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Yoongi comes back from the club with his jacket smelling like smoke and the taste of cheap whiskey on his tongue.
Seokjin, roommate of three months and friend of three years, looks up at him from where he’s curled up on the couch in pink pajamas, a blanket covering his feet.
“Hey,” Yoongi rasps as he steps out of his boots. He’s glad he didn’t drink much—he doesn’t want to have a hangover tomorrow. But he’s still just tipsy enough to need to brace his shoulder against the wall beside the door.
“Hi.” Seokjin hits something on his laptop, likely pausing whatever game he’s playing. “Have fun?”
Yoongi snorts, and he pushes himself upright and goes over to the couch, collapsing next to Seokjin and stealing a little bit of the blanket off his lap. “For the first half hour before Joon and Hoseok ditched me.”
“They ditched you?” Seokjin asks, sounding almost amused. The glow of his laptop screen is a little too bright, and Yoongi squints.
“Wanted to find hook-ups or whatever,” Yoongi explains, and he pulls the corner of the blanket he has access to over his face before sliding a little further down the couch with a groan. Maybe he will have a hangover tomorrow. Fuck.
“Poor Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin laments for him, though he’s definitely got a laugh in his voice. “What did you do to pass the time?”
Yoongi wiggles a little bit, nearly sliding off the cushion, and ends up with the top of his head pressed against Seokjin’s thigh. He silently wills Seokjin’s hand to find its way to his hair, like it does on very rare occasions when they’re both on the couch and tired enough not to worry about bumping knees or being generally awkward about physical contact.
“Yoongi?” Seokjin prompts, and Yoongi realizes he forgot to answer. It doesn’t matter, however, because then there are fingers in Yoongi’s hair, soft as they scratch lightly at his scalp. “Do you need some water?”
“‘m fine,” Yoongi murmurs, and he closes his eyes, more than content. What was it Seokjin had asked? “Was on my phone at the bar. Read, hm, three news articles before the bartender started making conversation with me. Probably thought I’d been ditched by a date or something.”
Seokjin snorts. “Did you get free sympathy shots?”
“Fuck yeah,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin laughs again. Yoongi likes making Seokjin laugh. “Bartender was really nice. She’s at—” Yoongi breaks off with a yawn, “—at our university. Just an undergrad. Studying biochem. She works on campus, too.”
Seokjin’s hand stills for a moment over Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi cracks an eye open, though unfortunately he can only see the little sliver of Seokjin’s stomach where his pajama shirt has ridden up. Yoongi stares anyway.
“I imagine she must be pretty tired,” Seokjin says then, and resumes petting Yoongi’s head. “Think you’ll see her again?”
Yoongi lets his eyes fall closed, though he can still see the thin strip of Seokjin’s perfect skin in the back of his slightly inebriated mind. “Maybe.”
Seokjin makes a quiet humming noise. “So,” he says, and then doesn’t continue.
Yoongi grunts at him in encouragement.
There’s a moment of hesitation before Seokjin asks, “You didn’t want to find someone to spend the night with?”
Yoongi shrugs. “Nah.”
“You’ve never brought anyone over,” Seokjin says, and he clears his throat. Yoongi figures if he wasn’t sitting with his head practically in Seokjin’s lap, Seokjin would likely still not be looking him in the eye. They very rarely talk about personal things, and especially not their sex lives—or lack thereof.
“You haven’t either,” Yoongi points out.
Seokjin’s hand in his hair stills again.
“Wait, have you?” Yoongi asks, and something unpleasant curls in his stomach at the thought.
“You sleep so late you wouldn’t know if someone spent the night here,” Seokjin says huffily, and Yoongi can’t read his tone.
He pushes himself upright, ignoring the weird feeling in his stomach that he would write off as alcohol if he were slightly less self-aware.
Seokjin’s cheeks seem to be faintly pink, though it’s hard to tell with just the glow of his laptop screen. He’s also looking down at his keyboard rather than at Yoongi.
Yoongi squints at him. “It’s okay if you did,” he says honestly. “It’s not like we have a rule against bringing people over.”
They have never really needed rules as roommates. They’re both quiet enough, clean up after themselves, pay their portion of rent on time, meet with friends on campus or at cafes and restaurants rather than at the apartment.
“Right,” Seokjin says, then, with his cheeks definitely turning a bit darker, adds, “I was joking, though.”
Yoongi ignores the relief that washes through his chest, though a question lingers, tucked beneath one of his lower ribs. He’s unfortunately not drunk enough to ask it, not loose-lipped enough to question if there’s someone Seokjin wants to bring home, wants to have sex with.
Seokjin dated a girl during his last year of undergrad— Yoongi’s second to last. Her name was Park Miyeon, and she was in Seokjin’s animation program. She was objectively cool with her cherry pink hair cropped beneath her chin, an abundance of silver and black rings on her fingers, a laugh that was nearly as weird and loud as Seokjin’s.
They broke up after graduation, and Seokjin never really talked about it. It’s been about a year and a half now, and Yoongi hasn’t seen or heard about Seokjin with anyone else.
That, of course, doesn’t mean that Seojin hasn’t been with someone since then. Yoongi knows Seokjin is quiet about his private life most of the time, even if Yoongi is one of the few people who’s privy to seeing Seokjin the person rather than Seokjin the student or Seokjin the co-worker.
