judgement, one dark eyebrow hitching up, but Taehyung grins wide as he settles on Yoongi’s thighs and pisses him off right back to cranky-neutral.

He looks soft tonight, softer than usual with his hair growing out thanks to that lack of self-care exam season brings about. His undercut has more or less disappeared, the ends of those longer strands damp and curling slightly, like Taehyung’s own goes sometimes when he’s been in salt water. He wonders if it’s natural, or if it’s some side effect of all the bleaching, but he figures that’s probably kind of a weird thing to ask. Instead, he leans down to brace his hands against the couch cushion either side of Yoongi’s head.

He tries not to smile when he feels Yoongi’s fingers curling into the front of his hoodie and he thinks it must work when Yoongi doesn’t roll his eyes or curse at him. He just tugs him in, his grip firm, his lips parted and waiting and spicy pork flavoured.

Taehyung indulges him in a couple kisses, long and hard and lingering things that really do a lot for shooing away that leftover chill in his bones, but when he tries to pull back to shrug himself out of his hoodie, Yoongi only tightens his grip.

‘Hyung,’ Taehyung sighs against his mouth on a breath of laughter. Yoongi’s tongue ventures out to try intercept his words, but Taehyung manages a muffled, ‘You said I could get naked.’

He swears he feels Yoongi’s lips twitch, a bitten back smile, and Taehyung grins into the kiss.

Yoongi lets go of the fistful of hoodie he had only to grab onto the collar, knuckles brushing cool against Taehyung’s throat. ‘I’ll get it,’ he mumbles, using that grip to pull Taehyung in deeper before he starts fumbling with the zipper.

Taehyung takes the opportunity to shift up a little, weight settled over Yoongi’s hips instead of his thighs, his teeth nipping at Yoongi’s lip when he hears that faint noise in his throat, something caught between pleasure and impatience. He’s half hard already and Taehyung has to wonder what the hell he was doing to work himself up so much before Taehyung even arrived, but it’s this wondering that sets Taehyung well on his way to a similar situation.

Yoongi lets out another sound when the zip gets stuck at the bottom, like the beginnings of an all-out snarl as he tugs hard to get it moving again. Taehyung can’t help his soft laugh, but he doesn’t get away with it, Yoongi’s sharp little fucking teeth sinking hard into his lower lip. He doesn’t like that, not the way Yoongi seems to, but he’s learned that Yoongi only gets all tooth and nail with him when he’s truly desperate, and that knowledge is what sends heat prickling over Taehyung’s skin. Yoongi, however, would usually only get nippy after too much of the teasing foreplay – not now, right at the start, not like this with his hands pushing Taehyung’s hoodie down off his shoulders, immediately moving to claw at his t-shirt.

‘Shit, hyung, what’s gotten into you?’ Taehyung breathes, pulling away just long enough to get the words out, diving back for Yoongi’s mouth again. His kisses are still sort of lazy, light, but there’s a hard edge that sends shivers down Taehyung’s spine.

Yoongi’s fists in his shirt ease up, though he’s still breathing heavy. ‘Did I hurt you?’ he pants out. His eyes are glazed and his cheeks are flushed and Taehyung thinks Min Yoongi could probably chew his whole face off and he still wouldn’t complain. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s—it’s cool, I’m kinda into it,’ Taehyung assures him, ‘but—’

‘Then stop talking ,’ Yoongi cuts across him, tugging him back down, his arms sliding up underneath Taehyung’s t-shirt, fingers digging into his shoulder blades to pull him in closer.

Taehyung almost wants to laugh, because he’s surprised, though he can’t say he’s not loving it, but that gets cut short by the new force of Yoongi’s mouth on his. It knocks the breath out of him in a stilted groan, he drops lower to prop himself on his elbows instead of his hands, and that move seems to get Yoongi’s seal of approval, a soft grunt in his chest, tongue sliding out to tease at Taehyung’s. Teasing’s all he does, too, a wet game of cat and mouse, Yoongi’s tongue licking along the seam of Taehyung’s lips, only to disappear again as soon as Taehyung tries to chase it down. Taehyung’s still calm enough to take it in his stride, though, smiling against Yoongi’s lips, nipping at the tip of his tongue with his teeth when he’s too slow. It makes Yoongi’s breath catch, his grip around Taehyung tightening, his body arching just the slightest bit up towards him.

