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Namjoon goes to Yoongi's room after eating and showering, knocking as a courtesy (he'd already texted to say he was coming over) before using the key card the staff gave him to enter. "Hyung?" he calls softly, and gets a quiet hum in response. "You busy?"
"No, come in," Yoongi replies, eyes trained on his laptop while he takes quick notes with his right hand. With his left, he pats the bed beside him.
Hiding a smile, Namjoon accepts the wordless invitation, toeing off his sandals and swinging himself up onto the bed. Immediately, he curls up against Yoongi's side, burrowing in a little until he can squeeze his head between Yoongi's stomach and his laptop.
Huffing out a laugh, Yoongi says, "That can't be comfortable."
Namjoon smiles and ignores him. "What're you working on?"
"Eh," Yoongi says, "nothing important. Just watching some of this month's comebacks." He does that sometimes, his producer's competitive spirit and his genuine love for music both driving him to track the current landscape of talent so he never falls out of touch. "I wasn't tired yet," Yoongi adds, and Namjoon nods.
"Me either," he replies, even though it's not quite true. His brain is tired, overtired even, and his muscles are getting there too. But the rest of his body hasn't caught up just yet, still just a little wired from tonight's concert.
He feels himself starting to wind down, though, as Yoongi brings his hand up to scratch at the nape of Namjoon's neck--briefly, before he shoves Namjoon's head away. "Your giant head is blocking my screen."
Namjoon laughs, obligingly shifting down a little so his head is pillowed on the edge of Yoongi's thigh. It took a while for him to learn how to ask so shamelessly for physical affection, especially from Yoongi. Even though he loves all of his members, it's always been easier to ask to be touched by some of them more than others. He could've gone to Jimin today, and he wouldn't have even had to say a word to get kissed and cuddled until his brain went blank.
But there's something about Yoongi, specifically, that's so wonderfully grounding. Always has been, from the very beginning, but these days especially there's an air of calmness, of being completely at home in himself, that he radiates without even trying. Being near him is like a balm, like someone taking all the loose, scattered edges of Namjoon and gently pulling them back in.
And there's something about Yoongi's hands, specifically, that draws Namjoon's focus like a compass pointing north. They're beautiful hands, big and capable, with strong, deft fingers. Namjoon loves them, down to the bony knuckles and roughly bitten cuticles. He lets himself get lost in the way Yoongi cards his fingers through his hair, knowing Yoongi will guide him back when it's time.
After ten minutes or so, Namjoon is out of his head enough that when Yoongi's hand trails from his scalp down his cheek and over his mouth, he just--opens right up. He's got his lips closed around two of Yoongi's fingers down to the second knuckle before he realizes there's anything strange about it. When he does (when Yoongi inhales audibly, the sound of his pencil scratching abruptly halting) heat blooms across Namjoon's face, ears and cheeks burning.
Fuck, fuck. Why did he do that? He didn't even come here for anything sexual...or did he? It's been so long since Namjoon's had time to do anything other than quickly jerk off alone in a hotel room bed before passing out until morning, long enough that there's a near constant need sitting just underneath his skin these days. Apparently he's gotten so good at ignoring it that he didn't even realize this was why he couldn't settle down tonight, why he sought out Yoongi's bed so single-mindedly. Focusing now, he can feel the telltale stir of arousal in his gut, oversensitizing him to every touch.
Self-consciousness prickles at the back of his neck, and he braces himself to pull back and laugh it off, apologize--but Yoongi makes a small, curious noise, drawing his fingers out before pushing them back in, a little further than before.
Namjoon feels his blush spread down his neck, even as relief washes over him, knowing that Yoongi's interested, too. That he doesn't think this is weird, that he's not upset with Namjoon for interrupting his work. The anxiety fades, leaving a vaccuum that his arousal rushes in to fill. He makes a thin, wanting noise around Yoongi's fingers.
"Oh," Yoongi says, sounding a little shocked. "Namjoon-ah—is this--"
A new desperation coming over him, Namjoon reaches up and grabs Yoongi's wrist, keeping his hand exactly where it is. He rounds his lips around Yoongi's knuckles, takes them even deeper, and sucks once.
Yoongi curses, and the thrill of satisfaction makes Namjoon's eyes flutter closed. He swallows convulsively. "Look at you," he hisses. "God, Joon-ah, your mouth."
Humming, Namjoon slides his hand down to grip Yoongi's forearm loosely, grounding himself but giving Yoongi back control. Yoongi takes it pulling out and pushing back in, pulling and pushing and pulling until it's impossible for it to be anything other than him fucking Namjoon's mouth with his fingers. The way he must look like this, head tilted to give Yoongi better access, half-hard in his shorts, face red and eyes squeezed shut.
The angle isn't that great, Yoongi's palm braced awkwardly against his cheek. But at some point, though, Yoongi must move his laptop, because he draws Namjoon in until his head is cradled sideways in Yoongi's lap, and then it's better. "You look so good, fuck," he says breathlessly, bending down to press his forehead to Namjoon's, upside-down. "Do you think you could take another?"
Namjoon whines, and Yoongi exhales hotly against his hair, pressing a third finger in with the others. It's a stretch, but Namjoon takes it without complaint. It's harder to swallow this way, though, and he doesn't manage to keep spit from leaking out the corners of his mouth. It's embarrassing, or at least it should be, but Namjoon just exhales harshly through his nose, digging his fingers desperately into the closest part of Yoongi he can reach. He's fully hard now, and he can feel, where his cheek is pressed against the front of Yoongi's sweats, that Yoongi is too. The thought sends a jolt of heat to his core, and his hips arch up once, helplessly looking for stimulation.
