Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The one thing to surely stay consistent in Namjoon’s life is dingy clubs. That’s where it starts.

He goes to his first concert at the age of seventeen. Sweaty hands wring when he tells his parents that he’s staying at Seokjin-hyung’s new apartment, headphones blare Asking Alexandria on the train even though they’re kind of embarrassing at his point (it’s 2012, scene is dead), and Hoseok attempts to tame Namjoon’s too-slowly growing out hair on the floor of the furniture lacking studio. 

It’s bittersweet - he won’t see his high school friend as often as he’s used to, but it’s his first time knowing someone with their very own household, no parents in sight. They can do whatever they want. Seokjin just moved to Seoul for university, but somehow still wants to hang out with Namjoon and Hoseok. They must be cool. (They’re not.)

It’s intimidating as soon as they arrive. The venue is small and worn down, the entrance in a dark alleyway filled with smoking people clad in dark clothing. Seokjin fits in in just fine, maybe a bit too well polished and pretty, but he always looks like he belongs. Hoseok is just as ridiculously pubescent and lanky as Namjoon, but his excitement turns into confidence and people return his giddy grins. Namjoon, however, is very much out of place. He’s a teenager with acne who studies too much and doesn’t even have ear piercings. Next time Hoseok offers to give him some, he will accept, parents be damned. 

The concert is 18+ but he’s got the height and speech (debate club) skills to get in without any fuss. It’s scary and new, but freeing. At school, Hoseok is the only person who listens to similar music to Namjoon, and they hardly even dress to show it. Here, Namjoon is plain, underwhelming, and fascinated by everyone he sees. Band shirts and piercings and bleached hair, by far the most tattoos he’s ever seen. It’s like the concerts he watches on youtube, but he’s living it, and no one’s even on stage yet.

The building is just as dark and cramped as it looked from the outside, it’s in a basement with a sticky floor and the stage is barely a meter off the ground. The glance he had at the line up showed that every band was Korean, and he had heard of none of them, meaning that the tickets were cheap. Namjoon gets caught up in the excitement and occasional discreet sips of Seokjin’s soju, they find a place near the stage because everyone else stays at the bar, and it’s not long before the dark sound of a guitar permeates through the room.

He remembered snorting at the name of the band: Gloss. It was blatantly out of place amongst the array of violent death related titles, sounding more like they belong on some 70s glam rock line up. 

Instead of a group of dads, the people on stage look like they could be even younger than Namjoon. There’s five of them, all with silly haircuts fit for myspace and ripped skinny jeans paired with too much eyeliner; exactly how Namjoon wanted to look a few years ago, exactly what he’d cringe at now. One of the guitarists is surely in middle school, and the singer is even shorter than him. Namjoon is unsure if he should laugh or coo - Seokjin is doing the former, Hoseok the latter. 

Despite their looks, the song starts, and everyone promptly shuts up. 

Live music is supposed to be objectively worse, especially when it’s by teenage local bands, but they’re good. The expectation was expecting some painful breakdowns and bad screaming, instead finding polished guitar solos and vocals fit for ballads. It would be a lot to take in no matter what, it’s Namjoon’s first time at a concert, but he gets distracted by one thing in particular.

The lead guitarist is closest, right in front of him, and all he can look at. 

The man looks older than the others, but the smallest on stage, no older than twenty. Long, dark hair falls into his catlike eyes which don’t look up, staying focused on the red guitar. Big hands, skinny legs, pouty lips. It’s hard to tell if he’s really that pale, or if it’s just the lifeless bright lights, but he looks unreal. Undead. The Slipknot shirt he’s wearing is torn at the collar like his overly ripped jeans and there’s eyeliner smudged around his eyes.

Though a bit outdated, he looks really fucking cool, but it’s nothing compared to what he’s doing. 

Namjoon is in awe. He plays bass (badly), intimidated by the intricacy of guitar, always amazed when Seokjin plays for him, but that’s nothing compared to this. The band covers an Avenged Sevenfold song which real people shouldn’t be able to do, yet the guitarist nails the solo, and Seokjin curses in Namjoon’s ear.

It’s mostly a blur, not much is taken in. Namjoon is left with a memory of a small emo who plays guitar far too well and hardly looks up at the audience. They make eye contact once, time stops, and then it’s over. Unforgettable.

A short set by an unknown group is enough. It could just be because it was his first concert, or maybe they were that special. 

Namjoon wants to start a band. 

He’s not great at bass, definitely can’t sing, but lyrics are where his heart lies. The rest can be learned, like everything else he dedicates himself to. He has been writing since he had milk teeth. Namjoon likes pretty things, and certain words can be more beautiful than any view, the discovery of the right music made this love grow. A friend introduced him to My Chemical Romance on their shitty desktop computer when he was thirteen, and he was done for. 

Back in high school Seokjin would indulge in the lyrics he wrote, getting out his guitar and trying to fit them to a melody. He has a pretty singing voice, soft and gentle, the opposite of the messages of the songs they were fans of. They didn’t put much time into it, but managed to convince an enthusiastic Hoseok to learn drums in music class. It didn’t go much beyond that: youtube bass lessons, unfinished compositions with fond memories attached, staying in the music classroom after school to attempt some blink-182 cover. There wasn’t enough dedication to even come up with a name. 

It changes after the concert. Namjoon saw people his age doing what he thought was impossible, and he set his heart on getting there himself.

A boy named Taehyung with an alarmingly deep voice comments on the album in Hoseok’s hands in a music shop in Seoul. His singing voice is haunting, his personality is the opposite, and he fits in with them like he was made for it. The band begins in autumn.

A lot changes in a year when you’re a teenager. Everything becomes humiliating: your haircut, old clothes, the bands you owed your life to. 

Namjoon’s hair grows out in 2013. He buys a lot of black clothing, moving on from the metalcore which filled his previous summer, onto the more heavy and gritty. He turns eighteen, and as long as school comes first, his parents let him be (aside from the occasional comment about how much he looks like a delinquent). Hoseok pierces his ears when he gets good grades, which is often. His final year of high school is a blur of university applications, late night study rooms, and band practice squeezed in between. 

He comes across Gloss again when he moves to Seoul. 

Sharing a cramped bedroom with Hoseok gives them more time to focus on their band. While Namjoon ends up on a sociology course, his roommate studies music, giving them access to more equipment. Somehow, by Namjoon’s nineteenth birthday they manage to record a very mediocre album. 

It isn’t tame in any way: filled to the brim with criticism of politics and societal norms, often fuelled by the topics in Namjoon’s classes. The genre is a bit of a mess, somewhere between punk rock and metal with some rap shoved in there (to the fault of Namjoon). It’s shocking enough to gain them some attention online, which leads to a slot at a concert thanks to someone dropping out last minute.

They’re so indecisive that they don’t decide on a band name until the very last minute, after they’ve finished the whole album. It ends with a game of rock paper scissors, resulting in naming themselves after their favourite song on the album: Spinebreaker. It’s vaguely threatening while also making fun of rich kids, which is exactly what they’re going for. Ironic, will make people roll their eyes, and therefore fitting. 

So it begins. 

It’s not quite autumn, still far too hot. The band got drunk at Seokjin’s apartment after getting the news of their first gig, Hoseok passed out so Namjoon had to make it home alone. He had been too excited to take in any of the information about the concert, including the lineup. Tipsy in bed, he tries to look it up with uncooperative fingers, and chokes at the sight.

Gloss are the main support act. 

It’s the same shitty venue as last time, but he feels entirely unworthy. Namjoon can’t comprehend sharing a stage with them, there’s no way he deserves it. He’s confident in his ability to write music, but not to play it live, he’s too clumsy. The opposite of everything he saw in Gloss. Especially that guitarist. 

It’s terrifying. Packing up his bass makes Namjoon sweat more than his university entrance exams. He’s going to perform on stage to a crowd of people who listen to good music, before a selection of bands far cooler than his own. If he fucks up, it’ll never be forgotten.

Their band is a bit different. Namjoon likes that about them - above anything else, at least they talk about important stuff. The actual music, however, is not the most polished. He just hopes that the local emos are open minded enough for something a bit more messy. 

His friends wouldn’t let him dress as usual, apparently Namjoon isn’t naturally cool. His jorts were confiscated, ending up in jeans far tighter than he’d like. An overall not very Namjoon getup, which might be a good thing. At least he isn’t wearing eyeliner. 

Getting up on stage with shaky legs, he’s fully prepared to be booed as soon as they start their first song, perhaps even a few comedic tomatoes will be thrown. The lights seem a lot brighter than they were at soundcheck, so blinding that it’s hard to look up, and that’s probably for the best. Namjoon keeps his eyes on his fingers during the first song, playing carefully, hardly messing up, each note vibrating deep into his chest. 

The bravery to squint at the crowd comes towards the end of the set. People are nodding along, shoulders swaying. It’s not quite the music to dance to, but there are audible claps at the end of each song, and Namjoon has found his calling. 

Getting off the stage, drenched in far too much sweat, is when he sees him again.

Namjoon is trying not to pass out from the adrenaline coursing through him, getting patted on the back by his squealing bandmates, told that he did well, that he’s cool as fuck and they’re gonna make it big. 

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Joon.” Hoseok grins, getting lifted up by Taehyung as they pile into their tiny shared dressing room. “You didn’t even drop your pick!”

It’s elating. He feels so fucking good, shaking and a bit dizzy but never better. 

As they make their way into the room, someone pushes their way out. 

The lead guitarist of Gloss, a shock of minty green hair. He avoids eye contact but offers a tight smile, clearly in a rush to get on stage. Namjoon doesn’t have time to do anything but stumble out of the way, just enough time to embarrass himself. The norm. 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, not used to being pushed aside. “I thought the other bands would be a bit more friendly, now that we’re one of them.” 

“He’s just jealous of your guitar skills.” Taehyung says earnestly and it’s taken as an insult. 

They have just enough time to clean themselves up a bit. Namjoon is an overly sweaty person, his hair is unsalvageable, having to be pushed off of his wet forehead. Looking like shit doesn’t deter any of the excitement, though. This is the best day of his life, and now he’s going to watch Gloss perform on the same stage.

It’s more crowded than last time. People care about Gloss, so they have to shove a bit to get through the crowd. Namjoon’s ego wasn’t ready for the experience of being recognised from his set and causing people to move out of the way. He feels cool as fuck, Hoseok calls him out for the way he juts out his jaw during rare bouts of confidence. The cool moment is over as soon as it starts. 

Gloss’ appearance is more dramatic than last time: some darker makeup and goth clothing. it makes some people gasp. Like Namjoon’s band, they’re kind of out of place, but in a different way. It’s a coincidence that he ends up in the same place in the crowd as last time, right in front of the lead guitarist. 

They make eye contact again. It’s different this time - they’re almost equals. He’s not some idol, just a fellow guy in a band. 

That is, until his first solo, and it’s very clear that he’s not just anything. He’s really on another level, belonging to a far bigger stage, a far bigger audience, a venue that has actual toilet seats. He props his foot up on the monitor speaker, right in front of Namjoon, an arm’s length away from him. His jeans are more ripped than before, more skin on show. Namjoon doesn’t know where to look, but his jaw is hanging open.

Namjoon had convinced himself that he had overhyped this band in his head, he thought they were so impressive because they were the first act he ever saw live, there’s no way that a local band could be so good. 

No, they got better.

It’s not just the music, it’s the way they act - like they own the stage, even though they’re so young. Along with their clothing, the lyrics are darker than before, too, more grotesque than teenage angst. The set flies by, they cover another anthem from Namjoon’s youth and the crowd loves it. They cheer far more than they did for him, which isn’t surprising at all. Gloss deserves it. 

By the end of it, Hoseok shoves a finger into Namjoon’s open mouth and jokes about him having a crush, which is laughed off. Seokjin buys drinks, Taehyung complains about his coke, Namjoon tells him the dangers of underage drinking as if he didn’t do the same last year. 

Alcohol paired with the post-performance joy feels a bit like how Namjoon imagines sex to be. His friends keep complimenting him, saying that it’s all thanks to his song writing, everyone will want to get into his pants when they know it. He doesn’t even know what to do with himself, preening. 

Copious amounts of soju has Namjoon on his way to the backstage bathroom (it’s further away and not much better than the public one, but it just feels good to have the option). The clarity of being alone in a bathroom whilst drunk is unlike anything else, he’s washing his hands and wincing at his sweaty hair when the door opens. 

They make eye contact in the mirror.

Dark eyes, black eyeshadow; pink cheeks, bright hair.

Holy shit. This is the time to compliment him. Nice performance bro, my fellow musician, isn’t it fun having such a career (Namjoon works as a tutor and spent too much money renting equipment for this performance, this is absolutely not his career).

“You were really good!” Namjoon blurts it out too loudly, turning around to face him. The guy stops on his way to the urinal. “I saw you last year, too. You guys are great.”

The fluorescent lights make his skin look sickly, but in a flattering way, like a doll. It’s not just the stage lights, then, he really is that pale. His hair is a shade fit for a grandmother’s bathroom; it would probably reflect onto the wall if he got any closer to it. He’s a lot smaller than he looks on stage. Namjoon feels oversized and out of place.

He blinks. Not expecting to be ambushed with a compliment in the bathroom, which is very reasonable. Namjoon feels like a weird fangirl. “Ah, thank you,” His voice is deeper than expected, kind of slurred in a sleepy way, or maybe he’s just drunk. He laughs, stilted, and looks around the room as if there’s something to admire other than mould and lewd graffiti. “You were in the opening band, right?” 

Namjoon is memorable. Okay. He’s not gonna say something embarrassing right now. 

“Yeah, it was our first gig.” He tries to say it like it’s nothing. It doesn’t come out like that, he’s overeager, inexperienced, it’s painted all over him.

“You said that on stage, congrats.” This boy doesn’t make eye contact much, but when he does, it’s flooring. Namjoon is an extrovert. He knows how to make small talk, even if he has a tendency to say stupid stuff. For some reason, this is a lot harder than usual. Probably because he’s in a cool as fuck band, and Namjoon is a pathetic rookie. He’s good with formal situations, not emo boys in filthy bathrooms. “I liked the song about capitalism, a refreshing type of angst.” 

Namjoon’s lyrics are memorable.

“Holy shit, thank you. I, uh—wrote that.” Was that bragging? Namjoon is an arrogant asshole, wow. “I’m Namjoon. Sorry, this is a weird place to introduce myself, you can...” He nods towards the urinal, as if this adult man needed permission to pee. 

“Yoongi. Thanks.” He smiles, nods, and steps over a puddle on the floor while Namjoon stares. 

Yoongi. The overly talented guitarist of Gloss. Very small, silly hair, deep voice. 

Namjoon hurries out of the bathroom, not wanting to disrupt him any longer, and returns to a very drunk Hoseok who has obtained a group of new friends. They all look a bit terrifying, yet they feed Namjoon more praise. 

A pretty goth girl with lip piercings and hand tattoos ends up next to him, but he’s starting to get used to feeling out of his league. She talks about the music she likes, all bands he always found a bit too heavy. He stutters a lot, but she likes that, if the pointed nails digging into his thigh are anything to go by. 

Maybe that’s more of a threat. Either way, it’s hot. When she shows off her split tongue and asks if he wants to feel it, he lets her lick right into his mouth without a second thought. Hoseok can be heart hooting in the distance. 

She kisses his neck, biting hard. He gasps weakly and somehow locks eyes with Yoongi at that exact moment. He’s standing at the bar, looking right back at him, not avoiding eye contact like in the bathroom. Namjoon doesn’t know what to do, just proceeds to whimper, and gets his dick grabbed through his jeans. There’s no doubt that he looks pathetic, and it doesn’t make things less arousing. He should probably reflect on that at some point. 

They stand up and her boots make her almost as tall as Namjoon. Hoseok wishes him luck as he leaves. Namjoon doesn’t tell her he’s a virgin, but it’s pretty obvious when he ends up pinned to her bed and coming in her mouth far too fast. The split tongue is blamed. She kindly guides him through eating her out, tugging his hair and telling him he’s doing a good job. He doesn’t even get laughed at when he ends up hard again in record time, she just generously rides him until he’s finishing embarrassingly fast for the second time in one night. 

He’s somehow both giddy and boneless on the train home, unsure if anything that night actually happened. Maybe his drink was spiked. First gig, first time speaking to Yoongi, first time fucking someone.

Sex always seemed so daunting to him. Namjoon doesn’t flirt, ever. He made peace with being patient, expecting to go a lifetime without getting laid, saving himself from the embarrassment of trying. Instead, he lost his virginity to a one night stand with a split tongue who didn’t even ask for his number, just said she’ll go to his next concert. It feels reckless in a way that Namjoon is not, but it feels good. 

He doesn’t even shower when he gets home, too tired. Just crawls into bed still smelling of sex, entirely disgusting.

“Did you get pegged?” Hoseok asks, propped up on an elbow and grinning. 

“I kind of feel like I did, actually.”

“Proud of you, Joonie.”

If he illegally downloads some Gloss songs the next day, it’s because he’s supporting his fellow local artists. Maybe a little bit of hero worship. He’s not obsessed, they’re just cool. 

If he thinks about the weird eye contact with Yoongi a few times, it’s because he misses that night: the thrill of performing for a crowd, the pride of his friends, having a pretty girl grabbing his dick. Yoongi just reminds him of that. 

The metal scene in South Korea is minimal, but they manage to gradually gain some more attention. 

A few more gigs, always the opening act, always in Seoul or somewhere close. They get more confident with their music and instruments, Namjoon actually learns how to play bass. Taehyung gets a bit less boyish and his voice gets even deeper, Seokjin does guitar solos, Hoseok invests in an electric drum kit so he can practice at home (it means they can’t have a table in their apartment, but that’s fine, they can hold their bowls). 

Namjoon keeps up with university and tutoring, parents of students often give him food to take home, Hoseok is very passionate about this job because of it. They make friends with people in bands, write a lot of music, Namjoon even stumbles through a few more sexual encounters.

It turns out that Gloss don’t even live in Seoul, they have to come all the way up from Daegu whenever they have a gig in the capital. This is good for Namjoon’s band, they can do things last minute. There are a few tame battles for slots, Gloss usually gets them, they’re bigger. Namjoon fixates on changing this, starting an entirely secret one sided rivalry (he’s not relevant enough for Gloss to worry about him - for now).

Namjoon crashes into Yoongi again on the way to another shitty dressing room. 

Their gig together was a while ago, a whole year has passed. Namjoon is a better musician now, a bit more confident, slightly less ridiculously teenage - he’s almost twenty. He bleached his hair silver and got a few tattoos, but is no less lanky than before. It can’t be as awkward as last time, he’s good at this. 

They literally crash into each other. Yoongi almost falls onto the floor, Namjoon catches him, grips his bony arms and pulls him back up while he gets stared at in horror. He’s lucky the bass on his back didn’t knock anyone out, though his head does feel a bit fucked. 

“Fuck, sorry!” Namjoon feels like he’s always apologising to the poor guy. 

Yoongi shakes his head, ever nonchalant. “’s okay.” He’s clearly on his way somewhere, not wanting to talk to some weird clumsy mess of a man, but Namjoon can’t stop himself. 

“We played the same gig together last year.” That felt good to say. Equals. 

“We met in the toilet, right?” Yoongi asks, remembering Namjoon, who nods.

He has baby pink hair this time, softer than before. It contrasts with the clutter of piercings dangling from his ears and the Type O Negative shirt. Their songs are all so filthy, his hair is the opposite, virgin pink like the knees poking through his ripped jeans. There are endless little details to take in, it’s hard not to stare.

“I like your shirt.” It’s the first thing that comes to Namjoon’s mind. It seems that he’s still not very good at this. 

Yoongi looks taken aback, eyebrows raised. “The band or the dick?”

Oh no. It’s the album cover of Slow, Deep and Hard, and that’s absolutely a dick. How could someone possibly miss that? Namjoon, the not quite virgin who stays out later at the library than he does at clubs, that’s who. He prays that his face doesn’t look as hot as it feels.

“Th—” A voice crack. “The band.” He laughs awkwardly and Yoongi is clearly amused. It’s the first time he’s seen him properly smile, so at least there’s that. Maybe he needs to humiliate himself more often, if that’s even possible. “Do you wear that in public?”

“Of course.” Yoongi speaks slowly, like he always knows exactly what he’s about to say, in no rush. “If my tattoos are enough to horrify pathetic old men, why hold back, right?”

That bravery is not something Namjoon can relate to. The glares he gets when his arms are on show are hard to get used to, always wanting to apologise for having tattoos. Namjoon is on the brink of coming up with something cool and relatable to say in return, hoping to start a friendship. Maybe an opportunity to show off his own, to touch Yoongi’s arm again to admire them, but someone interrupts. 

“Unloading the van is more urgent than getting laid, hyung.” It’s the vocalist, just as small as Yoongi but a bit more excitable, holding himself very differently. He winks a dark rimmed eye and drags Yoongi away without another word. According to Yoongi’s loud complaints, his name is Jimin. 

It takes a moment for Namjoon to register his words. Alone in a damp hallway, wondering if that sentence can be interpreted as anything other than it sounds. War flashbacks to middle school: being flirted with as a joke for being just that unattractive. There’s no way that fellow bands are that childish, right?

Hoseok asks him if he saw a ghost, a light-hearted suggestive comment should not be this haunting. 

Just before he is due onstage, Namjoon finds himself in the universally unwanted experience of sharing a conversation whilst pissing. 

Donghyuk is a bit of a dick. He’s in a beatdown band (whatever the fuck that is, something with a lot of breakdowns and not much else), calls himself Supreme Boi, and likes to kick the poor people who stand a bit too close to a mosh pit. He gave a girl a nosebleed once and got punched in the face by her boyfriend, no one tried to help him, he’s that much of a dick. A displeasure to be around, but he has a lot of connections, and helps their band get gigs. 

Namjoon needs to stop talking to people in green-tinged bathrooms. 

Donghyuk appeared just as he unzipped, choosing the urinal right next to his like a barbarian, and started up his useless chit-chat. It’s hard to pee when someone is staring right at you, this is the stuff of nightmares. Namjoon nods along to the unnecessary conversation, trying his best to zone out, until it gets worse. 

“You know Gloss, right?”

“I’ve seen them a few times, yeah.” Namjoon says, ready to brag about performing with them. 

“Have you seen them recently?” No pause for a response, to be expected. “They were pretty okay before, but they changed their whole look lately, and it’s a bit embarrassing, right?” Namjoon hasn’t seen them on stage since last year, but they can’t be that different. He’s shocked by the blatant insult of a fellow band. “I get that emo was a thing, but if you’re gonna wear that much makeup, why not just... be in an idol group, or like, be a girl.”

“Well, one of them is a girl—” He cuts in, but doesn’t even get a chance to continue, though he’s unsure of what he’d even say. The man just keeps bitching away like a child.

“Shit, I never would’ve guessed.” His laugh makes Namjoon wince. Namjoon is cringing, zipping his jeans up, hopefully signalling the end of the conversation. He wants to call him out for being a dick, but there’s no room to speak. “It’s like they’re dressed for a gay BDSM club.”

Along with not getting a chance to talk, a bigger problem is that Namjoon doesn’t even know if he can tell him to stop being so rude. While Namjoon may be a passionate advocate of equality, often getting into arguments about feminism and LGBT rights with anyone who provides the opportunity, always ready to defend his friends, Donghyuk is important to their band’s ability to get gigs. Pissing him off would be terrible for them. 

Namjoon doesn’t mind sabotaging himself, but can he do that to his best friends when they’re working so hard for success?

The decision is made for him. 

The single bathroom stall creaks open. The sight of pink makes Namjoon’s heart drop. 

Yoongi walks calmly over to the sink, eyes down while he washes his hands. Namjoon body throbs with shame, trying to think of what to say, how to explain that he didn’t agree with any of the shit Donghyuk said, he’s just fucking stupid.

“You think I’m pretty enough to be an idol?” Yoongi flutters his eyelashes, throwing a paper towel into the bin and leaving the room before Donghyuk can splutter out a response. The noise he makes when the door creaks shut is akin to a pig.

Namjoon feels sick during his performance. 

Over the past year they’ve managed to gain a handful of people who actually listen to their music. Seeing real humans singing along to their silly little songs is unparalleled, it makes Namjoon lose his shit every time. But even that isn’t enough to get the bitter taste out of his mouth. 

Hoseok pulls him aside and asks if he’s okay afterwards, like the too good friend he is, giving Namjoon a chance to complain. “Fucking Donghyuk was bitching about a band in the bathroom, and a member overheard it.”

“What was he saying?”

“Making fun of their look, being borderline homophobic, the usual. I feel like such an asshole.” Namjoon explains, embarrassed by his lack of bravery. 

“Did you agree with him?” It hurts that his friend could even ask such a thing, but then again, Namjoon might as well have done that.

“No, what the fuck, I just stood there. He didn’t even give me the chance to speak, and we were pissing.”

“Sounds like him. One day we’ll tell him to fuck off, I promise.” Hoseok laughs, looking much less shocked than a moment ago. It’s calming. “I’m sure they hear that shit all the time, he won’t remember you.” A soothing pat on Namjoon’s back. “Hyung, will you make out with me in front of Supreme Boi?” He yells across the room and Seokjin is caught off guard for once. 

They move on, Namjoon does his post-concert sweat wiping, changing his shirt, and tries to get over it. One bad night: an unfortunate incident, a bad performance, he’ll get over it. 

Unaffected as usual (the opposite of Namjoon as usual), Yoongi doesn’t hold back on stage. 

And Donghyuk was right with one thing, Gloss did change a lot. It’s jarring. A lot of makeup, chains and leather, more filthy lyrics. The singer keeps touching everyone, at one point Yoongi’s guitar gets more action than Namjoon has in his entire lifetime. He’s wearing a sheer shirt with a harness over the top, nipples visible, and spends a lot of time on his knees looking vulgar.

It feels kind of dirty to watch. Voyeuristic and wrong, but impossible to look away from. 

Namjoon isn’t one to judge, but he gets what Donghyuk was referring to. The explicit detail of sucking dick makes him blink a bit. He’s used to hearing such things, all of his bandmates are gay, and they are not the type to hold back on any details of their sex lives. However, live songs by a Korean metal band isn’t where he expected to hear these things. 

It’s shocking, but just makes them cooler. Namjoon is a passionate ally, and there’s nothing better than people being unashamed of something that can easily be used against them. 

There are a few disapproving mutters by particularly cowardly men, Namjoon wonders why they’d be at such a concert if they’re not open minded. He can’t stop thinking, with horror, that by being his pathetic self and not openly disagreeing with what Donghyuk said in the toilets, he might just come across the same as them. 

He has to apologise. 

It’s easier said than done. 

Yoongi was elusive when he was just a potential acquaintance. A cryptid of sorts. Namjoon was always aware of him in the territory he frequented, but he was hard to spot, harder to pin down for a conversation.

Now that Namjoon is officially a homophobic dick, and in most need of said cryptid, it’s even harder. 

The venue is small as fuck and there’s only one person with pink hair in the building, it should be easy. The very slow and steady gain of popularity for Spinebreaker has Namjoon in high demand from someone other than his parents for the first time in his life, which slows down the search. He gets stopped and complimented every now and then, grabbed for too many conversations. One of them, to his distress, is Donghyuk.

By the time he finally sees Yoongi, it doesn’t go as planned. 

Donghyuk corners him, a few members of the headlining band at his heels. Namjoon fucking hates this guy, but still ends up having to stand there and smile though his consistently offensive jokes. At least they get acquainted with someone far more successful than them. Namjoon looks at the bright side, until he spots Yoongi.

Eye contact at inconvenient times is becoming their thing. That, and bathrooms.

A below average Bring Me The Horizon cover is blaring in his ears, but he can practically hear Yoongi’s scoff from across the room. The guilt lingers.

Apologies are hard. 

Their bands don’t have concerts together for a while. When Gloss are performing, Namjoon is busy with university, and there are no opportunities to see him. Yoongi is as mysterious online as one would expect: no social media, just occasionally appearing in his bandmates’ photos. Namjoon might be desperate to apologise, but the members are intimidating. There’s no way that he can message a stranger asking for their friend’s number like some pathetic fan.

As more time passes, the busier he gets, and Yoongi is pushed to the back of his mind. He probably has encounters like that all the time looking the way he does, Namjoon isn’t memorable anyway. 

He may not be memorable in general, but he manages to make himself pretty hard to forget - in the worst way possible.

2015 is a good year for Spinebreaker. They release another album, gain more attention, even get paid for their concerts. Their music ventures into the region of hardcore, a bit more niche but the fans go harder. Namjoon misses more classes than he’d like to for band opportunities, makes up for it by staying up all night in the library whenever Hoseok gets laid.

Namjoon doesn’t go to many parties other than the occasional post gig club night if it’s at the same venue. After over two years of concerts, he ends up at a rare real house party. It’s a shitty apartment, furniture pushed out of the way to make room for everyone. Namjoon has spent the whole night being social, even turned down some girls’ flirting to keep talking, it’s enough to forget about constant looming university deadlines. As always, getting up to use the toilet is a reminder of how drunk he is.

He stands in the hallway for a moment, music ringing in his ears, some people making out against the wall next to him. There are too many doors for such a small apartment to know which is which, but there is definitely a hand up that girl’s skirt, so he chooses randomly. 

Bathroom related incidents are Namjoon’s constant downfall.

The room is dark. He just steps right in, blinks for a minute. The music is a bit less loud but it feels like his brain is buzzing. 

It takes a moment to realise that there’s someone sitting on the bed. A big guy with tattooed arms. Another moment to realise that his legs are spread, holding someone’s head down against his crotch. He opens his eyes, unphased, gaze dragging over Namjoon like his presence is welcomed.

“Didn’t you talk about him before? You were right.” The man says, voice strained. He’s not talking to Namjoon, but he’s looking right at him.

He doesn’t let the person pull back for a moment, hands gripping bleached hair. There’s a gag loud enough to be heard over the music, loud enough to kick Namjoon’s hazy mind back into motion, a bit too late. 

“Were you watching?” Another voice. The hoarseness of it amplifies the disdain. 

Yoongi’s hair is blonde now. 

There were so many half formed plans of how to apologise, to explain that Donghyuk is a bitch and Namjoon would never agree with him, he even went to pride last year, they’re nothing alike. He wanted to tell Yoongi that he’s admirable for being so unique, for making such obscure music, and doing it proudly.

The plans didn’t account for the sight of Yoongi with red-hot cheeks and drool on his chin. 

Yoongi is usually intimidating. Deep voice, steely eyes. Despite his height, he’s intense, always reducing Namjoon to a pathetic state. On his knees, it’s somehow worse. It kind of feels like Namjoon should be the one in that position, which is a weird thought.

Namjoon is glued to the spot, speechless, spineless, maybe even brainless. Yoongi glares right at him, wiping his chin with the back of a hand, staying right where he is. The spit glistens on his skin. If Namjoon took a step to the side, he’d be able to see the guy’s bare dick. The dick that was just in Yoongi’s mouth. Another weird thought.

It’s odd - he walks in on Hoseok getting laid a lot more often than he’d like to, has even witnessed far more graphic scenes than this because of it. This somehow feels so different from any of those times. Maybe it’s the admiration paired with slight fear he has for Yoongi, or just the alcohol, but it’s making something warm stir low in his stomach.

He realises, with horror, that he’s getting hard. 

That’s a normal physical reaction to sexual acts, nothing to be ashamed of, if not for the fact that he walked in here without permission and Yoongi hates him. Not only has Namjoon portrayed himself as a bitchy asshole in the past, but now he looks (and feels) like a pervert, too.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Namjoon fumbles. “I didn’t mean to—” He cannot fathom why he’s not leaving, why his body is betraying him, and why Yoongi has started smirking. It just keeps getting worse. 

The guy pets at Yoongi’s hair not so delicately. “Want to watch?” He asks, hand quickly shoved off, pinned to the bed.

“Matthew.” Yoongi warns, annoyed. At least it’s not directed at Namjoon, though he didn’t particularly care to learn the guy’s name. 

“I’m not—oh my god, I’m sorry.” Namjoon manages to stutter out, turning around and almost walking right into the wall. “Have a nice… that.” He opens the door and escapes. The slam of it closing too hard is followed by Yoongi’s laughter, taunting. 

At least the staring and hard on probably hinted that Namjoon is not homophobic. One less thing to worry about, replaced with a new problem of him being a blatant creep who watches people get off without their consent. 

Making it to the bathroom is a bit of a blur, he ends up sitting down to pee because he’s incapable of trusting his knees. Just from the alcohol, of course. Squinting in the bright room is a bit too sobering, and all he can see is the mess of Yoongi’s hair and the pink of his lips. Cold water doesn’t stop the overheating, and Seokjin asks him if he got railed when he returns to the safety of his friends. 

Like the optimistic idiot he is, Namjoon expects Yoongi to leave after he’s finished with… what he’s doing. He usually goes straight home after concerts, never staying to have fun, surely he’ll do the same now. Especially after being walked in on. After being violated by Namjoon. 

Yoongi walks into the room alone, someone vacates their seat on the couch for him, and there he sits. Directly across from Namjoon. There’s enough distance between them, he’s on the other side of the room, but his hair hasn’t even been smoothed down and there’s a big fat hickey on his neck. Namjoon can’t think about anything else. 

“Are you about to throw up?” Hoseok prods at Namjoon’s thigh as if he isn’t almost as bad as Taehyung at holding his alcohol. 

“Don’t look, but I just walked in on a member of Gloss...” Namjoon lowers his voice, leaning to whisper into his ear like a schoolgirl. “Giving someone a blowjob.”

“What!” Hoseok practically starts vibrating with excitement, eyes lit up, all traces of alcohol induced suffering gone. “Was it the singer? He looks like he would.”

“Stop shouting, I’m not telling you who it was that’s—invasive”

Hoseok grins. “Was it hot?”

The answer is yes, which cannot be admitted. Namjoon huffs. Seokjin is listening now, leaning in to hear the gossip. “Do you think I’m into watching people fuck without their consent? And it was a guy.”

“Wait, holy shit,” Hoseok’s eyes widen, a sinister grin breaking out. This can’t go well. “Was it your little enemy?”

“He’s not my enemy! I don’t hate him, it’s one sided.” Namjoon isn’t very nonchalant. He doesn’t dare to check if Yoongi is watching. 

“Rivalry is inherently horny.” Hoseok smacks Namjoon’s thigh when he says it. “This is too good, you never even apologised to him and now he’s gonna think you’re homophobic and a creep!”

“Why would this be funny in any way?” Namjoon groans, not wanting to hear anything about horniness towards Yoongi. 

“Here’s an idea, he’s not talking to anyone right now. Why don’t you go over there and explain yourself?” 

Namjoon laughs, as if it could be that easy. Hoseok doesn’t know what Yoongi is like: the way he looks at Namjoon like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, how pathetic he is. “He’s fucking terrifying and I just saw him with a dick in his mouth.”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, huh?” Hoseok wiggles his eyebrows, and Namjoon downs his drink.

It’s not long before Taehyung passes out as usual, and being the responsible hyung that he is, Namjoon takes him home instead of talking to Yoongi.

He’ll apologise next time. 

Pink cheeks fog his mind when he goes to bed. Easily blamed on the alcohol. 

It’s a new layer of fear towards Yoongi.

At first, he was just intimidating, then he was given a misunderstood reason to dislike Namjoon, but now there is a much more concrete basis for hatred. It clings to Namjoon, hard to shake off. It’s guilt, but something else, too. Something darker. The image of Yoongi on his knees returns to his mind at the weirdest times, to an annoying extent.

Namjoon isn’t an angry person, ever. If he’s ever mad, it’s at himself, and he’s the only one it gets taken out on. The Yoongi problem eats away at him, and while he hates himself for getting into those situations, he starts to blame Yoongi, too.

Why does he have such an affect? Why did he have to be so hard to talk to at first, so elusive when Namjoon wanted to apologise, so smug at that party?

With great shame, sometimes Namjoon lets himself indulge in watching a few Gloss music videos. Just to keep up with their competition, of course. It’s all blood, leather and lust. Their music gets more daring with every release; there’s a new album in 2016 and Namjoon sits in shock while the lead vocalist spits some black goo into the other’s mouth. 

According to Wikipedia (they’re relevant enough for that, apparently), Gloss are heavy metal, which is debatable. They’re loved overseas, especially by queer people. The similar bands recommended are Motionless in White and In This Moment, who from a quick glance have the same dramatic approach to makeup. Overcompensating with looks to make up for their music, Namjoon guesses.

Yoongi doesn’t fit it much. He’s a lot less scandalous than the others in their music videos, and on stage, just keeps to himself. According to English comments, this is very appealing. The small one with the deepest voice and too-pale skin, doesn’t talk much in interviews, lets his bandmates do as they please but never reciprocates.

There’s a possibility that Namjoon is paying a bit too much attention. 

He’s aware of this, and that makes it worse. It’s clear that Yoongi has to be actively avoided to give Namjoon’s brain a chance to calm down, which can’t be too hard, but it is inconvenienced by the seemingly constant news of Gloss getting big.

Someone casually mentions that Yoongi even writes songs for other people, gets paid for it. Namjoon is still a fucking tutor at the age of 22. A really good one, that is. Despite his growing number of tattoos and piercings he manages to keep a very middle class group of customers who love to tip. His contact name on Hoseok’s phone is currently a very classy ‘milf magnet’.

Gloss are clearly the more successful band, Namjoon won’t lie to himself. However, Seokjin has a way with words, Hoseok is just that lovable, and Taehyung is hilarious. It’s enough to squeeze their band into a few slots up for grabs, slots which usually would’ve gone to Gloss. This feels good, good enough for Namjoon to start to gradually wean himself off of keeping up with the other band’s content. He’s on their level, they’re very different subgenres, no need to worry about them. 

University passes in a blur, Namjoon survives. 

Spinebreaker are always changing, but consistently politically charged and hard to swallow. Taehyung’s deep, haunting voice makes them stand out from anything else within their genre, he can actually sing, while Namjoon’s rap is there to cut through the beauty it brings. They gain more attention, mostly in the west, but also enough local fans to keep moving onto bigger venues in Korea, even playing in Japan a few times. They get to take part in a festival, which is a very memorable and muddy weekend. 

Namjoon changes a lot, too. A drunken night leads to a shaved head which surprisingly stays, with Taehyung in charge of dying it a different colour every month. His arms fill up with tattoos gradually, mostly of favourite plants and references to art. University stress causes a habit of getting body modifications to distract himself, currently leaving him with a pierced eyebrow, nostril, and stretched ears. His parents do not approve, but at least he continues to get good grades. 

All traces of lankiness are gone thanks to Hoseok’s passion for dragging him to the gym. It turns out that Namjoon gains muscle fast, and his friends never fail to point this out, there’s always someone gripping his arms in awe. It’s kind of embarrassing, feeling like you’re taking up too much space, but it does get him laid. 

He also eventually quits being a tutor to focus on their band, which somehow becomes his actual career. This leads up to the start of 2017, with the most exciting news of Namjoon’s life. 

An American band invites them to be their opening act on a world tour. A month and a half in the US followed by a few weeks in Europe, on stage almost every day, living in a tour bus. There’s no hesitation, they say yes without any doubt. It starts in April, just after Namjoon will finish university, and he’ll happily miss his graduation if need be. 

They get the news while Namjoon is in a morning exam. He’s half dead by the time he gets out of it, shuffling out of the building only to find Taehyung running towards him at full speed, Hoseok close behind. They start screeching about an American tour, and Namjoon actually collapses right there as soon as his friends fling themselves onto him. It’s humiliating, and he doesn’t even notice the embarrassment, which is a first. 

Spinebreaker made it, this is a fact. 

The past repeats itself. 

It’s just like 2013, but Seokjin’s apartment is a bit bigger than before, Namjoon finds himself tipsy and buzzing with excitement the night before their flight to the US. It’s stupid of them to drink when they have to be functional the next day, but the celebration is needed. Namjoon handed in his dissertation, Hoseok finished his exams, everyone has packed their bags.

His friends keep grabbing his shoulders, shaking him and letting out yells of disbelief. A night of light-hearted fun, reflection on their past accompanied with half of them tearing up (Hoseok and Taehyung, as usual), followed by some very sobering news. 

Just like 2013, the line up features Gloss. 

They were a last minute addition, another band pulled out, and they’ll be on tour together for over two months. 

All eyes on Namjoon.

Chapter Text

There’s a possibility that Namjoon may not have been completely honest about his fear of Yoongi.

They all knew about the Donghyuk incident, and Hoseok still brings up the time at the party often, but they don’t know about Namjoon’s… problem. It’s just embarrassing - the way he messed up around him all the time, the way it affected him so much more than it should have, the way that Yoongi eats away at him. It would be pretty hard to explain when he doesn’t even understand it himself. 

“He hates me.” Namjoon groans, lying on the floor. All he can imagine is months of humiliation along with finding ways to make Yoongi dislike him even more. 

“It was over a year ago, he doesn’t remember you, Joon.” Hoseok says it like it’s that easy. 

“I saw him sucking dick.” Namjoon always feels guilty to bring that part up, a reminder of what he saw. How he reacted. How often he thinks about it. 

“If he often does that at parties, I doubt you’re the only one.” Seokjin’s comment shouldn’t spark jealousy, but Namjoon’s thoughts regarding Yoongi are rarely reasonable. “Good for him.”

Unlike 2013, at least Namjoon has his own bedroom to lie awake in when he thinks about Yoongi. 

There’s no way that they’ll be able to avoid each other. This would have been an exciting prospect in the past, but the possibility of friendship seems a lot less feasible than it did four years ago. Depending on Yoongi’s visible disdain for him at this point, the plan is to either be overly polite and grovel for forgiveness, or avoid him as much as possible. 

Maybe Yoongi doesn’t remember him at all. Namjoon isn’t sure what’s worse: being hated or forgotten. 