‘Tae, do something,’ he grumbles, when Taehyung pulls away for a breath, starts brushing lighter kisses down his jaw instead. The sound of a pout in Yoongi’s voice has Taehyung torn between the urge to coo and the need to groan, but he holds himself in check by biting down softly on the skin of his neck. Yoongi doesn’t make a sound, but Taehyung hears how shaky his next exhale is, ruffling his hair.

‘Do what?’ Taehyung hums against his throat, smiling when Yoongi grunts impatiently. He reaches over to brace his hand against the arm of the couch, uses it as leverage to roll his hips down, rougher denim grinding against that conspicuous bump in Yoongi’s soft sweats. ‘Something like this?’

‘Fuck.’

‘I like you like this, hyung,’ Taehyung murmurs, ducking back down to pay some attention to Yoongi’s collarbones, so easily accessible in this sweater that he may as well not be wearing one.

‘I know,’ Yoongi murmurs, and it’s hard to tell if that tight edge to his voice is to do with what Taehyung said, or if it’s more related to the yanking he’s doing at Taehyung’s shirt now.

Taehyung takes the hint, sitting up again, making a point of grinding his hips down as he pulls his shirt off over his head. Yoongi’s eyes shut with a grunt of pleasure, body arching up into it and he looks like something Taehyung should be kissing – but he does have a question, fluttering cold in his chest.

‘Do I say that too much?’ he asks, tone as casual as the languid way he lets his shirt drop from his hand, falling to the floor.

‘What?’ Yoongi looks and sounds like questions have never been less welcome, tone dazed and eyes a touch murderous at this unsexy interruption. Taehyung watches the heavy way his chest rises and falls, the heat of his palms on Taehyung’s thighs burning through his jeans, fingers squeezing, and even though those dark eyes look primed to kill, they’re travelling down over Taehyung’s torso like it’s gonna be the pre-murder snack.

There are times and places for strange, awkward questions, and sitting topless on your fuckbuddy’s boner is not one of them, Taehyung decides.

‘Doesn’t matter, hyung,’ he says, dipping down again, mouthing at Yoongi’s neck, fingers pushing into his shower-damp hair.

‘Tae—’ Yoongi begins, sounding almost guilty, maybe, but Taehyung rolls his hips down once more and Yoongi seems to clean forget that train of thought, a curse whispering past his lips.

Taehyung finds his favourite spot on Yoongi’s neck – some soft skin right under the notch in his jaw – and starts sucking a mark, spurred on by the heat of Yoongi’s hands on his back and the way his neck strains as he struggles not to squirm. He nips when he knows the skin must be getting sensitive, finally drags a low moan from Yoongi, humming under Taehyung’s tongue as he licks over the reddening mark, Yoongi’s nails scraping gently at his shoulder-blades before sliding up to grip his hair instead. He tries to roll his hips up when Taehyung sucks again and the sound he lets out when he realises he’s too pinned under Taehyung is the greatest thing he’s heard all day.

‘Hyung, listen to you,’ he mumbles against his throat, kissing slowly up to his ear, biting softly down on his lobe, piercings clicking against his teeth. ‘You sound so good .’

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi growls, but there’s a breathless edge to it.

‘Can I touch you?’ Taehyung asks him, mouthing back along his jaw, hips grinding down again so Yoongi’s voice comes out strained.

Fuck —you know you can.’

‘Consent is—’ Taehyung begins, but Yoongi cuts him off with a fist curling tight in his hair, tugging him up to pin him with a dark glower.

‘I’m gonna kick you,’ he warns, very serious, but so pouty that Taehyung can’t even begin to hide his smile as he ducks in to catch Yoongi’s mouth again.

He does as he’s told, though, sliding a hand down into the limited space between them, fingertips creeping under the waistband of Yoongi’s sweats. He slips in over his boxers, rubbing a hand along the outline of Yoongi’s cock, making his hips roll up, grunting angrily against Taehyung’s lips.

Tae ,’ he practically whines into the kiss. ‘That is not touching me.’

And Taehyung knows he’s pushing his luck, but he also knows his thighs are strong and Yoongi is well and truly trapped. ‘But you sound so pretty like this,’ he murmurs between kisses, intercepting several of Yoongi’s attempts to curse at him. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever heard you this desperate, hyung.’

