Chapter Text
December 2017
Hoseok isn’t entirely sure how he ends up drunk on the floor of Yoongi’s bedroom at 8:30 p.m. on a Thursday, but he definitely is, and it definitely wasn’t on purpose.
Okay, it was a little bit on purpose.
“Yo, you wanna go find some snacks in the kitchen or something?” Yoongi asks. Hoseok smiles and nods, and his head spins and he giggles into the sleeve of his hoodie.
Well, okay. Yoongi’s hoodie. Because this hoodie is Yoongi’s. Because Hoseok is a lovesick fool who somehow charmed his way into Yoongi’s hoodie.
(Somehow, meaning: Hoseok pouting, “Why is it so cold; I’m so cold”. Yoongi admonishing, “Because it’s fucking December, Hoseok, put more clothes on or—here, borrow my—this—”. Yoongi pulling his own hoodie off. Hoseok being shoved into the soft black Stussy hoodie. Yoongi pulling on a different sweater that had been lying in a heap on the floor. Hoseok fizzing over with victory and flirtatious excitement.)
Hoseok remembers all of this and his drunken head makes him laugh, all firecracker bright.
“Why are you giggling?” Yoongi asks, tacking on this fond little huff that makes Hoseok’s eyes close as his lips tilt up in a sweet, sparkling smile.
“Just happy. Don’t know why,” Hoseok says back, even though of course he knows why, and it’s because of the blue-haired brown-eyed boy shifting in front of him, looking surprised that he’s on the receiving end of Hoseok’s sunny attention. Hoseok sighs, drawn out and blissful. “Tonight has been nice.”
Yoongi snorts and leans back against the bed. “We’re sitting on the floor playing a card game that’s meant for four people, but with just the two of us. We’re not even doing anything special.”
Hoseok smiles and lies down, still cross-legged, his back flat against the floor and his arms up over his head. “Yeah,” he sighs. “That’s why it’s nice.”
Yoongi snorts. “I’m going to get snacks. You coming or what?”
Hoseok pouts. “Too drunk, hyung.”
“That’s why I’m getting the snacks,” Yoongi says. “You need some fucking carbs.”
“Protein, hyung. Protein absorbs alcohol the best, don’t you know?”
Yoongi pushes himself up off the floor, and he looks steadier on his feet than Hoseok feels. “Sure, whatever. You want me to bring you, like, a block of cheese or something? Yogurt?”
Hoseok blinks. “What did I even eat for dinner? Wait, did I even eat dinner?” Hoseok giggles again.
Yoongi looks down at him, amused. “Hoseokie-yah, stop acting this drunk when I know you’re not.”
Hoseok lifts his arms and reaches towards Yoongi with a pout on his lips, and Yoongi rolls his eyes and grasps Hoseok’s hands to drag him to his feet. Hoseok gets his legs under him, lets the momentum of Yoongi’s pull drag him forwards into Yoongi’s space. He keeps grinning, head tilted, eyes closed. Yoongi tightens his grip on Hoseok’s hands. Hoseok squeezes back, heart racing.
“Come on,” Yoongi says, and then he turns Hoseok gently and gets an arm around Hoseok’s waist, and then he’s leading Hoseok towards the door. Yoongi’s big hand is warm against Hoseok’s side, his palm slipping under the hem of the hoodie so his long fingers can grasp the cradle of bone that is Hoseok’s hip. Hoseok shivers and lets his hip press into Yoongi’s touch with every step.
“Are you still cold?” Yoongi asks, guiding Hoseok down the hallway towards the living room and kitchen. There are soft voices coming from the living room—Namjoon and Seokjin, it sounds like—but Yoongi doesn’t route them that way. Instead, Yoongi pulls Hoseok to the kitchen, leans him up against the counter, searches Hoseok’s eyes for—something.
“I’m okay,” Hoseok says. “Thanks for the hoodie, hyung.”
“You have a million of your own.”
