Archive of Our Own

Across the table, Hoseok was pushing his bleached hair back and looking around the restaurant, pointedly not back at Namjoon. He squeezed his shoulders together like he was trying to make himself small, even smaller. And somewhere a million miles away, which was somehow also at the next table, Seokjin and Jungkook and Jimin were laughing loud enough to attract the attention of pretty much everyone else in the restaurant. Namjoon found that somehow reassuring, like he and Hoseok could hide behind their chaos.

Of course, there was no hiding from the cameras. Not everything. 

Hoseok turned to the table and bent one of his wrists in front of his face, perched his chin on the back of his hand. His gaze flicked up from under his eyelashes and Namjoon caught it, briefly, before it darted away again.

It wasn’t that Namjoon regretted that night with Hoseok. Not exactly. Because how could he regret something so... Namjoon looked down at his hands on the table. Now was the exact wrong time to think about that. It had changed something between them, though. He just had to hope it hadn’t also broken something, because if it had, he had no idea how to put it back together.

“Um,” Namjoon said, and he watched Hoseok’s jaw clench. He’d been like this recently, on camera, like he was afraid Namjoon was going to say something inappropriate. It was a delicate balance, they both knew, even without discussing it, between acting normal with each other and acting too normal with each other. Aggressively normal. More normal than they acted with the other members. In other words, not normal at all.

But it also felt kind of unfair. Namjoon had been doing this for just as long as Hoseok, and he knew what he could and couldn’t say, what he could and couldn’t—

He felt his face flush. He shouldn’t have tried to hold Hoseok’s hand while they were walking here, not even like, as a joke, or whatever. Definitely on the too normal end of the spectrum. He hoped the editors would trash that footage.

“I’ve never really traveled before,” Hoseok was saying. Neutral banter, with a sheen of intimacy, calculated to be just the right level of personal for the show. Practiced. A tiny revelation that didn’t give away anything more than Hoseok intended—but absent the usual flamboyant cuteness he tended to snap over himself like a mask as soon as the cameras switched on. His eyes skated over Namjoon’s again, looking behind him, past him, anywhere but at him, and fleetingly, it occurred to Namjoon that maybe Hoseok was revealing more than he thought.

“I’m glad we’re all here this time, until the end of the trip,” Namjoon said with what he hoped was the untroubled smile of someone who was not at all worried about the status of his relationship with his friend-slash-coworker because of an ill-advised hookup. Or two. But even as he said it, Namjoon saw himself, as if from outside his own body, reaching a hand across the table to... to what? To shake hands? To hold hands? 

Why couldn’t he stop holding Hoseok’s hand on camera? What was wrong with him? He didn’t even hold Hoseok’s hand off camera.

Thankfully, Hoseok gave his hand a squeeze and let the moment pass without so much as a glance in his direction. The conversation turned to work, an even safer topic, and Namjoon was only half paying attention to what they were actually saying, much more occupied with trying to make every word its own little reassurance that everything was okay, that the past was in the past, or the personal was the person, or both, and that nothing could threaten this, in any case.

And Namjoon meant it. He did. Whatever had happened between him and Hoseok, and whatever reason Hoseok really had for not wanting it to happen again—guiltily, repeatedly, Namjoon couldn’t help mentally returning to Hoseok’s relationships with Jimin and Yoongi, as if it were any of his business why Hoseok would with them and wouldn’t with—

But none of that was important compared to the team. None of it mattered compared to the art they needed to keep making together. It couldn’t.

At the next table, Jimin burst out laughing, followed immediately by Seokjin and Jungkook. And across from Namjoon, Hoseok continued to speak quietly, carefully, almost like how he spoke, sometimes, when they were alone. The camera’s red light shone, a beacon to remind them that they weren’t. For a moment, Namjoon was grateful for it.

▩ ▩ ▩

They left the Coldplay concert a few songs before the end of the encore so their bodyguards could spirit them safely into the car. Hoseok was glad they were in bucket seats, separated by several inches of air, so he wouldn’t be tempted to squish their thighs together, like he’d been doing all night, like a high schooler with a secret crush, or no, more like a middle schooler. 

Not like someone who knew what Namjoon’s tongue tasted like. 

Hoseok felt like an idiot. And also kind of like that night had never actually happened. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe Hoseok had dreamed it up. It wouldn’t exactly be his first dream about...

“It’s just so cool to see them, like, I mean, how old are they?” Namjoon was saying, boyish excitement animating his features. He was gesticulating a lot, and in such a good mood that his dimples didn’t go away even when he wasn’t smiling fully. 

Adorable. Hoseok thought that, and then thought that it was probably okay to think that, as long as he didn’t also think about the weight of Namjoon’s cock in his hand. In his hands. Plural. 

He cleared his throat then said, “Uh, in their forties maybe?”

“Yeah I think so. It’s inspiring, right? To see people performing like that, touring, without a, a time limit.” Namjoon’s eyes were bright and Hoseok could feel how nice it would have been to get swept up in his enthusiasm. “Not getting too old to do... what we do.”

Hoseok didn’t realize he was shaking his head until Namjoon’s face fell.

“What? Oh, I don’t mean you’re wrong,” he said when he realized, reaching out to touch Namjoon’s arm and then immediately wishing he hadn’t. “I just... there’s a lot we have to do... to go through. Before we could ever...” He chewed on his lips for a second. How had he not thought about this? “I mean, do you think the other members even, want... that?”

“Do you?”

“Want it, or think the other members do?”

“Either. But. Want it. Do you?”