“You’re going cross-eyed,” Seokjin informs him, and he closes his laptop. “Are you sure you don’t want some water?”
“I’ll get a glass before bed,” Yoongi says, and he rubs his hand under his nose tiredly. “Are we still good for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Will you still be good?” Seokjin asks teasingly, and he reaches his arms up as he stretches, shirt once again riding up.
Yoongi stares again for a few moments before looking away at the darkened window and mumbling, “I’ll be fine.”
Physically speaking, at least. Mentally and emotionally it’s looking like a toss-up. Especially if Seokjin keeps revealing his tiny waist that Yoongi thinks would probably be really nice to hold.
“Alright, I’m going to bed then,” Seokjin says around a yawn, which should be slightly off-putting with the way his face scrunches and his voice warbles but it’s just really fucking endearing.
“Mm,” Yoongi says, and then, pulling himself together as Seokjin stands, “Sleep well, hyung.”
Yoongi watches Seokjin retreat to his room, kindly leaving his blanket with Yoongi, and Yoongi spends a probably embarrassingly long time staring at the door that closes behind him.
Maybe Yoongi should have tried to pick someone up at the club.
It would have, at least, helped him not think so much about Seokjin.
Yoongi goes to bed after drinking a glass of water and wakes up to the alarm he sets for Sunday mornings.
Not sleeping in on weekends, before Yoongi moved in with Seokjin, seemed sacrilegious. Now Yoongi looks forward to shuffling around the kitchen with a mug of coffee in hand, helping Seokjin chop vegetables or grill meat or stir soup.
Seokjin greets him this morning with a sleepy smile, his wire-framed glasses sliding down his nose. “Morning.”
Yoongi makes a throaty noise back and goes to the coffee pot, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet.
There’s already a covered pan on the stove top over low heat, and Yoongi sniffs at the homey smell of the kitchen. Some quiet acoustic music plays from Seokjin’s phone over where it’s been left on their tiny dining table, and the window over the sink is cracked open, letting in the smell of rain from earlier in the morning, light still soft and gray though it’s a little after nine.
Seokjin continues chopping vegetables and Yoongi fixes his coffee for him, adding a spoonful of sugar and enough milk to turn the coffee almost white, and sets it down on the counter beside him.
“Thank you,” Seokjin says.
Yoongi nods, pouring himself his own cup before starting on peeling the two potatoes Seokjin has already set out next to the refrigerator.
Yoongi finds himself humming along to Seokjin’s music, which is probably a testament to how many times he’s heard this playlist.
They don’t talk until they’ve finished, stew and rice and side dishes on the table.
Seokjin tells Yoongi about his current project and Yoongi talks about the class he’s a TA for, and then they’re washing dishes and it’s raining again, their shoulders brushing in the relatively cramped kitchen.
Yoongi relaxes into it, tells Seokjin some of the stories he’s saved up from this week’s office hours to make Seokjin laugh.
They both go to brush their teeth after, and Yoongi steps to the side of their bathroom sink so Seokjin can put his contacts in while Yoongi leaves his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
It’s domestic.
And comfortable.
And Yoongi is glad, even if he isn’t distracted from his inconvenient feelings, that he didn’t find someone to hook-up with last night. He prefers this, anyway. Prefers Seokjin, always.
“If you glare a hole in my face I’m suing,” Seokjin says as he blinks his contacts into place, eyes flicking to Yoongi. “I have insurance on it, since it’s a national treasure and all.”
Yoongi grunts around his toothbrush and ducks his head to spit in the sink. “Wasn’t glaring,” Yoongi lies before he rinses his mouth.
“Vacantly staring with your morning-scowl in my general direction,” Seokjin amends.
“I don’t have a morning scowl.”
“You do. It’s cute.”
Yoongi wrinkles his nose. “It’s not cute.”
“So you admit to the morning scowl?”
“I admit nothing,” Yoongi retorts. He’s leaning with his hip braced on the edge of the sink, Seokjin with his shoulder against the doorframe.
His face is still slightly puffy from sleep, hair soft and mussed, imperfect and lovely.
Yoongi takes it back. He should’ve hooked up with a stranger last night. Having feelings for your hot but unavailable roommate is not recommendable.
“Before I forget,” Seokjin says, tellingly awkward in the way his eyes dart away from Yoongi’s face and fix on the wall behind Yoongi’s left ear. “I just wanted to say that it’s okay if you bring some over for sex. Or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” Yoongi repeats after a moment of silence.
Seokjin looks at him again, full lips pushing into an annoyed pout, pink staining his cheeks. “I’m trying to have a serious roommate talk here.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says, and he clears his throat. “I’m pretty sure I said it last night, but… it’s fine if you bring over someone, too. Maybe we should just—just message first or something.”
Seokjin nods. “Right. Like. ‘Incoming dick appointment. Will be over tomorrow morning.’”
Yoongi inhales so quickly his throat burns, and he splutters around his cough. “What the fuck, hyung? Dick appointment?”
“Isn’t that a thing?” Seokjin asks, and his blush has spread, ears a brilliant red. “Jeongguk said it was a thing.”
Yoongi’s cough subsides and his lips twitch. “Of course he did.”
“It’s a thing!” Seokjin insists.
“Yeah,” Yoongi snorts, “for horny first year university students who have about a hundred epithets for sex.”