“Yeah, and they’re all not as soft as this one,” Hoseok insists. “I’m keeping it forever.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says, and his lips twitch like he’s going to smile, but he doesn’t quite get there. Can’t seem to manage more than a half-smirk before he’s turning away to rifle through the cupboards for something to eat.
“I’m really not that drunk,” Hoseok says after a good 30 seconds of silence.
“You had at least half the soju, and you’re a fucking lightweight. You should eat something,” Yoongi says. “Wait, so did you eat dinner?”
Hoseok thinks hard. “No. I forgot.”
Yoongi sighs. “No wonder you’re so tipsy and clingy. I’ll make you some eggs and toast, yeah? With cheese on the eggs, and—oh shit, we have hash browns. You want some of those, too?”
Hoseok can feel how radiant his smile is, and he does nothing to diminish it. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks, hyung. You take such good care of me.”
Yoongi sniffs, looking a little bit sheepish. “It’s no big deal. I mean, I’m gonna eat some too.”
Hoseok bites his lip and ducks his head and hopes he looks as cute as he feels. Yoongi looks away too, and electricity shocks through the kitchen at the mutual show of nerves. Hoseok can feel it dancing along his skin, the on-edge exhilaration of the waiting.
Hoseok has been living in Seokjin’s house for about ten months. “Namjoon’s room” has turned into “Namjoon and Hoseok’s room”, and there are three new people living in the basement, and everything is fine. The seven of them are good housemates to each other, and Hoseok likes spending time with every member of their ragtag group, and they’re all out to each other which means they know Hoseok is ace and they don’t care, and—yeah. Everything is lovely. Easy, happy, calm.
But then there’s this.
This: Yoongi standing at the stove cracking eggs into a pan, starting the hash browns on a separate burner, socked feet small and intimate on the hardwood floor, basketball shorts too long, hair freshly dyed all turquoise-frostbitten. This: Yoongi turning while the food cooks so he can look at Hoseok, his lips quirked in a tiny, affectionate smile. This: Yoongi raising his hand to his lips and blowing a kiss across the kitchen at Hoseok, all innocent and electrifying all the same.
This: Hoseok’s heart pounding, his nerves alight with something that isn’t quite desire but isn’t quite not, his hands shaking at the thought of this actually happening after all this time.
Hoseok stares at Yoongi and flicks a smirk onto his mouth, flashing a glimpse of his teeth, all intentional and sultry about it. Hoseok is no amateur when it comes to flirting; Hoseok might be ace but he’s still into people, and when he’s drunk he’s extra into people, and when it’s Yoongi he’s extra-extra into people, or at least he’s extra-extra into Yoongi.
Fuck. Hoseok has been nursing this ridiculous crush since pretty much the first time they met, when Yoongi had sauntered up with a cigarette and a backwards black snapback, his hair bright blond and ashy, his posture confident despite his small stature. Yoongi had said hello, had charmed Hoseok with his passion for hip hop and his overuse of the word “fuck” and his ripped up skinny jeans and his angsty, kohl-rimmed eyes. Hoseok remembers the way his heart had skipped then because it’s the same way his heart skips now, and Hoseok stares at Yoongi right now in this kitchen and it’s such a pretty sight, Yoongi cooking them breakfast for dinner late in the evening on a regular weekday. Hoseok is kind of in love.
Yoongi’s feelings are more difficult to suss out. Yoongi has always been distant, reserved, careful, and he definitely knows Hoseok is ace. Knows that whatever flirting is going on here, it’s like—really romantic flirting, with feelings and emotions and desire for more. That kind of thing. Yoongi must know this, and still he isn’t doing anything to stop Hoseok’s unabashed flirting. Is flirting back, even though it isn’t just sex.
Hmm.
What would Namjoon say?
Well. Okay. Namjoon would say to just ask Yoongi what’s going on. If he understands that Hoseok isn’t just drunk and teasing, if he reciprocates Hoseok’s Capital-F Feelings.