With another grunt, Yoongi shoves Taehyung back with a firm palm to his chest, the fist still in his hair keeping him from going too far, and he does look murderous, but he’s so very stunning when he’s pissed off. Taehyung can’t breathe. ‘Unless you start serving your purpose, I’m gonna kick you out and jerk off by my— f-fuck ,’ Yoongi cuts off as Taehyung slides his hand into his boxers, fingers immediately curling around his length.

‘Better?’ he asks sweetly, dipping in close again as Yoongi’s hand on his chest falls away.

‘Shut up ,’ Yoongi growls, but this growl is much weaker, cutting off with a soft, choked noise as Taehyung runs a thumb over the slick tip of his cock.

At this point, he can’t keep his moans to himself either, gasping against Yoongi’s lips as he slides precum down his length. ‘You’re so wet, hyung,’ he breathes, half in awe, half in extreme frustration as his own cock throbs, loud and needy, in his boxers. ‘ Shit , I wanna suck you off.’

Yoongi groans, hips bucking up into Taehyung’s fist. ‘Then fucking do it,’ he grits out.

And even through the heavy fog of arousal, Taehyung can’t help but take this shining opportunity to rile him up. He pulls back, eyes wide, brow creased with faux-concern as his fingers still on Yoongi’s cock. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’ he asks, biting back a cackle for those couple seconds it takes Yoongi to react, laying there with his eyes glazed dark, lips bright and wet. The scowl that takes over his eyebrows is what finally cracks Taehyung, ducking to laugh into the crook of Yoongi’s neck even as Yoongi tries to shoo him off.

‘Okay, that’s it—go home ,’ he says flatly, but Taehyung knows for a fact he could have Taehyung on the floor in an instant if he really wanted him gone.

Still giggling, he leaves a few kisses in the crook of Yoongi’s neck before he sits up and starts to shimmy back, still grinning wide as Yoongi continues to glower (though the eyebrows have softened up considerably). Taehyung perches himself on the arm of the couch to tug Yoongi’s sweats off the rest of the way. He drops them to join his t-shirt and hoodie and leans forward, his hands smoothing up Yoongi’s thigh, head turning to press a kiss to the inside of his knee. Yoongi has propped himself on his elbows to watch, his eyelids low, too-long bangs hanging all feathery over his forehead, almost skimming his lashes now. Taehyung kind of wants to tell him he looks beautiful, his whole chest kind of aches with the need to do that one thing, but he shuts his eyes instead, lips continuing slowly up the inside of Yoongi’s thigh.

Yoongi’s wearing these black boxer briefs, of which he seems to have countless pairs, and Taehyung hates them the most. They’re stark against his skin, hug his ass in all the right ways and make it so incredibly hard to tease when all Taehyung really wants to do is rip them off and suck him dry – but he loves to tease Yoongi, too much. There’s nothing like a snarl of frustration to send warm shivers down Taehyung’s spine, the way Yoongi starts getting nasty, sewer mouth and merciless, grabby hands. Taehyung’s been figuring out how to pull those other sounds from him, too, the small and desperate ones, rarely heard, but just about enough to make Taehyung come in his pants every damn time they are.

For now, though, all he gets is a hiss when his palm brushes up over the outline of Yoongi’s cock straining against his briefs, but doesn’t linger. He nips gently at the skin right at the top of Yoongi’s thigh, sucks it into his mouth, his own cock twitching in his jeans at the way Yoongi’s hips jerk, his next exhale all shaky.

Tae ,’ he breathes, and Taehyung opens his eyes to find Yoongi’s dropped back again, lying flat, eyes shut, brow creased, one hand tangled up in his own bangs, blonde strands woven through long fingers. His lips are parted and still all kiss-flushed and Taehyung wants to taste them again.

He releases the skin, kisses the reddening spot and moves up a bit to pluck at the waistband of his briefs with his teeth, hands smoothing up Yoongi’s sides under his sweater. It’s warm in there and his skin is so fucking soft under Taehyung’s palms that it makes his head spin. Yoongi wants him to suck his dick, that much is known, and Taehyung wants to suck Yoongi’s dick, too, this has definitely been established, but it wouldn’t be polite to ignore all that other skin. Kim Taehyung simply was not raised that way.

(His mom probably had some different ideas in mind while she was preaching to him about respecting and appreciating the beauty of all skin, but still. Taehyung likes to think she’d respect his choices in this matter regardless.)