Hoseok looked away, focused his gaze on the dark gray of the car’s interior, the tightly woven synthetic fabric. What a question. And yes, he had been the one to ask it, in the first place. But he hadn’t been prepared to answer it. He wasn’t even sure what he’d meant, not really.

Did he want... what? To be like Coldplay? To keep going past the point of when they were supposed to stop? To be BTS, forever? To stay with... He chanced a glance up at Namjoon’s face. He was watching him with rapt attention. The car hit a small bump in the road and they both bounced a little in their seats.

“I...” Hoseok decided to be totally honest. “I really can’t think that far ahead, Namjoon.”

 “Okay, yeah,” Namjoon said seriously, only marginally less excited than he’d been a moment earlier. Well, at least Hoseok had managed to avoid totally crushing him. “That makes sense.”

“But it’s good that you do, want that! Or, think about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, yeah, I mean. You’re... The team needs...” Hoseok wasn’t sure what he wanted to call it: Optimism? Craziness? So he avoided calling it anything. “Yoongi-hyung is like that too, right? It’s good, for you guys to set your sights so high. I can’t think that far ahead. But I’m glad you can.”

There was a long silence. Namjoon’s eyes were searching, looking for something in Hoseok’s, and Hoseok wanted to look away, but he resisted the urge. He had to be okay with making eye contact with Namjoon. For fuck’s sake. He could do this without thinking about how pretty his eyes were, how intelligent, and warm, and... and. Namjoon finally just said, “Thanks.” And then they both looked out their respective windows.

The green and yellow and red lights of Seoul at night rolled past. Hoseok watched distractedly as uneven sidewalks curved into deep alleyways, motorcycles hopped up onto curbs, cars squeezed precariously around pedestrians. Groups of people Hoseok’s age spilled out of trendy, lit-up shops, all neatly paired off into boy-girl couples, holding hands like they’d been assigned as buddies on an elementary school field trip. They shared some kind of new dessert that had popped up like dandelions all over Seoul while Hoseok had been on tour. 

On his other side, Namjoon cleared his throat, and Hoseok let his gaze slide back into the car’s interior. He closed his eyes for a few moments, tried really hard not to think about anything. Then—

“We can be friends, right?”

Namjoon had said it quietly, barely above a whisper. Hoseok almost thought he’d imagined it, but when he opened his eyes and looked over, Namjoon was looking anxiously back at him.

“Are you talking about the future?” Hoseok asked. “Or now?”

“I’m talking about now.” Namjoon’s gaze was intense. Hoseok looked between his eyes and swallowed, noticed that his heart was pounding. He wanted to kiss Namjoon. He knew that. He wanted to do more than kiss him. Still, again. But.

Instead, he reached out a hand and found Namjoon’s where it rested on one of his thighs, touched his knuckles like he was asking permission while Namjoon watched the movement with mild surprise. Then Namjoon turned his hand palm up, and they twined their fingers together. The warm sturdy press of Namjoon’s palm against Hoseok’s own felt strange in a way he couldn’t name.

“We are friends,” Hoseok said, and it came out sounding fervent, like he was trying to convince them both. Namjoon squeezed his hand, gently like he was afraid he might crush the bones in Hoseok’s fingers, and all at once Hoseok wasn’t thinking about sex at all; he was thinking about scarier things instead. Because Namjoon’s hand felt—

He heard the word reverberate around the inside of his own head, an unwelcome intruder, impossible to ignore, terrifying to acknowledge.

—right. 

“Okay,” Namjoon whispered back, barely audible over the sound of Hoseok’s thundering heartbeat. “Good.” He didn’t let go of Hoseok’s hand until it was time to get out of the car. Hoseok felt suddenly cold, when he did.

Namjoon went to bed almost as soon as they got home, but Hoseok felt a persistent buzzing under his skin that kept him from sleeping but didn’t allow him to do anything useful, either. When a door down the hall clicked open, followed by calm fast footsteps that turned out to be Yoongi’s, Hoseok was standing at the kitchen counter spinning a water bottle between his hands, staring at absolutely nothing.

“Mm,” Yoongi said by way of greeting.

“Hi hyung.” Hoseok tried to loosen the muscles in his face, snap himself out of whatever this was. “What’re you up to?”

“Finishing something.” Yoongi went over to the refrigerator and pulled out an iced coffee. At this hour. Hoseok knew by now not to question it.

“Cool,” Hoseok said, cringing a little at how disengaged he sounded. He could feel Yoongi’s eyes on him, but when he looked up, Yoongi had already turned away. “Whatcha workin’ on?”

“Mm... just a beat. Not sure what it’s for yet.”

“Ahh, cool.” He meant it this time, and sounded like he meant it. “Cool hyung.” Yoongi grunted like he always did when Hoseok complimented him, and they stood in comfortable silence for a minute or so, Yoongi drinking his iced coffee, Hoseok fiddling with his water bottle.

“Can I ask you something?” Yoongi said suddenly. He wasn’t looking at Hoseok, when Hoseok glanced in his direction. 

“Sure.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicked over to Hoseok’s for a microsecond. “You and Namjoon...” He paused, allowing Hoseok to finish the sentence, if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. Hoseok bit the inside of his cheek, tried not to let his face heat. “I don’t wanna pry, or anything. It’s not my business. But.” Yoongi picked at the cuticles of one hand, his fingertips wet with the condensation from his coffee. “If you need to talk about whatever is going on...” 

And now he did look Hoseok in the eye for longer than usual. “I hope you don’t think it’s weird to talk to me about, just because we’ve fooled around. And me and Namjoon...”