But asking would be ridiculous, because Hoseok is Hoseok, and Yoongi is Yoongi, and it’s just not going to go like that. So Hoseok will put his faith in the fact that Yoongi won’t mess around with him in a friends-with-benefits-y way, because Yoongi knows that Hoseok doesn’t do that. Yoongi won’t do anything unless he’s as into Hoseok as Hoseok is into him.
Right.
“You want, like, basil and shit on the hash browns?” Yoongi asks.
Hoseok blinks. “Um. I assume that’s standard hash brown–making protocol? So, yes?”
Yoongi bites his lip as he smirks, swaying his way over to Hoseok so he can lean in all precious and kind of feminine. Hoseok’s insides twist all up with the cuteness, and Yoongi blinks. “Have you never actually made hash browns before?”
Their fingers brush on the countertop. Hoseok slides down a little so he’s looking up at Yoongi, wide-eyed and innocent.
“Um. No?”
“You just let Seokjin make them for you, don’t you.”
Hoseok shrugs helplessly, leaning his forehead into Yoongi’s shoulder because it’s right there and why wouldn’t he? “Yes. I do, hyung. Seokjin-hyung makes really, really good hash browns.”
“I bet I can make them better,” Yoongi says, stroking a hand through Hoseok’s hair and then down his back. “You okay, Seokie?”
“I’m fine,” Hoseok sighs, leaning in a little closer, letting their bodies align. Hoseok feels suddenly fragile, and cradled in the hands of someone careful and strong who will protect him, and it’s making his head spin even more than the alcohol is. “Just need something in my stomach.”
“Hey, do you feel sick?” Yoongi asks. Both his hands are on Hoseok now, one in his hair and the other running down the line of his back. Fuck, both Yoongi’s hands are on Hoseok, and Hoseok wishes they could stay just like this forever, right here in this kitchen, standing at the eternal edge of this precipice, whatever it is, that they’re about to fall off.
Anticipation has always been Hoseok’s favorite part.
“I’m really, honestly fine,” Hoseok says. “But I do wanna eat.”
“Okay,” Yoongi whispers. “Hold on; it’s probably almost ready.”
And then Yoongi pulls away and goes back to the stove, and Hoseok is kind of bereft, but it’s fine, because prolonging the dance is something about which Hoseok will never complain.
“Okay. Basically done, unless you want the hash browns super crispy or something,” Yoongi announces.
“Oh, leave them on just another minute? Not too crispy, but sort of.”
“You got it, babe.”
“Hey! Don’t call me ‘babe’,” Hoseok flirts, meaning the exact opposite. Yoongi looks over, knowing.
“Whatever you say, babe.”
“I said!”
“Yes, you did. You said what you wanted and I heard it,” Yoongi says, looking up from underneath his turquoise bangs all sultry and confident.
Hoseok wants to keep the façade up, he really does, but a pang of fear (almost like a flashback but not because, like, emotional abuse doesn’t cause flashbacks, right? Or maybe—whatever. Whatever.) shoots through him. “That’s—kind of, like, against how consent works, hyung,” Hoseok whispers.
Yoongi blinks, snapping to concern when he notices how serious Hoseok is. “Yeah. It kind of is. Sorry. I’ll stop if you want. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
Hoseok bites his lip. “No, no, it’s—it’s okay. Really. I…want you to. Call me ‘babe’.”
Yoongi fixes Hoseok with a long, evaluating look. “You’re kind of drunk.”
Hoseok nods. “You are too.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says.
The eggs and hash browns pop on the stove, and Yoongi turns away to plate everything up, and the moment is lost.
“Come on, let’s eat in my room,” Yoongi says, picking up both plates and heading for the door.
“Hey! I can carry mine!” Hoseok protests.
“I got it,” Yoongi says, walking a couple steps ahead of Hoseok towards his bedroom. Hoseok trails along behind him. They close the door, and then they’re sitting back on the bed and scooping eggs and toast and hash browns into their mouths, silent.