If there’s ever an option to befriend him, which is very unlikely, Namjoon doesn’t even know if he’d want to take it. Yoongi fucks him up, but hopefully being on a real tour will help Namjoon feel more confident in himself. The ability to talk to the guy without stuttering would be appreciated. 

Arriving in the US is a blur of excitement. They land in Seattle at 6am with a vow to stay awake to combat their jet lag, then proceed to all sleep in for picking up their bus. Spinebreaker is a small band in terms of number of members, along with popularity - their very low budget tour bus is exactly the same, and it’s perfect. Namjoon may be a bit too large for the bunks but they make a deal to give him the big bed in the back room twice a week. Seokjin buys the members matching plushies at a terrifyingly large supermarket and Taehyung tears up. 

The new lifestyle is jarring as soon as it begins. Namjoon went from a respectable family in Ilsan, to a shitty shared apartment in Seoul, to living in a bus on US highways. They’re lucky that the fees of the tour are partially covered because they’d be living in a van otherwise. He made his parents proud in high school, less proud in university despite his good grades, and now they’re just glad that he graduated. Namjoon knows that he should’ve gone for a more academic career, didn’t even plan for the band to be his full time job, still unsure of how he really ended up here. 

But here he is. They show up to their first soundcheck early. Four years into their career and still the over eager rookies. Being the opening act makes them lucky enough to not be watched by any peers, just some bored sound techs. Namjoon is the only one in the band who is fluent in English but that doesn’t stop the others from thanking the intimidating headlining band profusely as soon as they see them backstage.

The venue is far bigger than any of their previous ones, big enough to have their own dressing room. The couch may have some questionable stains, but they have a mini fridge of free non-alcoholic drinks. They’ve made it. Their first set goes smoothly. The stage feels far too big, the audience is daunting, but they actually cheer. A few people even sing along, Namjoon almost shits himself.

Gloss are next up. Namjoon gets cleaned up fast enough to watch. A monumental day in his life, and suddenly everything else is forgotten, tunnel vision.

Namjoon almost doesn’t recognise him, but the sight sends him back to 2012. 

This time he’s watching their performance from the side of the stage rather than the crowd. It’s a less arresting sight; not having to face Yoongi head on. Safe from the eyes that always seem to see right through him. He’s all the way on the other side of the stage, so Namjoon attempts to drag his eyes away to focus on the rest of the band.

He struggles to take much in: the lead singer’s seductive voice and pink hair, the other guitarist’s cute skirt contrasting with his beefy arms, a girl far more skilled than Namjoon playing bass, their shirtless drummer.

And then there’s Yoongi. 

They’re at a very safe distance, few details can be seen. His hair is black again, like it was at Namjoon’s first concert, where it all began. The difference now is that it’s long, past his shoulders, startlingly regal and feminine. They’re not close at all, yet he’s all that Namjoon can see. The way he hunches over his guitar, head down, hair hanging over his face. The sight is almost too much. It’s hard to comprehend witnessing this regularly, yet they’ll be seeing each other almost every day, nowhere to hide. 

Namjoon wonders if the people in the crowd are having the same out of body experience that he did in 2012. There’s no way someone can hear this, see this, and carry on unscathed.

After the shock of just seeing these people again, Namjoon absorbs their music. It’s a lot heavier than before, somehow more filthy. A lot of metaphors about sex along with the occasional blatant ode to dick. It’s clear that while most of the audience had no idea who Gloss were before now, they won’t be forgetting them anytime soon, language barrier meaningless.

Namjoon gets torn away from the venue afterwards. First night in the bus, a drive to another state, they can celebrate on the drive there. Therefore, he gets through the first day of tour without any interaction with Yoongi. A win for his dignity.

“I want the vocalist of Gloss to step on my dick.” Taehyung whines, sprawled out on the communal bed. The back room has been allocated as their lounge due to the seating area being too small for Namjoon’s legs, but his friends love physical affection. It’s a win for everyone.

“Aren’t they supposed to be our self-appointed rivals?” Seokjin asks. It’s a jab at Namjoon, who is far too tired for this.

Taehyung laughs, patting Namjoon’s thigh pitifully. “That’s just Namjoon-hyung’s obsession with getting hatefucked.”

His friends are thoroughly entertained by the Yoongi problem, but their jokes don’t usually end up in this territory.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” Namjoon scoffs. “Nor is he my rival.”

“Tell us when you change your mind.”

Like everything about Yoongi, it lingers. 

Their home for the next two months comprises of eight bunks (three of them being used for luggage, one for the driver), a king sized bed in the back, two miniature sofa-esque seats, a toilet without a shower because they’re not quite on that level yet, and even a mini not-quite kitchen. They’ll have hotels every now and then, making do with the venue showers in between.

In the confined space of a stuffy bunk, Namjoon thinks about Yoongi. Darkness makes way for unwanted thoughts. They creep over him: long hair and snakebites turns into flushed cheeks turns into pink lips wrapped around another man’s cock. 

Namjoon wants to soak his brain in bleach. 

It’s probably the amount of porn he watches, far too much of a voyeur for his own good. He groans in annoyance, rolling onto his stomach to get comfortable, only to groan again. The flimsy futon rudely brings attention to his unwanted hard on. He can’t even jerk off unless he wants his friends to hear it, so the only option is to lie there and stew in his thoughts. They’re blamed on his tired and fragile state, tour is just overwhelming. 

One day into the tour, not one conversation with Yoongi, and he’s already back to square one. 

Namjoon convinced himself that all of Yoongi’s bandmates would hate him, just like he does. They must know all about the shitty things he’s done, being both a coward and a pervert, and he plans to stay out of their way as much as possible. 

A problem occurs. 

Taehyung is immediately infatuated with one of them. It shouldn’t be surprising that the only Korean people on a tour of the US would want to spend time together, but Namjoon is entirely unprepared when he’s introduced to them. 

Jimin is almost as unsettling as Yoongi, but in a very different way. While having the sweetest voice, he’s always smirking, like he’s on the verge of laughing at you. It makes Namjoon’s hands sweat when he dresses indecently and makes eye contact like it’s a dare to stare for too long. Though he doesn’t make Namjoon quite as incapable of speech as Yoongi does, it’s still daunting to interact with him, so he does his best to keep to himself. 

Thankfully, the two seem to be quite busy with each other. Taehyung’s dick stepping dreams may have come to fruition a lot faster than expected.

“Why do you avoid me, hyung?” Jimin pouts. He tagged along with their band to get food, happily uninvited, already playfully hitting Hoseok despite hardly knowing each other. “I can call you hyung, right?”

“He’s scared of Yoongi.” Hoseok happily exposes him like a true friend and there is no way this conversation will go well. The cheesy American diner feels a lot more sinister now that he’s this vulnerable. 

Jimin gasps, stealing food from everyone’s plates. “What did he do?” 

“He didn’t tell you?” Namjoon is genuinely surprised. He was so sure that Yoongi would’ve told them all about their unpleasant past.

“Wait,” Jimin leans over the table, filled with joy. Namjoon feels like prey. “Did you fuck or something?”

“What?” The bluntness from a near stranger is flooring. “We’ve hardly spoken.” That came out a lot more defensive than intended. It definitely sounds like they fucked. 

“Namjoon is straight.” Hoseok whispers loudly, like it’s a joke. It might as well be, based on what his friends say (and his recent thoughts). 

Jimin’s eyes widen, giving Namjoon an assessing look. Right into his soul. “Oh.”

Namjoon doesn’t want to know what that means, so he lets Seokjin kindly change the subject, eating in peace. Unflustered. Not thinking of Yoongi. 

Namjoon had been easing himself into the sight of Yoongi. Only letting himself look from afar, mostly when he was performing, keeping things low risk. He ends up pushed into the deep end, unprepared.

Less than a week into their tour, plans to walk around and admire the not quite blooming cherry blossoms of Portland are interrupted. Taehyung insists that help is needed to visit a piercing shop. 

“I’m pretty sure you know how to use google translate for whatever part of your body you want pierced.” Namjoon complains, waiting outside of Gloss’ bus for Jimin to join. Being in such close proximity to Yoongi’s living space feels like willingly entering a bear’s cave, Namjoon is on edge. 

“They’ll tell us about aftercare and stuff, do you want me to get an infection?” Taehyung pouts, silver hair blowing into his eyes. He’s far too good at manipulation and Namjoon is not immune, hence why he is here. 

Jimin appears at that moment, getting up on his tiptoes to sling an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You should know all about aftercare by now.” He winks, making Taehyung blush.

It’s quickly becoming clear that they are not the best duo to spend time with, and then it gets worse. 

“Very mature, Jimin.” Yoongi’s voice makes Namjoon jolt. 

He descends the bus steps, keeping his eyes on the other two, Namjoon safely ignored for now. Not only is it the first time they’ve been this close on the tour so far, but it’s also the first time seeing Yoongi out of his stage makeup in a long while. Namjoon is definitely staring. 

He’s wearing a big black sweater, probably Namjoon’s clothing size, and it almost reaches his knees. The boots make him taller than Jimin, but the contrast in their legs next to each other is jarring - Yoongi is so damn tiny. His long hair is a lot shiner than it was back when it was always bleached. It’s unnecessarily pretty.  

Namjoon is dumbstruck, as usual, just from the sight of him. The first time they make eye contact is so much worse. 

“You’ve met Namjoon, right?” Jimin asks, the face of innocence. 

Oh god, Yoongi remembers him.

This is clear when Namjoon isn’t given a greeting or an introduction, just a scrutinising once over. “Have I?”

Namjoon waves hesitantly. Yoongi keeps his face blank, bored, before asking the others how far they’ll have to walk. Jimin is thoroughly entertained, while Taehyung has the decency to look a bit guilty. He hangs behind to whisper in Namjoon’s ear while Yoongi struts ahead. 

“I thought you guys could get to know each other, so Yoongi can see that you’re cool.”

Namjoon sighs, thankful that his friend is so caring, though it’s clear that it wasn’t really his idea. Jimin is a mischievous little fucker. “I wonder how I’ll manage to fuck things up today.”

“You never know, Jimin says that he’s secretly sweet.”

That’s laughable. 

The piercing parlour isn’t far, there are a lot more here than in Seoul. Jimin and Taehyung discuss their plans on the walk there, while the other two walk in silence. Namjoon keeps glancing at Yoongi, amazed that he’s willing to spend time with him. This is the longest they’ve been close to each other, ever. 

It’s the perfect chance to apologise, but he has no idea how. Reminding Yoongi of all the shit he’s done sounds like a bad idea. 

Yoongi goes first, because he’s the bravest, and he takes it like a champ. It’s just a ring in his ear cartilage and the piercer asks him to tie his hair up before it, revealing a delicate spider web tattoo on his neck. Namjoon isn’t brave enough for neck tattoos. He can’t be sure that the whole band thing will last, he might just end up having to be a sociology teacher at some point. 

More reason to respect Yoongi, what a surprise. 

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin says as they wait for Taehyung to get his lip pierced. “How painful were your nipple piercings?” 

Namjoon’s brain halts. Nipple piercings. His eyes dart to Yoongi’s chest, as if he could see through the giant sweater. He wonders if Yoongi’s nipples are just as pink as the rest of him. Inappropriate, but it’s Jimin’s fault. 

For once, Yoongi is staring right back at him, eyebrows raised. His unamused voice brings Namjoon back to reality. “Not too bad, less scary than my tongue.”

It’s just punch after punch of harrowing new information. Namjoon’s mind is in the gutter, and he keeps thinking back to everyone's comments about a supposed crush. These are probably crush adjacent thoughts.

A shady piercing shop in America is not appropriate for this kind of epiphany, it gets pushed aside. 

“Liar, you just have a pain kink, admit it.” 

Namjoon actually chokes at that. Audibly. He doesn’t dare to look for Yoongi’s reaction, wishing he could plug his ears to avoid hearing his response. There’s no way he could have the emotional capability to deal with kink talk from Yoongi. 

Taehyung whines at that moment, as the needle goes through his lip, demanding Jimin’s attention. 

Yoongi wanders off when it’s Jimin’s turn to be pierced, admiring some old tattoo stencils on the wall. Namjoon dedicates himself to being brave, a rare occurrence. He approaches slowly, from the side, wanting to give Yoongi a chance to walk away before he talks. 

“You’re brave for that.” Namjoon says quietly.

His mind supplies all of the ways that this can go wrong, how it can be interpreted as offensive. You know who isn’t brave? People who bitch in toilets, immature men who judge others for the way they look, creeps who walk in on intimate moments and don’t look away. 

Yoongi doesn’t flee.

One glance, then he’s looking back at the art on the wall. “You know me and BDSM clubs, pain is fine.”

Ah yes, the wise words of Donghyuk, always coming back to haunt him.

“It wasn’t me who said that, I didn’t—” 

Before Namjoon can finish stuttering, Jimin tugs Yoongi’s arm, demanding a review of his new vertical labret piercing. His bottom lip is swollen, almost comically, and he’s left with a permanent pout - even more so than usual. Yoongi laughs at him and gets his nipple pinched. 

(His pierced nipple, can’t forget that part.)

Namjoon listens to everyone’s simple aftercare instructions and translates it to them under Yoongi’s scrutinising glare, as if he hasn’t gone through more than enough piercings to know all of this.

There’s a demand for post piercing ice cream as a reward for their bravery and Yoongi orders mint chocolate. Namjoon doesn’t even worry about being a dick, he tells him he has disgusting taste and Yoongi says he’ll be sure to find a way to force it upon him one day. Namjoon is pretty sure that this counts as light hearted banter, and he feels accomplished. 

Yoongi can be near him. That’s something. They’ll be friends in no time, which will lead to the end of the whole fear boner thing.

Underestimating their success, Namjoon and his friends had decided that they didn’t need a merch person on their tour, instead taking turns to do the job after their sets. They quickly learn that people do indeed buy merch for foreign bands they had never heard of before, and that a lot of these people really want to fuck a member of said bands. He has never been very good at turning people down, but this tour helps him gain some experience. 

Gloss’ merch guy is a very enthusiastic and very buff Korean-American man named Matthew. By far one of the friendliest people on the tour, he kindly offers to take over their merch stand every night when Spinebreaker performs. He’s vaguely familiar - Their meeting cannot be recalled, but he probably went to their concerts back in Seoul. Namjoon wishes he could tell his high school self that he’d end up living a life of meeting so many people that he forgets most of them.

Matthew really wants Namjoon to go to the gym with him. Namjoon doesn’t have the heart to explain that his bones ache daily from going too hard on stage and sleeping on a shitty bunk, so he ends up suffering through weightlifting while his new friend compliments his pecs. 

Performing that night is excruciating and Namjoon has to embarrassingly admit that he’s not quite strong enough to have this as a routine, but Matthew just smacks him on the back and tells him he’s always welcome to join in the future. It’s nice to have another friend on the tour, and maybe it’ll even help Yoongi to warm up to him. 

Namjoon grows a set of balls in California. 

It’s sweltering. He’s used to heat, summer in Seoul is close to hell, but this is a shock after the chilly climate for the first week of tour. The bus is getting a bit too cramped, they’re a few days from their next hotel and the green room’s air conditioning is less than optimal. Clad in an old sleeveless band shirt and slathered in enough sunscreen to make his mother proud, Namjoon finds a rickety staircase leading up to the roof, book in hand. 

There are some large and clearly DIY plant pots with little trees in them, spring has actually started here, so they have enough leaves to provide shade. They surround a selection of mismatched seats accompanied by a fire pit, and beneath a bright pink umbrella lies the cause of Namjoon’s tripping over. 

He catches himself before he falls, and also loudly catches the attention of Yoongi. 

It’s rare to see him in the sun. Though he is hiding in the shade at this moment, he’s outdoors on the hottest day of the tour so far. They both had the same plans - Yoongi has a book resting on his knees where he’s hunched over himself, squinting up at the bright light.

“Sorry—I didn’t think anyone would be up here, I can go,” Namjoon pants out, breathless from the stairs and heat (and Yoongi). 

“It’s a big roof, don’t worry.” Yoongi says, casual, without looking up.

After he gets over the initial shock of Yoongi being borderline welcoming and polite, he looks around for somewhere to sit, as far away from the poor guy as possible. A wander around the mess of trees and plants shows that while the roof is large, the range of places to sit are not plentiful, so he ends up twiddling his thumbs right where he started.

“There’s a chair right there.” Yoongi nods to the one furthest away from him, but only by a few meters. It’s beneath a little red maple, carefully in the shade. “Stop being weird.”

Namjoon tentatively sits down, as if he’ll scare him away, or manage to break the chair. It creaks, Yoongi keeps his eyes on the book, Namjoon settles down. 

It’s hard to focus. The sun is too hot and Yoongi is right there. They should speak. 

Namjoon builds himself up to it, opening and closing his mouth a few times until Yoongi looks up expectantly. “What are you reading?” 

“Not to sound like every slightly alternative guy ever, but you wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“I read a lot.” 

“Holy shit.” Yoongi widens his eyes, fixed on the book again. He keeps his voice monotone as usual. “You’re an adult who can read.”

Namjoon snorts. That could be a friendly insult, it’s fine. “Will you tell me the title so I can look it up, at least? I’ll need a new book soon.”

He really hopes that this is friendly conversation rather than being annoying as fuck. Namjoon knows that if someone asked about the book he was reading, he’d love to tell them all about it. In most things, Yoongi is generally the opposite of him. He should’ve left him alone. 

A sigh. “Do you like horror?”

Did Yoongi just ask Namjoon a question about his interests?

Namjoon is so shocked that he almost doesn’t reply, too busy basking in the glory of getting through to him. They’re talking. “Yes!” Too enthusiastic, he tones it down before he continues. “I want to visit Stephen King’s house when we get to Maine, I love horror.”

Yoongi finally looks up, staring right at him. It’s Namjoon who can’t make eye contact now. 

“I just finished another one by this author, I can lend it to you, if you want?” Yoongi says it so casually, as if it isn’t revolutionary.

Namjoon can’t hold back a smile. It’s happening, he did it. Not only that, but they share interests, Yoongi is so cool. 

They read in silence. It’s hard to concentrate when Yoongi is so close. If they were any closer, Namjoon would be able to see the beads of sweat gracing his delicate neck, so their safe distance is for the best. Namjoon indulges in glancing up every time Yoongi tucks his hair behind an ear, or reaches for his bottle of water on the table. He gets caught looking a few times, any blushing can be blamed on the heat. 

Watching Gloss’ set feels less like a guilty act now. Namjoon has spoken to Yoongi, he’s about to read a book that belongs to him, because they’re acquaintances. Members of bands on the same tour with mutual friends and mutual interests. A rocky five years of tension, which might just lead to a pleasant friendship.

So he lets himself watch, and what a show it is. 

There’s a leather thigh garter that Yoongi likes to wear on stage every day over his jeans, it has a big O-ring that matches the one on his choker (more of a collar, fit for a leash). Throughout the set, Jimin has a habit of tugging on them, flustering Yoongi even though he probably does it daily. 

They really are blatantly indecent on stage. If he were friends with Yoongi, he’d tease him about it. The contrast between how quiet he is in general to his intensity on stage is staggering. He mouths along to the lyrics sometimes, an English song about hatefucking has Namjoon gulping. By the time he gets back to the bus, he’s a mess once again. 

His bandmates don’t even let him watch Twilight in peace.

“Have you seen the way that Namjoon looks at Yoongi?” Seokjin asks out of nowhere, ending any brief relaxation Namjoon was experiencing. “I think he’s into degradation, or at least being ignored. That’s a thing, right?” 

“You guys haven’t shared an apartment with him, I don’t think that’s what he’s into.” Hoseok rubs Namjoon’s shoulder as he says it, making him groan in embarrassment. He can always count on his friends to bring up kinks where they’re not needed. “Maybe you should fuck him, though. Just to see what it’s like.” 

Namjoon chokes on his drink. 

Taehyung wipes his chin and proceeds to betray him when he speaks. “He’s right, angry sex is hot. Once I got slapped in the face and I came untouched.” 

“This is the worst conversation I’ve ever witnessed, holy shit.” Namjoon whines, batting Taehyung’s hand away and hiding his heated face. “I don’t like him; I don’t even know him.”

“You don’t need to like him to fuck him, he doesn’t need to like you either.” Seokjin adds like it’s obvious. Namjoon feels out of his depth. 

“I want him to like me - as a friend.” Namjoon pointedly looks at each of them as he says it, trying to be confident in himself. He’s not going to get defensive about his sexuality, because he doesn’t really care about it. “And even if I was somehow into him, which I’m not, fucking someone who hates me sounds a bit… mean. I don’t think I could do that.”

Hate fuelled sex sounds fun in theory, but Namjoon really doesn’t like being disliked. He likes the communication before intimacy and the affection afterwards.

“The handcuffs in your bedroom say otherwise.”

“BDSM isn’t mean, Taehyung—”

“Don’t get him started!” Seokjin cuts him off. “You’re a sex positive feminist, we get it. We don’t need another lecture on aftercare.” He pauses, looking at Namjoon with something like pity. “We’re not pressuring you, though. You know yourself better than we do, but we’re here for you, right?”

The other two nod. Namjoon is struck by the rare moment of wisdom. It pushes his mind over the edge. 

Does he really know himself?

Sitting on a cushion in a parking lot eating dry cereal in his pyjamas, it’s Namjoon’s turn to be jump scared.

Yoongi looms over him, blocking the sun from his eyes. He’s wearing a big, baggy shirt and jeans: his usual off-stage attire, though slightly more revealing than when they were further north. It’s hard not to gawk at his tattoos. 

“You look really pathetic right now.” 

Namjoon’s fight or flight mode is activated - ready to cower and apologise for whatever he just did (he swears that he isn’t like this with anyone else, he’s just very aware of his wrongdoings), but it dawns on him that Yoongi is smiling. 

Not the cruel smirk he has grown used to, but a light-hearted one.

After appreciating his bony fingers and chipped black nail polish like a weirdo, Namjoon notices that he’s holding a book in his hand. The book. 

“Are you here to recommend a classy brunch restaurant?” Namjoon asks, crunching away at his breakfast, well aware of how dumb he looks right now. Spending every waking moment on a bus can’t be good for one’s health and he’s a fan of the sun, sue him. Maybe he should invest in a fold out chair before their next tour.

“I’m here to recommend the local grocery store for some milk.” Yoongi looks down at his bowl, both literally and metaphorically. 

“I’m drinking coffee. I don’t want my cereal to be wet, too.” Namjoon finds himself pouting, but it’s nice to be degraded for something that isn’t serious. His cereal habits are nothing to be ashamed of, unlike Yoongi’s taste in ice cream. 

“Cereal was literally created to be wet, that’s the whole point.”

“Okay, Mr Soggy, calm down.” Namjoon cringes as soon as he says it, good to know that he still cannot be cool around Yoongi. Another mischievous little smile has his worries forgotten. 

“You might as well be homophobic again.”

Namjoon splutters, reminded of all of the shit in their past. What Yoongi has always thought of him, and probably still does. “I wouldn’t—ever, I’m not homophobic, I’ve been meaning to—”

“I was joking,” Yoongi laughs, cutting him off from his apology. “Here’s something less dry for you, hopefully.” He hands out his book, but Namjoon’s eyes are fixated on his mouth. He’s grinning, gums on show, a very jarringly cute smile. “It’s kind of fucked up - just a warning.”

It takes a bit too long to grab a hold of himself, but Namjoon manages, taking the book and admiring the gory cover. “That’s a good thing.”

“It is.” Yoongi hums, before raising his eyebrows to mark his exit, returning to his own bus. Namjoon watches him leave in awe, fully aware of how sweaty he is from both heat and Yoongi. 

“When does the venue open? I need to shower.” Namjoon asks into the void as he makes his way back into the air-conditioned shelter of his bus, eyes foggy from the sun. 

“That was Yoongi!” Hoseok just about shrieks, far too close to nude to be this excited. 

This is not the time to act like a fangirl, Namjoon keeps it cool. “He was lending me a book.”

“What the fuck, when did he stop hating you?”

“I don’t think he did, I just called him ‘Mr Soggy’.”

The look on Hoseok’s face represents Namjoon’s regret well. 

Settling into his bunk that night is the most exciting it has ever been. The book awaits him - Wormwood by Poppy Z Brite, who Namjoon has indeed never heard of. It feels so personal: a piece of Yoongi, right in his hands.

It’s a collection of short stories, starting with two boys in a band whose car breaks down in the wilderness. The first is over too fast, but the ending has Namjoon heartbroken and unsettled. He tears his way through the small book, finding constant dark and filthy words akin to Gloss’ music, some parts underlined in red ballpoint pen.

Yoongi was right about the fucked up thing, and Namjoon was right about liking it. The majority of the stories feature graphic gay sex, which Namjoon is no stranger to in books, but this is different. 

Different because it’s grotesque in a way he’s never seen, different because it’s what Yoongi reads. 

Namjoon’s mind trails elsewhere, delving into unwanted territory as usual. 

There’s a story of two men who get bored of everything: the books and music they love (something that Namjoon has almost dreaded), turning to sex to make up for it. They start with threesomes, keeping girls between them, and eventually turn to each other as they can’t put up with anyone else. Sharp nails and blood cling to his thoughts, and he ends up with the realisation that yes, he would do that with Yoongi. 

He’d like that, with a girl. Yoongi might be bi, it could happen. Safe exploration, making someone feel good, showing off to one another. Namjoon is a lot bigger than him, he wonders what he’s like in bed. Back at the party in 2015 the man had grabbed his hair, held him in place. Maybe he’s into being controlled, or maybe that was a rare occurrence, an unwanted roughness, and he’s usually the one in charge. It could be both, or neither, and it shouldn’t matter to Namjoon.

But it does. 

Namjoon has always been open with sexuality. He’s kind of an overly sexual person, endlessly horny, enthusiastic about making people feel good. It’s just that men didn’t appeal to him that way. He hasn’t thought about it much. It’s fine when his friends give drunk platonic kisses, or get a bit too in the moment on stage, resulting in the occasional grope. He doesn’t mind that. 

Usually his attraction is fuelled by getting to know someone. He’s friends with people before they fuck. Yoongi may be cool, but he’s also angry and doesn’t talk much. Namjoon doesn’t really know anything about him, other than his talent for guitar and song writing. And now, book taste.

However, it can’t be ignored that what he feels towards Yoongi is something borderline horny.

It’s exclusively horny though. Yoongi is cool and Namjoon would like to get to know him platonically, maybe a bit sexually, just to try something new. There’s also the fact that Yoongi despises him, so that won’t happen, which is fine. This is just self-discovery. There’s nothing like a dark, cramped, coffin-esque bunk on a loud bus driving through the middle of nowhere to have an epiphany. It’s not much better than a piercing shop.

(Five years of pining did not happen, that was genuine rivalry.)

The book thing may have temporarily lessened Namjoon’s hesitance towards Yoongi - they were able to have a civil conversation, Yoongi is hopefully warming up to him, getting to know that he’s not as much of an asshole as he thought. Hopefully.

The feelings that the book brought upon took Namjoon back a few steps.

On one hand, there’s something to talk about with Yoongi now, a very valid reason for conversation. On the other hand, Namjoon kind of wants to fuck him. Or something along those lines. Maybe. 

It’s fine. Hoseok said something about a fear-boner before, maybe Namjoon really does just have an unexplored humiliation kink. He’s usually a fan of being dominant in bed, inevitably dabbling in BDSM over the years due to the type of people he spent time with. There might be some underlying repressed fantasies in the depths of his horny little brain. 

Arizona is hotter than California, and Namjoon thinks he might have slipped into hell somewhere along the dusty highway. The whole band ends up in their underwear for the drive and Seokjin keeps letting out yells of distress, but at least they stock up on ice cream at every rest stop.

The first time he sees Yoongi again after the Book Epiphany is so much worse than he thought it could be. 

He’s nowhere to be seen before the show, probably sheltering from the heat somewhere, hopefully not shrivelling up and dying like Namjoon is on the brink of doing. Spinebreaker play their set, their sweatiest so far, it’s truly excruciating. Namjoon plans to miss Gloss’ performance in favour of showering because he simply cannot survive another second feeling this disgusting, but then he encounters Jimin.

Jimin, also known as the bane of Namjoon’s life. 

“Oh! Hyung, you’ve got to see our set today, it’s really special.” It’s clear from the look on his face that Namjoon is in danger.

“Ah, I’m really gross right now, I was gonna shower—”

A little hand clings to his far too damp arm. At least Jimin winces at the disgusting feeling, but then proceeds to drag Namjoon back the way he came, not so easily warded off. 

“Yoongi lost a bet last night! You’ll want to see it, I promise.” Jimin’s winks can’t mean anything good is in store, Namjoon is genuinely feeling unsafe. Yet he ends up exactly where he’s told to go, stopping right in his tracks when they arrive at the side of the stage.

The first song starts. Namjoon knows it all too well by now.

It’s mostly familiar: the dark, heavy music and the salacious way that they deliver it, the crowd quickly losing their shit, Jimin’s hands wandering over his bandmates.

Dangerously, Namjoon is on Yoongi’s side of the stage this time. The special feature of their set makes him a bit lightheaded. 

There, Yoongi stands, guitar in hand, clad in his usual chunky boots, less usual fishnets, and a very unusual fucking maid dress.

Maybe god does exist. There’s no way that this is happening by chance instead of a very specific punishment for Namjoon’s sins. The day after he acknowledges his less than appropriate feelings towards the man, he shows up dressed like a wet dream. 

The dress is short. Yoongi always wears jeans, though they’re often ripped, this is by far the most skin Namjoon has ever seen him showing. His legs might just be even more pale than the rest of him, peeking out of the ruffles in the skirt, bruised knees and an array of tattoos beneath the fishnets. 

By the end of the first song, Namjoon is actually breathless. Audibly panting at the sight of him, blood and sanity vacating his brain. Yoongi jumps a few times and the skirt rides up his thighs. It’s far too much skin, Namjoon feels like a Victorian man reacting to an ankle.

“Our precious Yoongi dressed up for you all today!” Jimin pants into the mic between songs in English with a cute accent. He ruffles Yoongi’s hair, making him roll his eyes. “Isn’t it pretty?”

The crowd yells in agreement. Namjoon thinks that he should be the one screaming, they don’t know his suffering.

At one point the other guitarist teasingly slides a tattooed hand up his leg, right up under his skirt, grinning when he gets slapped away. Yoongi’s ears go pink, Namjoon’s dick aches. 

Namjoon doesn’t stay for the full set, instead retreating to the empty green room to calm the fuck down. After downing a bottle of water, he heads to the communal kitchen for more, imagining Hoseok’s unquenchable thirst related comments as he opens the fridge. 

Voices can be heard just outside, and as they get closer, Namjoon wonders if he has time to hide in a cupboard. He had thoughtlessly put on these embarrassing lightweight pyjama shorts that he has specifically for cooling down backstage, they’re covered in frogs and Hoseok always brings up his dick when he wears them. 

“I’m not you, I look ridiculous.” It’s Yoongi. Of course it is. His voice is a lot softer than usual, Namjoon wonders who is lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that careful tone. 

“I’m pretty sure you just broke the world record for most boners to ever occur at a concert,” The other voice doesn’t belong to someone Namjoon knows, but they’re speaking the truth. “The front row would’ve seen right up your skirt! You should’ve worn the panties, though.” Namjoon chokes on his water at that, spilling it down onto his shirt. 

“What has Jimin done to the innocent Jungkook?” Yoongi splutters as they walk in. 

That’s when they notice Namjoon, standing there like an idiot. Frog shorts and a wet t-shirt, very much an oversized messy child. 

Yoongi’s still wearing the maid dress. Jungkook turns out to be the other guitarist. 

“Uh. I like the new stage outfit.” Namjoon says, consistent with his brand of being weird around Yoongi. 

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, clearly embarrassed. When he opens them, they trail down Namjoon’s body, landing on his stupid legs.

The mysterious Jungkook cackles, slipping an arm around Yoongi’s waist. He’s somewhere between adorable and intimidating: usually wearing skirts and cute hairstyles, almost cuddling his hyung, but he’s almost as tall as Namjoon, with toned arms covered in tattoos and stretched ears, more facial piercings than most.

Jungkook looks at Namjoon weirdly, big eyes filled with suspicion. “He suits it, right?”

It’s interesting seeing these two together. Namjoon is used to seeing Yoongi’s teasing nature with Jimin, always finding a way to argue with one another. He’s different around Jungkook, letting him do as he pleases without any complaints.

“Yeah, it’s really—” Lewd. Revealing. Mind numbing. There are no mildly appropriate words coming to mind to describe it. “Cute?”

Yoongi looks just as offended as he did when Namjoon committed his sins of the past, which is valid. 

“It’s not quite as good as your shorts.” He says, walking right towards Namjoon, who panics, straight up blushing over his stupid clothing. “Are you guarding the fridge?”

Namjoon stumbles out of the way, pointedly not glancing at Yoongi when he bends over. The same can’t be said about Jungkook, who keeps his eyes darting between the two of them.

Their eyes meet for a fleeting moment, Jungkook blushes. Weird. Maybe Yoongi had told him about their past, unlike Jimin. They must be close.

The maid dress is hard to shake. What a surprise.

It happened at the worst time - Namjoon was fucked up over the book, ready to at least make the most of that and bond with Yoongi over it. Instead, he gaped at his bare legs and accidentally objectified him just as much as he did back at the party a few years ago. 

Namjoon is not one to catch a break, and tonight is no different. 

It’s his turn for the big bed at the back of the bus, so he heads straight there to rightfully cherish it, spreading out and drifting away easily. The air conditioning is on, he has shed his frog shorts in favour of almost nudity, it’s heaven. Real beds are far more comfortable when you haven’t slept in one for a while.

Post-concert ache usually leads to the best type of sleep, but tonight is not so kind to him. It’s a deep sleep, uninterrupted, but betrayed by dreams. 

He’s no stranger to unwanted dreams of dark eyeshadow and pink knees. Usually they’re short, hard to remember any details, just a ghost of a memory when he wakes up. This time it’s shockingly clear, too real: the fucking maid dress, Namjoon trailing his hands up milky inner thighs, spreading just for him. All his. Harsh words and sharp nails dig into skin, delicious bites and bruises paired with something a bit better than pain. 

Namjoon wakes up with sticky underwear for the first time since he was a teenager.

Coming to terms with being somewhat attracted to Yoongi wasn’t enough to calm down, apparently. It actually made it worse. Sitting up amongst sweaty sheets on a rumbling bus, Namjoon decides that his dick is his enemy. 

The whole tour thing meant that getting off was less of an option. Jerking off when the only thing separating you from your friends is a flimsy curtain is an extreme sport that Namjoon has no interest in (the same can’t be said about Taehyung, he’s loud when he comes), and fucking a groupie who is probably only interested in the whole band thing just isn’t appealing. 

So Namjoon was pent up, and had a wet dream. He should probably get laid.

Drifting in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of the mess in his underwear and the bigger mess in his brain, Namjoon takes a while to convince himself to get out of bed. It’s far too early, the sun has hardly risen so it’s probably a more tolerable temperature outside, at least. 

It turns out that a tolerable temperature doesn’t exist here. Namjoon shuffles out of the bus in his trusty slippers from back home, towel and toiletry bag in hand, entirely unprepared for how warm it is. The parking lot is dusty and unpaved and suddenly the likelihood of the venue having minimal hot water is a wonderful concept. 

The communal shower areas are always the same. Sometimes they’re spiced up with an ugly hue of a colour rather than just white - today it’s minty green, like Yoongi’s hair the first time he spoke to Namjoon. The long, thin frosted window running around the top of the wall shows that the sky is still pink outside. It’s a pretty colour combination, the kind of thing Taehyung would’ve reblogged on tumblr back in the day. Namjoon is tired enough to appreciate the aesthetics of shitty washrooms.

There are little stalls with doors, and a big shared counter with lockers and cubby holes for clothes. One of the doors is closed, with a shower running, steam pouring out from underneath. Namjoon tries his best to undress quickly, stuffing his clothes in a locker and wrapping his orange towel around his waist, not wanting to bump into a half naked stranger at 6am when he’s hardly awake.

There was always an underlying dread of encountering a certain someone in the showers for the past two weeks of the tour. He’s pretty sure that Yoongi had observed his bathing times to ensure that they avoided each other, because they’re lucky enough to have made it thus far without any close encounters. 

Until now. 

Of course, on the worst possible day. Just as Namjoon’s mind is a mess of memories of a wet dream.

Pink. His nose, cheeks, elbows and knees. Heat flushed from the water, which drips from his long hair down onto his shoulders, over collarbones, down his pale chest. A perfect trail right to his pretty pierced nipples. Obscenely pink. 

Yoongi has a lot of tattoos, more than Namjoon thought. They’re mostly black and red, covering the entirety of his arms, some on his chest, more on his legs. Delicate skulls and thorns, some out of place animals, a big dragon creeping over his shoulder. They contrast with his soft skin in the deadliest way. 

Namjoon wants to punch a wall. He could smash a tile with his bare hands fueled solely by horny rage. It’s fucking unfair. It’s unfair and he’s staring. Soaking in every inch of skin like the pervert they both know he is, but holy shit, Yoongi is hot. Namjoon always knew this, even if it was more in an objective sense before, but now it’s just too far. There’s no recovering from this.

Yoongi’s stupid pierced nipples are the point of no return.

Thankfully, for Namjoon’s sanity, the towel is pretty long. Yoongi’s thighs are mostly covered, but he rarely even wears short sleeved shirts, and now he might as well be naked. Even the faint trail of hair leading down from his belly button makes Namjoon’s mouth water, which isn’t something he ever considered being into. Yoongi just has that effect.  

There’s no one here. Namjoon could bend him over the counter right now.

A loud gulp snaps him out of it. 

Consciousness is somewhat regained, Namjoon scrambles for a way to explain why he was just standing there in silence and staring like he wants to eat this poor man whole, but then he realises something game changing. 

Yoongi is staring right back. 

They were both silent. They were both watching each other, equally undressed, crossing the same line. It was only a few moments, surely not as long as it felt, but this is—something. Namjoon doesn’t really know what to do with it. A combination of post nut/lack of sleep/Yoongi brain rot has him entirely stumped.

Yoongi blinks, clearing his throat. His eyes dart up from where they had settled around Namjoon’s chest and arms.

“It’s too early for this.” Yoongi grumbles out, voice deeper than usual. An attempt at nonchalance betrayed by his red ears, but maybe that’s just from the hot shower, or discomfort. Namjoon is projecting. 

Obviously he’d be flustered when the subject of his long term hatred walks in on him half naked. Especially when something similar has happened in the past, Namjoon is a recurring pervert. Yoongi can’t even look into his eyes.

Namjoon’s response is just a voice crack, and then he gives up. With a polite smile he seeks shelter in the shower cubicle, fully aware that the sight of an almost naked Yoongi isn’t something he’ll forget. The maid dress was bad, this is so much worse. That fucking bunk might as well be his coffin.

The scalding water hardly affects him, he was already overheating. Turning it down to the coldest he can physically handle doesn’t tame his thoughts either. He’s thinking about it. 

If Yoongi’s skin colours so easily from heat, how much (or how little) pressure does it take to leave fingerprints on his waist? He probably bruises easily, lucky people will need to be careful of leaving any marks. Unless he wants them.

Lucky people like that guy at the party in 2015, who didn’t treat him gently at all.

Namjoon is thinking about it. 

He’s thinking about how small Yoongi is compared to himself. The songs he writes and the utter filth within them. The way he looks into the crowd when he’s on stage. The array of weird shit in that damn book he loves enough to recommend to people, the little notes in red pen. The bite in his voice that might just be saved for Namjoon only.

If Namjoon jerks off despite the recent orgasm, it’s because he knows that the chance to do so is rare, and he’s just making the most of the empty showers.

Chapter Text

Their third hotel of the tour is in Dallas, Texas. Namjoon has lost count of how many venues they’ve played so far, but it’s somewhere in week three. It’s still far too hot, which won’t change for a while. The sleeves of his band shirts are suffering due to it, a new one becoming a tank top every day. At least it means that the gym effort is shown off, all thanks to Matthew.

Namjoon didn’t see Yoongi after the shower encounter. He went back to the bus after Spinebreaker’s set to protect his sanity, terrified of seeing anything maid dress-esque again. At least he slept well after the early morning. His dreams even had mercy on him.

Making the most of a very long, private shower, Namjoon lets his mind wander towards unsettling territory. The white noise of running water has that effect.

He lets himself imagine it: a soft moment with Yoongi, accidentally getting too close followed by a very intentional brushing of lips. Maybe a heated moment, with Yoongi being pissed off as usual, yelling until Namjoon grabs him, melting in his hands and letting him have his way. Pressing Yoongi against a wall, the ground, touching him all over. Would his voice get more husky in the moment, or perhaps higher? 

Namjoon’s chest flushes with heat, cheeks burning at the thoughts. He’s not disgusted by them in the slightest, but dangerously intrigued. 

It turns out that Taehyung is the only one willing to put up with Namjoon’s snoring, which leads to yet another Jimin related predicament. 

After his shower, Namjoon is excited to have a real bed for the first time in far too long. 

Only to be faced with a visitor.

Jimin has Taehyung pinned to the bed, perched in his lap with all the confidence in the world. They’re making out, heated and unashamed, as if they have the room to themselves. Which they do not. 

Namjoon awkwardly hovers in his towel, rummaging through his suitcase as loudly as possible in hope that they’ll acknowledge his presence.

He manages to pull on a tank top and plaid pyjamas before Jimin finally looks up long enough to greet him, glancing a bit too long at Namjoon’s pecs which he knows he didn’t dry well enough before putting on a shirt.

They both look at him expectantly. There is no way that Namjoon should be the one blushing right now. Taehyung is all ruffled up, trying to follow Jimin’s lips only to be shoved back down against the pillows. 

Namjoon clears his throat. “So, what are you guys doing tonight?” He asks as if the answer isn’t clear. 

“Oh, just making the most of having a real bed, you know…” Taehyung trails off, raising his eyebrows at Jimin like he’s supposed to say something, getting his thigh pinched in return.