“Whatever,” Seokjin squawks, his cheeks still flaming. “What I was trying to say before you so disrespectfully mocked me for using accurate lingo—”
“Dick appointment,” Yoongi mutters under his breath.
“—was that if you want to have sex here, just give me a heads up so I can be in my room with my headphones on or something,” Seokjin finishes. He’s back to not looking at Yoongi.
“Alright,” Yoongi says. “I can do that.”
Seokjin nods stiffly, then blinks a few times before his gaze slides over to Yoongi and the sink again. His lips part, and Yoongi waits for a reply or a question.
None comes.
They stare at each other, the bathroom mirror reflecting the scene back at them somehow amplifying the awkwardness of it all. A few drops of water continue dripping from the tap.
“I just wanted to be sure you knew it was okay,” Seokjin says finally. “Like if you wanted to bring someone back last night and didn’t because we’re roommates.”
Yoongi’s brow furrows. “It’s okay, hyung. I really wasn’t looking for a hook-up last night anyway.”
Seokjin swallows, and Yoongi watches his throat bob. “Right.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah.”
They stare at each other some more, and the slow drip from the sink tap makes itself obvious.
“I’m not really into hook-ups right now,” Yoongi says after a few more moments. “So I don’t think you’ll need to worry about barricading yourself in your room post dick-appointment text.”
Seokjin’s mouth twitches like he’s not sure whether or not he wants to laugh. “Stop saying dick appointment. It’s weird.”
“You said it was accurate lingo,” Yoongi mutters.
“And you mocked it.”
“Only a little bit.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes, and then his hand lifts to rub the back of his neck. “You don’t need to worry about it either.”
“Worry about what?”
“Me bringing someone back here,” Seokjin says.
Yoongi nods. He knows exactly why something flutters happily in his chest at this, but he’s not going to address it. It gives him, however, enough bravery to ask, “You’re not seeing anyone right now?”
Seokjin’s hand falls back to his side. “No. Are you?”
“No,” Yoongi answers. The sink continues to drip, but while it slows in pace, Yoongi’s heart beat seems to pick up.
“No one you’re interested in?” Seokjin asks, and his voice has gone a little high.
Yoongi stares at Seokjin—at the nervous fast-blinks of his eyes and the pink lingering in his cheeks and the slight part of his lips.
And it clicks.
“Sorry,” Seokjin says quickly. “You don’t have to tell me anything if it’s uncomfortable.”
“Hyung,” Yoongi says, “I’ve literally had feelings for you that I’ve been ignoring for the last half year. Maybe more than that. So if you like me you should say something.”
“Oh,” Seokjin exclaims softly, and his eyes widen. “What.”
Yoongi’s heart continues to slam against his ribs, and he reaches for the sink and mashes down on the faucet to stop the stupid drip.
It works, and the bathroom is thrown into complete silence.
“I like you. I haven’t been interested in anyone else because I’m interested in you,” Yoongi says.
“ Oh ,” Seokjin says again, and he stares at Yoongi. “I like you, too.”
Yoongi’s knees wobble and he ends up grabbing onto the edge of the sink. “Oh thank fuck.”
“Did you think I didn’t ?” Seokjin asks incredulously, though any imperiousness is lost because of the way it shakes. “Yoongi I literally held your hand last week when we were watching that nature documentary on tiny frogs. We spent last Christmas together just the two of us and I thought it was a date until you made a joke about taking me to a bar to wingman for me.”
Yoongi can see his reflection from the corner of his eye, and thinks at it, you idiot, Min Yoongi .
“Sorry,” Yoongi says. “Sorry, I—that was dumb.”
Seokjin exhales, and his breath shudders. “I can’t believe you. This is absolutely ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”
“I just—I was trying not to have feelings for you?” Yoongi tries, then grimaces.
“By asking me about hooking up with strangers?”
“You did that, too,” Yoongi counters, wrinkling his nose. His knees feel steadier now, though. “Weren’t you just encouraging me to bring someone back to sleep with?”
“No,” Seokjin says immediately “I suddenly can’t remember the last ten minutes of conversation.”
Yoongi snorts, and something relaxes inside his chest. “Sure, hyung. My memory has been purged and all mentions of dick appointments have been forgotten.”
Seokjin groans, burying his head in his hands. “Please never mention that to anyone.”
Yoongi laughs, wheezy and low, and takes a few steps forward so he can wrap his fingers around Seokjin’s wrists and gently pull them away from his face.
“Go away,” Seokjin whines, though he doesn’t pull out of Yoongi’s hold. “I’m hiding.”
“Object permanence, hyung,” Yoongi says.
Seokjin huffs at him, and Yoongi lets his fingers drift down to take Seokjin’s hands instead.
And then Seokjin kisses him.
Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed the moment Seokjin’s mouth meets his, soft and warm, hesitant for a few seconds until Yoongi tilts his face up a little bit further, encouraging him.
Yoongi parts his lips slightly, lets his tongue dart out over the seam of Seokjin’s mouth, untangles one of their hands to place his palm on Seokjin’s chest, feels the faint thump of Seokjin’s heart through his pajama shirt.
A quiet intake of air answers along with the taste of mint toothpaste as Seokjin kisses him back, sweeps of tongue switching to a nip to Yoongi’s lip, and Yoongi gently presses him back against the doorframe.