“Fuck, I was hungry,” Hoseok says when their chewing has finally slowed.
“You wanna drink more?”
“Yes,” Hoseok says. “But I probably shouldn’t.”
“How drunk are you?”
“Scale of one to ten—like, three? Maybe?”
“Same,” Yoongi says. “You finished?”
Hoseok looks down and sure enough, all his food is gone except a couple of bread crusts. “Yeah, I’m full.”
“Here,” Yoongi says, holding out a hand for the plate. Hoseok hands it over and Yoongi gets up to put the empty dishes on his desk. While his back is turned, Hoseok spreads himself out on Yoongi’s bed, sliding down into a starfish sprawl, happy and full and maybe a little bit less drunk.
“You wanna watch something?” Yoongi asks.
“Okay,” Hoseok agrees, because that’s the sort of activity you suggest when you mean something else. “Horror.” Because that’s the sort of movie you suggest when you really mean something else. Yoongi meets Hoseok’s eyes. The something lingering in the room that makes itself at home inside their chests.
Yoongi opens up his laptop and carries it over to the bed, and when he sits down against the headboard, Hoseok curls up into him so he can see the screen. Yoongi smells like blueberries from his hair dye, and like the laundry detergent everyone in the house shares because they’re kind of turning into a family and everyone is encouraging the transformation through stuff like group laundry detergent use and sharing toothpaste (and toothbrushes if you’re Taehyung, and also if you’re crazy, because Taehyung is definitely crazy, and god Hoseok loves him).
Hoseok breathes in all the Yoongi-ness of the presence beside him as he stares at the computer. “That one,” Hoseok finally says, pointing at some American movie with a screaming girl on the cover. “It looks generically not-terrible.” Not like Hoseok will be watching. Not with Yoongi next to him, allowing this sort of cuddly affection under such a flimsy guise as wanting to see the laptop properly.
“Sure,” Yoongi says, clicking into it without even looking at the summary, which means he isn’t really planning to watch the film either, probably. Yoongi’s focus is a little bit shot right now, too, and Hoseok knows it, and he delights in the knowing.
“You gonna be scared, hyung?” Hoseok giggles as the opening credits begin. The film is set in some forest, because of course it is. There’s an abandoned cabin, some creepy locals, the works. Hoseok already loves it.
“I’m not going to be scared, Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi says, rolling his eyes.
“Liar,” Hoseok grins.
“Not lying,” Yoongi says, his lips puffing into that adorable little pout he does all the time. “You want me to turn the lights off?”
“Yes! And stroke my hair. Please, hyung?” Hoseok hums.
“How are you so needy,” Yoongi says, but he’s climbing back in bed and pulling Hoseok in close and stroking his hair as requested, and they’re all snuggled together and it’s just—ugh, ugh, ugh. So fucking good.
“I’m really needy all the time, hyung.”
“That sounds not like how I think you meant it. Or how I meant it.”
Hoseok pouts. “I am really needy, hyungie. Need someone touching me, like, all the time. Because I’m super needy.”
“You’re ace as fuck,” Yoongi says with an eye roll, except Hoseok can hear the probing question in the words.
“I am,” Hoseok agrees. “Both. I’m ace as fuck and needy as fuck too, Yoongi-hyung.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi asks.
“Yeah,” Hoseok says, sitting up so they can make eye contact in the gray light from the computer screen.
Yoongi takes a shaky breath and moves the laptop off his knees onto the nightstand. “What do you need, Hoseok-ah?”
Hoseok leans in. Looks down at Yoongi and the heat floods between them, light and tremulous and glimmering. Maybe Hoseok has never felt sexual desire, but he’s no stranger to this. He’s been in this position before, and he knows how to act, and so he does.
“Whatever you want, hyung,” Hoseok says. “Whatever you want me to give.”