“In here?” They both nod. Namjoon’s heart sinks. They have plans to fuck, right here, and Namjoon is in the way by wanting to sleep. “Uh. I guess—I’ll find something else to do, then?”

Jimin grins, sprawling out on Taehyung’s bed (and Taehyung’s lap) like he owns the place. “Yoongi-hyung has his own room tonight. I can text him, if you want?” Namjoon freezes in the middle of gathering up his things. “So you can stay in there, it’s late.”

“Stay with Yoongi?” Namjoon says it like he’s being threatened, which he kind of is. The thought of invading Yoongi’s personal space makes him shudder. He would never allow such a thing.

“Mhm.”

“It’s fine! I’ll just walk around, or something.” It’s almost midnight. This is a terrible idea.

“Hyung, do you really want to die in Texas ? You’re on speaking terms with him now, this is an opportunity to become friends!”

“Just text me when you’re done, have fun.” Namjoon scurries out of the room with a book in hand and not much else. Their sex better be worth it. 

A shitty little garden lies at the back of the hotel. There isn’t much grass, but at least gentle lights are situated along the path. Settling on a dew covered bench, Namjoon quickly learns that reading alone, outdoors in the dark surrounded by mosquitos is not quite as soothing as expected. 

A horror book set in the exact same syrupy humid conditions was not a great choice, either.

After a few minutes of being on edge, a welcome distraction appears in the form of a frog. Namjoon gasps when it hops along the path, squatting on the ground to greet it. He definitely looks like an idiot sitting there, talking to the creature in a high-pitched voice, but no one is around to see it. 

He jumps at the sound of footsteps.

“What’s with you and looking pathetic in my proximity?”

It’s Yoongi. His hair is wet, which gives Namjoon war flashbacks to the shower incident. At least he’s dressed this time. Little wine coloured silky shorts show an indecent amount of thigh, and Namjoon is sure he saw this big shirt on another member of Gloss earlier. 

He squints at Namjoon, then the frog, raising his eyebrows. 

“My roommate chose sex over my safety. What are you doing out here?” Namjoon asks, scrambling back up to the bench and leaning a forearm over the book. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, the book belongs to Yoongi, but the content of the page makes him feel like he was caught in the act. 

“Jimin texted me. I thought he was just on a sad mission to get me to hang out with you, then I saw you out of the window.” Yoongi complains, arms crossed, looking down at Namjoon where he overheats in his stupid pyjamas. “You really know how to make a guy pity you.”

“More pathetic than eating dry cereal in a parking lot?”

“Definitely. You’re the one being eaten this time, lucky mosquitos.” Yoongi looks away, taking in their dark surroundings. “You can wait it out in my room. No one lasts that long with Jimin, anyway.” 

There is no way he heard that right.

Yoongi is rubbing the back of his neck, looking annoyed. Namjoon just sits there as dumb as always, staring up at him in shock. 

“If you’d rather stay here with your frog friends, that’s fine.” Yoongi mutters before turning around and walking back the way he came. 

Namjoon hurries after him. Not completely sure if this is really happening, but he manages to catch up with Yoongi, walking alongside him out of breath. Smooth.

“Are you sure? I feel bad.” 

“My window’s open, I don’t want to hear you get murdered out here.” Yoongi says it with spite, but all Namjoon hears is that he cares enough to not want him dead. That is progress. 

So Namjoon ends up in Yoongi’s hotel room.

Their hotels are always incredibly unassuming thanks to their budget, interior consistently beige. This room is smaller than Namjoon’s, only one bed, still perfectly made with some of Yoongi’s belongings strewn across it. It feels far too intimate. The sight of his open suitcase on the floor, some underwear peeking out, a pile of dirty stage clothes on the chair from their performance that Namjoon was too scared to watch. 

Namjoon’s hands are sweating.

The bed creaks as Yoongi sits down on it, gently crawling up towards the pillows before sitting with crossed legs. He picks up his phone, scrolling through it. Leaving Namjoon to stare at all of the bare skin.

Yoongi looks up at him, clearly wondering what the fuck he’s doing. Namjoon would like to know, too. 

“You can sit on the bed.” 

The book is Namjoon’s lifeline. He clings to it as he sits down, as close to the edge as possible without falling off, keeping his eyes very much away from Yoongi. Their legs are too close. The difference between their thighs is jarring, Yoongi is so fucking small.

“I’ve been reading your book.” Namjoon breaks the silence after a few uncomfortable moments. 

“Oh?”

“I like it a lot.”

Yoongi looks genuinely surprised, maybe even impressed. He keeps his eyes on his phone when he responds. “One of the first stories actually reminds me of one of your songs; the one about losing passion for your music.”

Namjoon freezes. Not at all prepared for Yoongi to have paid any attention to his music, nevermind associating it with a book he likes . Is this a good thing, or is he just comparing it to horror as an insult?

“You’ve heard that?” Namjoon splutters. 

“We’re on tour together, I hear your songs every night?” There’s a hint of a smile on Yoongi’s face now, less serious than before. Back in his natural state of making Namjoon feel stupid. He never thought he’d miss it.

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d pay attention.”

The smile is gone. “I like your lyrics.”

What the fuck. Namjoon might actually start vibrating at any moment. After all of the weird encounters he has had with this man, nothing could have prepared him for a compliment . And not just any compliment - something as intimate as lyrics. 

“I like yours.” Namjoon responds, glancing up to see Yoongi looking away again. His ears are heavily pierced and tinged red. “ All of these stories reminded me of them.” 

They made me think about you a little too much.

“You can tell which book I’ve been reading when I write songs, it’s bad.” Yoongi laughs, putting down his phone. This is a real conversation, oh god. 

“I think it’s cool. My songs always got angrier at uni because of the topics in class.”

“What do you study?”

Namjoon did not mean to make this about himself. He falters. “Sociology, I just finished.” Yoongi hums in acknowledgement. The lull is Namjoon’s chance to be brave. “Hey, I need to apologise for—well, everything.” Yoongi cringes at Namjoon’s words. “That guy who bitched about you before, I didn’t agree with him, he’s a dick.”

“It was years ago, I don’t give a shit.” It’s clear that Yoongi is defensive when he says it.

“ I give a shit. I’ve always hated myself for it.” Deep breath. “And the party.”

Yoongi’s lips go tight, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Didn’t seem like you hated it at the time.”

Namjoon covers his face in humiliation. Yoongi saw how into it he was. Jimin was right, Texas is not where he wanted to die, but now it’s looking likely to happen. 

“I’m so sorry, oh my god. I really didn’t mean to—”

It might be the first time he hears Yoongi laugh since the party in question. “I really don’t care, it’s funny - how you reacted.” He pauses, changing his tone of voice. “Like yesterday.” Namjoon groans into his hands at the reminder. “I like seeing you flustered.”

Namjoon gulps. He doesn’t know where this is going, or why it is happening. Perhaps repenting for his sins via humiliation. Yoongi is teasing him. 

“I promise I’m not usually like this.”

The mischievous glint in Yoongi’s eye isn’t doing anything to lessen the whole flustered thing. “It’s just me?”

“It’s annoying.”

“So that’s why you always look at me like that.”

Oh god. Yoongi knows. “Like what?”

“Like you either want to kill me,” He looks down, hand fiddling with the edge of his little shorts. “Or fuck me.” Namjoon clenches his fist at those words, terrified. Yoongi knows .

“Uh.”

“Jimin said you were straight.” There’s no way that he can respond to this. “What are you thinking about, Namjoon?”

It might be the first time that Yoongi has said his name, and what a question to ask. You, always. In the darkest ways. Namjoon can’t look at him. He’s thinking about it. He’s really thinking about grabbing Yoongi’s bare thigh or the back of his hair like that guy and the worst part is that Yoongi fucking knows it. 

“You don’t want to know.” It’s said like a joke. They both know it’s not. 

“Show me, then.” Yoongi dares, reaching out for his hand. Namjoon watches in horror. His heartbeat might just be audible. The first time they make physical contact results in him almost jolting right off of the bed. “Which one is it?”

Despite their difference in height and body mass, their hands are pretty much the same size. Yoongi has long, pretty fingers and pink knuckles with a small smattering of hair, covering Namjoon’s hand perfectly. 

There is a pause. Silently waiting to see if one of them will freak out. It feels like the world might come crashing down. Alarm bells may be going off in Namjoon’s head, but he stays firmly in place, far too aware of how cold Yoongi’s skin is in the warm room. 

A question was asked. Namjoon should respond. “Are you asking me to kill you right now?” Intending to lighten the mood, it comes out all wrong, as usual. Thankfully, Yoongi is just entertained. 

“Is that what you think about?” Yoongi asks, looking right into his eyes which stay transfixed on their hands. 

Their hands that are not only touching, but slowly being lifted, inching away from the safety of Namjoon’s thigh.

Right onto the dangerous territory of Yoongi’s.

Namjoon genuinely thinks he might pass out. It’s the most overwhelming touch of his life. After a near heart attack he brushes a thumb over the pale skin, littered with tattoos, but less full than his arms. His inner thighs are a blank slate other than the goosebumps rising from the faint touch.

“So, you’re always pathetic around me because of this? I got you all worked up?” It’s hard to tell whether he’s being bullied or seduced right now, which is so perfectly Yoongi, he wants to laugh. 

Namjoon huffs. “I was scared of you.” With a deep breath, and a lot of bravery, he lets his hands wander. “Still am.”

“Good.” Yoongi says, breath hitching as a finger dips down to his inner thigh. He’s sensitive there. Namjoon is fucked. “You should be.” 

Being intimidating in such a vulnerable position is a talent of Yoongi’s. His legs are bare, spread, being touched by someone he despises. Yet he looks right at Namjoon in the most cower-worthy way. 

They’re so fucking close. With the smallest nudge, their legs would be pressed together. If Namjoon were brave enough to lean over, he could kiss Yoongi right now. Far too close.

“I wonder what you’re so scared of, though.” Yoongi’s voice is so deep as it excavates something that should stay hidden. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who thinks about killing me.” Anything louder than a whisper feels wrong. Like the tension will be shattered. It’s too quiet. They are too fucking close. 

Looking at each other in a way that they so rarely do. Sitting side by side, shoulders and thighs touching. Namjoon’s hand is on Yoongi’s inner thigh and he can’t help but think that he has brought people to orgasm in this exact position.

If he just slid his hand a little bit higher. 

“Is that it?” Yoongi licks his lips. Namjoon watches attentively. “I do, sometimes.” He says, leaning forward a bit. “Kill you, or…”

Like you either want to kill me or fuck me. 

Lost in Yoongi’s orbit, Namjoon doesn’t even notice that he’s digging his nails into his thigh until he hears a pained hiss.

“Shit, sorry!” He pulls his hand back. Physical harm can be added to all of the shit that he has done to Yoongi. In panic, he goes to get off of the bed, to keep distance between them.

Only to be tugged back by the wrist. 

Yoongi climbs right over his lap. Straddling him, but staying up on his knees. 

Not much physical contact, yet Namjoon swears he’s about to pass out. The distance between his crotch and Yoongi’s ass is terrifying. Bare inner thighs press against his stupid pyjama clad legs. He doesn’t know what the to do with his hands, so he just sits there in shock, waiting for Yoongi to do whatever the fuck he’s planning.

A mercy killing, hopefully. Namjoon should be put out of his misery. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Yoongi says calmly, looking down at Namjoon. This is where he belongs; a place of authority, caging someone in with no escape. His eyes are wild. Namjoon feels like prey.

“What—are you doing?”

“Asking what you think about.” A hand creeps over Namjoon’s shoulder, up the back of his neck, trailing nails against the shaved hair on his scalp. Taehyung recently dyed it green, it reminds him of the first time he ever spoke to Yoongi. “What you’re scared of.”

Namjoon shudders, fisting the bedsheets. Yoongi watches with glee. 

“Show me.”

Wading through the anxious fog of his thoughts, Namjoon tries to choose which part of Yoongi’s body is safest to touch. A hand was encouraged onto his thigh earlier, but bare skin is too overwhelming. 

A decision is made. The air vibrates with his nervous energy. He lifts his shaky hands up to Yoongi’s waist, watching the baggy shirt push in against his figure, showing off just how small he is. 

Namjoon braves looking back up from his hands. Yoongi raises his eyebrows in challenge. Despite everything that he is making Namjoon feel, he looks uncharacteristically soft; hair damp from showering, no elaborate stage makeup, collarbones peeking out from the stretched neckline of his oversized shirt. 

Their faces are closer than before. Scant inches between them. Close enough for Yoongi’s breath to reach Namjoon’s lips. 

“Are you too scared?” The sound of Yoongi’s deep voice is what makes Namjoon snap. 

Grabbing his waist, he tugs him down, made to sit Namjoon’s thighs. So they’re level - equal. Yoongi is in his fucking lap, face inches away from his own, mouth in kissing distance, and he’s asking to be touched. They’re so close that Namjoon can see the faint remains of eyeliner on his waterline, the little scars littering his face from old piercings, the spit on his doll lips. 

He inches forward. Slow to prolong the terrifying inevitable. 

A phone loudly vibrates on the bedside table. They both freeze. 

Namjoon realises that he had been holding his breath, letting out an embarrassingly audible pant in the quiet room. 

“‘S probably your roommate.” Yoongi whispers, still close enough for Namjoon to feel it. 

He’s going to get up now. This was the only chance and the moment is ruined. Yoongi was in his fucking lap and now he’s shuffling to climb off, pushing back on Namjoon’s shoulders for leverage. 

Namjoon doesn’t even think. He pulls him in again, harder than before, a lot more sure of himself. 

Yoongi’s gasp is cut off by the contact of their lips. 

Again, they both tense. Namjoon’s mind is screaming at him. This is all wrong, Yoongi is going to push away at any moment, tell the whole world that Kim Namjoon never knows when to stop. He guilt trips people into showing hospitality and then tries to get into their pants. 

Fingernails dig into his shoulders and teeth dig into his bottom lip, but Yoongi stays put. He kisses back, and Namjoon almost blacks out. He can feel his lip piercings. Yoongi laughs into his mouth when he audibly whimpers at the slight pain.

“You’re such a dick.” Yoongi pants between too-hard kisses, making Namjoon even more confused than before. “All that time—you wanted this.”

Namjoon just grunts, unable to form any coherent response. Despite the ferocity behind them, their kisses start off relatively tame. The innocent press of lips should not be this overwhelming. Hesitance melts away quickly, and the first time Yoongi’s tongue coaxes Namjoon’s mouth open he honest to god almost creams his pants. 

To no one’s surprise, Yoongi is a tease. 

He darts his tongue against Namjoon’s, giving him just a taste, without any time to respond. To take back. Then he’s back to chastely kissing his lips, like nothing happened. The feeling of his tongue piercing has Namjoon’s mind reeling. It runs over the roof of his mouth and clinks against his teeth. 

Namjoon is usually in control of himself in the bedroom. He knows how to take people apart, to make them desperate enough to beg. It’s what he likes. This is as far away from the usual as it gets. Maybe because Yoongi is a man, but probably just due to the fact that Yoongi is Yoongi. 

All consuming in every way. Grumpy, rough around the edges, devastatingly pretty, and seated right in Namjoon’s lap. A dream.

Gripping Namjoon’s jaw hard enough to make his lips squish together, Yoongi pulls back and leers down at him. “Can you imagine how annoying it is hating an asshole who happens to be hot as fuck?” Yoongi seethes, “you take up so much fucking space, like an oversized puppy—but not cute.” A hard kiss to punctuate his anger. Namjoon can’t breathe. “Just in the way.”

Whiplash. That was definitely a compliment. An expression of attraction. Padded out with insults, yes, but Yoongi thinks that Namjoon is hot as fuck. 

That is what he needs.

“It doesn’t look like you hate me right now.” Namjoon mutters, voice low and steady. He leans back against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Unaffected. Yoongi’s eyes trail down his neck.

Being hated doesn’t feel good. Namjoon wants to be liked, especially by someone who he respects and looks up to. Buried beneath that, there is something dark in him that takes great pleasure in Yoongi despising him and still wanting this. Wanting him . Bad enough to ignore his pride and climb right into someone he dislike’s lap. 

It feels so good - desired in a way that Namjoon has never felt before. He did nothing to earn this, he doesn’t deserve it at all. None of that matters. Yoongi still fucking wants him. 

“Want me to be mean? Does that get you off?” Yoongi shoves at his shoulders, pinning him against the headboard. Namjoon’s horny little brain does not know how to read the room, because he’s half hard. With Yoongi’s ass in the danger zone. “Fuck your stupid hair, too.” Yoongi runs his nails across his scalp again, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck like a threat. “I need something to pull.”

If there is a correct response to erotic threats, Namjoon does not know it. He doesn’t know anything. If talking to Yoongi was hard before, having him talking dirty in his lap is debilitating.

Hogging all the blood from his brain, Namjoon’s dick does his thinking. He slides a hand up Yoongi’s chest, brushing a clothed nipple on the way to see him glare, and settles on stroking at his silky hair. Yoongi watches, calculating, and the wince he gives when his hair gets tugged is rewarding. 

It’s daunting. You can’t do this shit without talking about it beforehand. Namjoon is an advocate of thorough consent and kink negotiation, no exceptions. Yet here he is. This isn’t even sex, though. They’re more just arguing, with the occasional kiss. 

And an inappropriate erection.

Yoongi’s head is tilted back from the force of Namjoon’s grip, neck bared. He’s all blushy. From his cheeks, right down his neck, beneath the sinful neckline of that shirt. An invitation. Namjoon could never say no. He looks a finger in the collar, pulling it down for a shaky kiss against the newly exposed skin. 

A fist in his hair doesn’t stop Yoongi from getting the upper hand. He lets go of Namjoon’s shoulders, slipping the hem of his own shirt up. Namjoon watches, wide eyed, as Yoongi exposes mouthwatering skin like the succubus he is.

Namjoon is happy to be lured to his death. 

He sees shirtless guys constantly. Everywhere. His friends are objectively attractive, in shape, and always half naked - so why the fuck is he about to ascend to heaven over the sight of a bare stomach. It’s ridiculous. Namjoon feels like a teenager. He was more put together when he lost his virginity. 

The pink, pierced nipples, however, would be the end of anyone. 

Yoongi holds the fabric, bunched up, just above his chest. A demure look on his face. Is there a polite way to ask for permission to suck on someone’s nipples?

“What the fuck.” Namjoon complains, losing his mind and not being discreet about it. “How are you so pink?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Yoongi snaps back, going to lower his shirt only to be stopped.

Namjoon takes his chance. He leans in and brushes his tongue over the metal as gentle as possible. Yoongi jolts under the pressure and he panics, ready to apologise, only to have his head grabbed and held in place. 

Encouraged to continue. Fuck . 

Wrapping an arm around Yoongi’s waist, Namjoon laves at his sensitive skin and revels in the feeling of someone shuddering beneath his touch. He’s so turned on from so little to the extent that it kind of hurts. It’s hard to imagine going any further than this, unless he has a death wish. 

Which he just might, because he runs his teeth over the skin of Yoongi’s chest; a ghost of a bite. “You’re really pretty, even if you’re mean.” Namjoon whispers, embarrassingly dreamily.

Yoongi doesn’t hold back on his nails, digging them into his shoulders again. The pain stirs something deep within Namjoon. “You just want to get your dick wet.”

“I could do that elsewhere, without being bullied at the same time.”

“So what the fuck are you doing?” Yoongi’s eyes are shut now. Hiding any vulnerability. 

Namjoon shudders at the sight of an accidental bruise blooming on his chest before returning to kiss at his lips. “I’m—” He wants to see his response, no matter how threatening it may be. “You really mess me up.” Yoongi’s eyes stay firmly shut, but his eyebrows furrow. “All the time. Since the beginning.”

It’s out there. 

And Yoongi just ignores it. Opting to grind against Namjoon instead. 

Feeling another man’s dick for the first time is a lot hotter than Namjoon would have expected. Yoongi is hard , pressing against Namjoon’s lower stomach through those too thin shorts. Before Namjoon can even breathe, Yoongi settles his ass right on his poor dick and proceeds to scoff. 

“Like I said, oversized.” Yoongi complains, shaking his head. “I should’ve known, fucking hell.”

There is no way that this is real life. Namjoon may be drowning in the depths of arousal, miles away from coherency, but he’s pretty sure that Yoongi just complained about the size of his dick. That shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. 

“I—sorry?”

“You should be.” 

Their mouths smash together again, too hard. Neither of them mind. The weight of Yoongi’s ass against Namjoon’s crotch would undoubtedly numb any pain. He could be slapped in the face right now and wouldn’t have a word of complaint. It’s that good. 

Fully clothed dry humping is not something that Namjoon has much interest in. He likes to draw out foreplay, prolong orgasms, but nudity is usually a part of that. Here he is, dangerously aroused, from virtually nothing . 

Maybe his friends were right about the whole degradation kink thing. 

Yoongi’s kisses are fatal. He licks right into Namjoon’s mouth and nips at his lip, all while shamelessly rutting in his lap. When he draws back to sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of Namjoon’s neck, holding back an embarrassing moan is not an option. Yoongi snickers as he goes, making sure to humiliate Namjoon further. 

Namjoon really wants to touch him, properly. He wants to get him naked and worked up just as bad as he feels. The first brave step is slowly sliding his hands down Yoongi’s back, settling them on his unfairly plush ass. No shame, Namjoon groans at the feeling. 

He really wants to fuck Yoongi. No girls involved, just them. Namjoon definitely likes guys. Good to know. 

“Is this okay?” Namjoon chokes out, squeezing and tugging him a bit closer. He’s thankful for his pyjamas, keeping the premature wetness in his underwear a secret. He needs to calm down.

“You’d know if it wasn’t.” Yoongi growls, biting at his neck a bit too hard. The way his dick twitches probably doesn’t go unnoticed, but at least no one mentions it. 

“You’re gonna leave marks.”

“Get over it.” Yoongi growls, sucking on his skin with purpose. Intentionally giving hickeys - marking Namjoon up. 

Namjoon’s cock throbs. 

You would think that all of this would build up some immunity to the malignant effects of Yoongi. Namjoon can make it through bare skin, sharp teeth, heated words. 

He cannot handle being taken control of again. Guided to where Yoongi wants him. Somewhere far more catastrophic than last time. Like an inexperienced virgin, Namjoon gets his hand grabbed, ushered to where Yoongi is hot and hard through the silky shorts. 

It turns out that Yoongi is just as affected as him.

Moving on autopilot, fully driven by lust and nothing else, Namjoon can’t help but hook a finger in the waistband. He pauses after exposing a pale hipbone. “Can I?”

Yoongi answers by pulling them right down, underwear and all.

There is a high chance that Namjoon drools like a dog. Yoongi’s dick is just as pretty as the rest of him. Just as pink, devastating, borderline petite. Maybe Namjoon is just used to his own, and what he sees in porn.

“ Shit .” Eloquent as ever. He’ll write an ode to the beauty of Min Yoongi’s cock later. 

No guidance is needed this time. Namjoon wraps a hand around the shaft and they both gasp. He’s not even the one being touched, but he can feel it in his deepest, darkest places. Yoongi is wet for him. Precome sticks to his thumb and he doesn’t resist licking it off, making Yoongi huff.

Yoongi is sensitive. It’s clear that he’s trying his best not to react; gripping a bit too hard at Namjoon’s shoulder, only giving choked off little not quite moans, jerking at every touch. So responsive despite how slowly he is being jerked off. 

It’s agonizing, how turned on Namjoon is, just from this. Just from touching someone else. His body pulses with heat. Yoongi ruts down right against his dick whenever he squeezes too hard. It’s a challenge to control himself.

The first time Yoongi graces him with a real moan, Namjoon stops holding back. He jerks him off like he would himself. It works well enough - Yoongi curses, kissing him again to keep himself quiet. Pride blooms within Namjoon, feeling accomplished for finally ruffling Yoongi’s feathers. 

“So wet for me.” Namjoon knows that he sounds stupid. It’s all he can think of, he wants to hear Yoongi’s voice in this state.

“I’m not a girl.” It’s breathy, gritted, overwhelmed. Still more put together than Namjoon feels.

Namjoon laughs, feeling wetness leak onto his hand despite the supposed annoyance. “Does it feel good?”

“What do you think?” Yoongi fucks right into his hand, hips chasing pleasure and causing white heat to roll through Namjoon’s gut. 

Watching Yoongi lose himself and following right behind, Namjoon fixates onto his pretty face. He rubs a finger at his lips, pushing into them without any resistance. Yoongi looks suspicious, but too into it to care - letting Namjoon have his way.

Yoongi doesn’t like him asking for permission, this is clear, so he lets himself be brave. 

All the way back down his back. The spit-wet finger cascades over his ass, between his cheeks, gently brushing at his hole. 

Namjoon watches with wide eyes, ready to be reprimanded, as he stops moving.

With a loud, breathy wine, Yoongi comes all over Namjoon’s hand. His dick jolts, wet and hot and dripping down onto his shirt which should definitely be gross. Instead, it has Namjoon’s brain grinding to a halt. 

He doesn’t even register it until it’s too late. Overwhelmed with pleasure just from the friction through two layers of clothing, and the sight of Yoongi coming apart, Namjoon is done for. 

It’s the first time that someone has ever made him come in his pants, and very likely the last person who he would want to witness such a mortifying thing. 

The worst part is that Yoongi doesn’t fucking notice. Namjoon is oversensitive, barely conscious, coming down from his orgasm, but Yoongi is the same. Too high on the feeling to care. 

Harsh breaths calming down, Yoongi gets up on his knees, reaching behind himself, greeted with a wet patch on Namjoon’s soiled pyjamas. His eyes widen. Namjoon can’t watch. 

“Did you fucking come in your pants?” The glee in Yoongi’s voice makes Namjoon cover his eyes, humiliated. “From that ? Holy shit.” At least he’s smiling.

“I swear this has never happened before.” Namjoon whines in shame, then overstimulation, because Yoongi still grabs his softening dick through the wet clothing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Yoongi kisses his hands over his face, surprisingly soft. Namjoon is still shaking. “It was cute.”

Cute. 

If Yoongi doesn’t stop complimenting Namjoon, he will end up with delusional thoughts in the realm of affection. He feels like he’s going to melt. Overwhelmed with physical pleasure and gratification for Yoongi’s generosity. 

A menacing knock at the door stops Namjoon from responding. 

“Shit.” Yoongi curses, tucking himself back into his shorts. “What?” He yells across the room.

“Have you seen Namjoon?” Jimin’s smile is audible through the door.

“Who?” Yoongi gets prodded for that, swatting at Namjoon’s hand. Playful in a way that he has never shown before. Namjoon is grinning like a fool.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Have fun!” 

“I’m asleep!”

Yoongi pouts as they’re left alone, vacating Namjoon’s lap. Namjoon mourns the loss. It makes him much more aware of how uncomfortable drying come feels. He winces, and Yoongi looks at him like he’s as disgusting as he feels. 

“I’d offer you clothes, but you won’t fit them.” Yoongi says with kiss-bruised lips. The taste of them will be missed. 

There are some dark marks on his neck already. Namjoon didn’t even mean to leave them there, but he probably has some to match. Not very discreet, but more than worth it. He looks small and, dare he say it, almost vulnerable, sitting on the bed. Skin flushed, collarbones wet with sweat and spit, hair messed up from clumsy hands. 

There are fucking red fingerprints on his inner thigh, just from Namjoon grabbing too hard. Yoongi does indeed bruise easily. Good to know. That won’t be hard to forget about. 

“It’s fine. I’ll, uh. Go.” Namjoon doesn’t want to leave. He roughed Yoongi up and now he wants to stay and kiss every bruise he left, apologise for it all and ensure that he knows it was done with good intentions. 

Namjoon really, really doesn’t hate Yoongi.

“Have fun with that .” Yoongi gestures to the wet patch seeping through Namjoon’s pyjamas, teasing. Not looking into his eyes. 

They kissed, made each other feel good, but Yoongi still hates Namjoon. 

With an awkward laugh, Namjoon shuffles off of the bed, wiping his sticky hands onto his equally sticky pyjamas. He’s going to have to walk through a hotel hallway covered in semen. It’s exactly what he deserves.

Approaching a door with the knowledge that Yoongi is watching him brings back not so fond memories, as most things do, of that party. It feels wrong. 

A hand on the handle, Namjoon pauses. “You’re okay, right?” He turns around, Yoongi is cross legged on the big bed, eyebrows furrowed. “That was okay?”

“Do you think I would’ve done it otherwise?” He says it like Namjoon just offended him. Add being condescending to Namjoon’s list of accidents. “Go wash your hands.”

With that, Namjoon leaves.

Taehyung is thoroughly worn out in his bed. The room smells like sex. Namjoon changes his underwear, washes his hands, opens the window, and has a small crisis. In that order. 

It’s not the sexuality crisis that he expected. He just touched another man’s dick, and enjoyed it to the extent that he came in his pants like a teenager. It’s safe to say that Namjoon is not straight, this is clear. This is fine. It explains a lot. 

The more alarming part is that the man in question was Yoongi. The guy who had Namjoon in awe when he was a lanky teenager, who he humiliated himself in front of consistently and earned himself a long lasting enemy. And, most importantly, who still does not like him. That guy. 

Yoongi doesn’t like Namjoon, but he kissed him. He initiated it all; climbed into his lap and moaned into his mouth. Even insulted his dick in an endearing way. They both enjoyed it and they’re still not friends. 

What the fuck do they do now?

It can’t go ignored. Either Yoongi will start treating Namjoon like… someone he likes enough to fuck, or maybe he’ll just despise him even more. Hate sex might just be a common thing for him. A regretful one night stand, spite fuelled, never to be spoken of. Only time will tell, which is a scary thought. 

What Namjoon can be sure of is that he is attracted to Yoongi, sexually at the very least, and he wants to be liked by him. The attempts to befriend the man didn’t go so well in the past, other than the book talk and makeout session. He’ll just need to try harder. 

They will be in New Orleans in a few days. This is the most recurring theme in Yoongi’s book recommendation (after gay sex and death, of course), there must be some way to convince Yoongi to hang out with him there. They can walk around and talk about Poppy Z Brite, maybe even visit spooky little used bookshops, which sounds like the most romantic possible day out. It’ll lure Yoongi in, soften him up a bit more.

There are several shows scheduled in Texas, far too big a state, with no days off between them. 

Taehyung asks about Namjoon’s night over a shitty all you can eat hotel breakfast. Namjoon avoids the topic of Yoongi, claims that he sat outside and suffered for the whole time. No one believes him. Hoseok vows to get him drunk enough to spill. While bragging about getting off with Yoongi sounds delightful, Namjoon respects (and fears) him more than he cares about impressing his friends. He keeps his mouth shut.

It’s hard to focus on anything that day. The band finds a Korean restaurant and eats far too much, making pointed Yoongi comments in between bites. Namjoon’s mind is a fog of creamy thighs and mocking words. It’s probably very noticeable that something is up.

A few weeks ago he thought that fucking Yoongi might get things out of his system, make him a bit less obsessed. Last night proved this theory to be the opposite of the truth.

Before, Yoongi was distracting. A pretty boy, talented guitarist, intimidating person, who Namjoon was drawn to. Now, Namjoon knows how he kisses, how flushed his chest gets when he’s turned on, the devastating noises he makes when he comes. He knows what his dick looks like. 

There is no hope for salvation.

Unloading the van, Namjoon’s sweat is half from physical labour, and half due to anxiety. Dread claws at him and he doesn’t even really know why. It’s futile, too. Yoongi isn’t seen at soundcheck, in the corridors, the bathrooms. He doesn’t watch Spinebreaker’s set, but he can’t hide during his own. 

Namjoon’s nails dig into his palms when he sees him get on stage.

Yoongi looks just as otherworldly as usual: long, glossy hair, dark eye makeup, smudged red lipstick, leather harness.

None of that matters, because there’s a big fat hickey on his neck. It’s sore and purple. Namjoon’s own doing. It makes something dark and red and hot bubble deep within him. A claiming mark on Yoongi’s perfect skin. 

People will look at it and wonder who was lucky enough to press their lips to his throat. Fans, bandmates, possible hookups, none of them are as fortunate as Namjoon.

Gloss’ performance is filthy as usual. Yoongi encaptures the whole audience, pulling off guitar solos as if they’re easy, and Namjoon doesn’t look away from him once. At one point, he turns around to pick up a water bottle and their eyes catch - just for a moment. Namjoon smiles, Yoong doesn’t. 

While he wants to talk to him again, Namjoon doesn’t want to pressure Yoongi into it if he’s intentionally keeping his distance. Reluctantly, like a respectful adult, he retreats to the greenroom just before the end of their set. Yoongi can approach him when he feels comfortable. Namjoon can wait.

Yoongi doesn’t seek him out. 

The third and final day in Texas has Namjoon even more on edge than before. Filled with guilt and worry, Namjoon stews in his shame and considers every possible way that he fucked up in Yoongi’s hotel room. 

He bumps into Matthew, the merch guy, and finds himself dragged to the gym. It’s a welcome distraction. The combination of excruciating exercise and Matthew’s rambling keeps Namjoon’s thoughts away from Yoongi, for once. 

He feels good. Exhausted, ready to shower and nap before their performance, and then things go downhill. Yoongi is in the car park when they get back to the venue. 

The sun is setting, Texas heat only just beginning to have mercy. Namjoon’s shirt is soaked through with sweat and there’s no doubt that he looks like shit. Yoongi, on the other hand, is as beautiful as ever. It looks like he just showered, skin raw and kissable. The red shorts bring back far too vivid memories. 

At least the finger marks have faded. (Namjoon wishes they hadn’t.)

Yoongi looks even more uncomfortable than Namjoon would have expected. He really fucked things up.

“You know each other?” Is his greeting. Matthew doesn’t acknowledge any tension between them, happily walking over to pat Yoongi on the shoulder.

Watching Yoongi interact with someone even taller than himself is an experience. Their height difference is jarring, but their size difference in general is kind of obscene. Matthew is huge. Namjoon is really gross. He can’t even watch two friends greet each other without making it sexual. 

Trying and failing to think of a normal thing to say to someone after they’ve made you come in your pants, Namjoon watches silently. The tall man’s hand runs up Yoongi’s neck, carding through his hair affectionately without any complaint.

A chilling sense of déjà vu leads Namjoon’s brain to an abrupt stop.

It’s amazing that he could have someone haunt his thoughts for fucking years, then meet them regularly, without any recognition. It’s all he can see now: a dark room in a shitty apartment in Seoul, rough hands in bleach blonde hair, Matthew sitting on a messy bed with Yoongi kneeling between his legs. 

Namjoon’s mouth falls open. He’s actually malfunctioning, astral projecting out of his body. How the fuck could he talk to Matthew so many times without remembering him?

Yoongi finally looks away from Matthew, taking in Namjoon’s messy appearance. He raises an eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to pass out, did hyung work you too hard?”

Yoongi calls him hyung. Namjoon had never heard that word leave his mouth before.

“Yeah, I need to—sit down.” Namjoon stumbles over his words, waving goodbye and making his way to the safety of his bus. 

Yoongi and Matthew have fucked. From the way Matthew touches him, they probably still do, have been doing so for years. A relationship far more advanced than the pathetic not quite one night stand that Namjoon was granted with. 

He is nothing to Yoongi. 

This isn’t news. Namjoon has always been well aware of Yoongi’s lack of feelings towards him, other than the negative sort. There was just some pathetic optimism that a few conversations and heated kisses were enough to get him somewhere in the realm of mattering. 

These thoughts are childish. He has no right to be hurt. Yoongi was sucking Matthew’s dick before Namjoon could even play bass well. Namjoon has had sex with plenty of people since then. They weren’t even friends, still aren’t.

It’s strange. Namjoon is not a jealous person. Perhaps it’s more the betrayal of being friends with Matthew without knowing about their past, rather than jealousy of Yoongi being with someone else. 

Of course, being who he is, his thoughts crawl towards somewhere more shameful. 

He thought that every detail of that night was permanently burned into his mind, but the memory of the party was always just Yoongi, no consideration for who was on the receiving end. Now he knows who it is. He knows what they look like together. Some fucked up, masochistic part of him kind of wants to see it again.

It’s no surprise that he thinks about it enough to get hard. Even less shocking that he jerks off in his bunk, unashamedly thinking of Yoongi. He imagines a world in which he can actually control himself enough to fuck him, to be the one in control, rendering Yoongi speechless and therefore unable to criticise him. 

An intrusive thought of Matthew watching them results in a surprisingly intense orgasm. It’s not reflected upon. 

Chapter Text

In theory, Namjoon is all about swamps. If he had the choice, he’d be a swamp dwelling creature, or maybe a mushroom. 

Louisiana is swampy and humid as fuck. He looks out of the window for most of the drive to New Orleans, in awe of how different the terrain is to anywhere he has ever been. It would be pretty no matter what, but the book Yoongi let him read makes it even better. He’s sadly finished it by now, with a plan to search some local used book stores in hope of finding more by the same author. If he were brave, he would ask Yoongi if he has any more.

Every time he takes a step forward in terms of Yoongi and their unfortunate relationship, something shoves him all the way back to where he started. They made out, Yoongi avoided him, and then there’s Matthew. At least the Matthew thing is only hurting Namjoon. That’s a first.

He gave himself another day of cowering away from Yoongi. No more. If there’s anywhere that he can lure Yoongi into friendship, it’s where they’re headed right now.

They arrive in the city in the evening and indulge in a full band night out. The air is sticky after the sun sets, exactly how Yoongi’s book described it countless times, but it’s welcomed. Namjoon’s friends are giddy and it rubs off on him, despite the recent bleakness of his thoughts. New Orleans feels special. Until now, all of America had generally felt vast and boring; this place has personality. The architecture is so different, the buzzing excitement of the people they walk past in the French Quarter, even the street signs.

Namjoon feels good. His friends have probably picked up on his mood over the past few days, because they dragged him out of the bus with no room to argue. Hoseok dressed him in a button up referred to as ‘dilfy’, which is apparently the look that Namjoon pulls off best these days. He’s unsure if it’s a compliment or not, but the amount of undone buttons trailing down his chest do attract a few second glances from strangers. The fabric is on the verge of being too thin, definitely showing off a bit too much where it clings against his pecs. This is not how he usually dresses.

Like the heathens they are, they go for a far more grungy bar than the classic jazz ones. A few overly fruity drinks thanks to Taehyung result in Namjoon feeling even lighter than before. He isn’t even fixating on Yoongi. A pretty girl flirts with him and he turns her down with no real reason for it, but still. Yoongi is not on his mind.

He does a double take as he catches the eye of Jimin across the booth, perched in Taehyung’s lap as if he had been there all night. 

The presence of Jimin is never good for Namjoon’s fate.

A nudge from Hoseok makes him jump. “Your man’s here.”

With great effort Namjoon does not choke on his drink at the sight of mesh. 

Off stage, Yoongi doesn’t usually dress dramatically. Oversized shirts and jeans are his go to, always. Namjoon tries to separate the Yoongi he interacts with on occasion and the seductive guitarist of Gloss, for his own sanity. Tonight, that is not an option. Namjoon is in hell. 

A little black tank top, showing off tattooed arms and pale shoulders, covered with a mesh shirt. It’s an outfit fit for Jimin, fit for Namjoon’s funeral, which might just be soon based on his concerning heart rate. 

Yoongi drinks straight whiskey and Namjoon’s banana daiquiri has an edible pink flower in it. 

Tugged to sit down by Jimin, directly across from Namjoon, Yoongi looks at the ridiculous drink before the ridiculous owner of it. This is not a situation that Namjoon had planned for. He is under the influence of alcohol around Yoongi for the first time in years. Eye contact is already too much.

The only greeting Namjoon gets is a nod, followed by a glance down at his stupidly exposed chest (oh god, he looks so sleazy, the dilf shirt was a bad idea). His response is a very awkward wave which almost results in his drink being knocked over. It’s off to a good start.

Hoseok leans over to shout into Namjoon’s ear. “He’s actually looking at you today, what happened in his hotel room?”

Yoongi is watching them speak. Namjoon gulps, trying his best to avoid thinking about the answer to that question. The music is far too loud for anyone to overhear them, but Yoongi stares as if he knows exactly what they’re talking about. 

“I told you I didn’t see him that night.”

Alcohol makes Yoongi’s face red. So does kissing his neck, touching his nipples, stroking his dick. An impatient, greedy part of Namjoon just wants to grab Yoongi and remind him of what they did a few days ago. Show him just how much he’s haunted by it. 

The spiraling of Namjoon’s thoughts is halted when Jungkook appears to drag Yoongi off. The way that he rubs at Yoongi’s neck does not go unnoticed. Namjoon is not jealous, just intrigued. Yoongi has his share of large men eating right out of his hands, it seems. None of them can be blamed, he deserves it. 

The brief peace from thoughts of Yoongi is no more. Namjoon is an addict, there’s no way he can see the man and then just move on. He downs his silly drink and tries his best to have fun, not desperately glancing over the room every few minutes. 

As a loyal man to beer and soju, Namjoon is less versed in the dangers of fruity drinks. He downs them like juice, and ends up a lot more drunk than he intended. When the inevitable call of the bathroom occurs, at least he knows to be wary this time. There have been far too many toilet related disasters to go into it with optimism.

It starts off optimistically. The lights are blinding as usual, someone is leaning over a urinal and swaying concerningly, clearly on the brink of passing out. Nothing abnormal. No pretty little goths. The guy manages to zip up and leave without washing his hands.

It kind of feels like a horror movie when he reaches the urinal and the door creaks open again. A light flickers, mocking him.

“Every fucking time.” Yoongi laughs. Namjoon loses the ability to pee. He’s that caught off guard. “Why is it always bathrooms?”

“You’re the one who followed me in here.”

This is the first time he has been alone with Yoongi since the hotel. He could corner him against the counter right now and kiss those lips again, like he has been dying to do so for days. 

(For weeks, months, years.) 

“You caught me, I have a piss kink.” Yoongi says flatly. “It was never a coincidence.”