‘Where the fuck are you going?’ Yoongi demands, sounding genuinely baffled, but not unamused, as Taehyung starts pressing kisses to his stomach, his head disappearing under Yoongi’s sweater in the process.

Taehyung pauses to smile against his belly buttonbellybutton , knowing damn well he can feel it. ‘I’m exploring,’ he says simply, grin widening at the sound of Yoongi’s scoff. If Min Yoongi is unamused, he is silent and brooding and terrifying; a scoff from Min Yoongi is only ever concealing a genuine laugh. Taehyung has learned this.

‘Get out,’ he snaps, giving Taehyung’s head a shove through the sweater, though there isn’t much force behind it.

Taehyung giggles softly against his stomach. His skin smells like his citrus shower gel and fresh laundry and Taehyung is certain he could die happy here, in the murky dark under Yoongi’s sweater. ‘The expedition is already underway, hyung,’ he says, pausing to press a couple extra kisses to that dip below his sternum because Taehyung really likes it there, it’s one of his favourite spots. ‘No turning back now.’

‘Are you fucking serious?’

Taehyung is. He doesn’t get serious about a lot of things, but tummy kisses are definitely one of the things. He has this theory that tummy kisses are the secret to world peace, but also the greatest weapon known to man because not even Min Yoongi can withstand tummy kisses without turning to jelly. Taehyung can feel the muscles going soft under his lips as Yoongi relaxes. He’s still grumbling, but it’s hard to take him seriously when the hand that had been shoving at Taehyung’s head is now a soft pressure at his nape, keeping him there.

‘This sweater is too big for you,’ Taehyung observes, when he’s able to bring his arms up inside, too, the fabric still loose around them both.

Yoongi sighs, irritable. ‘No, it’s not.’

‘There’s a line between cosy and ill-fitting, hyung, and you just—’

‘It’s just the right size,’ Yoongi cuts across him, and something tells Taehyung this is not the first time he’s had to defend his sizing choices.

He moves up a little further, grinning as he kisses Yoongi’s chest. ‘It’s literally big enough for both of us,’ he murmurs.

‘No, it’s n—’

Yoongi’s words die in his mouth when Taehyung pops his head up easily through the neck, a little too close to Yoongi’s face for polite conversation, but otherwise comfy.

He gives Yoongi a firm look. ‘Hyung, it’s literally big enough for both of us.’

He finally breaks and bursts out laughing again when Yoongi can’t bite back his own grin.

‘Get out ,’ he groans again, squirming underneath him, but Taehyung can still hear him smiling as he ducks in to kiss his neck some more, getting to work on a friend for the mark he left earlier.

‘I’m at the summit, hyung,’ he mumbles, teeth nipping at Yoongi’s skin. ‘You gotta give a guy a rest break.’

‘Am I meant to be turned on by you comparing me to a fucking mountain?’ Yoongi sounds genuinely puzzled.

‘No, but you are amused,’ Taehyung says. ‘I’ll take what I can get.’

Yoongi scoffs. He’s already given in, head rolling back as Taehyung sucks at his neck, fingers slipping into his hair again. ‘You’re a fucking—‘

He’s cut off suddenly by the sound of a door opening inside the apartment. Taehyung freezes right up, feeling Yoongi tense underneath him, before he pulls away as far as the sweater will allow him, head whipping round to find Hoseok standing just outside his own bedroom doorway.

His face is fairly neutral, considering the situation he’s stumbled into: Yoongi without pants, Taehyung stripped from the waist up and both of them tangled up inside Yoongi’s sweater. His eyebrows slowly rise a bit, mouth opening like he’s going to say something, shutting again. All in all, there is a lot of silent staring, seconds that seem to stretch into minutes.

Finally, Hoseok clears his throat. ‘Is this, uh, some new kinda bondage Jiminnie is yet to subject me to, or...?’

‘Get out, Hoseok,’ Yoongi says, voice low, uttering it like a threat.

Hoseok holds his palms up in a sign of peace, already making tracks towards the front door, though he does pause with his hand on the handle to say, ‘I told you that sweater was too big for—’

‘OUT!’ Yoongi snaps, making Taehyung jump and sending Hoseok into a fit of evil cackling as he lets himself out of the apartment.

‘G’night, kids!’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘Have fun!’