Yoongi tilts his head and sits up straighter, enough so their lips are only inches apart. “Hoseok, don’t offer that,” he says. “I’ll end up taking something you don’t really want me to, and I don’t want to—don’t want to—”
“Hyung,” Hoseok says, bringing his hand up to hover at Yoongi’s cheek and closing his eyes. “Hyung, I just said I was needy. Hyungie, need you.”
Yoongi’s eyes blow wide. “Hoseok,” he asks, kind of rapid and frantic, “Hoseok, are you sure?”
“Yes,” Hoseok says, opening his eyes again. “I’ve been sure all night. All fucking year, hyung,” he says, looking straight at Yoongi as he says it. Yoongi maneuvers so he’s kneeling on the bed in front of Hoseok, and Hoseok tilts his chin up, and then—
Yoongi fits his mouth to Hoseok’s, kneeling up so he’s taller, his hands on either side of Hoseok’s head. The kiss is hard, and forceful but not frantic, not fast. Just long, and deep, and then Yoongi is rolling Hoseok over so he’s flat on the mattress, and Hoseok’s heart is pounding because he wants this for the first time in forever. The first time he has ever wanted since his first love, that beautiful girl who stole his heart and never pressured him and waited seven long weeks for him to be ready—
(and then there was _____ but Hoseok doesn’t think his name anymore)
—and now there is this. This, which is Yoongi, which is everything Hoseok has ever desired out of a human. Yoongi is sweet but passionate, loving in his every touch, his lips on Hoseok’s neck, his teeth on Hoseok’s ear.
“Hey, Seok-baby,” Yoongi says, “You don’t have to—don’t feel like—is it weird if I say there’s no pressure to enjoy this?”
“No,” Hoseok gasps, pleasure curling up in his abdomen like a little furry critter basking under the warmth of the sun. “No, that’s—so many people don’t get that. That’s perfect, that you said it, because being expected to like it and—and um. Being expected to come. That’s sometimes difficult. For me.”
“Tell me if I do anything wrong,” Yoongi says. “Or just if you’re bored, even. I’ll stop, no questions asked. We can go back to the movie.”
“No, I like this,” Hoseok says, and he does, because Yoongi is moving back up to kiss him again, and Hoseok has always loved kissing. They spend long minutes just pressing their mouths together; Hoseok bites Yoongi’s bottom lip and just barely sucks it between his lips, eliciting the most satisfying gasp, and then Yoongi runs his tongue all along the roof of Hoseok’s mouth which is something no one has ever done to Hoseok before, and it kind of tickles and makes Hoseok cling even tighter to Yoongi, dizzy on just everything.
Finally, Hoseok gets brave. Runs his hands down from Yoongi’s neck to tease at the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up a little, skimming fingers along Yoongi’s waistband.
Yoongi’s hips jump forward and he freezes and pulls back, grabbing Hoseok’s hand to still the motion, all concerned and skeptical of what Hoseok is trying to do.
“How far are you planning to take this, Hoseokie-hon?” Yoongi asks.
Hoseok shudders. “Love that—‘Hoseokie-hon’, I mean.”
Yoongi’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “Hoseokie-hon. Where do you want this to go?”
Hoseok lets his eyes drop closed. “Let’s—you can take off your hoodie and stuff. And mine. I wanna let you see me. If you want to.”
Yoongi struggles through a series of raspy breaths. “Oh. Yeah, okay,” he says, and he tugs off his hoodie, the pull of the fabric turning his hair into a tangled mess.
Or maybe that was Hoseok’s fingers. Oops.
“This too,” Yoongi says, reaching for the Stussy hoodie Hoseok is wearing, and Hoseok sits up and tugs it off, and then he pulls off his shirt too, and yanks at Yoongi’s until Yoongi looks at him all wide-eyed and shocked and pulls it off anyway.
“Hyung, it’s cold, why is it so cold,” Hoseok whines, but he’s smirking and he can tell Yoongi knows he’s kind of teasing.