Yoongi pulls Seokjin’s lower lip into his mouth and tugs on it, sucking lightly. Seokjin makes another noise, less of a gasp and more of a whine in the back of his throat, and Yoongi is pretty sure it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard.
He bites down just a bit, wanting to hear Seokjin make that same sound again, which Seokjin does and—
“Fuck,” Yoongi says as he pulls back. He thinks he’s going cross-eyed again as he looks up at Seokjin, this time from proximity and a lack of oxygen.
“Was that—” Seokjin starts and stops, and his lips are kiss-slick, eyes slightly glazed over.
“Good. Great. Fantastic. Ten out of ten, would kiss again,” Yoongi mutters, and he lets go of Seokjin’s other hand to trace the shine of his lips, marveling that they’re every bit as soft as they look. “Can’t believe if I hadn’t put my foot in my mouth last Christmas we could’ve been doing this for months.”
“Better late than never?”
Yoongi snorts, grins. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Seokjin’s breath is warm against Yoongi’s finger as Yoongi continues to run it over his lower lip. “Do you, um.”
Yoongi pauses, tells his dick to calm down from where it started to harden in his sweatpants with every little noise Seokjin made. He needs blood to be properly circulating in his brain for this conversation, since apparently even when not hindered with a half hard-on he’s fucked up before.
He moves his finger from Seokjin’s lips to his cheek. “Do I what?”
“Nothing,” Seokjin says quickly, his gaze flicking away from Yoongi’s face.
Yoongi blinks. “Is this too fast?”
“No,” Seokjin says, staring in the general direction of the shower. “The opposite.”
Yoongi’s brow furrows.
Seokjin groans, ducking his head slightly.
But before Yoongi can worry, he sees the corners of Seokjin’s lips twitch.
“Yoongi-yah,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice along with the more obvious nerves. “Do you want to schedule a dick appointment with me?”
“Hyung!” Yoongi protests, but they’re both laughing—his weird crackling giggle and Seokjin’s hiccuping noises echoing in the bathroom. “I thought we were never speaking of that again.”
Seokjin just laughs harder, and he leans over to rest his forehead on Yoongi’s shoulder, slightly hunched over because of the height difference. “We’re not.”
“You just did.”
“No I didn’t,” Seokjin says.
Yoongi scoffs as Seokjin straightens up again, but then Yoongi looks at him and his mouth goes a little dry when he realizes what Seokjin actually just suggested.
“But you want that?” Yoongi asks. “To have sex. With me.”
“Well certainly not with your evil twin,” Seokjin says, and his ears are faintly pink again. He’s so cute it makes Yoongi stupid sometimes- makes Yoongi say stupid things like being Seokjin’s wingman even though he has feelings for him- and Yoongi doesn’t want to be stupid about this.
“We don’t have to rush anything,” Yoongi tells him. “I mean, unless this is about sex?”
Seokjin blinks at him. “Yoongi, I just said I liked you. As in, I want to hold your hand when we watch documentaries about other tiny animals and go on an actual date in which you don’t suggest that you help me find another date.”
Yoongi rubs his hand under his nose. “You’re going to hold that against me.”
“Only for a little while,” Seokjin says before going quiet.
Yoongi, now with all of his blood circulating normally again, takes a slow breath before saying, “I want to date you, if you want that, too.”
“Yes.”
“And if you said you wanted to have sex right now, I would probably suck you off right here—”
Seokjin makes a choking noise.
“—but if you don’t want that, then we can table that discussion for another time.”
Seokjin, ears going from pink to red, says, “I want that.”
Yoongi immediately feels his blood fleeing his brain again. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “But, um. Bedroom?”
“Bedroom,” Yoongi agrees, since they’ve spent more than enough in their tiny white-walled bathroom with a leaking sink.
Seokjin takes his hand, blush still painting his cheeks. There’s something about Seokjin weaving their fingers together and leading Yoongi down the short hallway that makes it all finally seem real.
Seokjin likes him.
Seokjin has liked him for quite some time.
Yoongi’s head spins a little at that.
Seokjin’s room is only slightly cluttered—a few books strewn across his desk and his bed unmade, a jacket hanging off the back of his chair. The curtains on his window are loosely pulled back, gray morning light casting a hazy glow throughout the space. There’s an acoustic guitar against the foot of the bed that Yoongi only ever hears Seokjin play on rare occasion, usually when Seokjin seems to think Yoongi isn’t home. His laptop is still open, a pink sticky note on the corner with his scribbled hand-writing too small to see from this distance.
Yoongi’s eyes do, however, zero in on his shirt hanging in Seokjin’s open closet.
“So that’s where my shirt went,” Yoongi says.
“Oh, yeah. I was going to hold it hostage until you gave my hoodie back,” Seokjin answers.
Yoongi snorts. “Keep the shirt. I like your hoodie more.”
Seokjin clicks his tongue. “That’s not how this works, Yoongi-yah.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi teases, and he walks to the bed and flops down on it, his hands braced on the mattress behind him. Seokjin’s room is like Seokjin—it settles something in Yoongi even if his heart is still beating with nerves, with excitement. “How does it work then, hyung?”
Seokjin’s eyes go a little dark at Yoongi sitting on his bed, and Yoongi grins, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll just take one of your hoodies.”
“Alright,” Yoongi answers breezily, and his pulse picks up when Seokjin starts walking toward the bed. “I like it when you wear my clothes.”