When he put it that way, it made Hoseok wonder if it really wasn’t Yoongi’s business. A guilty weight settled in the pit of his stomach and he wasn’t sure why. 

“But it’s good to talk about things, and I’m here, if you need to.” Yoongi shrugged with one shoulder.

Jealousy? Whose? Hoseok didn’t feel it, from himself or from Yoongi, so why...?

“Yeah,” Hoseok finally said, “I know.” And without thinking, he reached a hand out to weave his fingers between Yoongi’s. Yoongi froze briefly, then wrapped Hoseok’s hand up in his. Warm, big. “No I mean, thanks hyung, really...”

Yoongi traced his thumb over Hoseok’s knuckles, and Hoseok let himself get lost in the small movement.

“Nothing’s... happening. I mean, we haven’t been,” Hoseok said to their hands. “Hooking up. It only happened the one time.” The memory of Namjoon’s studio floated into Hoseok’s mental field of vision. He didn’t have to count that too, did he? One time-ish

Yoongi grunted noncommittally, nodded slowly, took a long, wet inhale. Then he asked, “Why?”

“What do you mean? Why did we, or—”

“No, why aren’t you?”

“Uh,” Hoseok said. How the fuck was he supposed to answer that if it wasn’t already obvious?

“You should do what you want,” Yoongi said. His thumb tickled between two of Hoseok’s knuckles. Such an intimate gesture. Hoseok turned to look at Yoongi’s face, the soft slopes of his profile, his small pink mouth, wet. Yoongi was studiously avoiding looking back at him. Hoseok wanted to kiss him on the temple, suddenly, but something stopped him. He squeezed his hand instead, and Yoongi squeezed back.

Hoseok hummed. “But it’s not just about what I want,” he said. “There’s everyone else, all of you guys. And there’s Namjoonie—”

“Well yeah, Nam—wait, what do you mean ‘everyone else’?” Incredibly, Yoongi actually sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “Who’s telling you not to hook up with Namjoon? Is it Jimin?”

“No...”

“Why should it have anything to do with anyone else besides you two?”

Hoseok blinked. And he thought about Jimin, about the carefree window they had managed to carve out for themselves between one kind of anxiety and whatever this was, now, that was making it so Jimin wouldn’t fuck him anymore.

They’d all fallen into a few different configurations over the years, and Yoongi was right; it didn’t ever have anything to do with anyone other than the members involved. When there were problems, or even breakups, it didn’t affect the group any differently from the fights that had nothing to do with sex. 

It was just sex. God knew Hoseok had never had a problem understanding that before. 

He eyed the side of Yoongi’s face again. It was natural, to seek out the warmth and pleasure in each other’s bodies, an easy release from the pressure of their insane everyday lives. 

It had been natural, years ago, to fuck Yoongi.

It hadn’t been scary, to let him put his hands on him, to kiss his soft wet mouth, swallow his moans, fit himself inside him. It had been natural, to make each other feel good until they were both a little less lonely and less afraid.

And it hadn’t been scary with Jimin, either, not for Hoseok anyway. It had been easy, practical even, and there was desire and love, of course, but the sex was comfort, security. A foolproof way to get to sleep.

With Namjoon...

Hoseok could feel that his palm was starting to sweat. Wasn’t it still natural? Wasn’t it comfort? Wasn’t it just sex? Why was it scary, with Namjoon?

Because it’s different, Hoseok didn’t say. Not to himself, and not to Yoongi. But he couldn’t keep his breath from coming faster. Because I—

“It just feels,” he started, not sure how to finish the thought. “It feels.” He gently extricated his hand from Yoongi’s and wiped off his sweat on the front of his pants. Then he kept his hands to himself.

“Ah,” Yoongi said after a beat. His face did something Hoseok couldn’t interpret, just for a split second, then smoothed out again as he nodded at the condensation dripping down the side of his coffee.

What the hell does that mean?

But rather than answering Hoseok’s unspoken question, Yoongi just said again, “You should do what you want,” then he slurped thoughtfully. “If you’re unhappy, that’s not good for the group either.”

“Unhappy,” Hoseok repeated. Yoongi didn’t say anything. Was Hoseok unhappy? He hadn’t ever really thought about it. It wasn’t really the point, was it? His... happiness. Right?

Just then, there was a loud crash from down the hall, followed by a bilingual series of swear words. Namjoon, obviously. There was a pause, during which both Hoseok and Yoongi looked in the direction of the noise, and waited for a second, just in case, until—“I’m fine!”

Hoseok’s water bottle crackled as he loosened his grip on it and shared a look with Yoongi, who snorted.

“I’m gonna go,” he said, “work on this song.”

“Oh it’s a song now?” Hoseok heard himself ask, his voice teasing, but he was distracted. “Before it was just a beat.”

“Song, beat...” Yoongi waved his hand in the air, the one that didn’t have a vice grip on his iced coffee, noncommittal. “Dunno yet.” He slurped again. “’Night Hobah.” And he padded away back out of the kitchen. Hoseok stared after him absently for a few moments, then looked down at his hands.

Unhappy.

▩ ▩ ▩

Namjoon’s stomach did an annoying little flip when he looked through the peephole to see who was knocking at his hotel room door. He’d expected Jimin or Jungkook, maybe, one of the group’s resident night owls, or maybe even a member of the staff for some reason.

But no. It was Hoseok. And Namjoon felt some kind of perverse anticipation about it, despite everything he really should have learned since they’d last been alone in a hotel room together, at night, after an awards show.