“Because it’s fucking December. Come on. Scoot up so I can—yeah,” Yoongi says, tugging the comforter out from under them as Hoseok moves up towards the pillows. They climb under together and Hoseok lays himself out below Yoongi and the blankets, and then Yoongi is covering Hoseok’s body with his own and everything is so warm, the sheets all cozy, the pillow fluffy and soft.
“Hey, you wanna—if we’re gonna be in bed, we should take off our jeans,” Hoseok suggests, and Yoongi’s eyes glint as they strip down to their socks and briefs. Yoongi looks down at Hoseok lying beneath him and his pupils widen, his hands pressed flat to the mattress on either side of Hoseok’s chest.
“Hoseok,” Yoongi whispers, “Hoseokie-hon, can I—do you mind if I touch you?”
“No, you can,” Hoseok says, tilting his head back, exposing the line of his neck because with Yoongi, he knows he has nothing to fear. “Please. Please touch me.”
Yoongi’s hands shake as he presses his palms flat to Hoseok’s stomach, his ribs, his collarbones. Hoseok lets himself be touched, thrilled with the power of being desired, and with the comfort he feels at being desired by Yoongi.
“I want to bite you,” Yoongi says. “Wanna leave bruises, is that—is that okay?”
“Yes,” Hoseok gasps, because he’s always had a thing for hickeys. “Anywhere, Yoongi-hyung, you can mark me.”
“Fuck,” Yoongi gasps, and then he’s leaning in and kissing Hoseok’s thighs up around the band of Hoseok’s red briefs. “I’m gonna—can I like—eat you out?”
Fuck. It’s maybe the one thing Hoseok really doesn’t want. But he can’t say no, can’t deny Yoongi anything, and so his throat closes and he doesn’t say anything.
Yoongi waits patiently for a response, and after a couple seconds, he hums. “Okay, no problem, thanks for letting me know,” Yoongi says, grinning as he sits up and kisses Hoseok on the mouth again.
“What—” Hoseok gasps as Yoongi pulls away just as quick as he’d ducked in in the first place.
Yoongi smiles. “Come on, you think I couldn’t read the way you just freaked out?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know. And you don’t want me to eat you out, so I won’t,” Yoongi says. “Easy as that.”
“Is it?” Hoseok asks, kind of worried.
Yoongi just blinks, flat and unamused. “Yes, it is.”
“Oh,” Hoseok says.
Yoongi softens, leans down, presses their foreheads together. His hands are gentle and sweet against Hoseok’s neck. The best part: Yoongi’s smile, all his teeth on display, his eyes crinkled and genuine. “Yeah. Oh.”
Hoseok shudders through a breath where all his nerves leave him, replaced with the aching calm of trust. “You can still leave bruises down there if you want.”
Yoongi takes a sharp breath. “Like—on your thighs?”
“Yeah,” Hoseok gasps. Yoongi ducks down again and fastens his mouth to Hoseok’s skin, biting and sucking and working the blood vessels until they burst. Hoseok gets his fingers in Yoongi’s hair and tries not to tug; he’s seeing stars, because Hoseok might be asexual but he still gets turned on sometimes. He can still get physical and mental pleasure from this even if the attraction is never there, and with Yoongi there’s this big romantic component. Hoseok is just drunk enough to feel uninhibited, and Yoongi is moaning and grinding against the mattress even though all he’s doing is giving Hoseok hickeys inside his thighs.
“Fuck, you’re really—are you really into this?” Hoseok gasps.
Yoongi pulls off to level Hoseok with a flat look. “Yeah. Yes, I am.”
“Fuck, you can—I don’t want you to eat me out, but you can—you can fuck me if you want,” Hoseok offers, meaning it. Hoping for it.
Yoongi blinks. “Holy shit, what? That’s kind of a big step.”
“Don’t care,” Hoseok says. “Wanted you forever.”
Yoongi looks away like he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t heard, but of course he has. It’s way too honest, but then—maybe it’s actually not.