They both watch the door as it swings shut and then for a couple seconds more, still frozen. It’s Taehyung who moves first, bringing his head back round to look at Yoongi. Yoongi’s eyes flick up to meet his and Taehyung barely has time to register that quiet sparkle in them before they’ve both dissolved into fits of breathless giggling.

 

 

Yoongi isn’t entirely sure why he’s laughing, if he’s honest. It’s not a usual stress reaction for him – he prefers to retreat to a dark corner and think long and hard about whatever shame he just brought upon himself – but he thinks it has a lot to with the look of abject horror on Taehyung’s face once Hoseok’s shut the door.

He’s a giggling mess now, breath fogging hot in the crook of Yoongi’s neck and Yoongi can feel the way he shakes, bare chests pressed together inside the sweater.

‘Oh my god , hyung,’ he says, though it’s really more of a squeak, much higher than Yoongi thought his vocal range could go.

He sighs heavily, trying reel in his own laughter, the odd chuckle still leaking through as he brings a sleeve up to wipe at his eyes. ‘Nothing like Jung Hoseok to ruin the mood,’ he grumbles, although that’s technically a lie. His boner has remained quite unfazed by the interruption, helped a lot by the heat inside this sweater, all Taehyung’s fucking skin. He has so much of it and every inch of it makes Yoongi’s mouth go dry, fingers twitching.

‘What started the mood, though?’ he hears Taehyung ask, voice still edged with laughter, but less muffled now as he props himself up a bit.

He’s too close, thanks to the restrictions of the sweater, close enough that Yoongi can see where the tears have dampened and spiked his lashes, close enough that when he looks down at Yoongi, they thread together, dark and sinful.

He swallows, frowning. ‘What d’you mean?’ he mutters.

A small smirk starts quirking up a corner of Taehyung’s mouth. Nasty. ‘You were half hard when I got here,’ he murmurs, and Yoongi can feel Taehyung’s fingers on his collarbone, tracing lightly. ‘What got you so worked up, hyung?’

Yoongi’s quick to scoff at him, shutting his eyes as if none of this is worth his time – because it isn’t and Taehyung has no business knowing what he was or was not doing while trying to convince himself he didn’t want Taehyung to come over. And Taehyung has no business knowing he couldn’t stop himself sending that text – u busy? – in the end. That’s private , Yoongi mentally reminds himself as Taehyung’s nuzzling at his neck makes his tongue feel loose. He doesn’t need to know that.

‘Tell me,’ Taehyung whispers, kissing up underneath his jaw, soft brushes, barely even real kisses. Yoongi’s thighs still tighten around his hips.

‘Shut the fuck up, Tae,’ he grumbles.

‘I’d like it,’ Taehyung says, and there’s a sudden change in his voice as he pulls up to look at Yoongi again – less sultry, more shy. His eyes have gone very big again. ‘I mean, I like that. I like the talking.’

‘I know you like talking,’ Yoongi says.

‘No, I mean...’ Taehyung trails off, teeth plucking at his own lower lip. It’s already flushed and swollen and earlier Hoseok came out with some dumb fact from Twitter about a guy’s lips being the same colour as the tip of his dick and Yoongi’s pretty sure it’s bullshit, but he can’t stop thinking about it right now. He has a sudden need to compare. ‘I wanna hear you say it... whatever it was that had you so riled up. I think it would definitely bring back the mood.’

Yoongi almost wants to laugh at him. He looks nervous, somehow, as if he suspects Yoongi hasn’t noticed his giant fucking dirty talk kink in these past months. He’s all coy, looking at Yoongi through his lashes, kid-caught-with-the-cookie-jar grin.

‘Were you jerking off, hyung?’ he asks quietly, shimmying up a little further.

Yoongi thinks of the slick shower tiles pressed against his forehead and the hot steam thick in the air, making his heavy breaths even more laboured.

‘Something like that,’ he murmurs, seeing a flicker of surprise ghost across Taehyung’s face – he wasn’t really expecting him to answer. Now he’s got the look of a fisherman who’s finally felt a tug on his hook, starting to reel it in, all eager.

‘Yeah?’ he asks, voice low, eyes bright, skin still so fucking hot and everywhere . ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Taehyung is staring at his mouth and Yoongi hates that he can’t suppress the urge to lick his lips. ‘Use your imagination.’