This is good. Not only can they have banter, but it can be sexually suggestive. They’re fine.

The wheeze Namjoon lets out shows that they’re not fine. He’s on the brink of genuinely offering his pee related services, but thankfully, Yoongi renders him speechless as usual. He goes to wash his hands, feeling eyes on him for the entire time.

With a glance up at the mirror, it’s 2013.

Everything has changed, and yet here he is, pinned down by the grubby reflection of feline eyes in a discoloured bathroom. Namjoon is the one with green hair now, but it feels like not much has changed otherwise.

Namjoon remembers wanting to get down onto his knees and worship the man. He still wants to do it, but in a very different way than before. If only he knew back then how pretty Yoongi is when he comes. 

The first time they met Yoongi had looked at him bashfully, caught off guard by compliments from a blushing teenager. Yoongi is the one who did the prowling tonight. Namjoon feels just as out of his depth as he did all those years ago.

Unlike 2013, Yoongi walks right over to him.

A stumble explains the daring kink comment; Yoongi is tipsy. Namjoon has never witnessed this before. There’s something in his eyes, somewhere between anger and hunger.

“You really are a coward, aren’t you?” Yoongi’s accusation makes Namjoon freeze. Water drips down his arms but the paper towels are blocked by a glaring man.

“Uh—probably, but is this about something specific?”

“I made you come in your pants and you ran away.” His voice is a bit too cold. Namjoon wipes his hands on his jeans, turning around.

“You told me to go?” I wanted to stay. 

“I didn’t tell you to avoid me for days.” Yoongi looks satisfied by Namjoon’s fumbling, taking a step closer. “Yeah. Are you still scared?”

“What is there to be scared of?” Namjoon says as if he isn’t backed up against the counter. Nowhere to run. 

“You tell me.” Yoongi’s voice is like creeping thunder. How can someone so small be so imposing? “What if I kissed you again? Is that what scared you off?”

“That would not scare me, no.”

“No?” Yoongi laughs, placing his hands on the counter and pushing up on his tip-toes to look right into Namjoon’s eye. “Prove it.”

It’s a challenge Namjoon wouldn’t dream of backing down from.

The alcohol definitely helps. He keeps his eyes open, indulging in the sight of Yoongi’s fluttering closed as their lips meet. It’s a lot more gentle than intended, than it probably should be. Both of them are trying their best not to scare the other off but the tension is thicker than the humidity. 

Yoongi huffs, leaning closer. A kitten lick at Namjoon’s lips puts an abrupt end to any softness.

Wrapping arms around Yoongi’s waist is a pleasure that Namjoon is entirely unworthy of, and yet he tugs him closer all the same, relishing in the feeling of so much warmth. The city is too hot, the air conditioning in the bathroom is biting, Yoongi’s skin is tacky with sweat and polluted air. Filth is exactly what he wants.

It turns out that Namjoon likes whiskey if the taste comes from Yoongi’s mouth.

“This fucking shirt.” Breathless, Yoongi runs a nail down Namjoon’s exposed chest like it offends him. Because he has been looking, affected by it, finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Watch out, you’ll sound like you’re into me.”

The bite to his lip that follows makes him grin. Yoongi shoves a thigh against his crotch like a threat. For once, fucking finally, Namjoon isn’t scared.

The muffled music of the club fades away, it’s hard to distinguish between the thumping bass and Yoongi’s heartbeat pressed against his chest. He’ll never want to kiss someone without a tongue piercing again. It makes him shudder every time it brushes against his mouth.

Through the drunken fog of Namjoon’s brain, there’s some underlying wrongness. He’s unsure of what it means. Hard to shake, but harder to focus on. He’s over the whole sexuality crisis thing, Yoongi clearly doesn’t hate him too much if he’s doing this , Matthew comes to mind, but that’s fine, he’s over it. It feels so good.

Yoongi lets out a whimper far louder than the last time they did this, and that’s what brings Namjoon back to reality. He wouldn’t be this shameless. They’re both drunk, but Yoongi must be worse off than he thought. Namjoon was too caught up in the joy of feeling wanted to notice. 

They can’t do this. Namjoon’s heart aches as he gently cups Yoongi’s face, feeling him try to resist being pushed away, wet mouth hanging open. His lipstick is smudged like a bruise and Namjoon wants to kiss it all off. 

“Wh-what?” 

“You’re drunk.”

Yoongi fucking pouts . “So are you?”

“You’ll regret it tomorrow, c’mon, let’s find your friends.” He tries not to show how reluctant he is to stop this. Whole body screaming to just indulge a little more, they didn’t drink that much, Yoongi is asking for it. 

Namjoon knows better. He hates it and he cares about Yoongi.

The desperate little want you that falls from Yoongi’s lips is a stab to the heart. Dark hair clings to his heated forehead and Namjoon pushes it off, running his fingers through it as an apology. Petting him like a reprimanded puppy. How can someone keep their hair so soft and pretty while living on a bus?

On their way out, the mirror catches Namjoon. Smudged lipstick on his mouth might as well be blood on his hands. 

He tries his best to wipe it off as he ushers Yoongi back into the darkness of the club. A palm on the man he wants’ sweaty back does nothing to calm him down. The feeling of Yoongi’s spine makes him yearn to turn right around, tug them both back to the bathroom and lock the door.

It’s Jungkook who spots them first. He looks between the two of them, wide-eyed and well aware. Just like that, Yoongi is snatched away from his hold.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks loudly, rubbing at the lipstick on the side of Yoongi’s mouth.

Namjoon watches with horror as Yoongi melts Jungkook’s arms, grasps at his tattooed neck, and pulls him in for a messy kiss. 

They’ve clearly done it before. Their tongues are visible, mouths fitting together perfectly, both so perfectly beautiful in each other’s arms. Jungkook can probably taste Namjoon’s spit. It’s like Yoongi is washing his mouth out. Ridding himself of this ever-clinging nuisance of a man.

Like a good friend, Jungkook laughs and pushes him back. A lot faster than Namjoon did. 

Spirit ridden fruity drinks creep up out of nowhere, and the nausea hits. Namjoon is dizzy. He turns right around and finds somewhere to sit before he feels any worse. He keeps his eyes away from Yoongi, and spots one of the less familiar members of Gloss.

“Hey, sorry.” She turns around, clearly ready to reject him. Namjoon feels bad just interrupting her. “Yoongi is pretty drunk, can you make sure he’s okay? I don’t know where Jimin is, or I’d ask him.”

Her smile is pity filled and unexpected. “I will, thank you for caring about him.” It seems that all of Gloss know how pathetic Namjoon is at this point, without even meeting him. Wonderful. “I’m Jiwoo, by the way.”

Namjoon introduces himself and quickly cowers away, texting his band group chat to announce that he drank too much and heading outside to cool down. The humidity in the street drowns him, he chokes on it, engulfed. The mossy shit that covers every unattended wall here feels like creeping hands, tethers to drag him down. 

Seokjin finds him where he rots and guides him back to the bus, tutting over drinking too much and tucking him into the coffin of his bunk with a bottle of water to cling to. 

Namjoon’s head throbs and his dick throbs. Maybe even his heart, too. 

A fancy breakfast place begins to cure Namjoon’s hangover, but not his sadness.

Absent-minded scrolling through social media somehow results in a web page about Poppy Z Brite locations. A lot of them are within walking distance. This is Edward Cullen level yearning, Namjoon is weird as fuck and well aware of it. He really does want to see the city, though, and find more books. It’s not all about Yoongi. 

Taehyung offers to join him on his venture despite how hot it is and Namjoon lies about needing to be alone to do some writing. His friends know him too well, and they’re reluctant to let him go.

Off he sets, after a promise to not be the yearning mess that he is. The French Quarter is different during the day. It might even be a bit more ominous, in a way. Still buzzing with life, but rather than the song of drunken people, it’s the creepy little shop windows that lure you in. Maybe it’s just his mood, or the books he reads.

Namjoon loves weird shit. Through the abundance of respectable used book stores in historic buildings, he ends up in the darkest one he can find. It’s up a flight of stairs and void of people but stuffed full of everything else. The shelves are like a maze and if anyone else were here it would be an ordeal to squeeze past them, but he has the whole place to himself.

More notably, any space without a book is filled with stuffed animals. Fogged up jars containing preserved body parts and little creatures sit between dusty paperbacks. It’s exactly what he was looking for. Perfectly distracting.

At the very back, surrounding a small frosted window, lies a little section dedicated to Poppy Z Brite. The light shines through the container of a conjoined fetus of some sort, making the little organs inside visible. He allows himself to be watched by the eerie contents of the room as he coaxes a book from the shelf.

Thumbing through a story about the city that encases him is as immersive as can be. 

Yoongi creeps up on him. “Are you following me?”

The jar almost gets knocked off of the windowsill from how hard Namjoon jolts. “Fuck,” He curses, but hushed, because he respects bookshop etiquette before anything else. “I was here first, you’re the suspicious one here.”

“You really are scared of me, wow.”

“You just crept up on me in the most horror worthy shop I’ve ever entered, don’t flatter yourself.”

Yoongi just hums, glaring in a teasing way, and the tension leaves Namjoon’s body. It doesn’t look like he’s holding a grudge. He even feels comfortable enough to squeeze right in to look through the same shelf as Namjoon, which brings back some tension, because apparently close proximity is still scary.

“You’re looking for an English book?” Namjoon asks quietly. Not condescending, just curious.

“I can’t come here and not buy one, it’s special, y'know?” He looks so pretty here, amongst other mysterious little things like himself. Namjoon aches with gratitude, getting to hear Yoongi talk about the things he loves this much.

“Of course.”

They browse in near silence, Namjoon is entirely content with it. The calm of it all makes him a lot more brave than usual.

“Not to be an emo teenager, but there’s a graveyard I really want to visit.” Namjoon says and Yoongi squints. The begging to be accompanied is left unsaid. “Maybe you’d recognise something from a book?”

With a big sigh, Yoongi heads back through the maze of shelves. Namjoon’s shoulders slump, faced with rejection. “Lead the way.”

It’s so unexpected that Namjoon buys the book he was holding without even reading the title.

The streets feel more welcoming with Yoongi by his side. He gasps at the occasional window display, getting excited in a way that Namjoon so rarely gets to see. Rather than suffocating like before, the humidity feels more like a hug. Namjoon is in so deep that he romanticises the weather, how embarrassing.

It’s hard to ignore how sweaty he is. While Namjoon gets completely drenched and disgusting, Yoongi somehow manages to perspire gracefully. What a freak. Maybe it’s just appealing because it’s similar to how he looks when he gets jerked off.

Namjoon should not be thinking about this.

There are a lot of sex related shops. They’re not even shady like the ones back in Seoul, parading lacy underwear and padded handcuffs in tasteful window displays and Yoongi catches him staring for a bit too long. They both blush.

The walk is filled with enough curious sights to keep prolonged silences away. It’s actually less awkward than Namjoon would have expected. Yoongi buys peach juice to cool himself down and the smell of it is strong. They catch a streetcar and Yoongi gets the window seat. The scenery of the journey draws them both in and it’s easy for Namjoon to glance at Yoongi’s pretty face without getting caught.

Lafayette Cemetery no. 1 stuns them both to silence. 

Even just the gate is impressive. The graves are unlike anything Namjoon had seen before, all above the ground like cute tiny houses. There are little trinkets to be found everywhere: creepy little dismembered toys and tall candles. It’s pretty quiet, sweltering weekdays don’t seem to be the prime time for graveyard dwelling. 

Yoongi fits right in. Grotesque beauty. Dark with intricate details, impossible to keep your eyes off of. Namjoon wishes he could take a photo of him. He’ll just need to stare enough to ingrain the sight into his mind.  

“I wonder what I have to do to get buried here,” Yoongi ponders, running his finger through a blooming vine as they pass it. “I’d die right now.”

“Always with the killing.”

“That’s me, murder and bathrooms.” Yoongi smiles. They have a thing, enough memories to associate it with one another, even if that thing happens to be the least romantic location possible. Namjoon will take it as a win. 

“Pretty relevant to your taste in books.”

“Apparently it’s your taste, too.”

Apparently . If only Yoongi knew just how much he enjoyed that book. “You sound doubtful?”

“You really read it all?” Yoongi asks, pointedly keeping his eyes on another grave, long hair hanging in his face. 

“It was a very short book?”

“And you liked it?” Oh god. Yoongi sounds defensive, borderline tentative and it’s so endearing that Namjoon doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“I’m not that desperate for your approval, I wouldn’t lie about this. Your taste in ice cream is shit, weird books aren’t.”

Yoongi just shakes his head, stepping up onto another grave to look closer.

Namjoon thought that the rising humidity was just his body reacting to talking to Yoongi for too long. The rain comes out of nowhere. Like his fascination with the man next to him, it isn’t gradual. They’re soaked immediately.

An open mausoleum hidden behind trees provides them with shelter. The vaults are all white and well taken care of, candles littering the floor, along with the water dripping from their clothes. 

Namjoon’s flimsy converse look pitiful next to Yoongi’s sturdy dr martens.

Yoongi laughs at how drenched he is, breathless, pushing his hair out of his face and grinning up at Namjoon who will never get used to that mischievous smile, gums and all. He wants to taste them.

“Mr Soggy was a premonition.” Yoongi says, reminding Namjoon of his past embarrassment. How kind. “It didn’t even cool me down, this is gross.”

There’s something about Yoongi with wet hair that sets something Pavlovian off in Namjoon. Memories of sunrise lit showers and beige hotel rooms. Of pink nipples and sensitive thighs. 

It crawls inside of him, dark and grotesque. A filthy desire; all consuming want for Yoongi. 

For once in his life, Namjoon opts for bravery over stewing in horny thoughts. They’re having a nice time together, Yoongi is tolerating him by choice, why not ruin things by giving the three year late apology?

“Can I tell you something?”

“That tone doesn’t bode well for me.” Yoongi says, reading the names on the surrounding graves instead of looking at Namjoon, which may be for the best. 

“You know me that well already? I must be predictable.”

“You are, actually. It’s calming.”

If he doesn’t say it now, he’ll keep putting it off. “I’m not straight.” He tries to deliver it like it’s an afterthought, not a big deal. If Yoongi were any closer, he’d hear his heartbeat betraying that. “I’ve never said that, I wasn’t really—sure, before, but. Uh.” It comes out rushed and messy. “You kind of... helped?”

Yoongi still doesn’t turn around. “Shit.”

“I’m sure you got that before, from everything. But I want you to hear it.” It’s scary enough, exposing himself like this. Having no idea how Yoongi feels makes it so much worse. The rain is steady, he latches onto that for stability. “I don’t expect you to like me, or anything. I just need you to know that—I care about you.”

That’s what gets Yoongi to face him. “You don’t know me.” Suspicion is better than anger, at least. 

“From what I do know.” The face of scepticism doesn’t deter Namjoon, but it does make him stutter a bit. “I hate every stupid thing I did to you, they were all accidental, but that doesn’t excuse them.” They’re making eye contact. Namjoon perseveres. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

Yoongi leans against the wall of vaults, pretty as ever in the dim light, surrounded by death. When he speaks, it’s so quiet, soft, that Namjoon thinks he imagined it. “Hyung.”

“What?”

“Call me hyung.” This is unexpected. Namjoon doesn’t even know how to react. 

The scratch at his neck is a habit that Namjoon is beginning to recognise. Yoongi can be shy, and Namjoon wants to know it all, every single page of his book. He keeps his voice hushed, not to scare him off. 

“Is that—do you forgive me?”

“I told you I didn’t care, get over it.” Yoongi grumbles, apathy betrayed by coloured cheeks. Namjoon wants to coo. 

“Hyung,” oh, that feels good to say. “You’re blushing .”

“I’m embarrassed by how pathetic you are.”

Namjoon can’t hold back his smile. Yoongi is fucking flustered, showing a hint of affection, and it will be milked. “You’re lying.”

Yoongi shakes his head and tuts, on the verge of bashful. Namjoon’s entire body is buzzing with the need to reach out to him. They’ve kissed, made each other come, but never hugged.

“What about last night?” Yoongi’s hesitant voice cuts through the patter of the rain. 

Last night. So worked up over his half-assed apology, Namjoon almost forgot about it. Making out in a bright bathroom, being hurt in a dark club. Yoongi had begged for him and he had no right to say yes, but still indulged in the taste of his mouth anyway. 

Yet another pang of guilt rips through him. 

“I’m sorry for that, too. How much do you remember?”

“Wait,” Yoongi looks confused. “Why are you apologising?”

“I kissed you back, then left you when you were vulnerable.” It kind of hurts to say, Namjoon is so ashamed of it. You’d think he would get used to making mistakes by now. 

“I practically assaulted you, and you were drinking too. It was all me.”

Yoongi isn’t angry about it. A weight lifts off of Namjoon’s shoulders. No mention of Jungkook, then. 

“I don’t think you were in the wrong, but it would be good if you were, I’d deserve it.” The rain doesn’t calm down, nor does Namjoon’s pulse. He just keeps on going, on a roll of taking risks. “I really wanted to kiss you, though.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens and closes. Rendering him speechless is quickly becoming Namjoon’s favourite hobby, even if it’s through cheesy methods. He’ll take what he can get.

His socks squelch in his wet shoes as he takes a step towards Yoongi, who snorts. “You’re gonna do this in someone’s tomb?”

Beneath the mischievous look, there’s something darker. Yoongi leans against the wall and gazes right up into Namjoon’s eyes, hands behind his back, beckoning him closer but giving up control.

Another squelch, a hint of a smile, close enough to touch.

“Does it get more romantic than this?”

Close enough that Yoongi has to tilt his head back to keep eye contact. 

“I never should’ve given you that book.”

“Don’t blame the book.” Leaning a hand on the wall beside Yoongi’s head feels a bit like he’s in a romcom, which is regretful, but he commits to it. Yoongi’s gulp spurs him on. “It’s your fault.”

“You poor thing.” Yoongi pouts. “Should I make it up to you?” It’s clearly satire, he says it as sleazy as possible, and yet it hits Namjoon hard.

He has no snappy response, just a pathetic little plea. “Please do.”

Yoongi goes from the brink of laughter to grabbing Namjoon’s neck and pulling him down in a heartbeat. 

It’s the third occasion on which they’ve kissed. The weirdest location and the least confusion so far. Clinging humidity is replaced with Yoongi’s hands, on his neck, drawing him closer until their damp chests press together. 

Yoongi’s lips were sinful when Namjoon was filled with doubt in a hotel room, overwhelming when his mind was fuzzy with alcohol in a bathroom, and now they’re just soft. Sweet, delicate little brushes of his lip piercings, a satisfied hum that vibrates right down to his stomach.

Namjoon has to pull back to indulge in the sight of this moment. The light is dim from the thick clouds, Yoongi’s pale skin looks like something from a painting. Cat-like eyes blink up at him, a lot less sharp than usual, but wide and unsure. Namjoon is breathless.

With a harder kiss, breathing is rendered unnecessary. Yoongi licks into his mouth as if they’re not in public and Namjoon doesn’t mind at all. Peach juice tastes better than whisky. 

Wet heat of the air is nothing compared to Yoongi’s mouth. The first graze of his tongue piercing makes Namjoon shudder, full bodied and humiliating. Yoongi huffs in amusement so he gets kissed harder to shut him up, pressed against the wall. The thrill of being allowed to do such a thing just makes Namjoon shake more.

It continues like that: Yoongi bites Namjoon’s lip too hard, gets his hair tugged in return until he hisses. Sharp nails are repaid with his legs being kicked open, a thigh against his crotch. The push and pull bites them both in the ass. Before they know it, they’re both hard and panting. 

In a fucking graveyard. They’re going to hell. 

“I wish we could fuck here.” Yoongi’s voice is rough but Namjoon is too scandalised to even appreciate that. 

“What the fuck? This is someone’s grave, hyung.”

“Rich plantation owners from two hundred years ago deserve to have their graves defiled.” Yoongi just carries on as if he’s not trying to commit several crimes and sins at once. He nibbles at Namjoon’s neck, taking advantage of its sensitivity until he has to hold himself up against the wall. 

“You want to commit a crime for my dick? I didn’t know you were that desperate.”

The delicious kisses stop, but Yoongi stays in place. “When you put it that way, never mind.”

“Ouch. You don’t want it?” Namjoon teases, palming at his ass and grinding against him enough to make his eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck you.” A bite hard enough to bruise, Namjoon doesn’t mind. “Do they have like, love motels here?”
It’s shocking, how desperate Yoongi is. Namjoon would not have imagined this in his dreams. His wet dreams aren’t even that far-fetched. Yoongi wants him badly (or maybe he’s just really into graveyards), Namjoon’s willpower is dwindling. He starts to genuinely weigh out the pros and cons of public sex. 

“They’ll be gross, we’ll have a hotel in a few days, right?” Namjoon reasons, acting mature as if every cell in his body isn’t screaming to do otherwise.

Yoongi sags against the wall. Defeated. He groans in frustration, trailing his hands over Namjoon’s chest and squeezing before crossing his arms in defeat. 

“Fine. The rain is clearing up, let’s go do some tourist shit.”

Namjoon goes in for one more kiss before they leave, trying to draw it out, savouring, but Yoongi keeps it chaste as can be. It turns out that he’s a brat when he doesn’t get what he wants. It’s hard not to laugh.

Focusing on sightseeing is a difficult task when Yoongi’s lips are still all red and bitten. Even the public toilets look nice here, maybe they could just sneak in and get it over with. They’d be fast, he’s sure, there’s no way he would last with Yoongi.

The journey back to the French Quarter is tense, to say the least. Yoongi can be stone-cold at times, but when he’s horny, he’s an open book. Pupils blown wide, eyes flittering down to Namjoon’s spread legs and then back to the window in frustration. 

It gets to be too much. No one is looking at them, so Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s thigh and pulls it a bit closer, slipping his fingers into the tear in his jeans to feel soft skin. Yoongi grumbles, staring right out of the window, but scoots a bit closer anyway. When his hand wanders a bit too high and Yoongi clenches his thighs together, Namjoon almost loses it right there. 

Every time Namjoon properly considers that this is Min Yoongi, choosing to spend time with him, to initiate physical contact, to kiss him, he gets butterflies like a teenager. He physically reacts to every single little thing and prays that it isn’t as obvious as it feels. 

At least Yoongi looks like he’s going through it too, based on his flushed cheeks. 

They eat at a pretty diner, thankful for the air conditioning. Yoongi orders a milkshake and complains about missing Korean food, listing all the lewd things he would do for tteokbokki right now. Namjoon swears that they’ll get some the next time it’s possible. It’s hard not to vibrate over the fact that they’re making plans for the future. Yoongi wants to hang out with him.  

“What are you smiling about?” Yoongi asks with his mouth full. 

“Thinking about how worked up you were in the graveyard.”

Yoongi chokes. Namjoon thinks he might just love America, if it means he can talk dirty with an oblivious waitress nearby. He wonders how far he can push that in the future, how much he can affect Yoongi with just his words.

Namjoon would’ve liked to visit some historical sights and museums in the city but it turns out that he does indeed have a job. Their concert is that night, and getting carried away in a graveyard means that they have to sacrifice any other plans.

It was worth it.

Walking back to the car park with Yoongi in tow feels like an accomplishment. There’s no one to witness it other than a few members of other bands milling around, but still. As respectfully as possible, Namjoon wants to pick him up and show him off like a trophy. And then maybe bring him back to his bunk and keep kissing him, because all he can think of is his lips. 

Their next hotel is in Florida, three days away. The wait will be worth it, Namjoon is sure. He has already waited years , and it’s not like they can’t kiss until then. It’ll be fine.

(It’s not fine.)

“I want to kiss you again.” Namjoon says, brave as can be as he walks Yoongi up to his tour bus like a true gentleman. 

Yoongi snorts. Ouch. “Not out here, you wanted to wait for the hotel.” With a pity filled pout, he leaves Namjoon, very much put in his place. “See you later.”

It isn’t even a rejection. They’re waiting for the hotel, where they plan to kiss more, because Yoongi wants to kiss him. Namjoon is grinning alone like a mad man.

He doesn’t really know what to do about his friends in this situation. The urge to gush about Yoongi, and maybe finally discuss how fucking perfect he is, is very hard to ignore. The problem is that Yoongi hasn’t said anything about whether they can tell anyone, so Namjoon will have to sit and stew in his adoration.

He stews. Then bubbles over the pot a bit.

It starts off bearable; a light simmer. Namjoon gets ready for his set in a daze, tells his bandmates that he walked around graveyards and they call him a freak, he opts for his most butchered tank top because of the heat. No other reason. 

(The cuts where the sleeves used to be run all the way down past his ribs, and will show a lot of skin. Maybe even a nipple. Yoongi’s previous attention paid to his chest is hard to forget.)

They go hard on stage as usual. The New Orleans crowd is one of their best so far, they even get their very own mosh pit. Namjoon feels the bass in his bones, filled with a bit too many endorphins from how many highs the day has had. He’s unstoppable. 

Namjoon wants to face Yoongi head on, so he opts to watch Gloss from the crowd. Yoongi’s tank top is similar to Namjoon’s, but it’s the Type O Negative shirt he wore all those years ago, just a bit more cut up. He looks so unreal on stage, fit to be a rockstar, fated for far bigger venues. It’s hard to believe that he’s the same person, someone who gets flustered and makes out with Namjoon. 

Yoongi’s eyes get all dark and hooded on stage, the way he flips his hair back out of his face is swoon-worthy, his fucking hands are ring clad and obscene. Namjoon has to check that he’s not drooling at the sight.

At one point Jungkook walks past Yoongi and delivers a little spank on his ass. Namjoon does not think about how they looked when they kissed. 

“I know I joked about your crush on Yoongi before but holy shit, your mouth was open . I felt dirty just seeing you.” Hoseok laughs, never one to let Namjoon get away with anything. 

Mind still fuzzy from whatever the fuck that performance made him feel, focusing on packing up his equipment, Namjoon doesn’t really think before he responds. “Can you blame me?” 

He quickly realises his mistake.

“Did you just—?” Taehyung gapes. Everyone in the room has dropped what they were doing to witness Namjoon’s self sabotage. 

“ No ,”

“You’re into Yoongi?”

“Wait, I didn’t mean to do that.” Namjoon laughs, realising that he might as well just get it over with. Everyone knew it anyway, but it’s still a bit intimidating to admit. “But, yeah, something like that.”

All teasing is immediately halted. His band goes from scarily impish to wide-eyed and hesitant. Hoseok looks like he’s about to cry. Namjoon wonders if he did something wrong.

“I’m so proud of you!” Seokjin wails. 

Taehyung starts the hug but the rest of them immediately join in, leaving Namjoon entirely covered in supportive friends.

Was that coming out? It was a bit anticlimactic, but the reaction definitely isn’t. Their behaviour starts to rub off on him, and if he doesn’t diffuse the cuddle pile, someone will end up weeping.

“We need a plan to stop him from hating you.” Taehyung says, still firmly latched onto Namjoon as the others release him and go back to what they were doing.

“We kind of hung out earlier, I think he’s no longer on the brink of killing me. Maybe.” 

That gets them going again. Namjoon feels bashful, but it’s so nice to talk about. He wishes he could tell them everything, the urge to brag claws at him. While his bandmates beg for details, Namjoon makes his escape, claiming that he needs to go borrow another book from him (which he actually does, but it’s a lot less urgent than the desire to kiss him again. Just once.)

The hallways pulse with the music of another band. The walls are covered in messages left from others who performed here, Namjoon runs a finger over it, contemplating writing something sappy about his romantic day. 

The initial plan was just to wait outside like a creep and hope to find Yoongi wandering somewhere, not wanting to interrupt him with his friends. Catching sight of the entirety of Gloss sans Yoongi turning down a corridor must be fate. He finds their green room quickly, and knocks on the door, only a little bit worried about being annoying. 

Yoongi is alone and as pretty as can be. Still sweaty from the show, clearly on his way to wash up, and Namjoon is here to get in the way. He isn’t graced with a greeting. Yoongi just sizes him up as he walks over, clearly well aware of what his intention is.

It’s not until Yoongi is pressed up against the back of a couch that he speaks. “Can I help you?” Face defiant, voice amused, body drawn to Namjoon’s like a magnet. 

They don’t touch, not yet. Namjoon has him all crowded in, nowhere to go, but he waits to feel his skin again.

“I think so.”

It’s heated from the get go, no build up. Yoongi kisses him first, arms around his neck, tugging him as close as possible. Their hips press together too fast and Namjoon groans too loudly. Yoongi laughs at him as usual. 

He wonders how bad it would be if the first time they fucked was in a green room. The door doesn’t have a lock, but he could pin Yoongi right against it to keep it closed. If sex in a graveyard was an option, surely this wouldn’t be too farfetched. The risk might be hot: a bit less illegal than an actual public place, but someone could still overhear them, know exactly what they were doing. 

Namjoon genuinely didn’t consider himself to be into this kind of thing before now. Yoongi just has that effect - a need to show off. 

The trance is broken by a loud banging on the door. Yoongi almost falls over the couch, panting like they were in far deeper than just kissing. It’s a pleasing sight; Namjoon messes him up.

“I gotta—” Yoongi gulps, blinking and trying to get a hold of himself. “Pack up the van.”

Namjoon smiles, licking deep into his mouth one more time before releasing him. It’s clear that Yoongi’s legs aren’t too steady. “Do you need help, hyung?”

“Fuck off.”

Namjoon wakes up on his day off to a loud knock to the door of the bus. He crawls out of his bunk in his underwear to find no one outside, but there’s a book on the step. 

For once, Yoongi’s anger is just satisfying. Namjoon got him worked up enough for him to be in a mood. Good. They can both suffer. 

It’s past noon, the bus is empty, so Namjoon opts to lie around and feast on cereal along with Yoongi’s book. It’s by the same author, but this time it’s about two men in a band that the story is named after: Lost Souls. There’s a lovely character called Ghost with pale skin and too much talent for the life he lives. Unsurprisingly, he thinks about Yoongi. He lets himself read for a bit too long before reluctantly getting dressed to head to the venue’s showers.

It has been a while since the last shower incident, it was bound to happen again. 

Namjoon makes his way inside, groggy from being engrossed in the book, not very aware of his surroundings. The shower room looks the same as most, it may have lighting fit for a horror movie, but it’s luxurious enough to have doors on the stalls rather than curtains. Namjoon undresses quickly, and makes it into a stall, thankful that there’s only one occupied. 

After a few minutes of peace, there’s a clattered followed by a familiar grumpy little fuck. 

“Hyung?”

“...Namjoon?” It’s Yoongi. That’s fine. At least they didn’t need to watch each other undress or anything.

“Are you okay?”

“I dropped something, ‘s fine.”

Namjoon hums in response. He really tries his best to avoid thinking of Yoongi, and he actually succeeds. The other shower turns off. The knock at his stall door makes him jump.

“You can tell me to fuck off.”

He opens the door without a second thought, faced with a very soaked Yoongi with a towel around his waist. The sight of his bare skin will always be jarring, even more so as he walks in and closes the stall door, staying pressed up against it to keep his towel dry.

It’s hard to differentiate between running water and the sound of one's brain going offline.

“Should I turn off the shower?” Namjoon asks. Naked. He’s naked, Yoongi is slowly dragging his eyes down his body as if this is normal, and it’s very hard to resist trying to cover his crotch with his hands right now.

Yoongi’s first encounter with Namjoon’s dick was not supposed to be flaccid, what the fuck. This is humiliating. 

“No, um, I thought…” Yoongi looks shy and hesitant, eyes darting around the stall, and it takes a moment for Namjoon to understand what’s going on.

Yoongi is initiating affection. Physical contact. Holy shit. 

“Do you want to join me?” Namjoon asks. 

Instead of responding, Yoongi turns around and removes his towel, hanging it up on the hook, ass fully on display for Namjoon’s eyes to feast on. 

As soon as they get to a hotel room, Yoongi will sit on his face, and this is a promise.

The view doesn’t last long. He quickly has an armful of Yoongi, both of them gasping at the feeling of skin on skin. This is the first time they’ve seen each other naked, and if Namjoon’s heart rate continues as it is, it might just be the last. 

“ Hyung , you’re so pretty, what the fuck.”

Yoongi shuts him up with a kiss, but the blush is still noted. Namjoon tries to keep up with the tongue in his mouth, he really does, but his mind is still feebly attempting to register what he just saw: Yoongi’s sinful tattoo covered body. Compact and dainty, broad shoulders and a soft tummy paired with the loveliest thighs.

Instead of thinking of words to describe his ass, Namjoon just grabs it, worships it, because he can. For the sake of his sanity, he does his best to keep a safe-ish distance between their hips. The arousal started as soon as Yoongi stepped in the cubicle, and Namjoon is a weak man, making out with his naked dream boy was not going to prevent any hard-ons. 

Namjoon’s dignity never lasts when Yoongi is involved. The pleased little noise that comes out of his mouth is worth it when he grinds forward, letting Namjoon’s shame be known. 

It turns out that Yoongi is hard too. 

It’s a very new physical sensation to Namjoon. He’s unsure if it really feels this mind blowing, or if it’s just the fact that it’s Yoongi’s dick against his own. The knowledge that Yoongi is turned on by him enough to do this so shamelessly, in a public place at that, has him losing his mind.

Namjoon swears that he isn’t an exhibitionist, he isn’t a very risky person and definitely doesn’t want to subject any strangers to witnessing such a thing without their consent. It just so happens that this might be the most arousing experience of his life. Maybe.

“Fuck the hotel rule, I want you so bad.” Namjoon grits out without even thinking it through. 

Oh , Yoongi likes that. He bites at Namjoon’s lip, grinning “That’s not what you said in the graveyard.”

“I wanted you then, too.” Namjoon’s cock slips between Yoongi’s thighs and the sensation makes his knees weak. He groans, deep and low in his throat. “Want you always.”

It’s clear that Yoongi is debating it. He’s firmly latched on, sucking marks onto Namjoon’s collarbones and pulling at his waist to encourage their friction. If they bothered to switch the shower off they’d have a much better time, Namjoon wants to feel how wet Yoongi’s dick gets when he’s all worked up again, but it would make the risk of them being overheard a lot greater.

Namjoon has just gripped Yoongi’s ass, pulling him so close that he almost gets lifted up off the ground, they stumble.

It’s a miracle that the shitty door to the room is so loud when it creaks open. They freeze. 

There was no time to get over the sight of Yoongi naked, nor the feeling of kissing him again, definitely not the pleasure of grinding against him - and now there’s this .

The intruder is likely undressing as the two of them stare at each other in horror. Horror, and painful arousal. It’s not fair. 

There’s a hum that Namjoon recognises from his occasional gym sessions - Matthew. Matthew, who (at the very least) has received a blowjob from Yoongi in the past. Namjoon’s dick betrays him, and Yoongi is tickled pink. 

Namjoon is in danger.

Matthew is right there, two stalls down, turning on the shower, and Yoongi grabs Namjoon’s cock. Both hands, possessive and confident, and Namjoon has to somehow keep quiet. It’s impossible, but the huff he lets out could just be heard as a heavy breath.

The fear that he had of this tiny man, spanning years, was clearly very valid. Yoongi is cruel. He looks so pleased with himself, looking right up into Namjoon’s eyes between gentle kisses and not so gentle strokes of his aching dick.

A mean grip on his balls is what does it; Namjoon whimpers. 

Yoongi lets go.

Begging is on the tip of Namjoon’s tongue, he’s really going to do it, shame entirely forgotten just from being touched a little. It must be visible on his face, because Yoongi presses a finger to his lips, shaking his head to put him in his place. Namjoon doesn’t want to obey, he wants to pin Yoongi against the wall and do as he pleases, Matthew should hear it all.

With a chaste kiss over the finger still in place, Yoongi lets go of Namjoon, taking a step back and covering himself with the towel again. He leaves the cubicle like it’s nothing. At least he’ll have to suffer through getting dressed with a boner. Small victories. 

The combination of hot water and the absence of Yoongi’s touch somehow has Namjoon feeling cold. He can’t even jerk off. Though a full on tantrum is very tempting, he just finishes showering in self-pity, avoiding his poor dick. At least he escapes without bumping into Matthew. 

The hotel is a beacon of hope. One more day to go. It’s fine.

Chapter Text

The knowledge that he’s going to fuck Yoongi soon has left Namjoon entirely useless. It’s pathetic, he can’t think about anything else. They’ve gotten close a few times, but the past week has pretty much just been daily edging, which makes it so much worse. He is suffering.

Knowing that if they see each other again they’ll just get blue balled, Namjoon keeps to himself for the rest of the day. He finds solace in his book, a welcome distraction, but still related to Yoongi in some way. New Orleans is featured as usual and he can’t help but smile to himself like a lovesick teenager, caught up in memories of their day there. 

Romantic thoughts are interrupted by red ink. At the bottom of the page, underlined, lies a sentence that makes Namjoon pause: 

Did you know that come has almost exactly the same chemical makeup as human blood?

It isn’t even surprising that Yoongi would be drawn to such a thing, even less surprising that it drags Namjoon’s thoughts down the gutter. He wants to taste Yoongi’s come and bite him hard enough to bleed and everything in between. 

After seeing him all pliant in the shower, wet and flushed and just a bit hesitant, it’s hard to think about anything other than his body. Anything sets him off. He thinks about what would’ve happened if they had been just a bit more indulgent, if they had kept going for Matthew to hear. 

Namjoon would’ve gotten down on his knees right there, taken Yoongi into his mouth until he couldn’t keep himself quiet. If he were too loud, he’d get pushed to the wall with a hand over his mouth. Namjoon hasn’t even been lucky enough to finger him yet, but he wonders how he’d react. His horny little brain decides that Yoongi would melt at the feeling of being filled up, desperate for Namjoon’s cock enough to get all pliant and whiny, enough to beg for it. He’s so small, Namjoon could overwhelm him easily.

In reality, Namjoon would probably come as soon as he gets his dick wet and then laughed at for how bad in bed he is. The thought isn’t even off-putting, he’s that pathetic. He’ll take what he can get.  

The final day before Florida doesn’t get any easier.

Namjoon spends time with his band. He is yet to find the bravery to ask for permission to tell them about whatever the fuck they’re doing, but that might require a definition of their non-relationship. They’re usually too busy making out in inappropriate places to have a real conversation, anyway. This leads to him being cornered.

Jimin casually drops it out of nowhere, halting everyone’s meal. “Congrats on finally fucking Yoongi-hyung.” 

Namjoon slowly lowers his glass, unsure if he should feel pride or embarrassment. “He told you that?”

His entire band collectively gasps while Jimin just basks in his glory. “You just confirmed it, but he blushes whenever we talk about you, which is a new development. I knew something happened.”

Namjoon hides his face in his hands. Thank god that Yoongi doesn’t hang out with them.

“You’re not dating though?” Taehyung asks tentatively, kindly considering how fragile he must be.

“No, definitely not. I don’t think he even likes me as a friend, to be honest.”

“But you want him to?” Seokjin is tentative, which can only mean that Namjoon looks pitiful. He may have been a bit too honest. Still, Namjoon nods. “Does he know that?”

“I think I vaguely told him that I care about him and probably gushed about it enough to make it pretty clear, yeah.”

“And then?”

“And then we made out in several public places without talking much.” The memories make his cheeks heat up a bit. 

“That’s, uh.” Seokjin winces. “Romantic.” 

Hoseok is kind enough to look past Namjoon’s unrequited desperation. “I can’t believe Namjoon fucked a guy, what the hell.”

If only he were that lucky. “We didn’t actually get that far.” Namjoon mumbles. 

“Damn, well we’re here to help, on the topic of romance or anal sex.” The earnest, caring way Hoseok delivers that sentence is borderline disturbing. 

“Great.”

They move on, but Namjoon’s mind doesn’t. The sex advice offer was obviously just a joke, but it makes him consider that he will be out of his depth if he actually gets that far with Yoongi. Namjoon’s experience with anal is very minimal, and he has never been on the receiving end. What if Yoongi wants to do the fucking? It’s another thing to add onto the list of worries.

“If I were asked to, uh.” Namjoon interrupts the conversation a bit too loudly, feeling very put on the spot as soon as he does it. He lowers his voice, “ bottom … I don’t know how I’d—”

“I can assure you that you don’t need to worry about that.” Jimin says, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Unless you want to, of course.”

It’s Hoseok who has the bravery to wade into dangerous waters. “Why is that?”

“Well, one of our bandmates—” Jimin starts, watching Namjoon’s reaction intensely.

Namjoon cuts him off. “I think this is an invasion of his privacy.”

“You’re such a good friend , hyung.”

He didn’t want to learn anything so personal about Yoongi without his permission, but the few words that Jimin got out before being interrupted is enough to plant an evil little seed in Namjoon’s mind.

One of their bandmates. He knows which one. He knows what Yoongi looked like licking into Jungkook’s mouth, seeking him out for comfort after a buffoon rejected him so carelessly. They touch each other in such a familiar way, well acquainted and the opposite of all of Namjoon’s fumbling attempts at affection of any sort.

Namjoon is not a jealous person. Yoongi has every right to do as he pleases with anyone, or everyone. They’ve kissed a few times, Namjoon has a crush on him, but they haven’t even fucked. It’s not exclusive and he knows this. He could go out and get laid at this very moment with no obligation to tell anyone. 

Yet it’s a little bit painful. And a little bit of something else. 

Namjoon is both a hopeless romantic and a horny disaster, he’s well aware of it. While Jimin’s words are far from assuring, they do at least stop him from worrying about researching how to use an enema. Small victories.

Yoongi, lover of baggy clothing, wearing shorts on stage is not something that Namjoon had considered the dangers of. Jungkook touching him on stage, however, he did mentally prepare for. It didn’t help. He thinks about them, along with the feeling of Yoongi’s bare thighs beneath his own hands rather than Jungkook’s tattooed ones. He wonders if he’s a masochist, he has to be, to willingly put himself through all this, whatever this is, every night.