Hoseok stood on the other side of Namjoon’s door in a huge t-shirt and tiny shorts, hugging his own arms and actually shivering. The air conditioner was absolutely blasting in the hallway. His feet were tucked into a pair of too-big hotel slippers. The hallway fell away on either side of him in the fisheye of the glass. Namjoon opened the door, and Hoseok looked up at him, then looked down at his bare chest, then looked up again.

“Hey,” he said. His skin was dewy, like he’d already done his whole bedtime routine, the blush from the evening’s celebratory champagne mostly faded from his cheeks. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was up. Or, just about to go to bed. I was up.” Namjoon stepped to the side and Hoseok walked into the room, letting the door swing closed behind him.

What was it about the night after a big awards show? Idly, Namjoon wondered if maybe there was some sort of ironic curse at work, but that wouldn’t make sense because he couldn’t convince even himself that he was remotely unhappy about Hoseok’s surprise appearance in his room. He only wished he were unhappy about it. That would have made things simpler.

“Um,” Hoseok said. His eyes flicked down to Namjoon’s chest again and Namjoon resisted the urge to cross his arms over it. “We should talk.”

“Okay...” It occurred to Namjoon then that he actually had no idea if this was about anything besides, like, work. Or the other members, or anything other than the matted tangle of sexual tension and awkwardness and regret and stress and frustration and... okay, he could admit it, horniness, at least on his side of things, that had sprouted up between them over the past few months. 

Namjoon walked over to sit cross-legged on one corner of his bed and watched Hoseok’s gaze bounce between all the possible places he could sit, assessing the pros and cons of each with his trademark surgical precision. He chose one of the room’s standard hotel issue armchairs and dropped into it like a puppet with its strings cut. He pulled a foot up onto the seat, wrapping his arms around his knee and letting his slipper fall to the floor. Namjoon snapped his gaze away.

“Namjoonah,” Hoseok said. He rearranged himself in his seat, massaged one of his temples for a moment, closed his eyes, opened them again, cleared his throat.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, um.” Hoseok looked directly at Namjoon, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I just need to say it. All this weirdness, between us, is because of me. I shouldn’t have...”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched. Hadn’t Hoseok already apologized for this? In his studio right before he’d kissed him like the fucking world was ending, and then dipped? What was he even... “I know, you told me. It was a mistake, I’m not—”

“No! I didn’t, I mean, I’m sorry for... I was wrong to apologize that time. For. For that night. After MAMA.” Hoseok took a deep breath, seemingly exasperated. “It wasn’t a mistake. Really, I’m sorry I said that. Seriously.”

Namjoon held his breath, felt his eyebrows do something. Was Hoseok exasperated with himself?

“I only... I said that, before, because I thought... I don’t know, but.” Hoseok closed his eyes and gave his head a quick shake. “It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with it. Right?”

With them hooking up after MAMA? With Hoseok apologizing for apologizing about them hooking after MAMA? “With what?” Namjoon asked cautiously.

“I have to just say it like that?”

“I mean, I can’t actually read your—”

Hoseok clicked his tongue then said, businesslike, like it should have been obvious, “Hooking up. Between the members or. Us?” He gestured between them and Namjoon felt his face heat.

“You know I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” Namjoon said flatly.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I do know that.” Hoseok chewed on his top lip so it was reddened when he spoke again. The blush had returned to his cheeks, and his forehead. “But like, I have been um, thinking a lot. I think... I mean, sometimes I can’t sleep. And I need... Or, I guess, I want...” He breathed in and out once, slowly, then met Namjoon’s gaze. “I’ve thought about it a lot, that night. I’d like to, again, if you...”

“What? Now?” Surely he couldn’t mean—but Hoseok had pushed himself up out of his chair, slipped his foot out of the other slipper that had still been hanging on for dear life, and was walking toward Namjoon where he sat at the end of the bed.

“If you want?” he said, his eyes scanning Namjoon’s face for signs of resistance, or rejection. He didn’t seem to find any. Namjoon couldn’t imagine where he would. “I mean, now, or, another—”

“I do want,” Namjoon said, too fast. He sounded desperate. But that wasn’t important. “Now, or, I mean, if you...”

Hoseok nodded. “Okay. Okay, good.” He laughed nervously; they both did. He was close enough now to lean against the bed, to touch the fabric of Namjoon’s sweatpants where they stretched over his knees. His eyes hovered somewhere around Namjoon’s collarbone. “But uh... let’s not worry about, you know, future things or. Or anything like that. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, okay,” Namjoon said. He thought he did. Maybe. The first thing he thought about was that conversation they’d had about Coldplay, back in April. Hoseok probably wasn’t talking about that. His fingers slid away from Namjoon’s legs again, leaving cold trails behind them. He walked over to the light switch closest to the door—sway, sway—the one that controlled all the other light switches in the room.

“Bed?” he asked, another question, like he expected Namjoon to say no, at this point. But Namjoon was already shuffling back to the head of the bed, pulling back the covers, and Hoseok didn’t wait for any other answer before he flipped the switch. Namjoon’s stomach flipped with it.

Hotel rooms were always somehow a little too dark when the lights were out, so it was almost pitch black when Hoseok climbed into bed next to Namjoon. But Namjoon could feel Hoseok’s weight on the bed next to him, then could just see the slender line of his body as his eyes adjusted. He thought Hoseok would lie on his back, because hadn’t the mood changed too quickly? But he curled up on his side instead, facing Namjoon. Their faces were close enough for Namjoon to smell the mint on Hoseok’s breath.