“I want this one,” Seokjin says, and he comes to a stop between Yoongi’s spread legs, pointing at the plain black sweatshirt Yoongi’s currently wearing—the one he slept in.
Yoongi’s grin widens, and he grasps at the hem of his sweatshirt and pulls it over his head, leaving him bare-chested.
Seokjin’s face is still very pink, and some of the confidence on his expression flickers out as Yoongi hands him the sweatshirt, balled up fabric between them. “Thanks,” Seokjin says.
“Hyung.” Yoongi reaches up to hold Seokjin’s waist, warm even through his pajama shirt.
Seokjin relaxes at the touch, and he tosses the hoodie on his desk chair before he looks back at Yoongi again, eyes tracing down his chest. “You’re pretty, Yoongi-yah.”
It’s Yoongi’s turn to have heat rush to his face, and he rolls his eyes. “Says you.”
“Says me,” Seokjin answers, and then he leans down to kiss Yoongi again.
They kiss slowly this time, the drag of lips on lips, mouths parting and meeting, the press of Yoongi’s smile to Seokjin’s, then a laugh and another kiss.
“More?” Yoongi asks, and his fingers rub at the thin sliver of skin at Seokjin’s waist where his pajama shirt has ridden up, warm and soft, marveling that he can touch .
“Yeah,” Seokjin says. He steps back, pulling off his shirt.
Yoongi, who has seen Seokjin shirtless only a few times despite living together, swears appreciatively under his breath.
Seokjin turns a shade pinker.
Yoongi takes his waist in his hands again, now all bare skin, and Yoongi’s brain officially overloads as he leans back, tugging Seokjin over him.
The momentum doesn’t exactly work in Yoongi’s favor, and Seokjin’s nose slams into Yoongi’s cheek, and Seokjin lets out a pained noise.
“Shit, sorry hyung, sorry. Are you okay?”
Seokjin pulls himself into a sitting position, knees straddling Yoongi’s hips as he leans over him, rubbing his nose.
Yoongi stares up at him in concern, but when their eyes meet, Seokjin’s lips twitch once before they both burst into laughter.
“I’m mortally wounded,” Seokjin hiccups.
“You’re ridiculous, is what you are,” Yoongi says.
“So mean,” Seokjin says, and he leans down again, this time successfully, and kisses Yoongi’s nose. “So mean to me, Yoongi-yah.”
“The meanest,” Yoongi agrees. “You sure you like me?”
“Pretty sure,” Seokjin teases.
Yoongi catches his mouth, captures it for another kiss.
Seokjin’s laughter turns into a gasp when Yoongi sucks on his lower lip again, wraps his arms around Seokjin, runs his palms over Seokjin’s back.
“Very sure,” Seokjin breathes against Yoongi’s lips.
“Good,” Yoongi says, and then Seokjin grinds his hips down and Yoongi throws his head back against the sheets. “Fuck.”
“Too much?” Seokjin asks, and he buries his face in Yoongi’s neck, mouthing at the skin there. He rolls his hips down again, and Yoongi can feel the heat and hardness of him even through the layers of fabric that separate them.
“More,” Yoongi says instead. “If you want.”
“Yes,” Seokjin says against Yoongi’s throat, and he shudders when he grinds down again, making a choked-off noise. “ Fuck .”
Yoongi groans. Seokjin almost never swears and for some reason that makes it about ten times hotter.
Yoongi rocks his hips up to meet Seokjin, and Seokjin gasps, mouth going slack against Yoongi’s throat, focus seemingly pulled to matching Yoongi’s small thrusts up.
Seokjin lets out another soft whine before he pulls back, straightening up again so he’s hovering over Yoongi and—
He looks wrecked.
Not that Yoongi probably looks much better, but Seokjin’s eyes are wide and dark, lips swollen, and his cock is tenting his pajama pants, still brushing against Yoongi’s and sending sparks shooting up his spine.
“You okay?” Yoongi manages, croaking only a little bit.
“It’s a lot,” Seokjin says, and he’s panting slightly. “With another...” He looks down at where their erections are pressed together through their pants.
“Oh,” Yoongi says, and realization hits him in the way that glass hits a bird. In that, it should have been obvious but Yoongi flew right into it anyway. “Hyung, is this your first time with someone else’s dick?”
It’s definitely not the most eloquent way to put it, and Seokjin lets out a strangled sound before swinging one leg to the side and scrambling off Yoongi’s lap.
Yoongi quickly sits up, remembering the first time he was with a guy, how the asshole made him feel weird about being bi—about only having experience with women. “Hey, wait, hyung, that’s fine . I just meant, like, things can work a little different. Like it feels really fucking good to grind like that.”
Seokjin gives Yoongi what appears to be a half-hearted glare. “I figured that out, thanks.”
Yoongi relaxes at the response, huffing out a laugh and scooting so he’s sitting cross-legged in front of Seokjin. He tries to ignore how hard he currently is. “Yeah. We can figure more stuff out, too. Whatever you want, I’m pretty much game. Unless you’re into kinks, which is something to talk about first.”
“Right,” Seokjin says, and his embarrassment seems to fade slightly as he glances away and then back to Yoongi again. “What do you like?”