“You want—really? Like, you want me to…”
“Be inside of me? Yes,” Hoseok says. “I might be ace, but I can still have sex, Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok teases, because maybe Yoongi needs to be reminded of this fact. “Actually, for that matter, I can still like sex.”
“You don’t, though. In general. You’ve talked about that before,” Yoongi presses. “I’m not gonna—fuck, Hoseok, I don’t want to be something you regret.”
“You won’t, even if I end up not being as into it as I think I’m gonna be,” Hoseok swears. “But…I’ll like sex if it’s with you. Or—at least, right now I will.”
Yoongi nods, pouting his lips out as he thinks about it. “Okay. Fuck, I, um. I want to…there’s, um. Lube and condoms. In the drawer. I can get them out and you can change your mind at any time.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”
“You froze up and didn’t say no when I asked to eat you out earlier,” Yoongi says. “Which—silence is no, so that’s fine and it’s a totally valid way of not giving consent, but like. I just want to be really, really fucking clear, Hoseok. I will not harm you. In any way. Even if you just get bored and don’t feel like finishing, even if it doesn’t hurt or anything and it’s just not what you want to be doing—just please fucking tell me, yeah? Or just stop and look kinda bored and I’ll pull out and cuddle you to sleep.”
Hoseok stares up at Yoongi and fights the urge to burst into tears. “Fuck. That’s—that’s the best pre-sex speech I’ve ever been given.”
“Have you been given a lot of those?”
Hoseok bites his lip and looks down. “Um. Sort of. I don’t know.”
Yoongi kisses Hoseok’s cheek, his eyelid, his forehead. His other eyelid. His other cheek. His lips. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Thanks, hyung,” Hoseok says. “Get the stuff from the drawer. I trust you.”
“You want to like—get yourself ready? Or do you want me to?”
Hoseok swallows. It’s been a long time since he let anyone finger him, and he’s never really enjoyed it, because no one can get it quite right, the way he gets it himself when he’s bored and feels like getting off. Hoseok is really good at getting himself off. He just doesn’t like it when there’s someone else involved, usually.
But. “You,” Hoseok says, this time, because he trusts Yoongi to make it nice just by virtue of being Yoongi, and that’s—maybe it’s a little scary, the depth of feeling Hoseok has in his chest for Min Yoongi, but who cares, because it’s heady and amazing.
“I’ll make it so good, I promise,” Yoongi says. “But even still, no pressure to be into it.”
“Okay!” Hoseok laughs.
Then there are fingers everywhere, and Yoongi is good at this, and Yoongi is good at kissing, and Hoseok isn’t, like, lost in the haze of pleasure or something because it definitely doesn’t work that way for him, but he’s enjoying the intimacy. He’s reveling in the sensations of it, even if they’re not always sensations of dizzying pleasure. They’re still sensations he practically never gets to feel, and that’s something Hoseok is honestly fond of, the exploration of something new with someone he is head over heels for.
They take it slow. Hoseok is barely even tipsy by the time Yoongi is pressing into him fully, by the time he’s clinging to Yoongi’s back and dragging his nails along Yoongi’s skin and hoping it feels as good for Yoongi as sex possibly can, because Hoseok knows that Yoongi has a past filled with less-than-perfect sexual encounters (kind of like Hoseok, except with a bunch of different people instead of with just one). This shouldn’t be one of those less-than-perfect times, and it isn’t.
For a first time with a new partner, Hoseok thinks, it’s honestly kind of fucking awesome. Yoongi holds him tight, which has always been a Thing for Hoseok, and he talks, which is nice because it’s casually intimate in a way Hoseok has never felt before. And it’s not dirty talk, either—it’s careful reassurances, and questions about whether Hoseok is all right, and cute little things about how Hoseok looks pretty, or how his fingers feel nice where they’re gripping Yoongi’s, or how he loves hanging out with Hoseok all the time, or how he’s so honored to have been given this privilege.