They had done this before, something like this anyway, but it didn’t feel like they had, as Hoseok’s fingers walked delicately up Namjoon’s side, as Namjoon slid his hand from Hoseok’s bare thigh to where his skimpy little shorts covered the smallest part of his hip before giving way to bare skin under his baggy t-shirt. He wasn’t wearing underwear. 

Namjoon felt a throb between his thighs. They hadn’t even kissed yet and he already felt lightheaded. Hoseok’s hand was on the side of his face now, tender, surprising, and he leaned that last bit closer and brushed their lips together. Namjoon heard the whimper leave his mouth, and Hoseok laughed quietly.

“I like doing this,” he confessed in a whisper against Namjoon’s lips, straightforward now that it was dark, maybe. “With you.” And he kissed Namjoon again, more decisively, seemingly without any regard for Namjoon’s sanity, and for a second Namjoon had the terrifying thought that he might come from this, from just this, from Hoseok holding his face and barely kissing him, and it wasn’t the first time in recent months and weeks that he had thought maybe he had gone insane for real, and then Hoseok whined in his throat and licked Namjoon’s mouth open and swung a leg over Namjoon’s hip and he was just as hard as Namjoon was. Fuck.  

“Me too,” Namjoon said as soon as Hoseok pulled back to breathe. “With you.” Hoseok made an exhilarated little sound into the air between them, pressed his hard cock against Namjoon’s through thin fabric. “Fuck, Hobah.”

Hoseok pushed his hands up Namjoon’s chest then leaned back far enough to get his own shirt off, tugged at the nested elastic bands of Namjoon’s sweats and underwear. “Take these off?” 

Namjoon scrambled to obey, and Hoseok’s hand followed the drag of the fabric down Namjoon’s hip. When Namjoon reached to pull down those little shorts Hoseok had on, the wet head of Hoseok’s cock slid over his palm. Namjoon reached lower, wrapped Hoseok’s balls up in his hand, and Hoseok sighed and wiggled his hips. Namjoon tugged the smallest amount and Hoseok moaned.

Dizzily, Namjoon realized: there was nothing he didn’t want to do with this person. He hadn’t ever had that thought before, like that, about anyone, but now he was having it, as he stroked back up Hoseok’s cock loosely, slowly. He wanted to put his mouth on every part of his body, wanted him to save all his orgasms for his tongue. He wanted to be inside him, around him, wanted to smell his sweat, taste his spit, bite at his nipples until he pushed him away, until he was sore and raw and whining. He wanted to fill him up and then lick him empty and clean so he could do it again.

And he wanted Hoseok to take him, too, wanted to feel him stretching him open with his big cock or his slender fingers, his sharp tongue. 

He felt drunk, he felt crazy. He felt like he’d just tripped at the top of a flight of stairs, it was that same swoop of adrenaline, the same lack of control and feeling of inevitability. 

When they’d both kicked off the last of their clothes, Namjoon pulled away and tried to see Hoseok in the dark. He was mostly covered with the blanket, they both were, their bare legs and feet sliding together out of sight. Namjoon’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the scant light from the window reflecting in Hoseok’s eyes, on the wet of his lower lip. 

They hadn’t been naked together before, like this, with the freedom to touch and taste and take time. Namjoon trailed his fingers over the shadow of Hoseok’s collarbone and Hoseok watched him in the dark. His chest was so small as it rose and fell with his breathing. Unbelievable, that Namjoon was allowed to do this. An hour ago, he wouldn’t have believed it.

“I,” Namjoon started, but Hoseok leaned forward and kissed him before he could say anything else, and his hands were everywhere, and he was pushing Namjoon back into the mattress, grinding the hot hard length of his cock against Namjoon’s thigh and licking deep into his mouth until Namjoon forgot about whatever words had been there, whatever had been trying to get out.

Hoseok’s thigh pressed up between Namjoon’s legs and Namjoon moaned and Hoseok swallowed it up and made a sound like... Namjoon felt like he was maybe on the edge of realizing something, something about Hoseok, and then Hoseok started kissing down his body and he couldn’t think about anything besides the soft press of Hoseok’s mouth, the hot slide of his tongue, his teeth, the graceful flutter of his hands.

Hoseok gave Namjoon’s nipples wet, sucking kisses, pulling them between his teeth, and he dug his fingernails into Namjoon’s sides, and a moan vibrated through Namjoon’s chest, and he wasn’t even sure whose it was. Hoseok’s fingers were still traveling down, down, until they were tickling through Namjoon’s pubic hair, and then he licked back up Namjoon’s chest, up his neck to his jaw, and wrapped his hand warm and tight around the underside of his cock.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he whispered, hot and low in Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon just moaned. Hoseok’s hand was moving on his cock, and it was so good, and Namjoon spread his legs and pushed his hips up off the bed. Hoseok huffed a laugh over his neck and then said, “I want to put you in my mouth. Can I?”

“Fuck, fuck, yes.” Namjoon thought getting even that many words out may have been a miracle.

Hoseok licked over Namjoon’s mouth, pushed his tongue past his lips, and Namjoon was totally helpless as he waited for... for whatever else Hoseok wanted to do to him. When he did finally finish kissing down Namjoon’s body, he had a way of taking Namjoon’s cock into his mouth that was careful, almost reverent, the tremors of a moan vibrating around him. Namjoon didn’t know if it was because of him, or if this was just how Hoseok sucked dick, and he was really thinking about that, how Hoseok sucked dick, while...