Taehyung’s own lips purse a little at that, the beginnings of a pout. ‘You’re meant to be fuelling my imagination, hyung, that’s the point .’

Yoongi scowls. ‘Fuel it yourself.’

‘You’re really bad at this,’ Taehyung says, laughing as he catches Yoongi’s mouth again, still speaking between kisses: ‘Were you thinking about this? Me fucking you inside your sweater? Is that your ultimate sexual fantasy, hyung?’

‘No,’ Yoongi mutters, pulling away to pin him with a dark look, ‘which reminds me – get the fuck out.’

Taehyung’s grin is the worst thing, slow and sweet and fucking slimy, the kind of filthy thing that always makes Yoongi want to bite Taehyung’s lip, make him whine. He waggles his eyebrows, impressive as they are. ‘Tell me about your special shower time and I might.’

‘I’m not here to negotiate,’ Yoongi says flatly, turning away again, directing his gaze to the ceiling. He sets his jaw and attempts to cross his arms, but there’s a Taehyung in the way.

Please , hyung, how many ways do I have to hint I love dirty talk before you take the bait?’ he asks him, and Yoongi can’t help the scoff. As if he needed to drop hints at all – one vague allusion to sex and his pupils dilate like something from a werewolf film. Hints . ‘Just—just tell me what you were doing. I mean, if you’re okay—if you’re not uncomfy or whatever.’

‘Uncomfy?’ Yoongi grumbles, turning to frown at him. ‘Is that even a wo—’

Hyung ,’ he whines.

‘Fingers.’

The word sneaks out of Yoongi’s mouth without him noticing – he’s just as surprised as Taehyung looks when he realises the sound came from his own damn throat, formed by his very own vocal cords gone rogue. This is fucking treason , Yoongi thinks, trying to ignore the heat that’s started creeping high up into his own cheeks. That’s a lot easier to ignore than Taehyung’s widening eyes, the way he bites his own lip, looks a little like he might pass out.

‘Y-you were using your fingers?’ he whispers, like it’s the greatest fucking thing he’s ever heard in his life, too good to be believed. ‘Holy shit, hyung… H—how many?’

Yoongi’s mouth has gone dry, but he’s already thrown himself into the fucking deep end, he may as well swim. ‘Well…’ He clears his throat, wishes it would sound less awkward. He’s kind of grateful when Taehyung ducks in to kiss softly at his neck some more, letting him shut his eyes, submit to the fact that he has nothing much left to lose – certainly not a shred of dignity, that cupboard is fucking bare. ‘Four.’

Hyung .’ Taehyung’s voice is barely audible, the smallest fucking moan, a glorified whine, really, pressed into the crook of his neck. Yoongi feels teeth grazing, swallows hard.

‘The angle, though—’ he rushes to explain, though he isn’t sure why – it’s definitely about time he shut up. ‘—you know, in the shower, it’s not really—’

Taehyung cuts him off with a low moan, louder this time, not bitten back or muffled. ‘I don’t care,’ he says, breathing hard as he comes up again, presses a kiss to Yoongi’s mouth, hot and heady. ‘Hyung, I don’t care, that’s—that’s—’ He stops kissing him for a moment, pulling back just a touch, licking his lips. ‘It’s really so fucking hot, hyung,’ he whispers, and he’s just fucking staring, with those big, glazed eyes. It’s like awe, but all laced with something much stickier, purer.

Yoongi can’t fucking stand it, the heat in his face, pulsing through his whole body, threatening to set him alight, a real fire hazard. He could probably lose the sweater at this point, but he’s too busy using it to reel Taehyung in again, catching his mouth hard, wet, tongue searching. Taehyung is suddenly much more into it too, one hand dropping from inside the sweater to find Yoongi’s thigh, fingertips digging in, hitching Yoongi’s leg up around his own waist. And Yoongi is sharply reminded of that night, after the gig, with Taehyung’s hand gripping hard at his thigh as he fucked in deep. He’s rolling his hips now, too, just a little, like he can’t quite help it. He hasn’t been fucking touched yet, not even a little, the bulge in his jeans all too obvious as he grinds up against Yoongi’s clothed ass.

‘Tae,’ he mumbles against his lips, nipping to make sure he has his scatter-brained fucking attention. ‘Tae, get the fuck out, I’m serious.’