Yoongi rubs his hand under his nose. “Getting my partner off with my mouth. Bottoming, mostly. Sometimes topping is cool, too. But honestly, hyung, I’m pretty sure anything involving you is going to feel pretty good. I trust you. And I’ve always found that for me sex feels better with someone I trust.”
“Oh,” Seokjin says, a little bit quiet. “You’re really good at talking about this.”
Yoongi shrugs. “I wasn’t always. I had a lot of bad hook-ups my first few years of university when I was figuring myself out. I learned. Also when Namjoon came to me asking for sex advice I got a lot of practice.”
“Namjoon asked you for sex advice?” Seokjin asks, nose wrinkling.
“Yup.”
Seokjin seems to mull that over for a moment before he looks at his hands. “Miyeon is the only person I’ve ever had sex with. And we didn’t talk much about it.”
Yoongi nods, absorbing that particular fact. He’s sure half the student body at their university would be down to have sex with Seokjin, but that doesn’t seem to be what Seokjin wants. “Do you like sex?”
“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “But only with people I know really well. With people I like a lot.”
“And with me?”
“I like you a lot.” Seokjin clears his throat and continues to not look at Yoongi. “Earlier I’m pretty sure I was two seconds away from coming.”
Yoongi’s dick gives a helpful twitch in his sweatpants. “That’s hot.”
“It’s really not,” Seokjin says, and he rubs his hand over his face. “I also really want to touch you.”
Yoongi’s going to combust. He swallows. “Touch me where?”
Seokjin finally looks at him again, and while there’s still embarrassment in the slight downturn of his lips, his eyes are dark. “Yoongi.”
“You can touch me,” Yoongi says, and he moves to straddle Seokjin’s lap this time, pushes up on his knees.
“You can touch me, too,” Seokjin says as his hands settle on Yoongi’s hips.
Yoongi hums, leaning in, and kisses Seokjin again.
He settles his weight back in Seokjin’s lap, though he keeps his palms braced on Seokjin’s broad shoulders, doesn’t rock his hips, waiting.
Seokjin’s hands drift as they kiss, pausing whenever Yoongi kisses him deeper, then continuing when Yoongi softens his lips against Seokjin’s.
Seokjin trails his fingers over the inside of Yoongi’s hip, a faint touch because of Yoongi’s sweatpants, but it’s still enough to have Yoongi breathing in sharply against Seokjin’s mouth.
One of Seokjin’s hands slips further down while the other goes back to his waist, and then Seokjin is rubbing carefully over the outline of his cock, and Yoongi gasps, kisses turning clumsy as he has to focus on not thrusting his hips up to meet Seokjin’s palm.
“Is that good?” Seokjin asks, and he sounds just as breathless as Yoongi feels.
“Yeah.” Yoongi is pretty sure he could also come in his pants at this rate, something he hasn’t done in years. “You can add more pressure if you want.”
Seokjin rubs his hand down a little harder, and this time Yoongi grinds up to meet him, heat pooling in his stomach, the friction too much and not enough at the same time.
The hand at Yoongi’s waist moves to tug at the band of Yoongi’s sweatpants. “Can I—”
“Off,” Yoongi says, already shuffling back from Seokjin’s lap to peel the sweatpants down his legs with Seokjin’s help, taking his boxers off with them.
His cock slaps against his stomach, hard and red.
Seokjin’s eyes are very much on him, and his lips, shiny with spit, are parted. He seems to realize he’s staring and looks up at Yoongi’s face.
“I really want to touch your dick,” Seokjin blurts.
“Thank god, because I really want you to touch my dick, too,” Yoongi says, and crawls back into Seokjin’s lap.
Seokjin’s hand is warm as it envelops him, his grip careful even as he slides his palm up and down Yoongi’s shaft, down until the bottom of his fist meets the thatch of hair framing the base, then up again until the head disappears between his fingers, then down again, precome slicking the way.
It shouldn’t be as overwhelming as it is, because Yoongi jerks himself off on a fairly frequent basis and has received handjobs from plenty of people throughout the years.
But it’s Seokjin’s hand. The hand that Yoongi loves to feel carding through his hair, the hand that measures always just a little too much gochujang into any recipe, the hand that only moves across guitar strings when Seokjin thinks no one can hear, the hand that Yoongi wants to hold today and tomorrow and the day after, the hand with slightly crooked fingers and faint callouses on the tips—
“Hyung,” Yoongi whispers between kisses, and there’s warmth growing in his stomach, spreading, heat licking over his skin. “Feels good.”
Seokjin makes another soft noise, and Yoongi decides he wants to hear it louder. He leans down to nip at Seokjin’s ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth. “You can grip tighter, hyung. Harder.”
Seokjin shudders, and his hand curls more snugly around Yoongi’s cock. “Yoongi,” he whines.
Yoongi moves from Seokjin’s ear to his neck, grazing his teeth over the skin there and feeling Seokjin shake under him again. “Okay?”
“Yes,” Seokjin gasps when Yoongi bites down lightly, his own hips jumping. “ Ah , Yoongi.”
“Like that?”
Seokjin makes a strangled noise of affirmation, now grinding up into Yoongi’s ass as his hand works up and down, up and down over Yoongi’s cock. “I want to make you feel good.”
“Shit, you are, hyung,” Yoongi says, nearly hissing at the slide of Seokjin’s hand. “Want to make you feel good, too.”