Namjoon should probably stop watching Gloss perform, because it only ever leads to unwanted yearning like the creep he is.

Taehyung catches him as he retreats to the bus, delivering a surprising message from none other than Yoongi. Namjoon thinks it’s a joke at first, some cruel plan of his friends to try to make him talk about his feelings, but he gives in anyway. Rejection is familiar.

Yoongi is freshly showered, pyjama clad, on an ominously empty bus, void of all the people who are more likable than Namjoon. His band went out for drinks, and it’s hard to judge whether this is thrilling or terrifying. Being led to the back of the bus feels a bit like a willing descent into hell. 

They should talk about what they’re doing, Namjoon knows it. He wants to do it, he wants clarity and an end to the endless self doubt, because he cares about this confusing man more than he anticipated. It’s hard to know if they can actually have something beyond relieving built up tension. The achievement of acquaintances has been conquered, maybe even friends if he’s lucky. Can they go beyond this?

Busy in his head, Namjoon ends up passively on a bed without much thought until he feels a weight in his lap. If anything can snap him out of it, it’s Yoongi’s ass.

It’s getting to the point that Namjoon should probably be getting used to making out with Yoongi, they’ve done it a handful of times, he has kissed a lot of people before this. Yet, as soon as Yoongi’s lips touch his, Namjoon melts. All traces of sanity or coherent thought are hopelessly lost. He belongs , entirely at Yoongi’s mercy and he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

This doesn’t bode well for the whole talking thing. 

Lying beneath him evokes creeping vulnerability. It’s unfamiliar and overwhelming, being at someone else’s mercy. Yoongi looks down at him as if he’s prey, long hair falling down his chest, bare thighs squished all pretty on top of much thicker ones. When cold hands creep up his shirt, thumbing at his nipples, Namjoon tries to get back on track. “Hyung,” a valiant attempt is made.

“Is sucking your dick against the hotel rule?” Yoongi ponders, eyes on the bulge in Namjoon’s jeans which he grabs and massages like it’s nothing. As if it doesn’t make him choke in shock, heat tugging sharply in his stomach. “We have enough time.”

“Shit.” Namjoon clings onto Yoongi’s thighs to stay afloat, as if they’re not causing him to drown.

“You can say no.”

“Yes, please .” Namjoon begs. (The attempt was not valiant at all, Namjoon is a weak man.)

Watching jeans being unzipped by the hands of Yoongi can only be described as a spiritual experience. They’ve hardly started and the anticipation is scalding. Namjoon watches with his mouth hanging open as long fingers paw at his cock through the fabric of his underwear and oh god, there’s no guarantee that he won’t come in his pants again.

Getting hard this fast cannot be normal. By the time Yoongi has him fully exposed and in his hand, Namjoon is aching. He swallows, mouth dry, missing Yoongi’s spit. Dark eyes keep him pinned in place, accepting his own demise as his cock gets closer to the mouth that keeps him up at night. 

As soon as his tongue makes contact, just a little kitten lick at the tip, Namjoon is sure that he won’t survive this. The piercing is so close, impending doom. Yoongi is beautiful and intense and wants to suck his dick. 

An unlikely hero appears in the form of an enemy. 

Namjoon groans so humiliatingly loud from the faintest touch that they almost miss it, the sound of someone entering the bus, making their way to the back, opening the door. 

Jungkook gets an eyeful of Namjoon’s obscenely hard dick. 

He has really big, round eyes that make him look deceptively innocent, meaning that he still manages to look cute when he fucking stares. Namjoon doesn’t even know how to react, so he just stuffs his hard-on back into his underwear as if that could possibly rekindle his dignity. Yoongi’s spit clings to the fabric and there’s no hope for him to will his boner away anytime soon. 

Namjoon had always assumed that Yoongi would be embarrassed to be with him in any way. He thought that he’d hide them fucking from his friends, and this was fine. The lack of shame in reality is jarring. 

Yoongi just sits back on his knees, visibly hard through his pyjama shorts, blinking up at Jungkook like he has been mildly inconvenienced rather than caught with a cock in his mouth. ( Namjoon’s cock, more importantly.) He raises his eyebrows, awaiting an explanation. Namjoon throws an arm over his face to try to calm himself down. 

(With horror, he realises that this situation is a bit too similar to that party all those years ago. Namjoon gets to be on the receiving end, this time. What an honour. It makes him throb with arousal.)

“Jiwoo and Changkyun are back, they’ll hear you.” Jungkook finally says, making Yoongi huff in defeat. It looks like Namjoon is in for another night of frustration, like he deserves.

“That was fast.”

Jungkook hums without a trace of sympathy. “Hyung, I can sleep with you tonight, right?”

It turns out that a hard dick and hurt feelings is not a good combination. Pain was never something to tame Namjoon’s arousal, even when it’s not physical, apparently. What a freak.

“Sure, can you give us a minute?” Yoongi uses his soft Jungkook voice, as if he hasn’t been inconvenienced at all. 

Namjoon uncovers his eyes in time to see Jungkook pout and leave the little room, not even closing the door properly behind him. He’s a nosy brat and it would be cute if Namjoon weren’t suffering as a result of it, Yoongi’s endearment is understandable. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think that anyone would come back so early.” Yoongi actually sounds kind of sympathetic, but then he glances down at the disgraceful bulge in Namjoon’s jeans. “I’m not gonna sacrifice my dignity for your dick, though.”

Namjoon managed to miss out on talking about his feelings and getting a blowjob. He isn’t even surprised. At least Yoongi doesn’t seem to be embarrassed about it. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll just...” He buttons up his jeans, wincing at how silly his unrelenting boner looks. 

Yoongi looks like he wants to laugh, but then he catches sight of Namjoon’s face and the smile fades. Namjoon leaves the room with an awkward smile before he opens his mouth. Jungkook waits impatiently outside, avoiding eye contact and immediately taking the vacant spot on the bed. 

At least Yoongi has someone to sleep with.

Namjoon really, truly wishes that he were the type of person who gets less horny when they’re sad. A normal person. 

He curls up in his bunk and thinks about all the times that Yoongi and Jungkook must kiss happily in his absence, then gets hard again and jerks off a bit too roughly. In his post nut shame, he convinces himself that tomorrow he will not crawl straight into Yoongi’s bed. They’ll talk about it. Yoongi will reject him, and it’ll suck, but at least he won’t be confused anymore. 

Things were easier when he was blissfully ignorant to his own feelings. 

The next morning is grey. Florida is hot and sticky and gross. Hoseok and Seokjin are on high alert of alligators as soon as they arrive, fully expecting one to violently greet them at the venue. Namjoon thinks that if there’s any time he’d like to be eaten alive, it’s today.

He dips into a pharmacy and stocks up on hair dye, condoms and lube, fretting over Yoongi’s preferences for longer than he’d like to admit. 

The day is consistently bleak until their performance. A sweaty, loud crowd is a reliable cure for a bad mood, even if it’s temporary. It’s hard to think about much on stage when all of your senses are being assaulted in the best way. A shower straight after the set would give the option to avoid Gloss’ set entirely, but there’s a hotel awaiting, so there’s no need. 

Yoongi, the cruel, heartless little demon of a man, wears a collar on stage.

Namjoon has to fuck him.

That sight is enough to make him convince the band to leave early. To make the most of their hotel, of course.

The shower pressure is violent and Taehyung is kind enough to go to Jimin’s room for the night, so Namjoon is free to be conflicted in peace. He sits on his bed in a towel and debates whether showing up to Yoongi’s room would be rude. On one hand, they had explicitly planned to fuck tonight, and they’ve been waiting for it for days. On the other, Yoongi kicked Namjoon out of bed so he could cuddle his cute friend. Who he seems to kiss and possibly fuck on occasion.

A knock at the door puts an end to the predicament. Namjoon scurries to put some clothes on, calling out that he’s getting dressed, and the responding it’s me makes him halt.

“Hyung?” Namjoon opens the door, only wearing a towel with underwear pulled on beneath it because he was so shocked to hear that voice.

“Sorry, can I use your shower? I’m sharing with Jungkook and he’s taking ages.” Yoongi asks. It’s hard to look into his eyes, Namjoon stares at his collar instead. It has a ring for a leash and sweat still clings on the hollow of his throat. “If you’re busy, that’s fine. No pressure.”

Namjoon steps aside, ushering him in and catching sight of eyes lingering on his bare chest. The contrast between Yoongi’s stage outfit and Namjoon’s lack of clothing is borderline comedic. He feels exposed and vulnerable but Yoongi is clutching at his armful of clean clothes like he feels the same way, laid bare. There’s no need for them to act like this, after all that they’ve done.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Out of all of the things he wants to praise Yoongi for, Namjoon goes for the least romantic. The safe route. “I like the collar.”

“It’s a choker.”

“Don’t talk about choking.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out a bit too serious. Namjoon runs a finger over his neck, longing to kiss it but settling for this. He can’t resist hooking a finger into the metal ring.

“You’re so fucking weird.” Yoongi complains. His expression is unamused but the blush on his cheeks never fails to betray him. 

“Yet you came all the way here to see me.” Namjoon pouts and tugs at the ring. It’s gentle, barely anything, but Yoongi’s gulp is audible.

“I came here for your dick.”

Namjoon laughs at Yoongi’s bluntness. He’s happy to be used, more than willing to offer anything that Yoongi desires. “I thought you came for the shower?”

“Matthew isn’t this annoying.” Yoongi says with clear intent to rile Namjoon up. 

It works. 

“So why are you here?” Namjoon pushes him back against the door with one hand, the other still hooked in his collar. He speaks far more calmly than he feels. “Is he busy?”

“No.” Yoongi’s voice is steady along with his gaze. 

“No?” Namjoon practically growls it into his mouth and then they’re kissing, dirty and open-mouthed, the opposite of everything he intended. 

If filth is all that they have then he might as well make the most of it. 

It’s nice to pin Yoongi against a wall without looming spider webs. There’s no impending bus call, no risk of strangers entering, no friends on their way to interrupt. Taehyung is gone for the night and Yoongi is wanted by so many people, but he’s choosing to be right here, offering himself up. Namjoon has been waiting for years .

“I need to shower.” Yoongi pants. Namjoon doesn’t want to stop, he wants the collar to stay on and the eyeliner to get all messed up; physical evidence of what they’re about to do.**

“You’re pretty when you’re sweaty.”

“You get horny over the weirdest shit.”

“Being mean isn’t gonna lessen that.” Namjoon tries to move, but Yoongi firmly clings on despite just asking to stop. “Go on.”

There’s nothing like sitting in silence with a boner to bring one’s mind to unwanted places. He thinks about Yoongi in the shower before, shameless enough to walk right into his stall despite being in public. Namjoon ends up face down on the bed, trying his best not to rut against the sheets like a dog. His thoughts slosh around in his head, a horny mush that has him zoned out enough to be surprised when Yoongi pokes at his ribs.

Rolling over, he is faced with the increasingly familiar sight of a wet, pyjama clad Yoongi in those damn shorts.

“You got dressed?” Namjoon pouts. 

“I’m not gonna act out your wet dreams for you.” Yoongi immediately contradicts his statement by climbing right into Namjoon’s lap. He’s flushed from the shower and confident enough to take what he wants, far beyond any feeble fantasy that anyone could possibly conjure up.

It’s a similar position to when they were at the last hotel, when they kissed for the first time, before they were friends of any sort. 

Are they even friends now?

Yoongi is wearing the same shorts, Namjoon lacks the same hesitation. This time, Namjoon isn’t imposing on him. They’re together by choice. That’s enough. Enough to fake the confidence to sit up and cup Yoongi’s jaw.

Yoongi looks calm, unhurried, happy to let Namjoon do as he pleases.

“Can I kiss you again, hyung?”

It’s a nice change when they manage to kiss softly, keeping their hands gentle and hesitant. Tenderness is a rare occurrence for them. They begin like that, hands above the belt, first-date-sweet. Namjoon holds his waist and kisses him as if they’re something more. 

More than enemies who can’t resist falling into temptation, more than friends who are slowly revealing themselves to one another, more than whatever their confusing reality happens to be.

Yoongi responds so well that Namjoon starts to wonder if there was ever really a need for them to talk about this. 

The answer is yes. Their next kiss is sloppy enough to make Namjoon’s masochistic brain vividly remember the way that Yoongi had kissed Jungkook right in front of him. He’s horny and infatuated enough to have lowered inhibitions. Against all odds and logic, Namjoon just bites the bullet. Disemboweling himself so he can be seen in the messiest way.

“What’s with you and Jungkook?” Namjoon asks, stupid and inappropriate and so far from what he intended. Coherence around Yoongi will surely be an option one day, just not yet.

If they can joke about Matthew, maybe this isn’t too weird. Unless what he has with Jungkook is something more.

“What?” Yoongi sounds caught off guard, but Namjoon doesn’t want to look. He keeps up the kisses to keep them both distracted, hardly allowing a chance to speak in between. 

“At the club, and last night.” The hint from Jimin isn’t brought up, because Namjoon doesn’t want to seem any more obsessed than he already is. 

“Uh. Why?” Instead of suspicion, Yoongi sounds kind of teasing. Too busy failing to think of a reasonable explanation, Namjoon doesn’t dissect that, but they’ve stopped kissing, which is a problem. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous .”

“What? No.”

Yoongi grins, a bit crazed, leaning back on his hands, held up by Namjoon’s thighs. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve messed around a few times.” Namjoon is not smiling. “But we’re not really compatible in bed, I guess.”

“Oh?” Is all that Namjoon manages to respond with. This is not what he was expecting, but he asked for it, it’s his own fault.

“It was fun, he’s adorable and obviously hot as fuck,” ouch . Yoongi kisses him again, the pain is lessened. “But it couldn’t last.”

He shouldn’t want the gory details, but it’s dangerously intriguing. “Why not?”

Yoongi huffs like Namjoon is an idiot, which he is. They both know it. “I’m pretty sure he’d be better off with you.”

Namjoon is imagining them. Yoongi is in his lap and he’s thinking about what he’d look like with another man. All of the possible explanations for Yoongi’s words are unthinkable, so his mind is a forbidden mess. He doesn’t notice how much his jaw is clenched until Yoongi pokes it. 

“Don’t look at me like that. We’re just friends, but if you’re rude to him, I’ll hurt you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Yoongi assesses him for a moment. Namjoon expects him to get up and leave, but instead he leans back in to nip at the sensitive skin behind his ear. It might as well be a knife to his throat. “Are you imagining it?” Yoongi asks, entertaining himself with someone else’s distress.

This feels like bait. Namjoon rolls his eyes and tries his best to stay calm. “Why are you saying it like that would be a good thing?”

“It’s hot. If it gets you off, I can tell you all about it.”

“What the fuck.” Namjoon’s dick never fails to betray him. He’s disastrously turned on by this and well aware that it’s wrong . Jealousy should be eating away at him but instead it’s just scorching arousal.

“You’re cute when you’re mad, I should’ve argued with you all the times I wanted to.” Yoongi makes Namjoon feel stupid all the time but this is different, it makes his brain a bit hazy and he welcomes it. 

“Why didn’t you?”

“I know you like me mean, you came in your pants before, remember?” Yoongi’s voice is condescending. He never stops, always trying his best to get Namjoon to fight back. 

Maybe it’s time to give him what he wants.

The shock on Yoongi’s face when he gets shoved onto his back and crowded against the bed is enough to confirm that it was a good decision. 

“If you want me to come inside you instead, you just need to ask.” Namjoon surprises himself with the ability to deliver such a line without stuttering. 

Yoongi balks. Face scandalised while his hips jerk up against Namjoon’s stomach. He’s hard. “Think you can last that long?”

Namjoon doesn’t entertain the question, instead pushing Yoongi’s shirt up to show off the soft skin that has been plaguing his mind for weeks. He wants to bite every inch of it, leave bruises and teeth marks for Jungkook or Matthew or anyone else who dares to touch him. This thought makes him pause. 

Yoongi’s body is always unscathed. There are never traces of other people’s rough treatment, despite it being clear that it’s what he enjoys, what he seeks out. Something possessive and ugly starts to creep up from the depths of Namjoon’s shame. He gets started on roughly sucking at the delicate skin beneath him, happy to lie to himself in the solitude of his dark thoughts: mine, mine, mine .

In control. Something he so rarely has.

“Are you trying to— ah ,” Yoongi pants, toeing the line between amused and overwhelmed. “Fucking eat me?”

“I want to.” Namjoon talks with his mouth full, claiming his neck, collarbones, chest. Yoongi tries to squeeze his legs together, unrelenting knees keep them firmly apart. 

“You can do that when you’re fucking me, hurry up.” Yoongi complains, briefly clawing at Namjoon’s stupid shaved head, forgetting that there’s nothing to pull, before smacking his bare back. “C’mon.”

Namjoon obliges, as usual. He takes his time undressing Yoongi, savouring every moment. The pause to admire the sight of him hard in his underwear is interrupted by Yoongi getting impatient, quickly getting rid of the offending towel until they’re both in the same state of not-quite nudity. 

Every time they do this, it’s either rushed and upright, or Namjoon who ends up pinned down. The difference in position makes them both a little crazed. It’s surprising, how nicely Yoongi reacts to being at someone else’s mercy. There’s a scowl on his face, but he pushes up into any touch, baring his neck and arching his back. Namjoon wouldn’t dare to say it out loud, but the behaviour reminds him of a temperamental cat. 

“Good to know that you’re still into it when we’re not in public.” Namjoon teases and gets his dick grabbed in rebuttal.

“And you’re still insufferable.”

Yoongi has clear tells; his insults are often given with disdain, Namjoon has been on the receiving end of his fair share. But then there’s this. The way he pulls Namjoon closer with every biting word, whispering complaints into his mouth between kisses. He calls Namjoon out for being a pervert when he gets his underwear pulled off, and Namjoon just about thanks him for it. 

“Your dick is really cute.” Namjoon says without really thinking. He’s too turned on to filter his thoughts, and the need to worship Yoongi’s body comes before any embarrassment he may feel. It’s the truth. The sight of just how hard he is makes Namjoon swell with a questionable amount of pride; I did that, he wants me.

“What the fuck.” Yoongi’s voice lacks the fondness from before, he tries to draw his legs up but Namjoon keeps them held down.

“That’s a good thing!” He tries to redeem himself, rubbing at the thighs beneath his hands soothingly. “It suits you.”

“Did you just—” Yoongi’s breath hitches when the touches get higher, closer to where they both want it. “Call me cute via my dick?”

“You’re pretty all over, it’s unfair.” Namjoon can’t stop babbling. The further up his hands get, the less coherent he is. 

“Yeah, well, you’re…” The insult on the tip of his tongue is left unsaid. 

It’s Namjoon’s doing - a gentle touch to the pretty cock in question, hesitantly getting acquainted and basking in the reaction. Yoongi squirms at the touch. All worked up and sensitive with nothing to do but squeeze Namjoon’s shoulders and wait for more. 

“I’m what?” Namjoon asks, riling him up. “I’d love to hear what you think of me right now.”

“I think you’re an asshole.”

“Your standards must be pretty low, then.” The insults just spur him on, Namjoon could keep this up forever, but as his fingers brush down, past Yoongi’s balls, he remembers that he’s out of his depth. He did an excessive amount of research for this, not wanting to go into it clueless, but the uncertainty is still present. “I’ve never been with a guy, uh. Sorry.”

It’s embarrassing, putting an end to their banter. Yoongi suddenly looks a lot more alert and a bit more awkward. “Don’t apologise, I’ll help.” The reassuring kiss is not what Namjoon expected, but he welcomes it; a reassuring touch to calm his nerves. “Please tell me you have lube?”

“Yes,” Namjoon scrambles to his suitcase, thankful that he still has his underwear on to protect some dignity as he bends over. 

Walking back to the bed is a venture in itself. It becomes a lot more real - the sight of Yoongi, sprawled out and daring, waiting to be fucked. Waiting for Namjoon , who settles himself between his spread legs and clutches onto the lube like a lifeline.

“Cherry flavour?” Yoongi asks with kiss-bruised doll lips.

“I like the smell, leave me alone.” Yoongi smiles, showing a rare look of fondness, and reaches to take the bottle. Namjoon fumbles. “Can I—do you not want me to do it?”

“It’ll be faster if I do.” Yoongi takes in Namjoon’s frown and relents. “You really want to?”

“Yes, please.” Namjoon says, and Yoongi relaxes back down onto the bed, taking his hand and squirting some onto it. The smell is strong, sickly-sweet, the opposite of the man beneath him. 

It doesn’t feel real. Yoongi lifts his legs up, giving an obscene view of where he guides Namjoon’s hand down to his hole. They both gasp at the first touch. Artificial wetness smears over it, soft beneath the tentative touch. Namjoon’s mouth waters. Another addition to the long list of parts of Yoongi he wants to taste.

“Will you tell me what feels good?” Namjoon is startled by the rasp of his own voice. It sounds like he just woke up, which might as well be the case, based on how dreamlike it all feels.

“I wouldn’t fake anything for you, don’t worry.” The words are more reassuring than they should be. Namjoon would much rather be told that he’s disappointing someone than have them put up with him. 

It’s good to hear the teasing. Something familiar in this overwhelming experience. The look on Yoongi’s face as a finger slowly pushes in, however, is not something that Namjoon has seen before. There’s a harsh breath, the raising of his chest, and then he thaws.

This has been a topic of Namjoon’s fantasies countless times - taking Yoongi apart with bare hands. The reality is not what he had imagined, it’s better. It’s real . The quietness of Yoongi amplifies his physical reactions: clenched hands, open mouth, fluttering eyelids. His thighs spread in an attempt to lure Namjoon deeper, soft and warm and tight inside, cock starting to leak steadily onto his stomach already. It’s a devastating combination. 

Namjoon is fully prepared to drop his career and dedicate his life to nothing but fingering Min Yoongi, band be damned. 

The first time Yoongi moans, it’s a soft thing. Restricted and accidental but enough to make Namjoon stop the slow fingering. “It doesn’t hurt?” Namjoon asks, exposing his worry.

Yoongi grunts and throws an arm over his flushed face, pushing his hips into the touch. “Keep going, fuck.” The encouragement does something to Namjoon. Feeds his urge to do well, to please, a constant need to be of use to Yoongi.

“You want more?” Namjoon’s finger is as deep as it can go, curling in an attempt to replicate all that he read online.

“I’m not a virgin, you don’t need to be careful.”

There’s an urge to take it slow, draw things out as long as possible. It should be out of carefulness, but Namjoon is also reluctant to let it end. It’ll be over too soon no matter what. He wants this to last forever - the sweet smell of cherry, soft sounds of pleasure from the pretty boy beneath him. 

All of that, but Namjoon will always indulge in whatever Yoongi requests. 

The second finger makes Yoongi pull him back down for a messy kiss. The softness fades. Yoongi is impatient, and he starts to rut up enough to leave smears of precum on Namjoon’s stomach. The constant possibility of premature ejaculation makes Namjoon pull back again, focusing on the task at hand. 

Namjoon’s first encounter with a prostate is life changing, at the very least. One minute, Yoongi is squirmy and frustrated, never satisfied with the pace. Then there’s a whine, and the thump of a clenched fist against the bed. 

“Is that—?” Namjoon gasps, petting his fingers against his new favourite thing.

“Oh my god, yes , shit.” Yoongi’s voice is a lot more desperate than before.

The third finger feels excessive, but the sight of his stretched rim, all pink and open, makes Namjoon feel carnal. He is entirely undeserving of witnessing such a thing, feeling it, fucking him. He doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it more than anything.

Namjoon is probably wheezing, he’s that turned on, and incredibly unprepared to be touched. Yoongi’s hand trails over his chest, carving its way down and leaving devastation in its wake. As soon as it reaches his underwear, gripping with intent, it gets pinned back against the bed. His pathetic lack of control masked by dominance works well enough, at least Namjoon doesn’t come in his pants again.

“Are you gonna put this thing to use?” Namjoon’s shudder at the cruelty is obvious, and Yoongi snorts as usual. “You’re really into that, fucking hell.”

“I’m not, you’re just hot. Be nice to me and I’ll probably come on the spot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Done with waiting, Yoongi finds the condom amongst the sheets and opens the packet without any discussion. 

Namjoon removes his underwear without being asked. He watches with wide eyes as Yoongi rolls it onto his cock with experienced hands. This must be the hardest he has ever been in his life. It’s a new type of arousal, all consuming.

Once he resettles, legs wrapped around Namjoon’s waist to draw him in closer, Yoongi pauses. “You sure you want this?”

Like an overeager puppy, always scrambling to please, Namjoon nods enthusiastically. If he opens his mouth he’ll start begging. With a deep breath he slides his fingers out of Yoongi, ready to replace them with what they both want. His mouth hangs open at the sight of the tip of his cock nudging at where Yoongi is warm and wet.

“Jesus, fuck.” Namjoon whines, pushing in as slow as can be, losing his mind in the process. It’s excruciating from the get-go. His whole body is tingling. “Hyung, you’re too tight.”

“You’re too big, ’s dumb.” Yoongi says, voice strangled. Namjoon worries that he really means it, he’s ready to pull out before they’ve started. “I can take it, c’mon.”

A champ as always, of course he can take it. It’s different, the physical sensation. Tight as fuck, almost unnaturally so, straight up obscene. The heat is constricting. It feels like Namjoon is getting choked, a firm grip on his lungs, heart, and dick. 

They both groan in tandem as he bottoms out. Namjoon is going to start rambling profanities again, so he kisses Yoongi to shut himself up. The wet licks into his mouth are as cute as they are filthy, tongue piercing never failing to be hot as fuck.

“Does it feel good?” Surely he’s too deep. It must be too much, but Yoongi takes it so well. At least the nails digging into his shoulders ensure that Namjoon feels some pain, too.

“It feels like I’m getting— nh ” The slightest shift of Namjoon’s hips makes Yoongi stutter. “Split in half.”

“You’re taking it so well.” Namjoon thumbs at the head of Yoongi’s dick (still rock hard, a relief) until his hand is pushed away. 

It’s a strange thing to be proud of, but he starts to kick his hips more, and Yoongi just continues to blossom beneath his hands beautifully. Made for it, made for him. His dark eyes are squeezed shut, messy hair fanning out over the pillow, skin covered in bite marks and tattoos. Evidence of his pain, as pretty as can be. Namjoon squeezes his waist and thinks that they’d both prefer the grip to be on his pale throat.

After making it this far, Namjoon is sure that he can’t be surprised at this point, he can handle anything. He was wrong. 

Yoongi fucking moans. Properly. The loveliest sound Namjoon has ever heard. It’s a surprise to both of them, but he keeps going. “Feels good.”

Encouragement during sex is the norm. Namjoon has had his dick praised by most of the people who have encountered it. Yoongi’s words were so casual. Mundane, even. Yet Namjoon has to fully halt. He stops the steady movement of his hips, holds onto Yoongi’s hips for dear life, and stares in amazement.

“You can’t say that.” Namjoon complains, mind all over the place. The gratification of pleasing Yoongi does something to him. He isn’t sure if he should be begging for praise or taking control and earning it. 

Yoongi looks confused. He tries to pull Namjoon in, weakly attempting to manoeuvre him to thrust again. “Oh god, you weren’t joking about the praise thing.” 

“Everything you say turns me on.” Namjoon admits. Just to shut them both up, he starts to move again, vowing to keep control of himself. 

“That’s humiliating.” Namjoon nods in agreement and thrusts hard enough to make Yoongi cry out. Having the option to make him moan every time he’s mean might just be too much power, but it’s thrilling. “‘m surprised I can’t see you.” Yoongi slurs out. 

It doesn’t make sense until he rubs a hand over his stomach, right about where Namjoon’s cock would reach.

Namjoon just about sobs. He moves Yoongi’s hand, just to take its place. It’s a phantom feeling, but the thought is still enough to have him reeling. Taking it slow is a necessity, he doesn’t want to hurt his hyung, but the need to pin him down and fuck as hard as they both want is unrelenting. 

Maybe they’ll do it again. Yoongi might just be generous enough to let Namjoon have his way with him more than once, what an honour that would be.

“Pretty sure I can feel you in my throat.” Yoongi whines like it’s an inconvenience, like he isn’t constantly wanting it more. It’s so absurd that they both laugh.

“I’ll fuck that next time, if you want.” Namjoon doesn’t even know what he’s saying, too messed up from pleasure, from the pain of Yoongi’s teeth against his neck and the tightness all around him. 

He keeps pulling back to look down at where his dick is sliding into Yoongi’s hole and it’s impossible to avoid thinking about their size difference in the most perverse way. Yoongi is an almost average sized man, he has big hands and hairy knuckles, a deep voice and sturdy shoulders. It’s just that beneath Namjoon, he looks breakable. Blushy cheeks and pierced nipples, borderline submissive with the way he keeps spreading himself for more, pliable for rough hands. 

Yoongi is otherworldly on stage, threatening in conversation, adorable when stuffed with cock.

There is so much to admire, yet Namjoon can’t stop looking at Yoongi’s dick. It jerks against his soft stomach, steadily leaking, enough to make a mess. 

“I didn’t even know that you could get this wet.” He says it in awe, running a thumb through it and bringing it up to his mouth. 

Yoongi scrunches his nose in disgust. “You’re assaulting my prostate, fuck off.”

“It’s hot, hyung. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to give whatever insult awaits, and Namjoon lifts his bony hips up onto his lap and starts to fuck him properly. Yoongi whimpers, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s neck and clinging on for dear life. It’s too hard, a bit crazed, and they’re both too into it to say anything stupid, for once. 

The more brutal it gets, the more Yoongi lets himself go. Namjoon is so shocked that he’s almost concerned. It’s so out of character, a sign of trust being shown. 

The first time Yoongi says please, Namjoon is convinced that he’s hallucinating. Maybe he got eaten by an alligator and this is heaven. The neediness fucks him up, makes him lose control. Yoongi tries to reach down between his legs and ends up with his hands pinned back down to the bed.

“I can’t,” Yoongi pants, frustrated at being restrained. It’s mean, but Namjoon wants to see how long he can last without being touched. 

“Be patient, hyung.” Namjoon tuts, rutting into him hard enough that the bed slams against the wall. Yoongi cries out in approval, the room next door might even hear them. It’s a wonderful thought.

“Hah—harder.” Yoongi pleads. 

The plan was to draw it out, to slowly take Yoongi apart in different positions until he couldn’t take it. In reality, Namjoon is hurtling towards an orgasm. At least they’re both in the same boat this time; Yoongi is squirming and whining for more, he’ll get what he asks for. He’ll feel it tomorrow, that’s for sure, but Namjoon still sucks more marks into his skin for overkill. 

Namjoon wants to fill him with come in the most deranged way possible. He wants to see it leak out, to finger it back inside. Fuck condoms. The build up is feral, too much. Yoongi’s moans get low and raspy, almost growls, then the angle changes and he lets out a squeak. 

He should probably jerk the poor man off, stop being selfish and let him finish, but the grip on his hands keeps him in place. It’s unexpected when Yoongi clenches down and starts to spasm, nails digging into flesh deep enough for wounds, so much more frantic than the last time they did this. With a jolt, Yoongi comes all over his stomach, strained and desperate.

The sounds are so cute, Namjoon wants to taste them. They kiss frantically, Yoongi doesn’t keep quiet, Namjoon doesn’t want him to. He reluctantly slows down his thrusts, like the polite man he is, but Yoongi shakes his head, telling him to keep going. Permission to be selfish. 

He takes and takes and takes, kissing so sloppy that he might as well be spitting into Yoongi’s mouth. That’s a thought for later. 

Everything is tight, Yoongi’s asshole and Namjoon’s guts. His breath stutters, an embarrassing choking sound, and the tautness snaps. He’s coming, deep inside of Yoongi, wanting to throw a tantrum over the condom.

Once he releases his grip on Yoongi’s hands, he gets his head gently petted while he humps his way into overstimulation, not ready to let go of the feeling. They come down slowly, breathless and satiated. 

It might be the first time their unrelenting tension has been dimmed. It’s definitely the first time they’ve done something so close to cuddling . Each brush of Yoongi’s big hand over Namjoon’s back makes him shiver and he struggles to hold his weight up.

“I did not expect that.” Yoongi chuckles, planting a warm kiss on Namjoon’s sweaty neck, who grunts in confusion. “You, being okay in bed.”

Namjoon finally stops torturing himself and pulls out, keeping a hold of the condom and pausing to gape at Yoongi’s wet rim. He’ll be hard forever if he doesn’t stop. “You fucked me and expected it to be bad?”

“I wanted to get it out of my system.” 

It’s good that Namjoon was shuffling away to find the bathroom bin, so that the impact of that sentence isn’t seen. Out of his system. Over with. A one time thing.

At least he got to experience it. 

Namjoon washes his hands with an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. He focuses on getting his used towel to clean up Yoongi a bit, vowing to shower once he inevitably leaves. The mirror is avoided, he’ll reward himself with the sight of hickeys later. 

Lolling on the bed, Yoongi is as sweaty as he gets on stage. He blinks all slow and languid, pretty and flushed, a bit out of breath. He’s still fully naked and on show, no rush to hide himself, but there’s still a clear look of shyness on his face. Back to avoiding eye contact.

“Be less gentle next time, though.”

Oh. It’s so quiet, casual, yet filled with hope. Namjoon is smiling too much for someone mopping up a puddle of come. “Gentle? I’m pretty sure we dented the wall.”

“Surely you don’t think I like things soft.”

“I don’t know, hyung. You’re just so cute.” It’s daring, Namjoon can’t even believe what he’s saying. 

“Careful.” Yoongi glares, grabbing the back of Namjoon’s neck to pull him closer. He’s a lot less intimidating when his nose is all pink from exertion. “Fucking me doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“I’m terrified.” Namjoon keeps pushing it, he can’t help it. “Can you even walk right now?”

“I hate you and your dick.” Yoongi says it like it’s a compliment and Namjoon takes it as such.

The kisses last until they’re half asleep. They share a bottle of water and get under the sheets because neither of them take the first step to get dressed. The exhaustion from performing an intense show and then fucking someone into oblivion takes its toll on both of them, but it’s welcomed. It means that they’re too tired to worry about anything else.

Yoongi lies on his back with a blissed out expression on his face and Namjoon waits for the bubble to pop. If he gets all sappy, Yoongi will surely be put off, so he settles for having their legs a bit tangled, resting a hand on Yoongi’s thigh, trying his best to hold on before the inevitable end. 

The swamp of his thoughts drags him down, below the surface of this calm moment. The smallest snore pulls him back up. Yoongi has accidentally dozed off and Namjoon won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He watches, as quiet as can be, as someone who always seems on guard finally rests. After all that they just did, this somehow feels just as special. 

Yoongi rolls onto his side, facing Namjoon, and curls up in a ball with his hands awkwardly sandwiched between his thighs. It’s horrifically cute. The urge to coo is excruciating. Namjoon lets himself stare for a while. Up until this moment, every time he looked at Yoongi there was a fear of creeping him out, so he never indulged for long. The only time he could take it all in is when Gloss were on stage, which is a whole different ordeal. 

Yoongi has long eyelashes and a cute little nose. He pouts in his sleep and furrows his eyebrows on occasion, lifting an arm to gently scratch at his neck. Pale skin is littered with bruises that make heat curl in Namjoon’s gut. For once, it’s not the frustrating type.

Tiredness is a cruel thing. The heaviness of Namjoon’s bones weighs down his eyelids, and he’s asleep before he can ingrain every single inch of Yoongi’s skin into his brain. 

The chance is gone by the time he wakes up. 

Chapter Text

Optimism doesn’t come easily to Namjoon. Rather than hoping for the best, he works hard to get what he wants and struggles to accept failure without a solution. This was a good approach to university and starting a band. Relationships, however, are a different story. 

Waking up at dawn to an aching body and an empty bed is exactly what he had expected. It feels like a defeat that he walked right into by choice, there’s nothing he can do about it. He winces at the light fighting its way through the curtains and basks in the dirty sheets, a reminder of Yoongi’s presence. 

All that they did the night before lingers under his skin. All he can think about is Yoongi’s reactions to every touch. All he can do is wish he had stayed. 

Taehyung’s passion for shitty hotel breakfast is what finally forces him out of bed a few hours later. The look on his face when Namjoon sits up is comical enough to push aside his dramatic misery. 

“Did you two fight to the literal death?” Taehyung gasps, almost climbing onto the bed to take a closer look, then glancing at the sheets like a crime scene. “I thought you were being dramatic about him still hating you.”

“Is it that bad?” Namjoon isn’t even embarrassed. He wants everyone to look at him and know he was lucky enough to have such a perfect creature’s teeth sinking into his skin. (The horrified glares of innocent parents, however, might be a bit less satisfying.)

Taehyung doesn’t even shield his eyes when Namjoon gets up to look in the mirror. Living in a cramped bus does that to a friendship, far too much familiarity. Still, Namjoon wants to keep this moment to himself. He’s greedy for all things Yoongi. There’s a comment on claw marks adorning his back as he closes the bathroom door behind him, it makes him grin.
It really is bad. For once in his life, Taehyung did not exaggerate. It’s a blessing that Namjoon doesn’t have a respectable job, because he looks like a fucking mess. His lips are chapped from kissing for too long, ribbons of nail marks decorate his shoulders, trailing down his back, but the main attraction is his neck. Yoongi did not hold back.

Some of the hickeys are such a deep purple that they make him wince, trailing right down to his collarbones, littering his skin in the most feral way. It makes his mind foggy with affection, gratitude, possessiveness. Dark bruises to sate his dark mind. He had the best orgasm of his life last night, fucked until his thighs ached, and yet he’s half hard just from the shadow it all left behind. 

The shower helps. It would be miserable to scrub away the filth, as it was Yoongi’s doing, but the marks covering his skin make it bearable. They will remain. He pretends that they don’t have a time limit, nor do the matching ones on Yoongi, or Yoongi’s interest in him. 

There was no naive belief that sex would solve anything. He didn’t think that railing Yoongi would result in romance, but he wasn’t prepared for an empty bed without any warning. 

Taehyung is kind enough to leave enough time for Namjoon to wake up before asking for details, launching into an obscure story that keeps him distracted while they pack up their bags. The day will be spent driving to the next city, Namjoon dreads it. 

He zones out to the yells of American children in the buffet. The clear suffering on his face isn’t what makes his emotional state known to the band, it’s Hoseok hand-feeding him a piece of toast covered in eggs, bacon and strawberry jam without a single complaint.

“Did you have an encounter with an alligator last night, Namjoon?” Seokjin asks like a concerned parent. Namjoon laughs awkwardly instead of gloating and the others frown. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“He left when I fell asleep.” It stings to say it out loud. 

Hoseok’s way of providing comfort is through chest rubbing. Namjoon doesn’t really understand it, but he appreciates the gesture anyway. “Did you ask him to stay?”

“No, because he didn’t want to.” Namjoon sounds as pathetic as he feels. He should be elated. He fucked Yoongi, it was incredible, nothing short of life changing, but Namjoon is insatiable. Every time Yoongi gives him something - a glance, an insult, a kiss - he just wants more. Being undeserving and well aware of it doesn’t stop this. 

It wasn’t a one time thing. Yoongi said next time. They’ll do it again. Namjoon will become well acquainted with Yoongi’s body and waking up alone.

They all know that Namjoon is being his angst filled self, but it only lasts so long until Hoseok dares to say what they’re all thinking. “Was it good?”

Namjoon sighs, dropping his forehead onto the table. “So fucking good.”

That perks them up. Back to the lewd comments and hoots of pride that continue until the bus makes its way back to another highway, leaving behind another defiled hotel room. Being driven across a country for hours every day provides a lot of spare time. Namjoon’s main way to pass this time is writing lyrics. The problem is that over the past month these lyrics have taken a dark turn. His focus has gone from criticism of the world to something a lot more humiliating. All roads lead to Yoongi.

Yoongi would hate every single line that he inspires. They’re dramatic and sappy, all about tearing out guts and offering them on a platter, being eaten away by all consuming lust, stomach churning romance. Weirdly, the lyrics are more fitting to a song by Gloss. The words of Yoongi. 

There is an attempt to be logical. Namjoon is well aware that his mind is a cruel thing; he’ll convince himself that he’s done something wrong no matter what, it’s just who he is, built for pain. He knows it, and yet he spends his days watching barren highways pass and wondering what he did wrong.

There’s the obvious stuff. The things that he has apologised for, and would never do again. Yoongi knows that Namjoon respects him and regrets his teenage mistakes, they’re in the past. 

He picks away at himself. 

It’s a scab that should be left alone. Yoongi hangs out with him, shares his books, gives him kisses. The luxury of intimate moments is not something that Namjoon deserves, and yet he gets them, and still finds something to be unsatisfied with. 

Yoongi is entirely out of his league. Namjoon has known this since he was a seventeen year old nerd in an unfitting crowd, zeroed in on the hands of an impressive guitarist. He was in awe of this boy from the very first moment. It just got worse with every sight of him, every new piece of information to tuck away, every sweat inducing conversation. He knew it when he thought he was straight, when he became well aware of his crush, to when he was lucky enough to be fucking him. 

The lyrics that Yoongi writes stick in your mind, his guitar solos are better than anyone else on the tour and his stage presence is haunting. He would stand out anywhere, wears makeup that turns heads while keeping his own down, puts up with people talking shit about him and responds with a confident grin. He reads fucked up books, folds over the corners and underlines words, careless in every way that Namjoon wishes he could be. 

Yoongi is beyond comprehension. Namjoon is… Namjoon. 

Booksmart in a boring way, educated with a useless degree, always on the brink of being pretentious if he talks for too long. The bassist of a niche, edgy band who dresses like a dad and shouts because he can’t sing. He didn’t come to terms with his sexuality until his twenties despite going to pride every year and writing essays about LGBT issues whenever the opportunity arose. The eldest son and betrayer of a loving family, choosing to dedicate his life to objectively bad music rather than taking advantage of his inherent privileges. 