Yoongi comes, and Hoseok holds him through it.
“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he comes back to himself. “Do you want me to do something else so you come, or do you wanna just cuddle?”
Hoseok smiles and bites his lip. “Just cuddle?”
“Okay, babe,” Yoongi says, like he genuinely doesn’t mind that Hoseok didn’t come. Like his ego isn’t even slightly hurt by it, which—that’s something new. Something Hoseok remembers from the first girl, something he’d forgotten in the dark spiral haze of _____.
“Thanks,” Hoseok says.
Yoongi nods. “Hold on,” he says, and he goes into the bathroom. He comes back with a wet washcloth and wipes away lube and sweat, so careful and considerate, and then he strokes his fingers along Hoseok’s cheek and it feels like there are sparks glittering between the points of contact. Hoseok closes his eyes and hums into the touch.
“You okay?” Hoseok asks, because it’s nice to ask your partner that sort of thing after sex.
“I’m so okay, like—fuck, Seokseok-ah,” Yoongi says, curling up around him after they’ve pulled on their boxers and Hoseok is wearing Yoongi’s shirt, because Hoseok hates sleeping naked.
“Good,” Hoseok whispers.
“Are you?”
“Yes,” Hoseok says. “It was so good, like—how you are. You’re really good, like—like you’re a good human, Yoongi-hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And now I’m sleepy and happy and hoping I’m not hungover in the morning.”
Yoongi reddens. “Fuck, I kind of—I forgot we were drinking.”
“It’s okay,” Hoseok says, letting his eyes flick closed, head heavy on Yoongi’s soft-scented pillow. “I don’t regret it. I won’t.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says, and he sounds maybe tremulous, maybe unsure, but Hoseok is too drowsy to really pay attention.
In the morning, there is this:
Waking up together, and it’s silent because the recognition of what they’ve done is kind of scary. Yoongi mutters something and goes off to the shower, and he stays there long enough that Hoseok figures he’s no longer really wanted. Figures Yoongi is just giving him a gracious out, an easy escape before Yoongi is forced to come throw him out of the room, because one night is all this was.
That’s okay, Hoseok thinks as he goes back to his and Namjoon’s room. It’s okay; Yoongi doesn’t have to reciprocate anything. Hoseok had given consent, and he had meant it. And he had liked it, all of it, the intimacy and the feeling of being full of someone he loves. It’s his own fault for not making clear the romantic intent behind that. His own fault that Hoseok’s asexual head cannot divorce sex from feelings because for him, sex is nothing else except making love.
(Making love, or a tool to placate an abuser, and Yoongi is not and could never be Hoseok’s abuser. Hoseok’s heart pounds and sings with the truth of that.)
“Hoseok? What’s wrong?” Namjoon asks as Hoseok goes into their room and closes the door. Namjoon is playing on his phone and lying down in bed, but he sets his phone on the nightstand and sits up. “Where were you last night? What’s on your leg, did you—oh, fuck, Hoseok…”
“Don’t be mad,” Hoseok says, his eyes filling with tears and spilling over as he collapses into Namjoon’s arms. “Don’t be mad, Joon.”
“I’m not mad at you,” Namjoon says, confounded.
“I mean him,” Hoseok whispers into Namjoon’s chest, stifling sobs. “Don’t be mad at him. I told him I wanted to. He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for. I meant it, all of it.”
“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon whispers, because he knows. Of course he knows.
Hoseok nods and keeps on crying, and Namjoon holds him until they both have to get up and go to work.
At breakfast, Taehyung asks Hoseok what’s wrong, and Hoseok says that everything is fine and he tries to mean it. Yoongi’s gaze flashes to him and Hoseok avoids it, harder than he’s ever avoided anything in his life.
Yoongi doesn’t try to bring it up after that, and neither does Hoseok.
Hoseok watches the bruises from Yoongi’s mouth fade for a week, maybe two, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring himself to regret anything.
Maybe everything would be easier if he could.