Hoseok’s tongue swept over the head of Namjoon’s cock, gave his slit little licks, and he made these noises like he was eating a delicious meal, and that made Namjoon blush, which was ridiculous, but Namjoon could feel that he was leaking a steady stream of precome that Hoseok kept lapping up, and that was embarrassing. Like this, with nothing between him and Hoseok’s mouth, he couldn’t hide how much he wanted—this, him. He had the flickering memory of how intimate it had felt to collect Hoseok’s precome on his own tongue, and he felt his skin prickle with the knowledge that Hoseok was the one tasting him now, the one smearing his soft lips with the evidence of his body’s need.

He pulled away with a wet sticky sound, then—“Yummy,” he actually said. “You taste so good Namjoonah, really...” And then he sucked the whole head of his cock into his mouth. Namjoon felt sweat beading on his upper lip, on his forehead, heard his own moans like they were coming from someone else. Hoseok trailed the fingernails of one hand lightly over Namjoon’s balls and lowered his head, took more of him inside. Namjoon thought he might black out; he had no idea what he was saying, what kinds of sounds he was making as the perfect hot wet of Hoseok’s mouth slid up and down over his cock.

Slow. Hoseok was slow, and he was gentle with his mouth, careful with it, though his fingers that reached everywhere were less so, and Namjoon twitched away from the bite of Hoseok’s fingernails wherever he felt it, but he didn’t want him to stop. It all felt so good, even those little spikes of pain, and with one of Hoseok’s hands stroking his spit over the substantial length of Namjoon’s cock he couldn’t fit in his mouth, Namjoon was getting dangerously close to coming.

“Hobah, you need to—” Namjoon interrupted himself with a low moan as Hoseok dragged the flat of his tongue over the tight swollen skin of the head of his cock, then dug into his slit in search of more precome. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” Namjoon managed to choke out before Hoseok ripped another moan from his throat with a twist of his elegant wrist.

Hoseok pulled off again. “Namjoonah,” he said, and his voice was wet. Namjoon looked down at him, or tried to, at the kneeling silhouette of him between his legs, eyes shining, blankets pooling around his waist and thighs. “I want,” came Hoseok’s voice again, quietly. His hand was still on Namjoon’s cock, holding it tight. “Will you,” he said, sounding a little out of breath. “Would you want to, fuck me?”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon groaned, and he felt himself throb hard in Hoseok’s hand. “I... You want that?”

“Yes? Do you?”

“Fuck, yeah, of course I—” Hoseok was climbing back up Namjoon’s body, looking predatory, and Namjoon wondered if he was dreaming, because surely there was no way... Ah. There was no way. “Wait, I,” he said, and Hoseok paused with his face inches away from Namjoon’s.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked. His hand was still wrapped nearly all the way around Namjoon’s cock.

“I...” Namjoon started. “I don’t have any lube here.”

“Are you serious?!”

Namjoon laughed awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. It’s not like I was, you know, planning, so...”

“Not even for, like, just yourself?”

“I don’t usually... use...”

Hoseok made an exasperated sound and buried his face in Namjoon’s chest. Namjoon didn’t know what to do with his hands, but he wanted to touch Hoseok’s hair, so he did, and Hoseok hummed.

“Well,” he said, muffled. “You’re too big, to even, try, without...” Namjoon burst out laughing even as he felt his face heating up again. “But,” and with that Hoseok raised his head a little, “wanna try with your fingers?”

Namjoon stopped laughing abruptly. “God, yes.”

“Okay,” Hoseok murmured into Namjoon’s collarbone. “But. Let me.” He kissed Namjoon’s neck, and his hand was moving on his cock again, then he kissed his mouth, and he tasted salty, like sweat and precome. Like Namjoon’s sweat and precome. “Let me, finish you first, okay?” He whispered against Namjoon’s lips, then licked them.

“Yes,” Namjoon gasped. “Okay.” Hoseok laughed, and said something under his breath. Maybe he called Namjoon cute. Then he wriggled down the bed to bring his face close to Namjoon’s cock again, and Namjoon swiftly realized that he was even closer to coming than he had thought. “Oh fuck...” 

Hoseok wrapped his lips around him, and his tongue was playing with the sensitive ridge under the head of his cock, and his hand was moving slow and tight. Namjoon closed his eyes. 

Hoseok wanted him to fuck him. He wanted him to... fuck him with his...

“Hobah,” he choked. It had only been a few seconds, and he already— “I’m gonna, oh, fuck, fuck!”

The soft wet tip of Hoseok’s tongue, the gentle pressure of his lips, the strong caress of his hand and the mental image of him bent over and naked, spreading himself for Namjoon to penetrate and fill, his little asshole stretching past the point of discomfort as he begged him to go faster, or slower, or, or— 

It all pulled Namjoon’s orgasm from him shamefully fast and it took almost no time at all for him to start spilling uncontrollably into Hoseok’s mouth. 

Hoseok yelped and flinched back, and Namjoon only kept coming, hot spurts landing... Namjoon didn’t know where. Hoseok’s hand was still there for him to fuck into, and the embarrassment only seemed to sharpen everything, making him come more and harder. He shuddered through a powerful aftershock with an undignified whine and only after did he realize Hoseok was saying something. He was swearing. 

“Fuck Namjoon,” he was saying. “Fuck. Fuck that was so... Nn fuck you’re so hot, you’re so fucking hot.” He was babbling nonsense and crawling up Namjoon’s body again and as Namjoon’s vision cleared he could see that he was, he was wiping come off his face, onto his fingers. 

Oh my god.

Hoseok sucked his fingers into his mouth, noisily, then straddled Namjoon so he was sitting on his softening cock and Namjoon’s whole body jerked a little with oversensitivity. Hoseok giggled, high-pitched and crazy. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” he moaned, rubbing his cock against Namjoon’s stomach. Then he moaned harder and twitched forward a little, and Namjoon realized...