Overall, Namjoon is a disaster of an adult. He can’t even cook, doesn’t know how to drive, breaks all of his thick glasses. He has dated his fair share of people, had a lot of sex, makes friends easily, and still somehow can’t hold a conversation with his crush without stuttering. 

Yoongi is the prettiest person he has ever seen, no doubt. This fatal combination of sharp eyes, cute nose, doll lips. It’s impossible to forget. Even his eye bags look good. Namjoon was a below average teenager who never really let go of the fact. People seem to find him attractive now, but he plays bass in a semi-successful band, and that might just be it, all he has. A tall guy with tattoos and piercings, a night to tell your friends about, nothing more.

That’s just it.

If Yoongi wants someone to treat him nicely, he has cute little (large) Jungkook at his heels, even Matthew is right there with his innocent kindness. Hell, he could have them both if he wanted. The inconvenient feelings that Namjoon holds for Yoongi are no secret. Everyone knows it, and they pity him, because he’s that out of his depth. It’s a miracle that Yoongi let all that they have done even happen. Namjoon will take what he’s given and cherish it. The need for more will remain, but he can deal with it. He lasted this long without even getting to be Yoongi’s friend.

He set himself up for heartbreak. 

Grey parking lots are the rooting spot for Namjoon’s unjustified mourning. A few of them pass, he doesn’t even know what venues, cities, states they’re in at this point, which represents his mental state. Days pass. It’s just a coincidence that he doesn’t see Yoongi. Yes, he conveniently showers during Gloss’ sets and settles in bed before he could possibly need to, but tour life is hard. Namjoon is tired. 

Spending time with Yoongi is a blessing that he has gotten used to over the past month, and he misses it immediately. He wants to do it, but can’t find the courage to seek it out. Namjoon swears that he just doesn’t want to inconvenience him. He’s a bit fragile right now. It’s his own doing, but he allows himself to be hurt. Just for now. He’ll get over it soon. 

This new routine features a lot of curling up on surfaces throughout the bus, usually with bandmates taking turns to pat his head. Taehyung crawls into the big bed and latches himself onto Namjoon and Seokjin hands him his beloved plushie that usually stays far away from anyone else’s grubby hands. Hoseok offers to shave his head and do the trouble of re-bleaching it because the roots are terrible, but Namjoon remembers Yoongi’s complaints about being unable to pull his stupid hair, so he announces that he’s growing it out again.

It’s sunny wherever they’re parked but Namjoon misses the rain of New Orleans. The solution to sadness is immersing himself in trees, an overdose on anything verdant. There’s a park down the street from the venue where he relocates for his daily yearning schedule (writing about Yoongi, thinking about Yoongi, reading Yoongi’s book, the usual). 

The cherry blossoms are gone by now and it’s hard to avoid making some cheesy metaphor about delicate beauty and commitment issues. A bench nestled between rhododendron bushes calls to him, it’s glistening with sap and he devotes himself to sticky shorts for the tranquil surroundings. Reading Yoongi’s book always leads back to scribbling embarrassing little odes to porcelain skin and inky hair, which is exactly what he spends his afternoon doing. At least he’s somewhere outdoors to do it rather than the messy bus. That’s something. 

A growingly familiar voice makes Namjoon slam the notebook shut, caught in the scene, scrambling to hide evidence. He’s too caught off guard to give a greeting while the chance is there.

“Taehyung told me you were here.” Yoongi explains, but it doesn’t make this any less confusing. His voice tinged with something sour. He sits on the sticky bench and fiddles with the awry threads of his ripped jeans. Their thighs don’t touch. “I don’t give a shit if you were just experimenting , or whatever. But—”

Namjoon draws in a sharp breath, stung by the mere suggestion of such a thing. “If I was what? ”

“You’ve been avoiding me, and it’s childish. Act your age.” Yoongi shakes his head as he speaks, glaring at his poor jeans, the denim is suffering from his irritation. “Did you find what you were looking for, at least?”

Yoongi’s thumb has dried blood on it from a cruelly bitten nail. It kind of hurts to look at, but an actual wound is far less gruesome than the look of betrayal on Yoongi’s face.

Messing up with Yoongi is Namjoon’s profession, he has it down to a T. This time feels a lot worse. Yoongi sought him out. That changes things. He cares enough to march all the way down the street and grace Namjoon with his presence. This requires some form of emotion, even if it’s just disdain. 

This time, the mean facade might just be there to cover something a bit more raw. Something hurt. 

Namjoon gently touches his hand, trying to get his attention. He’s clumsy by nature and Yoongi should be handled with care. “You weren’t an experiment, hyung. What the hell.”

Yoongi huffs and finally looks up at him, scrutinising, hands limp. It’s too sunny and he’s still dressed head to toe in black. The pink flowers around them are so bright that they shine a familiar hue onto his colourless face. 

“My bad.” Yoongi says, voice flat. There’s no conviction to it. 

He hunted Namjoon down and faced him head on, brave as ever. He deserves the same, at least. Namjoon is his, so are his guts, he might as well bare them. 

Namjoon’s whisper is a feeble little thing, “you left.” It fits how he felt when it happened. Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch together so he continues. Dedicated to making it clear that he is everything , but in a quiet way. “I want you so much, all the time, it’s kind of disgusting.” The admission is too real, his hands start to sweat and they can both feel it. “But you left.”

The uncharacteristically wide eyes are not assuring. Oh god, Yoongi is terrified. Namjoon was a one night stand gone wrong, clinging on, shameless and unrelenting. 

“Namjoon.” Yoongi speaks firmly. His rejection will be confident and remorseless, as it should. Namjoon braces himself. “I was covered in come.”

That is not an expression of disgust. Yoongi is talking about semen.

Namjoon coughs. “You were—what?”

“I didn’t want to do the walk of shame in a shitty hotel when there were families everywhere, so I went back to my room to shower.” Yoongi is trying not to laugh at this point. Namjoon never thought that he’d miss the sight of someone’s gums. “Surely you didn’t forget how gross it was.”

The visual is haunting, to say the least. Post-orgasm Yoongi is not something to think about in the middle of a serious conversation. “I definitely did not forget.”

“Good.” Yoongi smirks, all mischievous and pleased with himself. Namjoon relaxes for the first time in two days. “You wouldn’t want to have to do it again, for a reminder, would you?”

“I don’t even know what come looks like, actually. Please show me.”

“Hilarious.” Yoongi says dryly. He’s trying not to smile, Namjoon can’t say the same for himself. 

(Namjoon was only half joking, ready to search for a public toilet to defile like they’ve always been destined to do, but he keeps that to himself.)

“I’m sorry for avoiding you.” Namjoon admits, getting a bit too brave. “I keep trying to tell you that I care, I want to be your, uh.” He tries to think of something casual. “Someone you don’t just tolerate.”

“I wouldn’t hang out with you if I just tolerated you.”

Yoongi looks suspicious, then gets a bit fidgety, scratching the back of his neck and touching his ears like he does when he’s nervous. Namjoon’s fear of abandonment is temporarily halted (for now, at least), so he waits patiently.

“Give me your phone.” Yoongi asks. Namjoon is slightly alarmed but hands it over without thought, waiting for his Ryan phone case to be scrutinised.

It returns to his hands with the addition of a new contact titled Mr Soggy . Namjoon smiles so hard that he gets flicked in the dimple and told to shut up without uttering a word. He thinks that Yoongi might just be blushing, so he dares to tuck the long hair behind his ear to get a good look. The gesture had cute intentions, it really did, maybe even a bit too corny. But the results are a lot less wholesome.

Yoongi’s neck is still covered in fading bruises. How could he forget. 

The sight makes something filthy rear its head, heat curling in Namjoon’s torso. Yoongi is so pale and dainty, the marks are at an ugly stage of healing - yellow and brown replacing any romantic purple. It’s a dirty sight and it’s all Namjoon’s doing. He wants to keep adding more. 

“Are you a fucking teenager?” Yoongi snaps him out of it but Namjoon can’t bring himself to feel guilty. 

“Is your passion for public sex limited to graveyards and showers?” Namjoon says, never failing to bring it up, just because he can. Yoongi wants him enough to do all that shit in public. 

“We both know you don’t have the balls for it.” Yoongi smiles, digging his nails into Namjoon’s thigh. 

Namjoon wishes he did. If he keeps spending time with Yoongi, who knows how corrupted he’ll end up. He settles for trailing a thumb over the pretty bite marks, watching Yoongi shudder at the sensation, wondering when they’ll get to do it all over again.

Because they will. Yoongi wants to. He only left Namjoon’s bed because he had to clean himself up, and even likes him enough to give the gift of his phone number. It’s a weight off of his shoulders that leaves him light for the whole day, elated during his performance, content when he goes to bed. 

A photo of a frog brings Namjoon to the brink of squealing into his pillow. 

They haven’t texted much since exchanging numbers, but from the very brief exchanges, Namjoon has learned that Yoongi is just as blunt as he is in real life but with the addition of the occasional cute little emoticon, which is horrifically endearing. 

The photo comes out of nowhere, on a drive to the next state. There isn’t even a text to accompany it, just a fat frog perched on a rock. 

“Are you going through something right now?” Seokjin’s words rudely interrupt his fond haze.

Namjoon shows the photo, Seokjin looks concerned. “ Yoongi-hyung sent it.” Namjoon gloats. 

“Is he trying to scare you off?”

Namjoon shoos him away, needing to focus on coming up with an appropriate response. He calls it cute and wishes he had the balls to add on a ‘not as cute as hyung, though’.

They’ll get there. 

Like a good friend, Taehyung understood the romantic significance of a frog image. It’s a good day. 

They drive north, the weather gets slightly less sweltering, bruises fade. Passing conversation with Yoongi becomes borderline normal, which has been a goal for years, but what Namjoon really wants is to kiss him again.

Their kisses aren’t affectionate things. They’re filthy, and always a suggestion of something more. It’s an unexpected problem.

Namjoon is a perpetually horny person, especially when Yoongi is involved, he wants to make out with him at every single opportunity and bend him over every single surface. It’s unsettling when he finds himself walking back from a grocery store, laughing as Yoongi loudly whines over quickly melting ice cream dripping all over his hands. 

There’s a particular face of disgust Yoongi makes that causes Namjoon’s heart to swell. Hunched shoulders, pouty lips and an uncharacteristically high pitched voice has him overwhelmed with fondness. The need to peck Yoongi on the mouth as softly as possible is the problem that arises. 

Namjoon compromises to bring the sticky hand up to his lips and lick the mess off as obscenely as possible. He holds eye contact and revels in the exaggerated noises of disgust that Yoongi makes. It does the job - riling him up enough to be pulled in for a hard kiss and a promise of something a lot more cruel when the opportunity arises. 

This is the solution. Namjoon combats romantic feelings with horny shit. 

Yoongi looks soft and sleepy with his hair up, Namjoon wants to hold his hand, settles for grabbing his inner thigh and squeezing until kiss-worthy cheeks tinge pink. The urge to pet hair is replaced with a firm tug at it. Declarations  of affection are given through dirty words. 

It does help, in a way. It keeps Namjoon mind-numbingly turned on whenever they’re together, and Yoongi gets horny enough to become clingy. Win-win. Except for the fact that they’re both still living on crowded buses, and can’t fuck when they want to.

The interior decor of Namjoon’s bunk consists of a polaroid photo of his family dog and a  string of green leaf shaped fairy lights. He learns that making out with someone in the cramped space is stuffy enough to make you feel sick. Yoongi tells him to pretend that they’re in a coffin, leading to the reveal that he wrote Interview with the Vampire fanfiction in high school. 

Not even the strongest man could let such a thing slide. “Do you want me to roleplay as Edward Cullen right now?” Namjoon teases, keeping a firm hold of Yoongi’s thighs so he can’t slither out and leave him like he absolutely deserves.

“Did you just compare—this is a dealbreaker, actually. Your dick is not worth this blasphemy .” Yoongi scowls.

“Your obsession with my dick is concerning, hyung. My friends are gonna hear how desperate you are.”

As always, Yoongi pouts and tries to wriggle away like a trapped cat. It’s far too gentle and they both know it, he could tear Namjoon’s heart out with his bare hands if he pleased. But he doesn’t, he sits on his lap and kisses him instead.

Namjoon would love to pin him down against the mattress but there isn’t enough space to do anything close to that without someone getting concussed. He goes for the next thing that comes to mind. A fistful of hair is what does it. 

Yoongi melts. His eyes get hooded, mouth open, body lax.

It’s not even tight, just the suggestion of pain, but enough to make the both of them breathe a bit more heavy than before. The look in Yoongi’s eyes is a blatant dare to keep going, harder, like he means it. The sweet little sounds he made when Namjoon fucked him too hard are impossible to forget.

“I told you, I don’t like things soft.” Yoongi eggs him on. It’s tempting.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.” Namjoon says with less conviction than he intended. He wants to give in. All of his desires are being offered up to him and he has the audacity to question it. 

It’s on the tip of Yoongi’s tongue. He starts to squirm, head tilted back to show off all of the quickly fading hickeys. It breaks Namjoon; he has to go in for more. 

His lips make contact with the bruised skin, hand firmly holding onto silky hair, and the curtain is torn open. 

An enthusiastic Hoseok greets them without a trace of surprise on his face, just satisfaction. “This is cozy.” He says innocently. Yoongi groans and pulls it shut while Namjoon contemplates murder. “We’re going out to eat, you can’t sustain yourselves on come alone, you’re growing boys!”
The discovery of Yoongi’s reaction to hair pulling is tucked away for another time. (Maybe the fanfiction thing, too.)

Both bands go to the same restaurant together. There isn’t a table for nine people, so they stick to their own groups. Namjoon is hyper-aware of Yoongi across the room, and so are his friends, who keep shooting glances between them as if they’re in high school. He’s thankful that they can’t all sit together. Exposing Yoongi to the horrors of Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung and their lack of shame is something that he’s planning to avoid for as long as possible. Hopefully forever. 

It doesn’t last.

The bands mingle. Jimin insists that they all go out for drinks after the show and it feels like being led to slaughter. 

Yoongi is in high demand in the dark bar. His bandmates keep him to themselves, all clingy and infatuated, which is understandable. Namjoon tries his best to avoid staring and drinks too much because of it. At least there are no shorts in sight, Yoongi is dressed in his usual jeans and band tee, chunky boots, nails painted black. The marks on his neck are pretty much entirely gone by now, just a ghost of a bruise. Namjoon wants to fix this. 

The members of Spinebreaker are fascinated by his new friendship . They keep prodding at Namjoon, trying to convince him to stop being a coward and take a seat where he wants to. Like the possessive asshole he isn’t, but has the annoying urge to be. 

Instead of being brave he opts to sit and listen to a drunken Seokjin complain about how much he misses having access to a kitchen. It’s a scary realisation that they’re more than halfway xxx through the tour, only one week remaining in the US before they make their way to Europe. It’s hard to imagine living a comfortable life again, having a washing machine and actually knowing where the next day will be spent. 

The alcohol gets to him. He starts to worry about time running out, Yoongi no longer indulging him, going back to how they were before the tour started. A Nine Inch Nails song plays during his descent.

Namjoon looks up a bit too fast but the dizziness is welcomed to blur the sight he sees. Yoongi is standing in front of a sitting Jungkook, who keeps playing with the hem of his shirt, touching his hips and waist, tugging him a bit closer. The groans of fake-complaint might as well be louder than the throbbing music, because Namjoon can hear them loud and clear. 

In character, Yoongi relents at the puppy eyes staring up at him, willingly manhandled onto Jungkook’s lap with an eye roll. 

Namjoon’s jaw is clenched so hard his teeth start to hurt. He’s not jealous. They don’t like each other like that, they’re not compatible in bed, but they would be with Namjoon, whatever the fuck that meant. It shouldn’t be working him up. But they have been together. Yoongi looks small in Jungkook’s lap, slender thighs spread over muscular ones, tattooed fingers holding them in place. Surely this is a bit too far for a public place. 

(Yes, Namjoon is a hypocrite.)

He’s so focused on Jungkook’s hands that he doesn’t notice his eyes, staring right at him. Catching him in the act of… something guilty. He’s drunk. He’s staring.
With a raised eyebrow, Jungkook tucks Yoongi’s hair behind his ear, pressing his mouth against it to whisper something. 

Yoongi’s head snaps up. Namjoon freezes at his assessing gaze. It drags down his body, slow and languid, unsettling. Words come out of his mouth for Jungkook’s ears only, and then a hand slips up his shirt. The faded bruises, Namjoon’s faint remains , get nuzzled at and grazed over by teeth. Namjoon places his glass on the table because he worries about gripping it too hard. It slams down, no one notices.

Namjoon is watching attentively, they’re watching right back.

It’s weird. Namjoon is weird. He has a debilitating crush on this man, who expressed some form of interest in him enough to get his pathetic little hopes up and proceeded to splay himself out on another person for all to see. All of that, and he’s fucking turned on by it. This is ridiculous. Namjoon should hate Jungkook, and he kind of does, but it’s mostly just for the smugness on his cute face rather than the creeping touches on Yoongi’s inner thighs.

They’re both smug. They’re doing it on purpose; a mission to fuck this disaster of a human up as much as possible, as if they haven’t already done more than enough. There’s a grin on Jungkook’s face as his lips brush at the neck that Namjoon wants to wrap his hand around. Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut, body squirming with an arm firmly around his waist, hand splayed over his stomach.

There are several urges crowding Namjoon’s mind. 

It would be right to get up and leave, as he’s clearly the subject of some cruel joke, and it’s successfully riling him up. 

It would be reasonable to calmly walk over to the two of them and ask them why. Why would they do this to him, what is the aim when they could have enough fun without the pain of someone else. 

It would be satisfying to drag Yoongi out of Jungkook’s grasp and walk him into the bathroom, bend him over the closest surface, and make him well aware of how good he is at messing with Namjoon’s weak mind. Jungkook would be welcome to watch, as long as he didn’t get in the way. He wonders if he could fuck Yoongi hard enough to have all of his attention, maybe if he pulled his hair enough, spanked him a bit, returned one of his mean retorts. 

Namjoon needs to calm down.

Yoongi seems to have the same thought. He seamlessly goes from being groped to sauntering across the room without any hiccups. Namjoon, however, stands up too abruptly, has to steady himself against the table, then flees. It feels like everyone is watching him, especially Jungkook, well aware that he’s off to beg on his knees for attention.

He should know by now that a club toilet is never a place of refuge.

The look on Yoongi’s face makes something snap. He was just putting on a show, and now he’s looking up expectantly, almost bored. Inappropriately aloof while Namjoon loses his mind. So Namjoon does what he does best. 

Crossing the bathroom is a blur. He tilts Yoongi’s head back and pauses just before their lips touch. 

“You two look cute together.” Namjoon whispers, watching the edges of Yoongi’s mouth twitch in amusement. “You were doing that on purpose, right?”

“Doing what?” Yoongi blinks up at him innocently, leaning back against the counter and pulling at Namjoon’s belt to bring him closer.

At least Namjoon isn’t the cornered one, for once. It doesn’t make him feel any more in control. He’s drunk, they shouldn’t be having this conversation, and yet. “Trying to annoy me.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

(It’s ironic, Namjoon swears that his world revolves around Yoongi.)

Namjoon chuckles. “You were staring right at me.” One of his hands is gripping the counter too hard, the other is holding Yoongi in place. “Was he not entertaining enough?”

“I told you, you’re cute when you’re mad.” Yoongi says, unfazed as ever. The heat building in Namjoon’s stomach could be rage, jealousy or arousal. It’s hard to tell by now. Yoongi has that effect. 

“I’m not mad.” Namjoon growls. It’s satisfying, the way that Yoongi lets him tug his hair; a face of defiance paired with a willing body. It gets to Namjoon’s head, drunk on a mix of alcohol and power. 

“No? You don’t give a shit?” Yoongi bites back.

It’s confusing. Hiding emotions is a talent of Yoongi’s. At first, Namjoon thought he just didn’t feel anything at all, it was impressive and intimidating. Now he can see that it’s a conscious thing, a defence mechanism, and he’s slowly learning to see through it. 

The mask is anger, but it’s hard to decipher what lies beneath. Harder to know how to respond without shattering something. It feels like a challenge, but Namjoon is unequipped. 

It’s Yoongi who starts it. An eye roll, a grip on the back of Namjoon’s neck, and then he’s being forced down for a hard kiss. The feeling is different from usual, aggressive from the very start, not a shred of softness. Yoongi’s tongue piercing klinks against teeth, they bite each other’s lips hard enough to bleed, pulling at clothes carelessly enough to tear. 

Affection is absent. It’s all filth, like the grime of the bathroom and the music they adore. Namjoon palms at Yoongi’s ass to get as close as possible, Yoongi gropes his chest and makes him snort. Running his tongue up the unmarred skin of Yoongi’s neck is bittersweet. He might as well taste Jungkook’s spit.

They’re being too loud for a public place but the pulsing music keeps them covered. It keeps the sound of the door covered, too. 

Jungkook’s laugh is piercing. He parades right in, swatting at Namjoon’s back as he stumbles over to the urinal. “You guys are gross .” It’s said with glee, he smiles sweetly at them while he pisses.

He’s a weird guy. Namjoon doesn’t even know how to react, looking over his shoulder in irritation. But Yoongi is laughing right back, genuinely amused. It’s ethereal when he runs both hands through his long hair, popping the bubble that they were in and returning to reality. 

Someone else walks in. It’s a shock that they can’t feel the thick tension like a barrier. Yoongi slips away from where he was pressed against the sink, moving on like it was nothing. The moment is long dead and Namjoon is still caught in it.

Cold water doesn’t do much to cool him down. He looks sweaty and stupid in the warped mirror, still panting, exhausted from his performance and worked up from an evil little goth. The hotel that awaits just a day away is clung onto like a last shred of sanity, maybe not much has changed in a week. 

Matthew is so oddly earnest in his beefy size that Namjoon genuinely struggles to say no to him. It’s nice to know that any unjustified jealousy he has doesn’t go too deep, but it gets him into an unwanted situation. He has a hotel room to be cherished and instead ends up in the free gym instead. 

Namjoon finds himself hungover, suffering through lifting weights, encouraged by enthusiastic cheers of nice form bro from Matthew and the scrutinizing, wide eyes of none other than Jungkook. 

It must be Namjoon’s own personal punishment from a higher being for his horny sins. He knows exactly what both of these men both look like making contact with Yoongi’s tongue, and now he has to make casual gym talk with them like it’s not excruciating. Which it is. Namjoon feels unfit and clumsy with them, he sweats far too much and has to take breaks every few moments. 

His mind won’t stop replaying his own experiences with Yoongi along with both of theirs and it’s all a very strange genre of horny guilt.
The elevator is the last hurdle after he makes it through the physical suffering. Namjoon is ready to pass out, clinging onto the knowledge that he’ll soon be in the safety of his hotel room, able to curl up in bed for several hours without any muscular men in sight. Jungkook and Matthew talk about band stuff, Namjoon zones out, the doors open on the next floor.

Yoongi looks just as unprepared as Namjoon feels.

Matthew is thrilled to see him, tugging him in by the shoulder for a faceful of sweaty chest. It’s painful to watch. Yoongi shoves him off, grumbling about how gross it is, telling them that they’re freaks for exercising by choice, all while pointedly keeping his eyes away from Namjoon. 

“As if any of you need to get any more buff, it’s ridiculous.” Yoongi complains. He’s clad in ripped jeans and a baggy HIM hoodie, looking a bit worse for wear from the alcohol of the night before, but a lot more put together than Namjoon. 

Matthew laughs loudly and smacks him on the back in the most uncomfortably heterosexual way possible. “Yeah, I’m sure you hate it.”

Ah, yes. Yoongi has a type. He likes guys with abs who can bench press him if they please and this is absolutely not a category in which Namjoon fits. He may be a lot less lanky than he used to be, but he’s still soft around the edges. Instant ramen is too important to him for a toned stomach to be an option. It’s a shock that Yoongi ever wanted to sleep with him at all. 

“Don’t let them lure you in, Namjoon.” Yoongi smiles, taking in his sweaty state from head to toe. Namjoon braces himself for humiliation. 

Instead of disgust, the look on Yoongi’s face is one that Namjoon only sees in rare, fleeting moments. A dark look, intense eyes, sure of what they want. 

Yoongi is looking at Namjoon like he wants to get fucked. 

Not Jungkook, not Matthew, just Namjoon. 

It feeds right into his insatiable greed. The all consuming need to be something to Yoongi. Anything. It’s almost satisfying, but still not quite enough. He just wants more and more. They exit the elevator and Yoongi walks alongside Namjoon, waving goodbye to his friends at their rooms, waiting patiently as he opens his door. 

The lock clicks, the door creaks open, closes quietly, Namjoon’s back gets slammed against it. He hardly has time to blink before Yoongi is all over him. He’s more than willing to lean back and be debauched by such lovely hands, but the ever present confusion is hard to ignore.

“What are you trying to do to me?” Namjoon asks, still thinking about the night before.

Yoongi doesn’t even stop, presses up against sweaty clothes like it isn’t disgusting. “I like you mad.”

“You think I’m cute right now?” Namjoon growls, manhandling him a bit too hard. Yoongi hums in approval.

His mind is a mantra of all the times Yoongi has said this: I like you mad. you’d know if it wasn’t okay, I’d tell you. I don’t like things soft. Be less gentle next time. 

Yoongi wants things rough. He’s a dark little thing, thrives off of all things bad , extracts the needs from Namjoon’s very core. 

It’s wrong and it’s perfect. Namjoon wants to be well acquainted with his insides, wants him under his fingernails. So he does it, for both of them. Yoongi gasps as he’s practically lifted up and he’s breathless by the time his back hits the mattress a bit too hard. The bedsprings groan, shunning them. Yoongi eggs him on. 

They should talk about this. 

There's no space to talk, Yoongi makes sure of that. He keeps pushing until he’s pinned down, keeps clawing at Namjoon’s back and licking at his mouth. They get carried away, undressed, in too deep, Yoongi keeps pushing. 

It would be embarrassing, how fast Namjoon’s dick chubs up, but Yoongi is right there with him. 

“Wait,” Namjoon has a brief moment of clarity. “I need to shower, oh my god.”

“No, no.” Yoongi keeps pulling him back down, not letting him escape. “Do it after, I don’t care.”

Namjoon gives into the need to gnaw at his neck again, immediately feeling the satisfaction of seeing redness rise to the skin, knowing that it will remain tomorrow. He wraps a hand around the side of Yoongi’s neck, running a thumb over his throat, pushing against the fresh bruise. 

“You’re really into that.” Yoongi comments, on the verge of degrading. Namjoon just nods in agreement and leans down to kiss it again, infatuated with how pretty he looks. “Marking me up. Do you think you own me?”

That’s an interesting question. 

God, Namjoon wishes he could say yes. In the most respectful, non-possessive, entirely horny way, he really wants to hear Yoongi tell him such a lovely thing. I’m yours. The thought alone makes him shudder. Yoongi raises his eyebrows, far too smug for someone pinned down with a hand around their neck. Namjoon wants to push back.

Instead, he just reinforces how pathetic he is, as usual. “I fucking know I don’t.” 

Something changes - a trace of hesitance, darting eyes, some fidgeting. The words that follow are a shock. 

“You’re the only one, though.” Yoongi mutters, like it’s an issue. Like it didn’t make Namjoon lose his breath.

It’s a dangerous sentence. It leads his mind somewhere he tries to firmly avoid, somewhere optimistic and entirely unfitting to their reality. Namjoon frowns, unsure if he even wants clarification, an elaboration on what must be a mind game. 

“What?” Namjoon’s voice is laughably fragile for the dominant position that he’s in. They’re breathing heavily, his hand is still gently resting on Yoongi’s neck, a comforting hold more than anything else. 

“You’re the only one who gets to do this.”

Namjoon sits up abruptly. “Wait— what? ”

It sounds like it means something. Something real. But Yoongi just pulls him back down, trying to carry on with what he started, kissing him like he didn’t just drop a bomb. Namjoon is reeling and Yoongi is trying to tug his shirt off, still on a mission to get railed.

“Jungkook was just trying to rile you up, surely you know that.” Yoongi speaks right into his mouth, not even pulling back. There’s a vice grip on the back of Namjoon’s neck, no chance for him to check for any signs of— anything on Yoongi’s face.

Maybe this is a secret piece of Yoongi that Namjoon has the honour of discovering - he deflects. He uncovers something that was buried deep, locked in a casket and left to rot, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Just baring it is huge. 

Namjoon can work with that. He’ll handle it with care. It’s worth the patience, like anything involving Yoongi. 

He carries on. Yoongi is frantic as they undress, he never allows too much space between them to grow, which makes things a lot more difficult. Namjoon isn’t used to being clung to, especially by the hands of Yoongi. He lets him do as he pleases. Their clothes are torn off, bodies pressed together, way ahead of themselves. 

“Take it out on me.” Yoongi says, voice low and a bit shaky. He drags his nails down Namjoon’s bare chest, leaving a trail of red skin. The words are punctuated by a hard squeeze on his cock. Namjoon gulps, right on the edge of giving in.

They need to talk about it. Namjoon needs to know Yoongi’s limits, what the fuck he means by take it out on me.

The whirring thoughts are halted when Yoongi spreads his legs and admits that he had already fingered himself, too impatient to wait, wanting to be ready. Namjoon forgets all hesitation as soon as he feels the soft wetness against his fingertips. It’s all far too fast. 

“Are you clean?” Yoongi asks out of nowhere, eyes fixed on Namjoon’s cock. 

“Yeah, of course.” Namjoon replies without any thought, high on the feeling of Yoongi beneath him.

Yoongi hides his face against his neck, murmuring against the skin, “will you mark me up?” Namjoon doesn’t get it at first, busy rutting against him and nodding hastily at the thought of leaving more bruises. “Inside and out?” Yoongi clarifies. Namjoon stops and curses. Yoongi holds him tighter, pushing his hips up a bit. “You’re the only one .”

Namjoon must be delusional, because that sounds pretty fucking romantic. All of it. It makes his heart flutter as much as it makes his dick throb, which is a perfect summary of how Yoongi makes him feel in general.

“Oh shit.” Namjoon responds eloquently, mind finally catching up to reality, and he scurries off to find lube as fast as he can. A toe is stubbed in the process, Yoongi laughs for the entire time that he digs through his suitcase, but neither of them are deterred by the time he settles between the invitingly spread legs again. 

Fingering Yoongi is an experience to be cherished. It may not be necessary this time, Namjoon does it anyway. Yoongi’s impatient complaints die out as soon as his prostate is played with. It’s cute, Namjoon tells him so, Yoongi’s eyes roll in annoyance, and then they roll back in pleasure.

Namjoon’s heart rate is genuinely concerning by the time he pushes the lubed up head of his dick against Yoongi’s rim. It feels so much more intimate without a condom, a new level of filth added to their ever-growing collection. 

“You better not hold back this time.” Yoongi threatens. 

In bed, his mean words are an attempt to get himself roughed up. It’s endearing. Namjoon wants to tease him for it, but he’s worried that addressing it will make him stop. He wonders how much of it he’ll get to see. 

In the end, Namjoon is a coward. “I can’t…” He cares too much. “Do this without knowing your limits.” He admits, slowly easing himself inside to get rid of the disappointment on Yoongi’s face. 

It works; Yoongi immediately relaxes against the bed, eyes shut, humming in satisfaction. It starts off slow. A moment to breathe. Namjoon tries his best not to groan at the feeling, he wants to hear every little sound, any reminder that this is real. 

“I—” Yoongi huffs, trying to pull him closer, making him bottom out too fast. They both gasp. “I want it all.” His cheeks are red. The guarded look on his face makes Namjoon ache, wishing he could make him completely comfortable. All he can do is fuck him. “As hard as you’ll go.”

It’s so different, this level of vulnerability. It doesn’t come easily to him but Yoongi is asking for it anyway. Namjoon aches to give in.

“What if it’s too hard?”

Namjoon wants to fuck Yoongi too hard more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

“I’ll fucking tell you.” Yoongi snaps, squirming in frustration as Namjoon keeps his hips still like a monster. “You know I will.” 

Yoongi can handle himself. He’s showing trust, and deserves the same in return. 

The silence is taken as a rejection, and Yoongi keeps pushing. “What’s the point in your stupid monster cock if you can’t even—”

Namjoon gives in. 

The look on Yoongi’s face when he pulls out would make him laugh if he weren’t so worked up. The way that Yoongi’s body goes lax as soon as it’s manhandled puts an end to any amusement. He ends up face down, crowded in, all complaints gone as Namjoon fucks right back into him. 

There’s a shocked little sound, muffled by the pillow but maddeningly cute. Namjoon doesn’t let go quite yet. He starts off slow and deep, trailing a hand down Yoongi’s spine, admiring the dragon tattoo covering his surprisingly broad back and watching his dick slide in and out. 

It shouldn’t be this good already, the movement is painfully slow, but Namjoon is already close to drooling at the feeling. It’s a lot more intense than before, nothing keeping them apart, just hot tightness overwhelming his senses. 

“Harder,” Yoongi complains, pushing back against him, which is a visual worthy of death. “C’mon.”

Namjoon ignores him. The irritation it causes is satisfying. He sits up and takes the time to admire Yoongi’s ass, palming at the soft skin and revealing the pinkness. His jaw hangs open at the sight and the noises of disapproval don’t stop. 

“You’re so fucking demanding.” Namjoon tuts. He grips bony hips with shaky hands and finally stops holding back, thrusting properly to shut Yoongi up.

“You’re so—” Yoongi starts, and has to pause to mewl into the pillow. Namjoon is losing his mind. “Fucking incompetent.” 

The remaining crumbs of resolve are brushed away. 

“You keep coming back for it.” Namjoon’s voice is throaty and kind of ridiculous but Yoongi’s shudder keeps him going. “You could have anyone else, but you’re desperate for my stupid monster cock .” Each word is punctuated by a hard thrust, emphasised by Yoongi’s choked off sounds. “I’m embarrassed for you, hyung.”

Being mean to Yoongi feels fundamentally wrong. The problem is that anything wrong in bed does something to Namjoon’s fucked up brain, like the satisfaction a dog gets when it tears something important up. The bigger problem is that Yoongi fucking loves it. It’s too good to be true. 

Yoongi grips onto the sheets and thumps a leg against the bed. The position makes him a lot more shameless than usual, or maybe it’s the rough treatment, but Namjoon needs to see the look on his face.

The moan Yoongi lets out when his hair gets tugged is enough to have Namjoon on the brink of finishing far too fast. (Again.) He stops thrusting, using the grip to tilt Yoongi’s head to the side, leaning forward for a sloppy kiss. It makes his cock press as deep as it can go, resulting in a hard bite at his lip. 

He thinks he might be bleeding. He pulls harder. Yoongi sobs. 

“Is it—” Namjoon pants, trying to get a hold of himself. Yoongi’s face is all red and his eyes are wet, pouty lips hanging open. It’s the prettiest he’s ever looked. Namjoon wonders if he can fuck him hard enough to get him to drool. “I don’t want to hurt you, is it too much?”

The pleading look on Yoongi’s face disappears, replaced with the much more familiar frown, furrowed eyebrows. He speaks firmly, looking right into Namjoon’s eyes. “I want it to hurt.”

That’s that, then. 

It takes a moment for the fog of horny shock to clear, but once he processes the weight of those words, the power immediately goes to his head. 

“Fuck.” Namjoon blurts, hips kicking forward without intention. Yoongi tries to hide his face in the pillow but his hair stays firmly held onto. Namjoon gets carried away. He fucks as hard as he can and bites his neck to keep himself from audibly whimpering. Yoongi claws at his arm, holding on for dear life.

An odd little movement starts up in Yoongi’s hips, like he’s trying to do the fucking, but failing miserably due to the weight of someone above him. Namjoon slows down to keep himself from falling over the edge, and he realises that Yoongi is feebly trying to rut his cock down against the bed. 

Namjoon coos. He can’t help it. “Is it not enough for you?” He asks against his neck, grinding as deep as he can, feeling Yoongi clench around him. It’s clear from the way he trembles that he’s close to orgasm, but Yoongi just shakes his head, trying to get away with it. Namjoon doesn’t let him. 

He wraps his arms around Yoongi’s stomach, hoisting him up to sit right on his lap, back pressed against Namjoon’s chest. The position feels different, like he’s snugly shoved up in Yoongi’s guts, and it’s confirmed by a breathless wheeze. 

He starts to thrust lazily and focuses on trailing his hands all over Yoongi’s body, playing with his nipple piercings, rubbing at his tensed stomach, scratching his inner thighs. Yoongi lets his head fall back against his shoulder, lifting his own hips now that he has the opportunity, legs spread wide and shameless. 

They lose themselves like that. It gets a bit too languid, on the verge of soft. Of course, Yoongi takes action. Namjoon doesn’t pay much attention when he feels his hand being moved, he expects it to be guided to Yoongi’s dick, where he deserves to be touched by now. 

Instead, the journey ends at Yoongi’s throat. 

Namjoon’s eyes snap open when he feels his hand being squeezed. 

“What are you—” Namjoon gasps. Yoongi tries to shush him. “Hyung?”

“Please.” Yoongi’s voice is desperate, unlike anything Namjoon has ever heard from him. 

He shouldn’t. He hasn’t done this in a long while, never without extensive discussion, clear boundaries stated beforehand. The pressure on his hand goes straight to his dick, he can feel every breath Yoongi takes, every anxious gulp in anticipation. 

Yoongi knows what he wants. He trusts Namjoon enough to ask for it. They’re both disgustingly into it.

Namjoon is a weak man. 

“You’ll tell me, if it’s too much. Please?” Namjoon asks, trying his best to be coherent in some way, clinging onto a shred of responsibility. “Pinch me if you want me to slap, or hit me, or anything. Promise?”

“Yeah, yes .” Yoongi nods, squirming on Namjoon’s lap in impatience, hand still firmly holding them both in place. 

The lightest pressure has them both breathless. It’s the most erotic moment of Namjoon’s life, no doubt; the prettiest person he has ever seen is seated on his cock, entirely at his mercy, trying to be choked harder. Namjoon is not going to last. 

With a hand around Yoongi’s neck and an arm around his waist, Namjoon holds him in place and fucks him relentlessly. He doesn’t even squeeze at first, but Yoongi’s frustration returns, and he gives in. 

Yoongi melts . He might as well be purring, with how sweetly he falls into it, finally letting go of all of the demands, letting Namjoon have his way. The pressure slowly increases, Namjoon slowly loses it. A too-hard thrust results in an accidental too-hard squeeze, and before Namjoon can ask if he’s okay, Yoongi is scrabbling at his arm and coming untouched. 

Namjoon is a goner. His brain might as well vacate his body. He releases the pressure on Yoongi’s neck but keeps his hand in place, tries to ask if he’s okay but it just comes out as an embarrassing moan.

“‘m fine,” Yoongi reassures him even though he’s hardly keeping himself upright. “Keep going, wanna feel it.”

The encouragement makes Namjoon rut uselessly, brainlessly, clinging onto Yoongi’s body until he spills into him. Inside of Yoongi. It lasts forever and he probably moans for the whole time. He should be embarrassed, but he’s far too satisfied to feel anything other than good. Catching his breath, he hums and nuzzles against Yoongi’s neck. 

There’s a snort. Namjoon takes a while to even gain the awareness to wonder why. 

Oh god, he’s cuddling Yoongi.

“Uh.” Namjoon says, unwrapping his arms from Yoongi’s waist, but still keeping him upright with a hand. His tongue feels too big for his mouth and his whole body feels tingly. “Sorry, fuck. Are you okay? Was that too hard?”

Yoongi’s head is hanging down, hair in his face, so Namjoon can’t see his eyes. 

“Namjoon, I asked for it all, you hardly even choked me.”

Namjoon sighs in relief, tilting Yoongi’s face towards him, pushing all the hair away to see gleaming eyes, flushed cheeks and, most importantly, a smile. 

Pulling out is an ordeal. It would be a lie to say that Namjoon doesn’t stare in awe at the sight of his come dripping down Yoongi’s legs. He gets called out for it and smiles bashfully, too content to really feel shame. He can save that for later. 

The additional mess means that they can’t just fall asleep like last time, neither of them can run away, so they shower together. The bathroom lights are bright as ever. Yoongi is covered in come and sweat, hair matted, unashamedly tired, and he looks so fucking pretty that Namjoon doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He wants to keep touching, hold him as close as possible, kiss him for the entire time and drag him back to bed with no option to escape. Instead, he holds himself back. Just a bit. He lets himself be clingy under the guise of worry. Yoongi convinced him to be too rough, and Namjoon won’t just let him carry on like nothing happened. He snatches the shower gel and insists on taking care of him. 

Yoongi is unenthusiastic as ever. He stands there under the warm water, pouty little frown on his face, as Namjoon cleans him as gently as possible. It might be more intimate than the sex.

“You’re really fucking cute.” Namjoon just lets it slip out. His knees are jelly, as is his brain, and he’s too overwhelmed with affection to give a shit. 

As usual, Yoongi breaks eye contact. “I’m taking that as an insult.”

“Good.” Namjoon grins, and turns him around to focus on his ass. 

Yoongi likes compliments. He’ll whine and hiss as much as he can, but Namjoon sees right through it. Just another addition to the endless list of details that have him smitten for the man. 

There is an attempt to not be overbearing. Yoongi might like affection, maybe even soft touches, but he does not like to be condescended. Namjoon cares for him quietly. They get out of the shower, wrapped up in towels, and Yoongi gets steered right back to the bed. He’s tired enough to let it slide, climbing back in and letting himself be tucked beneath the sheets. 

Namjoon holds his breath for the whole time. Slowly, carefully, casually , he pulls Yoongi towards him. 

Yoongi gives in. He lets himself be drawn into Namjoon’s arms, willingly pressed up against his chest, and doesn’t even complain once. 

“Is this okay?” Namjoon asks, as if they’re doing something dangerous. It’s a post sex cuddle and he’s terrified. 

He feels it first, a satisfied little hum of approval that rumbles against his skin. He lets himself breathe. 