Seokjin makes another choked-off whine when Yoongi bites his shoulder, harder this time, his hand stuttering to a stop. “Yoongi, I actually am going to come in my pants if you keep that up.”
“You can,” Yoongi says amicably, then licks over the spot he bit.
Seokjin shivers. “Hypothetically speaking,” he says, and Yoongi draws back to look at him. His eyes are slightly unfocused, dark and wide. There are a few splotches on his neck that Yoongi left, skin red and purple from Yoongi’s teeth and mouth. His hair falls over his forehead, lips swollen, and he’s so fucking gorgeous Yoongi marvels that this is all real. “If I took my pants off, what would you want to do?”
“Hypothetically speaking,” Yoongi says, and his voice comes out a low rasp, “I would suck you off.”
Seokjin exhales sharply, stares at Yoongi for a split second before saying, “Yes.”
Yoongi kisses him once more before shuffling back, grabbing Seokjin’s soft pajama pants and yanking them off, one leg getting caught around Seokjin’s ankle before Yoongi manages to untangle it.
Yoongi chucks the fabric behind him, not looking back because he and his dick are both preoccupied with Seokjin’s cock, long and pink and pretty .
“Yeah I definitely want you in my mouth,” Yoongi croaks, and he puts one hand on Seokjin’s thigh, so much warm skin that Yoongi’s head is buzzing. Yoongi leans forward to kiss Seokjin again, pushing him down on the mattress.
Yoongi’s cock rubs against Seokjin’s hip, and Yoongi is pretty sure he’s smearing precome there, but can’t care too much because the friction is so fucking good.
Seokjin’s arms wrap around Yoongi, hands pressing against his lower back. “You feel so good,” Seokjin mumbles.
His face is flushed, and in the gray light shining through the window, he might as well be a painting.
But a painting Yoongi can touch , because Seokjin likes Yoongi, because Seokjin lives with Yoongi, is Yoongi’s friend, is Yoongi’s partner in breakfasts and documentary-watching and rival in laundry-stealing.
Yoongi props himself up with one hand, arm shaking ever so slightly since he’s not particularly strong, and he strokes Seokjin’s hair off his forehead as their legs tangle together. “Can’t believe I get to see you like this,” Yoongi murmurs back.
Seokjin flushes darker.
Yoongi kisses his forehead, then the spot between his slightly furrowed brow, then the tip of his nose.
He skips Seokjin’s lips, kissing his chin, then gently his adam’s apple, which bobs as Seokjin swallows.
Yoongi shifts his weight back on his spread knees, kisses down Seokjin’s chest, stopping to lick at one nipple and brush his thumb across the other, which has Seokjin gasping, hips kicking up.
“Pretty hyung,” Yoongi says into his skin, then mouths down his stomach, the muscles Seokjin always hides tensing under his lips, skin salty and warm and smelling faintly of Seokjin’s fruity body wash that sits in their shared shower.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin says, breathless and wanting. One of his hands finds its way to Yoongi’s hair.
Yoongi hums. “Good,” he says, and Seokjin’s grip tightens slightly. “Good hyung.”
Seokjin’s exhale shudders.
Yoongi kisses his hip, mouths down his left thigh then up the right, nipping once to make Seokjin twitch and whine, then gently pushes at them both, making Seokjin spread his legs so Yoongi can settle between them.
Seokjin looks almost painfully hard, the head leaking, and Yoongi’s cock throbs as he reaches down to palm at himself before looking back up at Seokjin. “Okay?”
“Yes. Yoongi, just—”
Yoongi takes Seokjin in his mouth and the words cut off with another low noise.
Yoongi hasn’t given anyone a blow job in a solid six months, and the weight of Seokjin’s cock on his tongue is unfamiliar but good, and Yoongi hums in low satisfaction around him.
Seokjin gasps again.
Yoongi draws back, taking Seokjin’s base in his hand so he can lick around the head, then pushes back down, getting almost all of Seokjin’s cock in his mouth, not minding the bitter taste of precome in the slightest as Seokjin throws his head back against the pillow.
Yoongi bobs up and down, still pressing on his own cock with his free hand, and keeps his eyes upward.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin chokes out.
“Mm?” Yoongi answers, keeping Seokjin in his mouth.
Seokjin’s hips kick up and Yoongi, slightly out of practice, gags.
“Sorry,” Seokjin gasps immediately
Yoongi coughs as he draws back, lets go of his own cock to wipe the corners of his mouth. “It’s fine.”
Seokjin sits up, concern dancing in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, are you—”
“It’s fine ,” Yoongi rasps, and he leans forward to kiss Seokjin, sliding their tongues together, bracing his palms on Seokjin’s thighs. “I actually am pretty into face-fucking, but I should probably ease myself back into it since it’s been a while.”
Seokjin stares at him. “O-oh. Wow. That’s. Hot.”
Yoongi snorts, moves his hand back to Seokjin’s cock and gives it a pump just to watch Seokjin shudder, hips jerking again. “You’re really responsive. That’s hot, too,” Yoongi answers.
Seokjin bats his hand away before ducking his head slightly, murmuring, “I want to try.”
“Try?”
“Try sucking you off.”
Yoongi’s dick most definitely throbs again at that. He’s so hard he’s thinks all it will take is seeing Seokjin’s lips stretched around him before he comes.
“Yeah?” Yoongi croaks.