“Fuck, are you,” he said, hushed. Hoseok shuddered, whined. “Are you, fingering yourself...”

“Just a little,” Hoseok said. “D’you wanna? Take over?” He gasped and his cock smeared precome over Namjoon’s belly. “Gimme your hand, lemme, get it wet...”

Hoseok’s mouth was just as soft and hot and wet around Namjoon’s fingers as it had been around his cock, and his tongue was slippery. His teeth closed gently around Namjoon’s knuckles and Namjoon couldn’t help making a little sound in his throat. He carefully pressed down on Hoseok’s tongue with his fingertips, toward the back where it was rougher, and he felt rather than heard when Hoseok choked slightly. Then Hoseok pulled back slowly, letting his spit drip between Namjoon’s fingers.

“Okay,” he said, almost as if to himself, and he let go of Namjoon’s wrist and pressed his body along his. Namjoon’s dry hand was already on Hoseok’s ass, and he squeezed so he spread just enough. Even though he couldn’t see anything, facing each other like they were, and with the lights out like they were, he imagined the pretty split of Hoseok’s little ass, how cutely his asshole would clench and blush if Namjoon were looking at it, probably. 

Namjoon slid his spit-slick middle finger up Hoseok’s crack until it caught. His hole was cute to the touch even if Namjoon couldn’t see it. It twitched under the pad of his finger, pulled tight when he tried to push inside. Hoseok whimpered against Namjoon’s neck when he pulled at the hard muscle of his rim until it started to go soft and relaxed.

“Yeah,” Hoseok breathed, and Namjoon could feel him bear down just enough to let Namjoon’s finger inside him to the first knuckle. “S’good.”

He was inside him, he was inside Hoseok, touching him in such a secret, hidden, private place, and Hoseok was letting him, he wanted him to, to do this to him. To do this for him, with him. 

Hoseok was all hard, his sharp elbows and shoulders and chin and hipbones, and his cock grinding into Namjoon’s, making him fill with blood again too, slow but inevitable. And Hoseok was soft, too, his soft mouth breathing out soft little puffs of hot air over Namjoon’s ear, making soft little sounds, and his insides, too, were soft, soft and hot and pulsing with his heartbeat around Namjoon’s middle finger as he wiggled it further into him.

“Another,” Hoseok said. “Another finger, please.” Namjoon shivered, rubbed at Hoseok’s rim with a second finger. It wasn’t wet enough, so he pulled his other hand back and sucked messily on his fingers, then smeared the spit over Hoseok’s hole around where he was still reaching inside him. Pumped his finger in and out a few times until the slide was easier, then squeezed two fingers in, and Hoseok fluttered responsively around him. He exhaled a sigh that turned into a moan. “Fuck me,” he whispered. So Namjoon did.

Back in that Hong Kong hotel room months ago, Hoseok had been noisy, and he had squirmed around and leaked everywhere and fucked into Namjoon’s hand and then his mouth. But this was different. The sounds that were coming out of Hoseok’s mouth now seemed to originate from somewhere deeper, somewhere more primal. He brushed his lips over Namjoon’s and pushed those sounds into his mouth with his tongue, and again, Namjoon was overwhelmed with the responsibility of being allowed to see him like this, to hold him and taste him like this.

He felt Hoseok stretch open around his knuckles, ride back into his hand, felt his groans vibrate between them. Namjoon rolled them onto their sides and Hoseok slung a leg over his hip so Namjoon’s fingers could push deeper inside him. 

Hoseok grunted. “There,” he gasped. “Ah fuck, right there...” Namjoon pushed him onto his back and his legs fell open. Namjoon could see the pretty lines of his body, the reflective light of his bare skin and the darkness of his open mouth, his nipples, his pubic hair and his too-big cock. He was unbelievably sexy, and like this, spread out on the bed squirming around Namjoon’s fingers, unbelievably lovely, and soft, and vulnerable.

Namjoon’s heart jumped into his throat and he found he could no longer stop himself from speaking at least some of his thoughts. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and it wasn’t enough, but it was something. Hoseok made a little sound and twitched around Namjoon’s fingers.

“It’s dark,” he said, then he whined when Namjoon fucked into him, curled his fingers. “You can’t, nn, you can’t even see me.”

“I can see you,” Namjoon said, and his voice came out quiet, and low, and somehow unfamiliar to his own ears. “And I have, seen you.” He pulled his fingers out and Hoseok moaned at the drag, then inhaled loudly as he plunged them back in. “So I know,” Namjoon said. “That you’re beautiful.”

“Fuck,” Hoseok whispered. “You’re too, too...” He trailed off, and Namjoon thought about maybe trying to catch his orgasm in his mouth again, when it was time. He wanted to be full of him. Hoseok laughed. “Sweet,” he finished, quietly. 

Namjoon leaned over and kissed one of his nipples, played with it between his teeth, fucked him slow and deep with two fingers, considered trying to add a third just to see Hoseok react. Hoseok’s moans got louder and more unrestrained each time Namjoon rubbed over his prostate. 

He brushed a third finger over Hoseok’s stretched rim experimentally. Maybe he could make it fit.

“Fuck,” Hoseok said as Namjoon struggled to stretch him out that much further. He was so tiny. “Oh my god, I’m, ah that’s too good, it’s too good...” He let out a sob, spread his legs more, and Namjoon felt him squeeze down even harder around his fingers, and Hoseok came, suddenly, his untouched cock jerking over his stomach.