It starts off tense. After all that they’ve done, they still struggle to do something as simple as this. It takes some time for Yoongi to melt against him, resting an arm on his waist. A brush of fingers is enough to tickle and Namjoon breaks the silence with a stupid laugh. Yoongi’s face stays hidden against him, but his shoulders shake, a telltale sign of his amusement.

A soft press of lips against his shoulder is what makes Namjoon relax. It’s far too early in the day but the workout catches up with him, along with the remains of the hangover, and exertion of sex. He falls asleep before he can worry about Yoongi leaving him, busy basking in the satisfaction of having him in his arms.

Yoongi is tucked even closer by the time he wakes up. 

Chapter Text

Namjoon is not a person to wake up abruptly. He goes through a lot of reluctant attempts to open his eyes before he’s ready to face the horrors of being aware. The first thing to register in his mind during this slow return to consciousness is that there’s something tickling his face. It’s too hot, he’s naked, and his arm is numb. He realises the cause of all of this discomfort, and suddenly waking up is a wonderful thing.

Yoongi stayed.

His face is firmly burrowed right against Namjoon’s neck, every huff he lets out makes him shiver. A leg is hitched up over Namjoon’s thigh but his hands are kept close to his chest, while Namjoon’s poor arm is very much crushed beneath him. It’s worth it. 

Namjoon is probably vibrating with joy, because Yoongi lets out a little grumble of complaint and pulls away. His eyes are squeezed shut, pout on his face, eyebrows furrowed. Resisting kissing such a face is a mighty challenge. 

“I hate naps.” Namjoon whispers. He keeps his hands to himself, worried that Yoongi won’t want to be touched yet, or at all. 

One eye opens, Yoongi squints at him, and then quickly returns to his spot against Namjoon’s neck. The kiss that follows is unexpected, then there’s another, and Namjoon’s neck is far too sensitive for this. 

He’s hard again, the post-nap equivalent of morning wood. Or just a natural reaction to naked Yoongi, even though he came no more than a few hours ago. 

“You’re a freak.” Yoongi says. He keeps himself busy with soft little kisses, then finds his way to Namjoon’s lips and keeps going. “Can we eat?”

Surely not. “...Together?” 

“Or not?”

“Shit, yes , of course.” Namjoon babbles, dumb with shock from Yoongi wanting to spend more time with him. Right after sex. “Let’s go.”

He sits up too fast, overenthusiastic, causing the sheet to be flung off of Yoongi, and has to take a moment to remind himself of how lovely his naked body is. Yoongi calls him a pervert, all is right. 

“Do you want a hoodie to wear?” Namjoon knows that Yoongi could easily wear the clothes that he was in earlier, but he chances his luck anyway. He wants to see it, sue him. 

“Sure.”

Another win for Namjoon. He intentionally opts for something as oversized as possible because he’s a masochist who loves to see Yoongi looking small and comfy. He says that the band sucks and pulls it on anyway. The sleeves have to be pushed up to let his hands be usable, pink knuckles peeking out. The slouch of his shoulders is cute as ever, drowning under the black fabric, reaching all the way down to his thighs. Namjoon has to resist pulling him back to bed at the sight. 

The sun is just starting to set as they make their way outside. This hotel is not one of the best, the city isn’t notable at all, they end up in a very small and unassuming Chinese restaurant, and everything about it feels perfect. Yoongi orders peach iced tea and asks why Namjoon is staring, as if he isn’t sitting there looking like that in the most mundane of places. 

Yoongi’s hair is a bit messy from sleeping on it wet and he’s clearly still recovering from the nap, he looks comfy in the oversized hoodie as he watches the orange sky out of the window, generously allowing Namjoon to admire the view. Knobbly elbows rest on the little round table and it’s so cramped that their knees knock together. Neither of them apologise when it happens. 

This is romantic. It’s happening. Okay, friends with benefits may fuck and eat together, but this feels special. Yoongi could’ve asked for a friend to come along, the hotel is filled with their bandmates, they’re probably looking for him right now. He ditched them for Namjoon. 

You’re the only one. 

Namjoon was so busy nutting his brains out and admiring how cute Yoongi looks in his clothes that he hasn’t even had time to properly unpack that sentence. It was not dirty talk. It wasn’t an attempt to get fucked, Yoongi knows that he doesn’t need kind words to get Namjoon into his bed. Yoongi doesn’t just say things like that. 

There’s something about Yoongi’s bluntness that makes Namjoon feel safe. 

The people he meets are so often fake, kind on the surface but cruel beneath. Namjoon tries his best not to care, but he’s always worried about it, especially amongst other bands. They all bitch about each other as soon as the chance arises, everyone is deemed a poser as soon as their back is turned, there’s no doubt that Namjoon is called the same. However, Yoongi doesn’t hide it when he dislikes someone. He’s not mean unless you earn it, which Namjoon did , but that just makes it even better. Namjoon has made so many mistakes and Yoongi forgave them. He has so many flaws and yet they’re here, spending time together, because they both want it.

They take their time to eat too much, talking about books and music as they always do. A lot of insults about taste are thrown back and forth only to be forgiven when they bond over the bands that got them both into metal. By the end of it, Yoongi groans about being too full for the whole walk back until Namjoon offers to carry him, half joking. Yoongi blushes when he rejects it.

Neither of them are lucky enough to end up with an empty hotel room but the nap was enough to have Namjoon satisfied with sleeping alone. He’s not brave enough to kiss Yoongi goodbye like he wants, instead giving an awkward pat on the shoulder at his door.

It’s a struggle to resist gushing over Yoongi when Taehyung comments on how well used his bed is. 

The final week in America passes far too quickly. 

Namjoon is not a very cool person at all. He makes up for it by being in a band, but his favourite pastimes consist of visiting museums, parks and bookstores. Taehyung used to tag along on occasion, but he spent most of the tour too wrapped up in Jimin, and the other two members simply do not give a shit about such things. Namjoon previously had great plans to visit a notable spot in every single city he had the opportunity to see throughout the tour, then proceeded to spend the entire month eating fast food, sleeping, and pining over a guy. Daily performances are tiring. 

A passive text from Yoongi asking about his plans in NYC ends with the two of them behaving like actual tourists in the museum of natural history. Namjoon is bad at holding back his excitement over everything he sees and instead of calling him out for being childish, Yoongi just patiently nods along, listening to every boring word.

If Namjoon didn’t know any better, he’d think that Yoongi looks at him fondly. 

Everyone gets worn out from the tour. Namjoon misses his bed and he gets frustrated over how hard it is to find opportunities to kiss Yoongi.

They mostly sit around in greenrooms and cramped buses. Namjoon touches him as much as possible, gets shoved away whenever someone else is around, cherishing everything he can get. He feels a shameful amount of pride whenever someone walks in on them making out. Yoongi makes him a possessive asshole, but he tries his best to keep that discreet. 

If he pretends not to hear it when Matthew interrupts them, it’s just because he was too into kissing the skin beneath Yoongi’s shirt. Nothing else. 

Along with club toilets, Yoongi makes launderettes and convenience stores feel special. He gives little pieces of himself: he grew up in Daegu, hated school, wore too much eyeliner. He lives alone and doesn’t talk about his parents, but misses their dog. Music production is what he would’ve done at university if he could’ve gone, and he is somehow genuinely interested in hearing about Namjoon’s interests. 

It’s a week of missed opportunities in blatantly romantic spots. 

They have a hotel on their final day in the US. Stephen King’s house is too far away to visit so Yoongi buys Namjoon one of his books instead. He hands it over like it’s nothing, as if he didn’t care enough to try to think of a solution for Namjoon’s disappointment, going out of his way to cheer him up. The gesture is so kind that Namjoon doesn’t even know how to react, and therefore pulls him in for their first ever non-sex-related hug.

It’s awkward. Yoongi just stands there, face pressed into Namjoon’s chest, holding the book, completely stiff.

Namjoon apologises and starts to pull back, ready to hide in shame, and then arms tentatively wrap around his waist. Cuddling Yoongi is a lovely thing. He’s small enough that Namjoon can rest his chin on his head, he could press a kiss against his hair if he had the bravery. Instead, he rubs his back softly, and thanks him softer. 

“The houses in Europe will be cooler, anyway. They’re older.” Yoongi says, muffled against Namjoon’s shirt. 

Too caught up in mushy feelings to have a filter, Namjoon just asks what he’s thinking. “Will you visit them with me?”

“Of course.”

It’s a relief. They have more to look forward to, more time together.

After packing up all of the shit on their bus, the end of their time in America is celebrated with a gathering across several hotel rooms. It’s just Spinebreaker and Gloss, none of them did much mingling with the other bands and Namjoon likes it that way; he gets to keep them all to himself. Everyone is still buzzing from the show they played, it was a smaller venue than usual but twice as loud, and then there’s the addition of alcohol.

Namjoon makes a vow to avoid being overbearing. He sits on a bed with Hoseok and watches as Yoongi sits on the arm of a chair, held steady by a very physically affectionate Matthew. Hoseok likes to make commentary on what they’re doing like they’re wild animals, narrating Yoongi’s passion for ‘himbos’. Apparently this word applies to Namjoon too, but he’s just happy to hear that he’s Yoongi’s type. 

“Hyung isn’t a himbo, he’s smart as fuck.” Jimin butts in and spreads across both of their laps like a cat, drink in hand strong enough to be smelled from across the room.

“How would you know?” Hoseok asks, rubbing at Jimin’s thighs.

The gleam in Jimin’s eye is something that Namjoon knows all too well by now, he braces himself, wondering how hard it would be to flee at this point. 

“Yoongi-hyung told me.”

Namjoon squints. Hoseok grins. “Oh? Does he talk about Namjoon often?”

Jimin is tipsy and on a mission, he nods. “Seeing him get shy over someone is so cute, I love it.”

“ Shy? ” Hoseok is over-excited and this duo is a threat that Namjoon should’ve feared.

“We all tease him about it, especially Jungkook. He lets him get away with anything. You should hear the shit he says!” Jimin rambles, pouting away, void of any filter. “He wouldn’t spill about your dick size, though.”

Namjoon is stunned by every word that he just heard. It’s a lot to take in. Yoongi talks about him, gets shy about him, and is asked about his penis. Interesting. “He talks about me?” He asks, trying his best to avoid sounding too hopeful. They both see right through him. 

Jimin rests his chin on his elbows and glances over at Yoongi, still bonding with Matthew (whose hand is on his thigh, Namjoon does not stare), then back to Namjoon, all-knowing. “Mhm.” His face looks surprisingly soft now, less mischievous. “Do you talk about him too?”

Namjoon remembers that party all those years ago, sitting next to Hoseok and watching Yoongi across the room, a mess of confusion and not much else. He isn’t confused anymore. He knows what he wants, it’s all Yoongi. He isn’t even jealous of Matthew right now, because Yoongi will talk to him later on. Namjoon is the only one. 

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Jimin smiles, squeezing Namjoon’s thigh. It’s comforting to know that he cares, that Yoongi’s friends seem to approve of the two of them being together, and might even encourage it. If only he had the bravery to make it happen. 

Hoseok puts an end to any tender moment. “Namjoon is obsessed , you don’t need to worry about that.”

Namjoon groans in embarrassment. They move on, sharing gory details about the sins that have been committed on their buses throughout the tour, eventually leaving to find Taehyung. Namjoon sits alone and sips his shitty beer and doesn’t fixate on Yoongi, who laughs a lot at Matthew’s jokes. 

“He doesn’t usually befriend the people he fucks.” Jungkook settles into the vacant spot beside him and speaks bluntly, out of nowhere. It’s the first time they’ve interacted one on one. Namjoon feels oddly nervous.

“You’re his friend.” Namjoon says, looking at him questioningly. He’s not in his usual dramatic getup, just sweatpants and a baggy band shirt, hair unstyled and puffy. It makes him a bit more approachable. 

Jungkook snorts. “You better treat him nicely.”

“Uh, of course, but—we’re not dating, or anything?” God, Namjoon wishes they were dating. He would love to be threatened by the entirety of Gloss on the basis of treating his boyfriend right.

Jungkook looks at him flatly. “You’ve been warned.” His whole demeanour changes from threatening to fidgety, suddenly nervous. He tucks his hair behind his ear and starts to stutter. “Now, I-I think your music is really cool. The lyrics, I can’t believe that someone can even think of such things.” 

Namjoon tries his best to not look as shocked as he feels from the sudden compliments from none other than Jungkook . “Oh, wow. Thank you.”

“It was funny back when hyung hated you, I had to pretend to watch your sets out of spite.” Jungkook continues to unload information that makes Namjoon gape. “You’re a great bassist too, I want to learn, maybe you could help?”

Namjoon is floored by how quickly he turned into an overexcited puppy. There’s even a hint of a lisp, the occasional stutter. “Sure, of course, but what about your bassist?”

“Ah. Noona is scary.” Jungkook pouts. Oh god, he’s cute.

“Well, I’d love to.” It’s an honour to be asked to do such a thing, Namjoon feels like he’s making progress. Yoongi is opening up to him, they trust each other, and now Namjoon can even talk to his friends. 

Yoongi approaches from the end of the bed, squeezing in to sit cross-legged between their legs. “This is new.”

“Namjoon-hyung is gonna teach me bass!” 

Jungkook calls him hyung already, Namjoon is thrilled. It’s dimmed by the suspicion on Yoongi’s face. As soon as Yoongi opens his mouth, Jungkook leans over to pinch his thigh, promptly shutting him up. It’s all very confusing, he doesn’t get their friendship.

“That’ll be fun.” Yoongi says, unamused. 

“It will.” Jungkook grins back and scurries away for another drink. 

Yoongi scoots into his place, not quite leaning against Namjoon but sitting close enough for him to sweat.

“Jungkook learned how to play bass when he was a teenager, drums too. He can do literally anything.”

That’s confusing. He had been so excited about learning. “That’s—why would he ask me then?”

Yoongi pets at Namjoon’s head condescendingly. “You’re so dim, I can’t believe I want to suck your dick right now.” Namjoon splutters at the words and Yoongi is back to laughing at him. He gets up on his knees and stretches languidly, if he wore clothing that actually fit him, his lovely stomach would show. But he doesn’t, which is probably for the best, because Namjoon is already slightly turned on by one sentence. “C’mon.” 

Namjoon complies as usual. Beer in one hand, Yoongi’s in the other, he is led off of the bed. Their hands are only locked for a moment but it still has him feeling giddy. He follows Yoongi out of the room, down the green carpeted hallway, into the elevator. They end up at a stairway leading to a roof that definitely isn’t for guests, Yoongi opens the door anyway.

Their first real conversation of the tour was on a roof in California a month ago, where Namjoon had the bravery to ask about a book, which may have just started it all. (He’d like to think that it started long before then.) This one doesn’t have any cute little trees, just a few wooden benches and low walls and a mighty view of lit up houses and swaying trees. It’s a small city in Maine, almost anticlimactic for such an important day, but now it feels incredibly special. 

It isn’t hot like before, the day was cloudy and now it’s dark, on the cusp of chilly for the first time in a while. Namjoon would offer Yoongi his jacket if he had one, and he’d probably get laughed at. It would be romantic to sit on the wall, arms touching and feet dangling, watching the view together, but Yoongi flat out refuses. 

“You’re drunk and the clumsiest person I’ve ever met, I’m not being held responsible for your death.”

“Sounds like you care about me, hyung.” Namjoon goads, pulling him down to sit on the bench, as close to each other as possible.

Yoongi doesn’t tell him to shut up this time. He’s silent for a moment, looking up at the sky. Namjoon waits. 

“I didn’t really hate you, you know that, right?” Yoongi asks quietly. “Well. I just—people are dicks, metal fans are bigger dicks, I’m gay, you know how it goes. I thought you were homophobic and bitchy, so maybe I hated you a bit. But I was wrong, obviously.”

Namjoon is shocked by the admission, the kindness and bravery that it took to say such a thing out loud. Yoongi looks soft and tired in the darkness, pointedly looking out at the view. His lack of eye contact is one of the many endearing things about him. It means that Namjoon gets to stare. 

“You had the right to hate me.”

Yoongi looks over at him for a long moment, speaking carefully. “I don’t hate you now.”

“No?” It’s mean, he’s clearly struggling, but Namjoon wants to see how far he can push. This must be the beginnings of the soft Yoongi that he has heard of. He wonders how much can be lured out. 

“You’re okay.” Yoongi says, back to his usual self. 

Namjoon can’t help but wrap an arm around his waist, leaning right up against him for warmth. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“I said your dick was big.” Ah, yes. They can’t be affectionate for too long. 

“You called it stupid.” Namjoon reminds him, mind inevitably wandering back to how lovely he was beneath him last week. He likes the insults now, they mean that Yoongi is flustered.

“It is stupid, but you’re not.” Trust Yoongi to turn that into a rare compliment. Namjoon leans in and kisses his neck to hide his smile. “I thought you were this—pretentious, privileged asshole. Going to a good uni and playing in a metal band, making out with girls at shows and all that shit.”

It’s interesting to hear about Yoongi’s thoughts about him. He isn’t even wrong, Namjoon really was an asshole. “You don’t think that anymore?”

“I think you might just be a nerd.” Yoongi concludes, finally looking right at him, pretty as ever. 

It’s dangerous, Namjoon wants to say it all. The romantic thoughts he has are far more disgusting than their sex, Yoongi would surely gag. “I’ll take that.”

“I think you’re too smart for your own good.” Yoongi says firmly. “You’re offensively hot, and you don’t even know it - which added to my hatred, by the way.” Namjoon raises his eyebrows, caught off guard by such a blatant admission of attraction outside of sex. The compliments don’t even stop there, he just keeps going.

“You were kind of cute and awkward when we first met, then you had to go and get all beefy, along with being tall as fuck. All that, and you’re sweet, too. That’s the worst part. Fucking—bonding with frogs and stopping in the street to pet dogs, it’s horrible.”

Yoongi is on an actual heated tangent over the good things about Namjoon, waving his hand and shaking his head, words a bit slurred. Alcohol makes him a lot more open than usual. He’s the best at holding his drinks out of the two of them, but maybe he’s a bit too tired after the show, because this is such a curveball Namjoon is practically choking, unable to speak. 

“And the dimples! Boy next door dimples and a stupid monster cock. Actually, maybe I do still hate you—”

Namjoon grabs his face and kisses him. If anything, it’s to stop the poor man from humiliating himself further. He can’t stop smiling and Yoongi grumbles about it, trying to kiss back properly only to be faced with teeth. 

“You’re so into me, what the fuck.”

“Shut the fuck up.” There it is, something more familiar. 

“You’re haunted by my dimples.” Namjoon coos, pushing his luck. “I’m really sorry, hyung. It must’ve been so hard for you.”

“I can push you off of this roof.” Yoongi tries to shove him away and Namjoon holds on tight.

“No you can’t, you’re too tiny, and I’m beefy .”

Yoongi actually stands up, trying to turn around. Namjoon pulls him back down, right into his lap. His knees hit the bench a bit too hard and then he kisses Namjoon’s lips a bit harder. Namjoon wraps his arms around his waist and holds him as close as can be, wanting to stretch the moment out until it snaps. It’s tipsy and affectionate and sloppy, completely perfect until he slides a hand up Yoongi’s shirt and feels how cold his skin is. It takes some time to peel Yoongi off of him, longer to convince him to go back inside. 

Namjoon follows Yoongi into his empty room because he wants to make sure he gets into bed safely. 

(He doesn’t want to leave him yet.)

“You can stay over.” Yoongi offers and casually starts to undress right in front of him. Namjoon looks away.

“That’ll just involve sleeping, right?”

Yoongi scowls but pulls him into bed anyway. Their kisses last a while but they stay innocent for perhaps the first time. Namjoon gets to fall asleep, chest firmly pressed against Yoongi’s back, without worrying about being alone by the time he wakes up.

The night may pass too fast but Yoongi doesn’t leave Namjoon’s side.

They get out of bed reluctantly, dress slowly, make the most of the shitty hotel breakfast buffet. Yoongi drinks black coffee and physically recoils at the amount of milk and sugar Namjoon puts into his own. The less familiar members of Gloss join them once they start eating so Namjoon can’t kiss him goodbye like he wants to, but they’ll see each other tomorrow. 

Yoongi was right about the buildings in Europe. Namjoon falls in love immediately. Barcelona has Yoongi covered in hardcore sunscreen and hiding in the shade of his bus, refusing to go sightseeing after a long flight. Their shows are just as sweaty as they were for the past month and a half, just as rewarding, Namjoon is sure that this is the peak of his life. 

“Do you need help shaving your head?” Yoongi asks, in the middle of standing up on his tiptoes to shampoo Namjoon’s hair like a true friend. 

They don’t often shower together, because they’re aware that they both lack self control, and violating public spaces of the venues that they’re lucky enough to play in is not very cool. But they gave in today. Paris made Namjoon all giddy, wanting to touch Yoongi even more than usual and therefore sending a sleazy text to meet him in the showers.

“Oh. I was thinking of growing it out, actually. Do you not like it?” Namjoon tries his best not to sound too desperate for approval. 

Yoongi isn’t really paying much attention, too busy sneaking in touches. “It’ll look good.” He says absent-mindedly.

“You said it was too short, so, uh.”

A hard look graces Yoongi’s face, voice suddenly serious. “Namjoon, don’t change yourself for me, what the hell.”

“Wait, no. It’s not for you, I just—” Namjoon winces at what he’s about to say. His mind is always in the gutter. “I...like the idea of you pulling it, maybe?”

Yoongi goes from worried to amused in a heartbeat, shaking his head. “God, you’re so…”

“Cute?”

“Horny. You think with your dick.” 

There’s no denying it. Namjoon just nods, trailing his hands down to Yoongi’s ass. “Then you can imagine how strong I’m being right now with you naked and pressed up against me.”

“You’re the one who’s against public sex, not me.”

They’re fated to be interrupted every time he considers it. Someone enters the room, the two of them finish up quietly, Namjoon keeps his hands to himself ( mostly , Yoongi’s naked body is right there). He gets a bit too brave, and Yoongi tells him off in a hushed voice.

“You two!” It’s Seokjin. His voice is shrill and disappointed. “Are you in there together ?”

“Hyung, oh my god. No.” Namjoon has to cover Yoongi’s mouth to stop him from laughing.

“You’re heathens.”

“We’re leaving.”

It’s satisfying to wrap Yoongi up in a towel. He always looks particularly cute after he showers, the joys of sensitive skin that flushes too easily. They dress slowly because Namjoon has to stop to kiss him every time they make eye contact. Seokjin gags loudly.

It’s a strange middle ground they have. In the past, Namjoon had always found himself with very forward women, who clearly stated whether or not they were looking for a relationship or a hookup, distinct boundaries set to avoid any feelings being hurt. There is nothing to protect him now. His heart might as well be locked outside and left to starve, vulnerable as can be. 

Yoongi’s, however, is kept in an impenetrable fortress.

So Namjoon just goes with it. They probably like each other, it’s a fun little honeymoon phase without a trace of commitment. They’re wrapped up in one another, sex and kisses and a bit of affection. It’s enough. 

(It’s not enough. Namjoon wants to date Yoongi so fucking badly. He thinks about being referred to as Yoongi’s boyfriend and just about creams his pants. It’s pathetic.)

It has to be enough because their fling will probably end by the time they get back to Seoul, and he will have to be okay with that. He’ll take what he’s given for as long as it lasts. 

So, Paris is incredible. Yoongi tags along and lets Namjoon wheeze over artworks, he even gets excited about architecture a few times and it’s a pleasure to witness. They kiss once or twice out in the open, soft fleeting touches, because they’re just that gross. Namjoon gives in to seeking out Yoongi’s hand on occasion, beneath tables or pressed together on the metro. Yoongi lets it happen, even squeezes back in reassurance. 

Namjoon loves summer and Yoongi hates it. He swears that overheating is worth it for the plants, Yoongi says that he’d rather stay indoors forever. Yoongi hates summer yet he chooses to spend his spare time trudging around warm, tourist filled places with Namjoon. It’s something. Another something to add to the steadily growing pile of delusional thoughts convincing Namjoon that he might have a chance.

He might be romanticising the fuck out of it due to having a giant crush, but it’s the most physically exhausting week of his life and yet Europe is consistently perfect. Namjoon sits in cafés and reads about vampires in between writing songs about Yoongi. It’s the opposite of the wild tour life that he should be living, but he is definitely worn out and looking terrible, despite the wonderful mood.

Jimin decides in Amsterdam that Namjoon can’t go any longer with his roots in such a state, luring him into Gloss’ bus for some forceful hair bleaching. Apparently they have no spare shirts (a blatant lie), so Namjoon finds himself sitting on the floor, shirtless, as Jimin massages his scalp and Yoongi pretends not to watch carefully.

A few weeks ago Yoongi had said that Namjoon’s dick wasn’t worth any embarrassment around his friends, now he drags him right into his bunk as soon as the dye is washed off, uncaring of the proximity of his band and Jimin’s lewd comments. 

They still don’t fuck in their bunks. It would be cruel to anyone else on the bus, but they don’t hold back on making out. The members of Gloss like to add in their own commentary any time either of them let any noises slip out. It turns into a competition to see who has more self control (Yoongi always wins, obviously). 

It almost happens in Edinburgh. 

With all of their differences, there are a few things that Namjoon and Yoongi firmly share a love for: music, horror, and old places. The buildings feel different, walking through the damp cobblestone streets with Yoongi reminds him of New Orleans, they both spend their day in quiet awe.

The tour only has a few days left. Namjoon ignores this. They visit an anatomical museum in a mighty building, void of people, filled to the brim with all things stomach churning.

Out of nowhere, in the eyeball isle, Namjoon decides there is no better time than the present for kink negotiation.

It has been on his mind a lot, squeezed in between his pining, wondering just how much Yoongi means it when he says he likes pain. The time is never right, because they’re always making out when they’re alone, and Namjoon knows that he’ll get turned on if he talks about it in public. The next hotel is approaching, and he wants to be prepared, so he bites the bullet.

“When you ask me to make it hurt…”

Yoongi looks caught off guard, crouched down to look at something deformed and discoloured. “Where did that come from?”

“I can’t do that stuff without talking about it properly, beforehand, not when you’re already getting fucked.” Namjoon bravely admits.

“It’s impressive that you can find a way to make kinks boring.” Yoongi stands up and nudges his arm, walking along to the next row of shelves. “I meant it all. I like pain, being pushed around, and I know my limits. I’d tell you if you went too far, and I know that you’d stop.” The trust is oddly touching. “I liked it when you pulled my hair, I want you to choke me harder, with both hands.”

“So, like. Um.” This was the wrong place for it. Namjoon feels judged by a misshapen skull as his mind wanders to all of the possibilities of what Yoongi wants.

“I’m not gonna find anything you say weird, I promise.”

Namjoon pretends to be infatuated with a display but he squeezes his eyes shut as he speaks. “Like, spanking and stuff?”

Yoongi fucking giggles, patting his back like he needs comforting. “It’s okay if you’re not into anything rough, y’know? You don’t need to pretend, there’s no pressure.”

If only he knew. 

Namjoon takes a breath. He has done this before, taken it all seriously and blown people’s minds, and now he’s blushing . It’s unfair. He tries to get a grip, clenching his jaw and looking into Yoongi’s twinkling eyes. An old mask of confidence is dug out, usually saved for anyone other than the person in front of him. 

Yoongi underestimates him. Namjoon can prove him wrong. 

“I want it all. I like being in charge, making people beg, pushing them to their limits.” Namjoon speaks carefully, voice low, because he wants to be taken seriously, but there’s also the fact that they’re in a silent museum. “I’m a lot less—coherent with you, but that just makes it better. You make me earn it, and getting to wrap my hand around your throat made me lose my mind.” Yoongi’s eyebrows slowly raise. “I’ve done a lot, I’m disgusting. Whatever you’re into, I’ll find it hot as fuck. I promise.”

Saying it all out loud in public feels like committing a crime, but he reminds himself that the likelihood of other Korean speakers present in a barren Scottish museum is very low. It’s worth it, for the look on Yoongi’s face.

“That works for me.” Yoongi’s cheeks are a bit red, Namjoon suddenly wants to ramble more after seeing the impact of his words. “Remember what I said about Jungkook and I?”

“It haunts me, yes.”

“We both like to be on the receiving end of... that .” Yoongi scratches his neck. Namjoon gulps. 

“You’re both too subby for each other?” Namjoon aims to tease at first, then he’s very much picturing it, and it doesn’t feel like a laughing matter. He’s definitely in the realm of horny. This was a bad idea. “So, uh. Will you tell me specifics? So I know what to do?”

“I don’t want you to come in your pants in a museum, so let’s just say shit, and then respond with yes or no. Okay?” Namjoon wonders what happened to Yoongi’s complaint about making kinks boring, as he’s treating this like a business meeting, but he nods anyway. “Bondage?”

“Yes.” Namjoon says way too fast, so he tries to sound a bit more casual. Yoongi definitely catches it. “For who?”

“I don’t mind. Me, I guess.”

“Same.” Namjoon nods and tries to follow on with covering the basics. He does not imagine what Yoongi is saying, not at all. “Spanking?”

Yoongi licks his lips as Namjoon gets more flustered. “Of course. Pain in general, too. I like marks.”

“I never would’ve known. Degradation?” They slip into it easily, like it’s absent-minded small talk rather than something depraved. It’s fitting for them, for their relationship, Namjoon thinks. 

“I degrade you constantly, get back at me.”

“It’s not a kink if you’re just mean. Do you just do it because you want to get fucked?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and ignores what he just said. “You seem like the type to be into piss.”

They walk past a small elderly woman at that exact moment. Namjoon almost passes out. “I’m not answering that.”

“Would you steal me one of these if I sucked your dick?” Yoongi takes mercy and changes the subject in front of a wall of jarred genitals. Namjoon genuinely debates it, he’s in that deep. 

“You want a Victorian penis in a jar?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more than this specific penis.” Yoongi pouts, looking up at Namjoon with puppy eyes. He’s visibly tired and a bit soggy from the rain, dainty frame drowning in Namjoon’s hoodie.

He’s a cruel man.

“I don’t think it would get let on a flight.” Namjoon says fondly. He’s still kind of mentally absent due to being turned on, but the crush always persists.

“I don’t think you like me.”

“I—uh.” Namjoon’s mind blanks, he can’t come up with anything other than oh god this is supposed to be lighthearted but I like you so fucking much.

He could say it right there. He takes a deep breath, and really considers it, how easy it would be.

“You look so sad, I’ll still suck your dick, calm down.” Yoongi laughs and keeps walking. Namjoon follows him, mind flooding with different possible outcomes of such a confession, drowning in the thought of holding his hand again. 

In the end, he’s a coward, and they continue to point out the most gruesome things they find as a form of romance. Yoongi buys him a green prostate plushie in the gift shop and it might as well be a proposal with how touched Namjoon is. 

The last day of tour is a lot more sad than anticipated.

It rains for their whole stay in the UK. Everyone else is buzzing with excitement, ready to go as hard as they can for their final show and get as drunk as possible afterwards, London features the biggest venue they’ve had in a while. The bus gets packed up and waved off, marking the end of living in shitty little bunks without a permanent shower or washing machine. 

Namjoon doesn’t like endings. 

The day is spent moping around in his hotel room, avoiding interaction at all costs, focusing on channelling sadness into dramatic lyrics. He puts on a brave face for soundcheck and tries his best to retreat back to solitude afterwards, but out of all of the people who could notice his sadness, it turns out to be Jungkook.

Jungkook catches him in the hallway, saying hello and jumping right into it. “You two really made the most of Europe with your little dates.”

“Dates?” Namjoon asks, pretending to be oblivious because his reality is a lot more sad. He wishes that they were dates, but he won’t lie to himself or anyone else. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes. He’s yet to put on his stagewear, content to walk around in pyjamas and a ponytail. “I don’t think you were hooking up in the museums.”

“Hyung doesn’t like me like that, we’re friends.” Namjoon says pitifully. 

“Are you being serious?” Jungkook scoffs. “I told you before, he doesn’t do this.”

If anyone can be trusted about Yoongi’s feelings, it’s Jungkook. Namjoon hopes that it’s true, but he can’t fool himself. “He’s straightforward, though. He’d tell me.”

“You think that Yoongi-hyung would confess his feelings for someone without any prompting?” Jungkook laughs. “Have you met him?”

The next band is doing their soundcheck loudly, guitar booming through the grey hallways to pad out the pause in conversation. Namjoon isn’t optimistic, he keeps coming up with excuses. “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“You’re supposed to be smart.” Jungkook departs with those words, rushing to get ready, and Namjoon is left alone again.

It makes him think about it. All of the little things that Yoongi has been slowly doing, personal stories and smatterings of affection. The vulnerability that he showed in bed, the kind words on the roof in Maine, you’re the only one. 

Namjoon should say it out loud, up front, point blank. They both already know how Namjoon feels, but he could ask if their touches are going to end tonight, if they’ll return to Seoul and forget each other. If he’s lucky they might even keep it up as a way to blow off steam whenever they’re both too desperate.

(Maybe Yoongi likes him back, and none of it will die out the moment they set foot on the plane.)

Yoongi watches Spinebreaker’s set from the side of the stage. He looks obscene as usual, dressed for destruction: dick stepping boots and a studded collar, lipstick almost as dark as his eyeshadow, jeans more ripped by the day. Namjoon’s neck hurts by the end of it, his ears ring and his fingertips are chafed from the thick strings. It’s a short escape from worry that ends as soon as he puts his bass down.

The members of Gloss know how to do a grand finale. Jimin spits into Jungkook’s mouth on stage and Taehyung watches from the sidelines in glee, their relationship is an odd one. Namjoon hardly even winces because he’s so busy drinking in every last drop of Yoongi he can get. He’s more contained than the rest of them, focused on the guitar in his hands, making eye contact with lucky people in the front row. 

Namjoon wonders how many concerts they’ll share again in the future, and if by then he’ll be able to watch Yoongi perform without feeling any pain. 

Namjoon’s hotel room is empty after he showers. He sits on his bed in a towel and glasses, too lazy to put any clothes on, trying to put off the inevitable. He had all the time in the world to think up the right way to confess to Yoongi, and still comes up empty handed. This feels like his last chance, it’s terrifying. 

His phone lights up as he frets. It’s a text from Yoongi, no words, just a photo. He opens the message and promptly drops his phone onto the bed. 

It takes a moment to work up the courage to pick it back up. The image features the frills that haunt his nightmares, pulled up to show creamy thighs, spread and inviting. A ring clad hand holds the ruffles down to cover his crotch and absolutely nothing else.

Namjoon rubs his eyes and wishes he had more willpower. The knock at the door is a nail in his coffin; he’s done for. 

Yoongi willingly marched down the hall of the hotel all dressed up in the fucking maid dress. For Namjoon. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Namjoon asks, slamming the door shut as soon as he steps foot inside.

“Maybe.” Yoongi smiles, pleased with himself. 

It’s just as unholy as he remembers. Yoongi’s legs are one of the things that ruin Namjoon the most in this world, and there’s something about a dress that makes them even more deadly. It doesn’t help that Namjoon is very well acquainted with stupid roleplay porn. He just finds skirts and dresses hot. There’s something so wonderfully filthy about sliding a hand under them, and the thought of doing something like that to Yoongi makes all of the blood from his horny little brain rush south.

He hasn’t even said hello yet. 

“Go on then.” Namjoon will always welcome a death at Yoongi’s hands.

With a hand on his chest, Yoongi walks him backwards towards the bed, shoving a bit too hard to sit down and promptly climbing right into his lap. The way the dress rides up his thighs makes Namjoon gulp, forgetting about everything of importance on his mind. The fishnets have made their return, paired with endearingly unsexy slippers on his feet. 

“Is it a special occasion?” Namjoon chokes out. 

“I thought you’d be desperate as soon as we got here, but I haven’t seen you today.” Yoongi kisses his neck and the pout is audible. Namjoon shudders, keeping his hands firmly on the bed, trying to stay upright rather than collapsing. “I heard you were with Jungkook earlier.”

Namjoon just nods dumbly. Yoongi licks a long line right up his neck, then his lips, all tongue. It can’t be healthy to be this turned on so quickly. 

“I could practically see the outline of your dick when you were on stage.” Yoongi grips him where he’s already filling out beneath the towel. He’s being so forward, Namjoon is going to fucking die.

“Were you thinking about it?” Namjoon asks, giving in to grabbing his thighs ( bare from the dress, he is not letting go of that) and pulling him right against his crotch. They both groan, worked up in seconds, but that was Yoongi’s aim. He came here on a mission, who is Namjoon to deny him?

“Always, my dream dick.” The words hit like a punch. Yoongi’s growing shamelessness is a direct threat to Namjoon’s sanity. 

It must be the dress, because Namjoon’s ability to think is well and truly hindered. It’s just tunnel vision to Yoongi’s ass. Pushing his hands up fishnet clad thighs under the skirt is enough to have him on the verge of drooling, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what lies beneath.

It’s a texture he hasn’t felt in a while, an old friend, setting off a Pavlovian response in his brain leading right to his cock. 

"Are you fucking—” Namjoon splutters, lifting the skirt up and fearing the sight that awaits.

Yoongi is hard and pretty as can be, cock straining against red silk and fishnets. Namjoon thinks this might genuinely be a murder mission, his blood burns. His hips jerk as soon as he lets himself touch the soft fabric, tracing the outline with a finger up to where it’s wet. Yoongi grips onto his shoulders and watches with pride.

“I want to—will you sit on my face?” Namjoon blurts out. He’ll take the time to be embarrassed later, but for now he just lets himself be a hedonist, bluntly asking for what he wants. 

The shock on Yoongi’s face is brief, quickly replaced with something impressed. He grips Namjoon’s jaw and pushes him back to lie down, legs still dangling off the end of the bed. 

“Say please.” Yoongi demands, and that’s new. The throb of arousal that tears through Namjoon’s body tells him that he’s on board. 

“Hyung, please .” Namjoon begs without hesitation. Yoongi kindly complies, crawling up his body and politely removing his glasses, setting them on the bedside table. He goes to pull off the panties, but Namjoon quickly shoves his hands away. “C’mon, c’mere.”

“Pervert. Let me take the tights off, at least.” Yoongi smirks. 

It’s thrilling just watching him peel them off, and then he’s turning around and settling a knee on either side of Namjoon’s head. Yoongi politely holds the skirt up for access, letting the panties be pulled aside like a messily unwrapped gift. 

Namjoon does not hold back. 

He starts off by kissing at all of the inner thigh that he can reach, latching on to finally bruise the sensitive skin after so long. Yoongi squirms and complains, so Namjoon pulls him right down onto his face, earning a surprised yelp, and proceeds to lap at his rim without any hesitation. This has been on his mind for weeks , he makes the most of it, eating him out slow and wet until Yoongi’s thighs are twitching. Namjoon holds him in place for the whole time, maybe a bit too roughly. 

The noises that Yoongi makes are a bit more high pitched than usual. He falls onto his hands, gripping onto Namjoon’s thighs and digging his nails right in. “Holy fuck, ca- calm down .”

(Namjoon doesn’t calm down.)

His bliss is interrupted when Yoongi moves the towel aside and makes the most of the position that they’re in. Namjoon was wholly unprepared for the feeling of pierced tongue against his dick, the strangled groan he lets out makes that very obvious. Yoongi laughs, sucking him into his mouth, and Namjoon can’t even fucking see it. He never thought that an ass in his face would be a problem until this very moment.

“Okay, shit, wait. You can’t do that.” Namjoon whines, biting a thigh in complaint. 

“Why not?” The breathlessness of Yoongi’s voice makes things worse.

“I’ll come .”

There’s another lick and Namjoon swats at his ass gently to stop him. “I was gonna ignore you, but premature ejaculation is kind of your thing.” 

The bullying is padded out by kisses upon Namjoon’s dick, so he doesn’t really mind, but he still defends himself. “It was one time, fuck you.”

“Please do.” Yoongi’s lack of shame while his asshole is right in someone’s face is admirable. 

“You’re insufferable. The lube is in my suitcase.”

“You’re making me get it?” Yoongi glares over his shoulder, visibly annoyed, but his need to be fucked is winning out, so he stomps over to the messy suitcase and digs around. 

The view of him bending over in the dress, still a bit shaky from having his ass eaten, is something that Namjoon will not be forgetting anytime soon. He wishes he could take a photo. Instead, he immortalises the moment by saying dumb shit. 

“Aren’t you my maid?”

Yoongi pauses and scoffs. “Not a fan of this depiction of the working class.”

“You’re the one who put on a fucking maid dress.”

“Didn’t you study sociology?”

Namjoon groans. His dick is hard and covered in spit and he’s about to debate the morality of his stupid kinks.

It isn’t gentle when Yoongi returns. He pulls his panties off without any grace and climbs into Namjoon’s lap, pinning his hands against the bed when he tries to touch him.

“Make it worth it.” It’s cute, the way that Yoongi pretends that he’s grudgingly giving into this, as if he didn’t storm in and demand to be fucked.

“I’ll try my best.” Namjoon says sweetly, roughly pulling his arms free to take the lube and creeping a hand back up the dress. 

Fingering Yoongi beneath it feels obscene, the way that his body is mostly covered but it’s visible that he’s falling apart just from the look on his face. Namjoon has become well acquainted with his prostate in the past few weeks, quickly curling his fingers to find it, watching Yoongi’s mouth fall open.

Namjoon doesn’t get to take his time stretching Yoongi open. He’d like to dedicate a whole evening to it, but Yoongi has other plans, constantly complaining about how slow he is, even lathering Namjoon’s dick in lube to goad him on.

As soon as he gives in and pulls them out, Yoongi is impatiently pushing Namjoon’s cock against his rim without a moment to spare.

“What’s got you so desperate?” It takes bravery to say such a thing to the person pinning you down.

“Weren’t you just about to come?” Yoongi is always talking back. Usually, it’s just endearing, but Namjoon returns to the conversation they had a few days ago. 