Taehyung seems to realise Yoongi isn’t just being a cranky shit this time. He means business. ‘Yeah,’ he mumbles, voice strained. He starts mouthing down Yoongi’s neck again. ‘Yeah, I’m going.’

He’s slow about it, lips mapping out a damp path down Yoongi’s chest and stomach again, but Yoongi can’t even get mad when he stops to suck a mark near his bellybutton, teeth nibbling at the soft skin. His fingers curl into Yoongi’s waistband while he’s at it, slowly tugging his boxers down, leaving his dick exposed and leaking against his stomach, the next obvious pit-stop for Taehyung’s travelling mouth.

His tongue laves soft over the head and Yoongi swallows back a groan, arching up into it, hands tightening in Taehyung’s hair as pulls Yoongi’s cock into his mouth proper. He’s gentle at first, fucking showboating, these maddening little sucks before he pulls off to let Yoongi’s cock hit lightly off his lips, too slick and plush for Yoongi to comprehend, eyes black and narrow. What an asshole .

When Yoongi’s bitten out curses seem to finally get to him, Taehyung grips his thighs tight before sliding down further on his cock, taking him deep enough into his throat that Yoongi sees fucking stars burst behind his eyelids. Kim Taehyung’s gag reflex is a weapon of mass destruction, Yoongi is sure of it – his destruction certainly, every damn cell in his body quivering as Taehyung swallows around him.

‘Okay—okay, fuck —’ Yoongi hisses, chokes, fist curling tight into Taehyung’s hair. ‘ Tae —‘

He’s off in an instant, licking a fat stripe up the underside of Yoongi’s cock, the loss of his mouth making Yoongi ache, muffling another groaned cursed into the back of his own wrist.

‘You good, hyung?’ Taehyung asks, voice a touch strained. ‘You gonna come? I’ll get you off like this, I—’

‘No,’ Yoongi manages, shaking his head, breathless as he struggles to sit up, kicking his boxers off from round his ankles. He gets a hand on the back of Taehyung’s neck, dragging him in for another quick kiss, messy. He can taste himself. ‘I’m gonna get the lube.’

He doesn’t give Taehyung a chance to reply before he’s clambering off the couch, stepping onto the coffee table and over the other side instead of walking around it. He has to hunt for the lube bottle once he gets to the room, searching through his bedside drawers before he remembers he had the damn thing in the shower. He finds it on the floor underneath his damp towel, the same damp towel which tries to sabotage his feet as his rushes out of the room again. He stumbles, but catches himself on the doorjamb, cursing as he kicks the offending rag back into the bedroom.

‘Piece of shit,’ he’s grumbling, tugging the door shut behind him.

Yoongi feels the eyes on him before he sees them and he’s not surprised when he finally looks at Taehyung to find him watching. His gaze is all heavy, a tonne weight, and it’s a clingy, lingering thing.

‘What?’ Yoongi mutters, glowering at him. He’s suddenly all too aware of the fact that he’s in nothing but this fucking sweater. Taehyung’s seen him naked too many times by now, but it’s that gaze, all heavy. Makes Yoongi’s throat feel tight.

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes softening up a little. He’s sitting on that fucking couch like he owns it, legs wide, an arm behind his head, lounging and watching. Yoongi tosses the lube bottle at him from several feet away, feels his mouth quirk into a triumphant smirk when Taehyung jumps out of the pose, eyes going wide, hands flapping to try to catch the small bottle.

A puppy.

‘Vanilla,’ he comments, once he’s caught the bottle, looking up as Yoongi moves to straddle him. ‘What happened to “ scented lubes are dumb and useless, Tae, shut the fuck up ”?’ His imitation of Yoongi’s voice is as terrible as ever.

‘I’m tired of your complaining every time we fuck here,’ Yoongi mutters, ducking in to kiss his neck as Taehyung’s fumbles with the bottle behind his back.

‘You know, I’m not a fan of vanilla—‘

Yoongi bites his earlobe, making him yelp, hand flying to grip hard at Yoongi’s thigh. ‘Don’t you fucking start,’ Yoongi murmurs against his ear, kissing down his jaw to find his mouth once more. The little shit is grinning, even as he’s blindly squirting lube out onto his fingers. Yoongi would bite him again, but he’s starting to suspect it’s growing on Taehyung. Soon he’ll have no fucking weapons left.