“Oh,” Hoseok said. “Oh, oh, fuck, oh, my god!” He kept moaning, and babbling, and Namjoon just kept pushing his fingers into his fluttering, convulsing asshole, watching him as best he could in the dark, the long line of his throat as he tipped his head back, his lean muscles taut and his cock still twitching so hard Namjoon could see it move.

Namjoon took a deep breath and shuddered. He could feel the precome beading thickly at the tip of his own cock before it spilled down. Hoseok was whining and shivering and still squeezing around his fingers in quick little spasms, and Namjoon thought he might come if Hoseok so much as looked at his dick. 

When he did notice that Hoseok was looking at him, it seemed like maybe he had been for a few seconds already. His eyes were almost totally closed and he was looking down his nose at Namjoon, his head moving a little with each of his heavy breaths. Like an ending fairy, Namjoon’s brain automatically, and insanely, supplied.   

“You need to come again,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. 

“What? No, I—”

“Come on me. Will you?” Hoseok dragged one of his legs up over Namjoon’s side. “Please.”

Namjoon didn’t feel in control of his own body as he pulled his fingers gingerly from the hot clench of Hoseok’s hole to wrap them around his own cock, as he leaned down over Hoseok’s prone body, as Hoseok reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of Namjoon’s neck, pulled him close and... Namjoon opened his mouth for a kiss, for the soft press of Hoseok’s lips, but Hoseok’s fingers pushed inside and pet at his tongue instead. 

They were wet already, sticky, tasted bitter and hot with, with Hoseok’s come, and Namjoon closed his mouth and sucked, and Hoseok spoke quietly, asked him if he liked it, asked him if it tasted good.

“Isn’t that,” he breathed low in Namjoon’s ear. “Isn’t that kinda dirty, Namjoonah?” And after that, it only took Namjoon a couple strokes over his own cock before he was coming explosively all over Hoseok’s stomach and chest, adding to the mess there.

Hoseok slipped his fingers from Namjoon’s mouth and Namjoon took a long shaky breath. Hoseok kept his hand on Namjoon’s face, and he leaned up closer and he was breathing heavy too when he pressed his lips to Namjoon’s, when he breathed out a hot little sound like he was the one who had just come not a second earlier, like it was his aftershocks Namjoon was still feeling.

“Fuck,” Hoseok said with a little laugh. “It’s so good, why is it so good?” Namjoon didn’t know, but he was right, it was good enough that it made sense to ask why. It was so good it made Namjoon feel guilty, like he was somehow insulting the other people he’d had sex with in the past, telling them they weren’t good enough in retrospect. But that wasn’t it at all. It was just—

Thankfully, Hoseok kissed him again and that slowed his thoughts down enough.

“We’re both,” Hoseok said against Namjoon’s mouth. “We’re both really. Covered in come.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon replied eloquently. He didn’t apologize this time; it had all been Hoseok’s idea, after all, including the part where Namjoon had jerked off all over him.

“Shower,” Hoseok said. “We need to.” Then, “I’m gonna turn on the light,” and he reached over to Namjoon’s bedside table and turned on one of the lamps there.

It was dimmer than the overhead, but it still took Namjoon a few seconds of blinking before he could see anything besides spots in his vision. And when he did, his heart leapt into his throat.

Hoseok was squinting too, his brows pulled down so he almost looked angry, and his mouth was pushed into the cutest little frown. His hair was a mess. And his body... was also a mess. There was come smeared or dripping from his throat to his tummy, pooling in his bellybutton, both of their come, and there was still some on his face too, and he had these red splotches where Namjoon had held him too tight, or just where he had flushed. Namjoon’s hand found the pretty jut of his hip as Hoseok wiggled back into place beside him, blinking until he could see more clearly, and Namjoon was still looking at his face when he focused his vision and their eyes met. 

Before, Namjoon hadn’t been entirely truthful, when Hoseok had asked him not to worry about future things and Namjoon had said he knew what he meant. He hadn’t, quite. But now he did.

Hoseok looked soft and inquisitive, sleepy and a little dazed. And without meaning to, Namjoon found himself imagining what it would be like, to see Hoseok like this, every day or... at least whenever they could find the time... Between practices, when nobody needed them for anything, they could steal an hour or two, and...

Future things. He was thinking about them. He swallowed and there was a lump in his throat he hadn’t noticed. His tongue tasted like Hoseok, like his come and his mouth.

Namjoon stroked into the dip of Hoseok’s waist, soft and warm, and just the edge of sticky right where the tip of his thumb reached. They had both made a mess. Then Hoseok leaned forward and kissed Namjoon on the lips, sweetly, and the lack of urgency, the lack of a goal did nothing to stop Namjoon’s train of thought from barreling forward. 

It was nice. It was nice not to be in a rush, to share a kiss like this for no reason. Namjoon’s hand found one of Hoseok’s where it was resting gently between their chests, small, delicate. He wrapped it up in his own.  

“Okay,” Hoseok said. He pulled back, and his hand slipped from Namjoon’s, fluttered over his side and away. “I’m gonna jump in the shower before I go back to my room.” For a second, Namjoon’s heart dropped into his stomach, but as Hoseok pushed himself off the bed, he slid his eyes over to Namjoon and added, “If you want to join me, you can. It’s your shower, I mean.” He was blushing. Namjoon was glad the lights were back on so he could see it.

“Okay,” Namjoon said, and his voice actually cracked, so he cleared his throat, and Hoseok giggled, and Namjoon had the urge to tackle him back onto the bed, which he resisted. “I will,” he said instead, and he followed Hoseok’s hypnotically swaying hips into the bathroom.