In bed, Yoongi is mean with purpose. He wants to get something out of it. 

“Stop.” It takes a moment for Yoongi to register Namjoon’s words, and then he’s looking up in worry. “Go back to the suitcase.”

Yoongi blinks. “What?”

“Get my belt.”

That’s enough to get his attention. Yoongi holds his tongue and reluctantly returns to where he just was, on his hands and knees while Namjoon sits up and watches. It’s dangerous, how quickly the role gets to his head, being in control does something to him. 

Instead of getting back up on the bed, Yoongi crawls back across the floor, settling between Namjoon’s legs and handing him the belt with a challenging look on his face. 

“Here you go, master .” His voice drips with sarcasm. 

He wants it.

“Don’t fucking say that.” Namjoon complains, a bit more whiny than commanding, which he makes up for by roughly taking the belt in one hand and Yoongi’s long hair in the other. 

It feels kind of ridiculous, faking it like this, but the way Yoongi’s eyes get all glassy as soon as he feels some pain is enough to push aside any embarrassment. Namjoon reminds himself of the last time they fucked, when Yoongi kept asking for more, always unsatisfied with a touch unless it’s destructive. They talked about it, Yoongi told him what he wanted. It was a polite request. He keeps on sharing these fragments of himself, even if it makes him vulnerable. 

Namjoon gives in, even if it’s treacherous. 

He waits for a complaint as he pulls Yoongi up by the hair. It’s not gentle. They stand up, Yoongi is forcefully bent over the bed and Namjoon is ready to stop at any moment. He’s waiting for it. 

Yoongi goes pliant without an objection.

It’s shocking enough that Namjoon continues, unsure if his hands are shaking with excitement or anxiety. He pulls up the dress, running a hand over the bare skin, then the belt. He bruises so easily, it’ll be gruesome. 

Yoongi’s thighs squeeze together. He’s still wet with lube between them. When he speaks up, it’s not to complain. “Are you too scared?”

Namjoon might be a little scared of himself, if he’s being honest. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to just take what he wants. 

The first time makes them both jump. It’s a light tap, barely a smack, but they’re both startled by it.

Yoongi is unsatisfied, of course. He pushes up onto his arms, immediately giving up on submitting. Namjoon places a palm on his back and shoves him back down. 

“What the f—”

The second is harder, stopping Yoongi in his tracks. A thrill rushes down Namjoon’s spine. He keeps his hand in place, and Yoongi keeps squirming, but never asks him to stop. 

The third is a lot louder. They both gasp. Namjoon hesitates, but there’s already a red mark blooming and the sight of it lowers his inhibitions. He wants more. Yoongi’s fists are clenched in the sheets and his face is stubbornly hidden, Namjoon is getting used to manhandling him, so he grips his hair again to stop him from hiding. 

Yoongi’s cheeks are red like where he was spanked. The glare on his face is a lot less intimidating when he’s bent over and spreading his legs.

“Feels good?” Namjoon asks, leaning over his back and letting himself grind against him a bit. He could slide his dick inside right now, Yoongi is loose and ready, more than willing. The question is whether he deserves it yet. “Hurts?”

“Maybe if you put some effort into it.”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh and pulls back. The next smack is too hard. Yoongi’s curse is audibly pained and Namjoon doesn’t relent, he keeps going with intent to hurt. It works.

“Nam— fuck. ” Yoongi’s voice is a lot weaker than usual, Namjoon continues. “Will you—” Another spank, just to hear the way his breath hitches. “Want you.”

To think that Namjoon was begging for him to sit on his face a few minutes ago. This is a much better arrangement, Yoongi suits being desperate. His skin bruises far too easily, too nicely, to be treated with care.

“Oh, it worked? You gained some manners?”

“Fuck you.” He gets hit for that one. 

Namjoon feels drunk with it. His fingers tingle as he rubs a hand over the hot skin, teasing at his hole again just to watch him squirm. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Yoongi ignores him and rolls over. He looks so good like this, Namjoon stares and trails the folded belt over the inside of a pale thigh. That would be too much, he’s sensitive there, but Yoongi is daring him to do it. His legs are spread wide. 

Bleary eyes don’t stop Yoongi from being brave. He sits up and scoots to the end of the bed, gripping Namjoon’s cock with intent, pressing a thumb hard enough to make him hiss. 

“If you don’t fuck me now, I’ll just get off by myself.”

How much will it take for him to give in? Namjoon wonders. He asks for it all, but acts like a brat for the entire time. It must not be hard enough.

“Really?” Namjoon asks, gripping his jaw and shoving a thumb into his mouth, just because he can. Yoongi nods, sucking at the finger while Namjoon hums in thought.

The belt is right there. Might as well make use of it.

There’s a shocked yelp when Yoongi gets roughly forced back onto his front, a noise of confusion when his hands are tugged behind his back, and a grumble of complaint when his wrists are restrained by the belt. 

It’s a sight to behold: the frilly dress pushed up to show his delightfully abused ass, the contrast of leather against pale wrists, the prettiest face scowling over his shoulder.

With a gentle swat to his ass, Namjoon leaves him where lies, walking around the bed to sit up against the pillows. 

“C’mon then.” Namjoon pats his lap condescendingly, as if he’s talking to a pet. 

The look on Yoongi’s face is priceless. He stares in disbelief but gives in and clambers up onto the bed anyway. It’s wobbly and ungraceful when he straddles Namjoon’s thighs without the use of his hands. “You’re an asshole.”

“You’re a cockslut.” With every mean word, every rough touch, hard hit, Namjoon gets more sure of himself. It’s a slippery slope. Yoongi’s mouth falls open to argue, but he gets interrupted by the tip of Namjoon’s cock against his rim. “Be good for me or I’ll stop.”

“Do you think you deserve that?”

Namjoon is bored of entertaining the retaliations, so he takes the mean route. They both groan when he pulls Yoongi’s hips down without any warning: Namjoon in pleasure, Yoongi in anger. It wasn’t the smartest idea, the sensation makes Namjoon less coherent than he was a moment ago. He’s always a bit dumb once he’s inside of someone, while Yoongi just gets more feisty, unhindered by his hands tied behind his back.

It takes a moment to settle, it was a shock, toeing the line of too much. Firmly seated on Namjoon’s cock like it’s nothing (though the big, shaky breaths he takes suggest otherwise), Yoongi leans forward and kisses him hard. Though he wants to be as rough as he promised, Namjoon is still patient for now. 

They get lost in it until Yoongi starts to move, achingly slow. He’s trying to get the right angle, entirely focused on his own pleasure, allowed to have his way again for a moment. It all feels good for Namjoon, no matter what, Yoongi doesn’t even need to try. His mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut, chest pushed out from having his hands tied behind his back.

Admittedly, Namjoon gets a bit fixated on the dress. He’s a lost cause, it’s too distracting. He pulls it up to show Yoongi’s cock where it jerks uselessly as he carefully lifts his hips.

“D’you think it’s pretty?” Yoongi asks with faked innocence, it can’t mean anything good. Namjoon nods enthusiastically anyway, petting at Yoongi’s thighs and rolling up into him. It’s still slow, a bit lazy, he wants to draw it out as much as possible.

“So fucking pretty.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi kisses his neck, biting between words and riding him a bit harder. Harsh breaths puff against Namjoon’s sweaty skin. “You like it, oppa ?”

Namjoon might just lose his mind. 

Yoongi knows his weaknesses. He’s an expert in dissection, picking Namjoon apart and leaving him to rot. It’s tempting to give in to it, just one word was enough, something mundane made filthy. 

Instead of melting like his body craves, Namjoon wraps a hand around Yoongi’s throat. 

Yoongi’s eyes widen and Namjoon shuffles to lie down, plants his feet firmly onto the bed, a bit clumsy but far too horny to give a shit. The position means that he can thrust up, as deep as he can, and it’s relentless from that point onwards. 

The breath is visibly forced out of Yoongi’s lungs and his body gets a bit shaky. Namjoon slams into him until he cries out and falls onto his chest, choking a bit on his way down, hiding his face once his neck is released. He can’t even hold himself up, the only option is to lie there and take it.

There’s a moment of worry - Namjoon panics, ready to apologise for going too far, but Yoongi grinds down against him again. There’s something wet beneath his dress that definitely wasn’t there before. 

Sitting on Namjoon’s face had Yoongi on the edge, and he came untouched as soon as he got fucked a bit rough.

“Don’t stop, please.” Yoongi asks, insatiable. The politeness must’ve been fucked into him.

All he has to do is say please and he’ll get whatever he wants, Namjoon can only hold out for so long. He’s a weak man, Yoongi owns him and they both know it.

It feels too soft as he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s waist, clinging onto the fabric, and ruts up into him. There’s an attempt to be careful and precise, searching for the right spot, aiming to overwhelm as much as possible. Teeth sink into his shoulder and things get a bit hazy. At this point, he’s too desperate to keep up any semblance of control.

Namjoon fucks too hard, Yoongi bites harder, they’re both fucking disgusting at heart. 

It hurts in the best way. Yoongi lets out a crazed laugh, licking at the wounded skin. “You’re bleeding.”

That’s—a lot more erotic than it should be. Namjoon runs his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, pulling his head back to get a good look at his smug face. There’s a smudge of blood on his lips and Namjoon licks it right off, still fucking at a punishing pace. Their teeth knock and the shitty hotel bed creaks like it’s on its last legs. 

“What was that line about blood and come?” Namjoon asks, fumbling over his words but somehow able to remember a quote from a book when he’s balls deep and incoherent.

“I —I want both.” Yoongi slurs, restless in Namjoon’s lap, kissing and biting away. “ Ah — all of you.”

“Fuck, baby. You have me.” The pet name slips out. His voice is throaty enough to show that he’s gone, so Yoongi is kind enough to let it slide. Maybe he doesn’t even hear it, with how much he’s whimpering.

“ Mine .” Even the tone of his voice is sarcastic, salacious and teasing, and yet Namjoon’s perverted mind just runs with it. It’s overwhelming, too many of his embarrassing fantasies manifesting at once, and he’s coming too fast.

It hits him hard. He fucks right through it, loud and unforgiving, spilling deep inside. Yoongi takes it all, calling him oppa and humming in satisfaction for the whole time as if he can really feel it. Maybe he can, Namjoon’s balls are well and truly emptied from the force of his orgasm. 

Namjoon fucked his own brains out. His mind is slow and hazy, shameless enough to push Yoongi to sit upright and lift up the skirt again to take in the view.

“You’re filthy.” Yoongi teases, still breathless, but he’s hard again already.

Like a gentleman, Namjoon wraps a hand around his cock and jerks him off slow and gentle, wet with come. Yoongi squirms, Namjoon can feel him clench every time he runs a thumb back and forth over the tip. The maid dress is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, but he misses Yoongi’s bare skin, his sensitive nipples. His dick makes up for it, it’s just as pretty.

There’s something about the way Yoongi blushes when he gets fucked that makes Namjoon really love the colour pink. 

Yoongi’s second orgasm makes him convulse, bending over himself and whining into Namjoon’s chest, come dribbling over his knuckles. Namjoon doesn’t stop until he’s asked to. He wants to keep going, but Yoongi’s eyelids are heavy and his thighs shake from all the work. 

Namjoon unties him carefully and gets pulled in for a kiss immediately. They make it to the shower after a bit too long, busy being half asleep and wrapped up in each other’s soft touches. Yoongi leans against Namjoon’s chest for the whole time. He’s worn out and unashamed of it, probably satisfied if the smile on his face is anything to go off of. 

“You called me baby.” Yoongi grumbles.

If Namjoon blushes, that’s kept to himself. “You called me oppa .”

“You were embarrassingly into it.”

It can’t be safe for Namjoon to get used to falling asleep with Yoongi in his arms. He tried his best to avoid it, but this is probably the last time. 

Chapter Text

The alarm goes off at five in the morning and Namjoon wonders how bad it would be to miss his flight home just to stay wrapped up in Yoongi. It takes too long to tear himself away. Yoongi hardly wakes up, doesn’t even open his eyes, but Namjoon indulges in kissing his face, nose, neck for as long as he possibly can.

It’s Seokjin who drags him away. He bangs on the door loudly, reminding him that the flights home cost more than his rent. 

“Hyung, I need to go.” Namjoon whispers, giving one last kiss. 

Yoongi responds this time. He kisses back, cracks one eye open and groans loudly, trying to pull him back in when he sits up. Namjoon aches. He drags himself away to get dressed clumsily, hopping on one foot and almost falling over. It’s loud enough that Yoongi manages to sit up by the time he’s done.

“‘S too early.” Yoongi grumbles. The rasp of his voice is almost enough to make Namjoon horny at this ungodly hour. 

Namjoon crawls back over him one last time. “I feel like shit.” Yoongi kisses him gently, warm and tired, face all scrunched up in displeasure. Seokjin knocks again, yelling that the taxi is outside. There’s no right way to say goodbye. He can’t say something final, because he doesn’t want it to end. See you later is too casual for the heavy weight in his chest. “Get home safe.” Namjoon’s voice cracks. 

Yoongi nods, kisses him one last time, and lets go. Namjoon wishes that he’d hold on. 

Seokjin is waiting outside the door looking almost as terrible as Namjoon feels, except pretty, because he’s Seokjin. “Got your key?”

“Uh. Yoongi-hyung will check out for me.”

“Oh, shit.” Seokjin pats him on the back and doesn’t ask for details. Namjoon is thankful to mourn in silence.

Everyone is too tired to talk much in the taxi. It’s far too cold for summer, damp and too foggy to see the view when the plane takes off. 

Namjoon finishes reading Lost Souls an hour into the flight. He feels like he abandoned pieces of himself scattered in foreign places; seeds left to take root in Texas, New Orleans, Maine and London. There are fragments in every place that Yoongi ever glanced at him, at least he can return to a few in Seoul.

He spends the rest of the journey completing the lyrics of the song that he had dragged out writing for the entire tour. It ends up sad and dramatic and far too honest, cathartic to get out, humiliating to think about. 

Returning home is bittersweet. The jet lag makes Namjoon sleep for so long that he should feel reborn. He finally has a shower and a washing machine and a bed that will still be his tomorrow, but the permanence is slightly distressing. The green leaf lights from his bunk get strung around his bed frame but the plants in his room are all dead. He still has Hoseok milling around the small kitchen, but he misses Seokjin and Taehyung, he misses having the members of Gloss within arm’s reach. 

He misses Yoongi.

A shameful amount of messages are typed out and then deleted. He's always unsure of what to say. Did you land safely? Would be appropriate at first, but then too much time passes, and it’s too late. He could complain about jet lag or how good it is to have real Korean food again, but everything feels a bit too mundane. 

Namjoon wants to tell Yoongi that he misses him. 

Instead, he records his song. The band’s beloved regular recording studio is incredibly cheap, fittingly located in a dimly lit basement and open very late. It takes a few tries for Namjoon to fumble through messy acoustic guitar chords that he picked up over the years from Seokjin. The song is simple enough that it works, and then comes the hard part. 

Singing is not something he does, ever. He had initially planned to get Taehyung to do the vocals, or maybe even asking Jungkook, but found himself heading to the studio alone and trying his best anyway. The lyrics are too vulnerable to be sung by someone else. He had let his bandmates see bits and pieces of them on occasion, trying to keep the meaning hidden, but got rudely called out for being in love every time. 

Namjoon can’t even listen to it more than once. He plays it back and cringes so hard that his toes curl, which is saying something, because he has shamelessly released a lot of shitty music into the world over the years. It won’t be heard by anyone else, anyway. He feels a bit more put together once he gets home. 

Hoseok drags him to Seokjin’s apartment a few days after they get back to Seoul. They order jajangmyeon and drink soju and complain about the horrors of American takeout and stiff bunks, but they all miss the tour, and they all know it. Now that they’ve had a taste of that lifestyle, it’s hard to return to normal. 

Taehyung interrupts the melancholy mood when he receives a text, immediately perked up and excited. “Jimin invited us to a club on Saturday, we can get the whole gang back together!”

“All of them?” Hoseok asks, glancing at Namjoon. 

“Yes, Yoongi is a member of Gloss.”

Namjoon feels a lot less bleak after that. He lets himself have fun, appreciating how messy his friends can get after a few drinks. 

Taehyung is a hopeless romantic. He prods at Namjoon once they’re both drunk enough to be stupid, and brings up his cassette deck. 

“Can you imagine how fucking romantic that would be? Your gay little song, maybe a mixtape, too? I’d marry you on the spot.”

Yoongi had bought tapes in the occasional second hand music shop that they would dip into when they came across them on the tour. They’d always show each other their favourite albums, and then take turns insulting them, until they finally settled on something that they both actually liked. 

Namjoon considers it, but then he considers the song in question, and shudders. “Taehyung, that’s very cute, but Yoongi-hyung would projectile vomit onto me if I even suggested it.”

“C’mon, just make it, and then if the chance arises it’ll be right there - easy! I bet he’d love it.” Taehyung keeps prodding. 

Namjoon definitely says no, but he ends up going home with the tape in his hands anyway. Taehyung had convinced him to list a few songs off of the top of his head and shoved them on there too, and Namjoon doesn’t even remember what they were by the next day. He doesn’t own a cassette player, so it remains a mystery.

It feels like a new chance and he can’t ignore it. The song is right there, abandoned in a plastic case, filled with all that he can’t say out loud. If Yoongi were to hear it, it could go several ways: best case scenario, Namjoon’s overdramatic lyrics and unsteady singing voice thaws his cold heart and they ride off into the sunset together.

Namjoon laughs at his own delusional fantasies. 

The song would get him turned down, there’s no doubt. Yoongi would probably be nice about it, he’s soft with Namjoon these days, but it would very likely scare him off. However, they haven’t even spoken since they got home. There’s nothing to lose, so he might as well. At least rejection would be something final. 

A text wakes him up just as he begins to fall asleep on Friday night and he’s sure that he’s dreaming when he sees that it’s from Yoongi. A simple question has Namjoon’s palms sweating. 

are you going to the club tomorrow?

yeah

are u?

i’ll see you then

good

Namjoon frets over what to wear. He hates himself for it, so Hoseok forces him into another dilf shirt and even tucks it in himself, telling him that his ass deserves better. His hair is starting to grow more, it’s at an awkward in between length and dyed blue because he was sad and bored. He doesn’t feel worthy of seeing Yoongi, but he reminds himself that they saw each other daily while being incredibly unwashed, and at least he’s not wearing frog pyjamas.

The cassette tape is shoved in his pocket and intentionally forgotten about. He hadn’t known what to write on the box, never even coming up with a title for the stupid song, so he just settles on scrawling fuck you in red marker with the hope that it would balance out the sappiness. 

The subway is just as unpleasant as it always was but his friends are kind enough to refrain from commenting on his irrational fear of seeing Yoongi again. There is a small handful of metal clubs and bars around the city that Namjoon and his friends haunt on occasion. He didn’t ask which one they were headed to, because he didn’t really care. By the time they reach the entrance he has to stop and gape. 

It’s the exact venue of the first concert Namjoon attended, the first stage he performed on, where he first laid eyes on Yoongi. The place where it all began. 

He doesn’t mention it. They make their way inside, it’s a weekly emo club night, and the familiar songs of his youth assault his senses as soon as he enters. Seokjin buys drinks and proceeds to complain that no one protested about it. Namjoon drinks slowly, worried about making a fool of himself, trying not to get too sentimental in his own head. 

Jimin’s pink hair catches his eye first, strutting his way to his rightful place upon Taehyung’s lap, and Namjoon is immediately on edge. 

It was only a week ago that he left Yoongi in the hotel in London. It shouldn’t be so overwhelming to see him again, but it is. The venue of choice might make it a bit more dramatic, because five years ago his life was changed in this very spot. The place is filled to the brim with memories.

Yoongi looks the same, yet Namjoon has to wipe his hands on his jeans. It’s the same hushed way he greets people, letting them pat his shoulders and pull him in for awkward hugs if they’re brave. Namjoon waits patiently in his seat for his own turn. Hoseok slyly moves to sit somewhere else, and Yoongi ends up right there. 

I missed you, I like you, I want you. 

He could just hand over the tape and run away. 

“It’s funny that we ended up back here, right?” Namjoon has to lean right into his ear to talk. Yoongi smells the same, too. 

“Knowing Jimin, he probably did it on purpose.”

So, they can still talk. There might be the slightest bit of tension beneath it, something hesitant and awkward, but they’ve always been like that, right? 

The two bands act like old friends. It’s nice to watch, the way that they all get along so well. Namjoon finds that he’s even happy to see Jungkook again, who is content to be squished between Seokjin and Hoseok while they both get well acquainted with his arm muscles.

Another comfort is how consistent Yoongi is. Namjoon is constantly changing. He has no idea what he’s doing, doesn’t trust himself, always trying his best to mould himself to fit somewhere new. Yoongi is sturdy and ruthless. He’s so sure of himself that it used to make Namjoon feel pathetic, but now he’s just impressed. Infatuated. 

Being back in Seoul after a not-quite worldwide tour results in more popularity than expected. It turns out that Namjoon is well known by people who he doesn’t really remember, and at every opportunity throughout the night, he is stopped and asked about his band, the tour, what it’s like being famous . (He doesn’t know how to tell everyone that he’s not famous at all, he was in the opening act, but it sure is flattering). 

Praise from strangers is an odd thing. Namjoon never really knows how to respond to it, wishing he could compliment them back or brush it off, but he just ends up thanking them all and bowing a lot. It’s exciting at first, being in high demand. A lot of women ranging from intimidating to giggly offer him drinks, but he really doesn’t want to get drunk, so he has to apologise to them all and feels terrible about it. 

He chews on ice to cool down his face after having someone’s chest pressed right up against him, and meets the eyes of Yoongi across the table. The music is too loud for them to talk from this far, so Namjoon lets himself stare. 

Yoongi looks right back, unwavering; maybe he has changed.

Namjoon keeps overheating, sweating under Yoongi’s gaze, stressing over the damn tape. He escapes to the bathroom to cool down, a place loaded with memories of his first meeting with Yoongi. Busy being sentimental, he definitely doesn’t expect to be faced with the sight of a very flustered looking Jungkook crowded in against the counter by none other than Matthew.

“Uh.”

“Oh shit, hey Namjoon!” Matthew grins over his shoulder and keeps his hips firmly slotted against Jungkook’s. Namjoon wonders if he ended up on a prank show of some sort, because there’s no way that this can be reality. “I missed you!”

“It’s good to see you again.” Namjoon says. His eyes are definitely comically wide, but Matthew isn’t the type to pick up on awkwardness.

Jungkook, however, hides his face against the very broad chest in front of him, as if he’s a stranger to public indecency with Namjoon as witness. He even looks kind of small for once. 

Once he gets past the shock, Namjoon lets out a laugh, and then he can’t stop. It’s absurd - the two men that he spent a month and a half being inconveniently jealous of ended up making out right in front of him. He hopes that they date, they’d be cute together; two affectionate gym lovers with a soft spot Yoongi. 

Matthew gives Namjoon a crushing hug on his way out, asking him to not be a stranger now that they’re home, promising regular joint workout sessions. Namjoon is still trying to stop laughing, Jungkook flips him off while his other hand is being held.

The bathroom ends up empty, and Namjoon still has a grin on his face, shaking his head as he carries on with what he came here for. The door opens, he expects Yoongi, only to be greeted with a less familiar voice. The smile doesn’t last long.

“I didn’t even recognise you.”

It’s the most jarring sense of déjà vu. The coincidence is too much, he can’t believe that it’s even real when he looks up from the urinal. “Oh. Donghyuk, hey.” 

Donghyuk looks just as ridiculous as he always did. His hair is bleached badly and permed even worse. He talks with spite dripping from his voice. “I heard about your tour.”

“Oh, yeah. We just got back.” Namjoon says, opting to ignore the hostility of the conversation. Deep inside, he wants to be honest, and tell the man how pathetic he is. In reality, Namjoon is not the type to fight. 

“Is selling out worth it, then?”

It’s hard to hold back a laugh of disbelief. This guy is such an asshole, it’s actually comedic. Namjoon’s politeness does not waver as he washes his hands. “It’s great.”

“Yeah? Even being associated with a bunch of posers like Gloss ?”

“Do people still use that word?” Namjoon speaks as calmly as can be. 

He should’ve known that Yoongi would appear. He always does. This isn’t the reunion in the spot of their first meeting that he wanted. The tension must be palpable, because Yoongi stops as soon as he walks in, looking between the two of them in confusion. His hackles are up.

“Do people still try to be goth? He’s an adult man.” Donghyuk asks proudly, like it’s the sickest burn that a fellow adult man can come up with. “You can’t expect to be taken seriously around someone looking like that .”

Recognition shows on Yoongi’s face, and then he’s glaring. 

“You’re literally in an emo club.” Namjoon says, still steady, but starting to waver. It’s surprising that Donghyuk has the balls to keep this up with Yoongi present. The violent urge rising in Namjoon’s body gets a bit overwhelming, he wants to punch him in the face. He doesn’t even know how to punch someone.  

“Fucking hell, are you defending them?” Donghyuk spits, looking at them in horror. “Is he your little boyfriend or something?”

It’s said like an insult but it definitely doesn’t feel like one. In another world, Namjoon would just say yes. “Would that be a problem?”

“You’re not—are you being serious?” The look on Donghyuk’s face is priceless.

Yoongi is quietly laughing now and he speaks up. The coldness in his voice is something that Namjoon hasn’t heard in a while. “Did I steal your man?”

“This is a joke, right?”

“I came in here to suck his dick, actually. Do you want to watch?” Yoongi politely offers. 

Though Namjoon hates to see Yoongi angry, there’s a guilty part of him that is heating up at the sight of it. It makes his heart hurt, but it races, too. Yoongi is hot. He’s small and cute but irrevocably terrifying, which is the reason why Namjoon’s crush festered for years.

It’s also oddly endearing that Namjoon was given the same exact offer a few years ago. The dick sucking thing must be Yoongi’s go-to. It’s an honour that Namjoon gets to be on the other end of the threat this time. 

“What the fuck. You’re both—you can’t just say that.” Donghyuk’s face is heating up with rage (or maybe he’s just blushing, not immune to Yoongi, which is valid), Namjoon should step in. Yoongi doesn’t need saving, that much is clear; but after years regretting his inability to stand up to this man, Namjoon won’t make the same mistake again. 

“Donghyuk.” The tension in Namjoon’s voice sounds foreign to his own ears. It might even be on the verge of threatening. “Stop being such an asshole, leave him alone. If you’re scared of how he looks then you’re in the wrong music scene.”

“I must be in the wrong music scene if it’s anything to do with them .”

It’s hard to keep things light hearted when faced with someone without a trace of humility, but Namjoon keeps his harsh thoughts to himself. His jaw is clenched too hard. “How’s your band doing, anyway? Maybe you should ask Yoongi-hyung for some tips, or commission him to write a song for you.”

“I’ll give you a discount if you let me slip in a metaphor about blowjobs.” Yoongi teases, genuinely smiling even when he’s faced with a shitty person. Donghyuk looks disturbed and Namjoon might just be in love. “You’re staying to watch, then?”

As soon as Yoongi takes a pointed step towards Namjoon, Donghyuk flees. He leaves with an impressive array of loud complaints but they’re overpowered by laughter.

“I’m sorry you had to see him again, hyung.” Namjoon apologises as soon as the door is shut, but Yoongi just waves him off, closing the distance between them as if nothing just happened. 

“I like you mad, ‘s hot.” Namjoon is convinced that he wasn’t visibly mad but Yoongi kisses him to calm him down anyway. Or maybe to do the opposite. “But I spend my night watching girls hanging off of you, and now him ?”

“Wait—girls?” Namjoon panics, going over all of his awkward interactions throughout the evening. The accusation is shocking, but Yoongi is kissing his neck, and then his mind catches up with him. “You’re not jealous are you?”

The amused puff of breath against his neck makes Namjoon shudder. “ You can’t accuse me of jealousy.”

“Are you forgetting the shit I’ve seen you do with other guys?” Namjoon asks, perplexed by the situation, but Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying whatever is going on, that much is clear. 

Yoongi might be just as fucked up as Namjoon. They both get off on the wrong stuff, maybe it’s fate. 

“You were into it.” Yoongi’s teeth graze over Namjoon’s earlobe and then he’s being led into a cubicle. “He called me your little boyfriend.”

The door shuts, Namjoon gets pushed up against it, and sirens blare in his mind from the mention of boyfriend . It feels like a forbidden word at this point, they’ve kept far away from it. 

“Is that an insult?” Namjoon asks, trying to slow down the kisses. Yoongi nods and carries on with what he was doing. He’s flustered, trying to deflect. The high of standing up to Donghyuk combined with seeing Yoongi again makes Namjoon dumb enough to be brave. “God, imagine being my boyfriend. Gross, right?”

It’s dangerous territory. It could be a joke, easily ignored. This was supposed to be the tape’s burden, but once it’s handed over there’s no taking it back, so Namjoon just ignores it and lets himself be reckless. 

“Very.” It doesn’t hurt like a rejection, it’s what he had expected, so they just carry on. Yoongi keeps going, pressed up against Namjoon, desperate enough that the touches are on the verge of aggressive. “Fucking—ask me, then.”

“What?” The demand flies over Namjoon’s head. He’s not very good at taking things in when Yoongi’s tongue is in his mouth for too long. The piercing has a way of doing that. Yoongi gets more worked up, sharper touches, hands grabbing everywhere they can reach. Namjoon pauses.

Ask me.

Maybe he is stupid. Namjoon pulls back, forcefully removing Yoongi from where he’s latched on. He holds his face and tries to look right into his eyes, but Yoongi stubbornly looks away, and that’s enough to know. 

“You—you don’t want to be my little boyfriend, do you?” Namjoon asks haltingly, trying to keep it teasing, like the insult that it might be. An option for Yoongi to just laugh it off, though he can probably feel how fast Namjoon’s heart is racing.

“Fuck you.” Yoongi’s face is flushed and he might want to be Namjoon’s boyfriend. 

“Right here?” 

“Fucking hell, this is the most shitty—”

After getting to know one another in so many beautiful places on the other side of the world, proposal-worthy spots, it happens in a toilet stall in a small, worn down venue. The lights are just as off putting as they were when he was a teenager, Yoongi is just as pretty as he was back then, but a bit less intimidating. 

“I really want to be your boyfriend, Yoongi-hyung. More than anything, it’s disgusting.” Namjoon blurts it out, heart on a platter, hands shaky. Yoongi crosses his arms and looks up, scrutinising. “Still not good enough?”

“Well, we’re in a toilet, so.”

“ Hyung .” Namjoon pleads. He wants to hear it. He’s still holding Yoongi’s face, he can feel it when he tries not to smile.

It takes a while. Soft little kisses pad out the silence, and Yoongi speaks softly against Namjoon’s lips. 

“Yes.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver, and he looks back, blinking slowly. He’s on his tip-toes. “I meant it when I called you mine.”

Namjoon would melt if he weren’t in such an unsanitary place. He squeezes Yoongi’s waist, rubbing his back, touching the body that wants him back. “I’ve been yours since I was a teenager.”

Yoongi’s kisses quickly get as filthy as the ground beneath them and his hand roughly grips Namjoon through his jeans in no time. “I’m still bruised from the belt.” Yoongi whispers, seductive as ever. The tape is very much forgotten about, replaced with far more pressing matters at hand.

Namjoon pictures how lovely his bruised skin must look, wonders how inappropriate it would be to ask him to pull his jeans down and bend over the toilet, just for the view. Purely aesthetic purposes, of course. 

“You’ve been planning this.” Namjoon accuses, letting out a laugh until Yoongi falls to his knees.

“This is where we first met, it’s romantic.” Keeping up with the romance, Yoongi quickly pulls Namjoon’s dick out without any preamble.

It’s really happening, then. Public sex was inevitable. 

“You get hard from nothing.” Yoongi licks at the tip and Namjoon’s knees buckle. 

“You’re on your knees .” Namjoon whimpers. He runs his hands through Yoongi’s hair, trying to stay in the realm of romance, but Yoongi sucks him in deep enough to make him accidentally pull. “You really want— ah —we’re dating ?”

“I told you, you’re the only one.” 

It hits harder than any dirty talk could. Yoongi likes Namjoon, and happens to show it through sucking dick like he was paid for it, which is fitting. They’re in a public toilet and there’s a distasteful metalcore song playing loud enough to pulse through the floor, it’s all very poetic. 

It’s ominous how perfect the timing is. Someone walks into the bathroom just as Yoongi gets started, like they always do. The downsides of fucking in all of the wrong places. 

“Namjoon-hyung?” Jungkook asks quietly.

Yoongi pulls off to grin . His shoulders shake with laughter and Namjoon’s hands shake with arousal. He leans his head against the door and squeezes his eyes shut, trying his best to speak without giving himself away. 

“Yeah?”

“You never came out, are you okay?” Jungkook is such a nice person. Namjoon had interrupted his intimate moment and yet he’s kind enough to worry. He would feel bad if it weren’t for Yoongi staring right up at him.

“Y-yeah, I—” He has to bite his fist to stop from whimpering. Yoongi just sits there, mouth stuffed full, and then he stays still. He can’t take the entire thing, Namjoon wouldn’t want to see him attempt it, but he gets pretty close despite having to stay silent. “I’ll be out in a- ah minute.”

“...Do you know where Yoongi-hyung is?” Suspicion is creeping into Jungkook’s voice, “oh wow, gross.”

Jungkook must be the only person in the world willing to get down onto his hands and knees on a public toilet floor just to check if his friends are okay.

“Jungkook, what the fuck.” Yoongi rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes, getting back up and leaving Namjoon hanging. He’s used to it by now.

Namjoon’s zipper is barely up by the time Yoongi is opening the stall door, revealing a grinning Jungkook on the other side. “This is where you first met, right? That’s so romantic.”

“That’s what I said.” Yoongi looks pointedly at Namjoon then leaves the bathroom, heading back towards the rest of their friends. 

Jungkook has fully stopped, eyebrows furrowed, so deep in thought that Namjoon asks if he’s okay. Then he rushes after Yoongi, leaving Namjoon to be alone and bewildered.

“You — did you just admit to doing something romantic? With Namjoon-hyung?” Jungkook asks loud enough to catch the attention of Hoseok, who watches attentively. “With Namjoon-hyung present ?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying.” Yoongi might be a bit too good at lying to someone’s face. 

“You’re holding hands.” 

Namjoon doesn’t know if Yoongi wants to tell anyone that they’re dating, so he keeps his mouth shut, trying not to puff his chest out in pride. They really are holding hands, right in front of everyone, and Yoongi must’ve initiated it because there’s no way that Namjoon had the balls to do such a thing. 

“No we’re not.” Yoongi brushes his thumb over Namjoon’s hand as he says it flatly. They haven’t held hands often, but every time it happens he’s always jarred by how close they are in size despite the height difference. 

Jungkook looks distressed. “You’re standing right in front of me, I can literally see you.”

“You must’ve drank too much, are you okay?”

They get forcefully dragged out to the smoking area for an interrogation with more of the group, finding Jimin and Taehyung there.

“It happened! They learned how to communicate! I never thought the day would come.” Hoseok announces, dabbing his eyes dramatically and fumbling to grab Namjoon’s shoulders in overenthusiastic support.

“In the bathroom?” Jimin asks, nudging Taehyung, and then Hoseok looks a bit less thrilled. “I want what they have.”

“I won't believe it until I hear the words come from Yoongi’s mouth.” Seokjin crosses his arms and the six of them stare at Yoongi expectantly, who flounders, and they all know him well enough that the answer is clear. 

Namjoon feels like he might burst.

“Did he hear the song then?” Hoseok’s words put an end to Namjoon’s pride. 

Namjoon might deserve public humiliation at this point, but he still doesn’t welcome it. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to blush as his friends beg for details, and his cruel bandmates happily spill all that they know. 

Everyone but Yoongi laughs at him for being so sappy. Namjoon doesn’t even look at his reaction, busy trying to think of a way to explain away the song. At least the tape wasn’t brought up. 

As soon as the attention is off of them and Namjoon has a chance to breathe, Yoongi gets up on his tip-toes to talk into his ear. “D’you want to come to my apartment after this?”

Namjoon nods frantically and tries his best to hold himself back from getting over-excited. It’s hard when Yoongi doesn’t even shuffle away. He stays right where he is, against Namjoon, and they’re dating so why the fuck wouldn’t he. He freezes when Namjoon wraps an arm around his shoulder, but the tension is only brief. They’re getting used to it.

Seokjin firmly places a hand over Hoseok’s mouth to stop him from squealing over them. There’s no stopping it when they announce that they’re leaving together, but Namjoon doesn’t mind. He gets it, he wants to squeal more than anyone.

The bus to Yoongi’s apartment is quiet, just a few drunk people leaning against one another, and Namjoon lets himself do the same. Yoongi doesn’t protest. The view of Seoul feels different, Yoongi makes things more peaceful. 

Yoongi’s apartment is small, clean, and filled with scented candles. It’s a studio with a kitchen in the entrance way so tiny that Namjoon has to squeeze sideways to walk through, but the bed is pressed up against the window and as soon as he sees the view he gets why someone would choose such a small place.

There are a few trips and stumbles before Yoongi turns on the lamp. He hates ceiling lights and chooses darkness every time. His suitcase from the tour is still open on the floor, dregs of leftover clothing waiting to be washed abandoned at the bottom. It’s nice to see that he doesn’t have it all together. The apartment is cute, like its owner.

Just standing there feels oddly intimate. It’s the first time that Namjoon has set foot in a place of Yoongi’s own. His bunk in the US was the most personal place until now, hotels and green rooms were more frequent to him, nothing permanent. There’s a dead succulent on the small windowsill and the bedsheets have small black and white cats on them. 

“They were a gift from Jimin, I can’t just throw them away, that would be a waste.”

Namjoon laughs at Yoongi’s immediate defensiveness, admiring as much of the room as possible before he inevitably ends up distracted. “I didn’t even look at them.”

“You were thinking it.” 

Namjoon returns to kiss the pout off of Yoongi’s face. He realises that affection is no longer off limits, he can do it all, he can be honest and it might even be welcomed. “I think they suit you.”

“If being my— dating me makes you act like this, I might have to change my mind.” Yoongi complains, trying to push away, but staying confined in Namjoon’s arms. 

“Ah-ah, say it.” Yoongi’s glare doesn’t deter him. Namjoon can feel the weight of the tape in his pocket, and this has to be the right time. “Say it and I’ll give you something.”

“I don’t want it.”

“ Hyung .” Namjoon isn’t as good at whining as Yoongi, but he tries his best. 

With a dramatic sigh, Yoongi gives in. “My boyfriend.” The words will take time to get used to, Namjoon feels like a puddle back on the floor of the club toilet. “ For now .”

“Good enough.” Namjoon smiles, putting his hand in his pocket and grasping the small plastic box in which he bared his heart. Yoongi might as well be Mary Shelley, holding a physical part of her lover. (It’s a silly little acoustic song, how dramatic.) “Don’t laugh at me, okay? I’m embarrassed.”

“No promises.”

“Close your eyes.” Yoongi does as asked, Namjoon takes his hand, placing the tape in it. One eye opens, Namjoon fumbles. Oh god, this was too cheesy, there’s still time to take it back or throw it out of the window or flush it down the toilet. “The song that Hobi mentioned. Uh, yeah. And some others that make me—think of you.”

Yoongi’s mouth twitches as he reads the writing. “A mixtape.” 

“You bought me the book, so I wanted to get you something, and I was gonna use it to ask you out but, well.” Namjoon winces as Yoongi stares at him, he keeps stuttering, trying to defend himself like he committed a crime. He might as well have. “The quality will be shitty but the song is shitty so it doesn’t really matter. You might not even want to listen to it, actually, I can just set it on fire if you want.”

“In 2017?” Yoongi asks, clearly entertained by Namjoon’s stress-fueled rambling. 

“Are you telling me you don’t own a cassette collection?” Yoongi grumbles and inspects the tape, snorting at the writing on the case. Namjoon feels vulnerable letting go of it. “You’re not allowed to listen to it until I go, though.”

Namjoon regrets it as soon as he says it, because Yoongi is immediately scurrying away to do exactly as he just said. Namjoon catches him as he digs through a drawer, wrapping his arms around his waist and lifting him up to protect his own dignity. (He’s easy to carry, oh no.)

Yoongi shrieks, kicking his legs and trying to wriggle free. He gets thrown onto the bed before he can break Namjoon’s bones, pinned down and very unhappy about it.

“This is unfair, you can’t just hand it to me and expect me to be patient.”

“You’d blush the entire time and you know it, wait until tomorrow.” Namjoon forces his legs open with his knees, settling between them and revelling in the feeling of holding Yoongi in place. “Unless you want me to go now?”

Yoongi huffs, defeated. His hair is splayed out against the bedsheets, his bedsheets. There’s a worn book on his bedside table and a little pile of more on the floor. Namjoon soaks in every detail with leisure. He wonders how many more books they’ll share. 

“Why are you still holding me down, you won.”

Namjoon runs his nose up Yoongi’s neck, listening to his breath stutter from the contact. It’s so quiet. No one could interrupt them, all of their friends are far away, the moment belongs to no one else. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Don’t laugh at me, okay?” Yoongi repeats Namjoon’s words after a long moment, making him pull back and look down questioningly. “I wrote one too.”

It’s so shocking that Namjoon lets out a laugh. He wouldn’t even believe it, but Yoongi is squirming like he wants to hide his face. Resting on an elbow, Namjoon leans down to kiss his jaw just because he can. “That’s embarrassing.”

“I didn’t say it was a romantic song, it could be about how much I hate you.” Yoongi’s blush betrays his words. “At least it’s not a cassette tape, I can’t believe you did that.”

He doesn’t hate Namjoon at all. 

It’s hard to believe that they ended up here, mutually fond and somewhat open about it. In Yoongi’s apartment, in his bed, unashamed. They have nowhere to be, no bags to pack, no bus call, no flights. There’s no rush when they kiss.