Taehyung’s slick fingers trace a slippery path down from the small of Yoongi’s back, teasing, spreading lube over his hole with barely a hint of pressure. Yoongi grumbles some kind of half-formed threat against his lips to get him to slide a finger in, then another when the first is so easy.

‘Holy shit, you did do this in the shower,’ he breathes, words hot against Yoongi’s lips. ‘At least gimme a call next time, hyung, don’t deny me that kinda show. It’s almost finals, for god’s sake, a guy’s stressed.’

Yoongi snorts, pulling back to give him a look, eyebrow raised. ‘You wanna watch me get myself off in the shower?’ he asks, but the thought of it sinks in right as he says the words. The thought of Taehyung there with him in the shower, not even fucking touching, but just. Watching. All heavy.

Yoongi licks his lips, eyes slipping shut as Taehyung crooks his fingers in some pleasing way.

It’s fucking hot, that thought.

‘It’s definitely on my Christmas list,’ Taehyung admits, with a smirk, one of his small ones, sheepish, like he’s just a little embarrassed – which is about as good as it gets with Taehyung. ‘That and getting to eat your ass.’

Yoongi opens his eyes at that, some scathing quip rolling to the tip of his tongue, but he keeps it there a moment. His gaze flicks from Taehyung’s wet mouth up to his eyes, heavy again. The colour in his cheeks suggests he’s waiting on it, the scathing quip, the gentle mockery, but Yoongi swallows it back.

He says something else instead.

‘No one’s stopping you.’

That’s what he says, and Taehyung seems to phase out from this plane of existence for a brief moment. He goes very still, Yoongi wincing slightly as his fingers slip out of his ass to grip at the back of his thigh instead. His eyes have this blank, glassy look about them, lips parted, slack. Yoongi doesn’t know what the fuck he’s thinking, but he imagines it’s either nothing or a lot , too much to process in one. Judging by the way he finally swallows hard, lashes fluttering as he blinks a couple times, grip tightening as his hands slide back up to Yoongi’s ass, Yoongi guesses it was probably the latter.

Yoongi kisses him again, grunts at the force with which Taehyung kisses back this time, surging up, hands on Yoongi’s hips keeping him pinned close. His fingers find Yoongi’s hole once more, two pressing in deep and quick, making Yoongi groan into his mouth, hips jerking forward to grind his cock against Taehyung’s stomach. That has Taehyung moaning, too, fingers curling in that one way again before he slips them out, gripping at Yoongi’s waist instead.

He isn’t particularly graceful about changing position, practically falling sideways onto the couch, before he rolls over on top of Yoongi, exactly where they were ten minutes ago. Taehyung looks considerably more wrecked now, though, as he pulls back to look at Yoongi, eyes kind of crazed; Yoongi can’t imagine he looks much different, the way his pulse is roaring hot in his ears. He can’t stop staring at Taehyung’s fucking mouth with him hovering over him like that, dark bangs falling into his eyes in feathery strands.

‘Hyung, turn over,’ he whispers.

Not a common request from Kim Taehyung – he’s big into that sensual fucking, eye contact, faces, kissing, doesn’t get much out of the good old hands and knees scenario, only ever does it when Yoongi takes a mood for it, one way or the other. This isn’t about fucking, though, that’s likely the furthest thing from Taehyung’s mind and it’s pretty fucking far away from Yoongi’s, too, with Taehyung’s mouth so wet and pink, tongue licking over his own lips, skittish.

His eyes are shining and his breath sounds a touch shaky, but Yoongi can’t tell if he’s nervous or excited. Or both. He’s asking himself the same question with regards to his own roaring pulse and the heat flushing up his neck, but he comes up blank. It’s a lot, that’s all he knows. Taehyung’s mouth is there and his eyes are shining, practically fucking begging for it and it’s a lot.

For once, though, Yoongi does as he’s told, rolling over in the limited space underneath Taehyung. His head drops to rest on his own forearms when he feels Taehyung’s weight press against his back, lips on his nape, kissing down as far as the stretched-out neck of his sweater will allow. He pauses a moment with his lips between Yoongi’s shoulder blades somewhere, breath fogging hot as he sucks a light mark there. Yoongi can feel his hands venture lower, fingers finding the hem of his sweater and pushing it up to his waist, his lower ribs. His hips roll forward a touch, cock straining in his jeans, denim grinding lightly against Yoongi’s