“Is that okay?” Seokjin asks, then, “I know I’m not experienced with this—”
“Hyung, I’m pretty sure I could come just from you talking about it. It’s very fucking okay. Please suck me off. You probably know what not to do and everything else just takes practice.”
Seokjin raises his head again, and there’s something like humor in his eyes as he leans forward and bites Yoongi’s lip gently. “So I should use lots of teeth—”
“Fuck you,” Yoongi laughs around a wince, pushing at Seokjin’s shoulder. “If you bite my dick I’m making you take me to the hospital for stitches.”
“That will be one for the books,” Seokjin teases.
Yoongi likes Seokjin so fucking much.
He kisses him again, lets Seokjin maneuver them clumsily over, pushing Yoongi down on the mattress.
Then Seokjin moves lower, kissing Yoongi’s belly button once and making Yoongi snort, but it immediately turns into a groan when Seokjin licks over the head of Yoongi’s cock with almost no warning.
Yoongi fists his hands in the sheets, concentrates on not letting the heat pooling in his lower stomach spread just quite yet, on not bucking his hips up during Seokjin’s first ever blow job.
Seokjin licks again, short, curious things that are a flash of red tongue between pink lips and Yoongi is certain that Seokjin really is the perfect blend of cute and sexy (and nerdy, but that’s less relevant at the moment).
When Seokjin grasps Yoongi’s shaft with a warm hand and lowers his head, Yoongi knows he can’t keep from coming.
He sees Seokjin’s other hand moving between his legs, getting himself off to having Yoongi in his mouth, which is, again, really, really hot.
“Hyung,” he rasps as the warm wetness of Seokjin’s mouth sinks lower around his cock. “Going to come.”
Seokjin just takes even more of Yoongi’s cock, throat convulsing once, and keeps Yoongi in his mouth as he runs his tongue up and down Yoongi’s cock.
“Huh,” Yoongi manages, and he watches Seokjin’s mouth slide over him, feels his soft lips tightening around him.
And then Seokjin sucks .
“Fuck, hyung, ah—”
Seokjin groans around him, the vibrations and the sound itself what ends up tipping Yoongi over the edge, one hand scrabbling at Seokjin’s hair while the other claws at the sheets, gasping loudly as his thighs strain.
Seokjin doesn’t pull off, shuddering as he stops stroking Yoongi with his tongue, Yoongi’s legs twitching with oversensitivity. His eyes are slightly glazed over when Yoongi manages to catch his breath and say, “Let me get a tissue for you to—”
Seokjin shifts back, and Yoongi hisses at his lips sliding over his shaft one last time. Seokjin’s throat bobs as he swallows.
“Fucking hell,” Yoongi whispers.
Seokjin’s other hand, the one he was using to stroke himself, is painted in white. “I think I really like giving you blowjobs,” Seokjin announces, looking at his hand.
Yoongi laughs, his arms shaky as he pushes himself upright, and he pulls Seokjin into a kiss, tasting himself on Seokjin’s tongue, mint toothpaste still lingering beneath it.
“I really like you,” Yoongi tells him. “Shit, hyung, I can’t believe you swallowed. You didn’t have to.”
Seokjin snorts, and with his not-sticky hand, he holds Yoongi’s waist, both of them on their knees, sweaty and still breathing a little hard. “I know. I wanted to.”
“Next time I’ll do it,” Yoongi tells him, and he pulls away, slipping off the bed to grab a tissue from the night stand, returning to wipe off Seokjin’s hand. “You can fuck my face. Or me.”
From the corner of Yoongi’s eye, he can see Seokjin’s softening cock twitch. “Oh god,” Seokjin mutters.
Yoongi grins. “You’ll just have to take care of me after, since I won’t move for like an hour.”
“That’s why you like bottoming, isn’t it,” Seokjin says, giving him a suspicious look. He reaches for his discarded pajama pants on the floor without actually getting up and pulls them on.
“No comment,” Yoongi says, and he throws the tissue in the direction of the trashcan. He hesitates for a moment and decides to put his boxers back on as well, stepping into them clumsily. Rain is pattering lightly against the window again, gray light making it hard to know what time it is. “So. Do you have to work on your project now? Or can we… hang out for a bit?”
Seokjin grabs his wrist and pulls him back on the bed. “I’ll be the big spoon.”
Yoongi huffs a laugh, getting them both under the top blanket. He rolls over so Seokjin can throw an arm around Yoongi’s bare waist, then nestles back into Seokjin’s hold. It’s going to be a little bit easier to get Seokjin to cuddle him now, Yoongi thinks, which is fucking fantastic.
“Yoongi?” Seokjin asks, his lips on the back of Yoongi’s neck.
“Yeah, hyung?”
“I like you.”
“You said that,” Yoongi points out, then, “I like you too.”
Seokjin buries his nose in Yoongi’s hair. “Yoongi.”
“Hyung.” Yoongi traces his fingers along the back of Seokjin’s hand where it lies over his stomach, between his knuckles and down to his wrist. God, he loves Seokjin’s hands.
“I’m really glad we scheduled that dick appointment.”
Yoongi groans, Seokjin’s body shaking with squeaking laughter in all the places he’s pressed against Yoongi. “Please tell me that’s not going to be a thing now,” Yoongi complains.
Seokjin just laughs harder, and Yoongi hides his smile in the pillow.