"Shit." Yoongi pulls his fingers out suddenly, and Namjoon moans quietly, forlorn. Then Yoongi's arms are on his shoulders, and Yoongi's saying urgently, "Come up here, Namjoon-ah. Come on." He guides Namjoon over and up onto his knees, yanking him forward until he's hovering over Yoongi's lap, and Namjoon finally gets a good look at his face. He's pink all over, eyes wide and frantic. His mouth is red, like he's been biting his lips, and there's a hint of sweat at his hairline. His fingers pluck at the waistband of Namjoon's shorts. "Take these off, come on."
Clumsily, Namjoon shoves at them until they pool around his thighs. He makes to pull away so he can get them off entirely, but Yoongi shakes his head. "No, this is fine," he says, and wraps his hand around Namjoon's dick.
"Fuck!" Namjoon slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout. Oh, god, it's been too long. He feels like he could fall apart any second. "Don't--I'm too—"
Yoongi's mouth falls open in understanding, and he pulls his hand away. "All right," he says, "then come down here," and pulls Namjoon into a kiss.
Namjoon falls into him, holding onto Yoongi's shoulders to keep his balance. His tongue feels heavy and clumsy in his mouth, and he's a little too far gone for finesse, but Yoongi doesn't seem to mind, sighing and moaning quietly into the kiss like maybe he's been just as deprived as Namjoon has. Then he breaks the kiss, and before Namjoon can do more than furrow his brow, there's two fingers at his mouth again.
Namjoon flushes, sucking them in obediently.
"Wetter this time," Yoongi murmurs, and Namjoon clenches his hands reflexively, whole body pulsing with want. He lets his mouth go a little slack, saliva pooling and getting Yoongi's fingers wetter, just like he asked.
Yoongi hums approvingly, pulling them out. He kisses Namjoon's throat softly and then drops his hand down and in between Namjoon's thighs.
Namjoon gets it. "Hyung," he gasps, trembling a little as Yoongi traces over his hole with spit-slick fingers. "Oh, fuck, Yoongi-hyung please."
"You want them in?" Yoongi teases, aiming for light-hearted as if Namjoon can't hear from the gravel in his voice how wrecked he is. "Want hyung's fingers, Namjoon-ah?"
"Fuck you," Namjoon pants, pounding his fist weakly on Yoongi's shoulder. "Fuck you, put them in, you—"
Slowly, Yoongi eases the tip of his index finger into Namjoon, and Namjoon's voice fizzles out into nothing. It's burns a little--a little too much friction, with just spit to ease the way--but Namjoon loves it, canting his hips down to get more.
"I should--lube," Yoongi says haltingly.
Namjoon makes a frustrated noise. "Can't you just—"
Yoongi laughs at him quietly, and Namjoon hides his face behind his hands. "You're too tight, Joon-ah," he says, and obviously Namjoon knows that. Obviously he knows it's been too long since he's fingered himself, and even longer since someone else has done it, and he can't even remember the last time he was fucked. But the needy, desperate part of him is convinced that he'd open right up for Yoongi anyway, easy from how much he wants it, and the thought--the thought of it is—
"Another time, maybe," Yoongi says, voice low, and Namjoon knows he's thinking about it too. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Namjoon's jaw. "The hotel left some lube in the bathroom, I'll be right back."
Namjoon nods, and lets Yoongi tip him back onto the bed. He takes the moment to breathe, then pulls his shorts all the way off, his t-shirt following. Yoongi comes back with a little tube of lubricant, and smiles when he sees that Namjoon's already naked.
Yoongi strips down and then kisses him for a bit, getting his hands in Namjoon's hair and tugging a little until Namjoon slips back into incoherency, and then he slides further down the bed. He runs his hands possessively down Namjoon's upper thighs, then slips under to coax them up and apart. Namjoon watches as Yoongi slicks the fingers of his right hand up, and then can't watch any longer, afraid that he might lose it if he does. He throws an arm over his eyes, and hears Yoongi huff once before feeling the sharp sting of a bite just under his pec. "Ow."
"Watch me," Yoongi says.
"I can't," Namjoon pleads. "I'll—"
Yoongi rolls his eyes. "If you're going to come, then come. That's the point, anyway, isn't it?" And then cuts off Namjoon's reply by sliding one finger in.
Namjoon makes a wounded, desperate noise, flailing out one hand to clutch at the closest pillow. After a minute, Yoongi works in another finger, and Namjoon gasps, dragging the pillow over to cover his face. Yoongi huffs and jabs at his prostate cruelly, and it hurts and Namjoon loves it and Yoongi, the bastard, knows that.
"I want you to come like this," Yoongi says matter-of-factly, as if Namjoon couldn't figure that out from the absolutely ruthless press of Yoongi's beautiful fingers inside him. He twists them and crooks them slightly and then spreads them apart, and Namjoon squeezes the pillow in his arms until he's almost afraid it'll pop, whining through his teeth. "I'm going to make you come on my fingers. Is that okay with you, Namjoon-ah?"
Namjoon can only manage a garbled plea in response, arching up into Yoongi's fingers and the firm grip his left hand has on Namjoon's inner thigh. He can feel himself tense up so badly he's shaking, mouth falling open as he barrels towards orgasm, so swift and overwhelming that he's not sure he'll come out intact, but he couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to. And he doesn't want to.
Humming, Yoongi pulls his fingers out and then opens him up again on three. He must've added more lube because most of the friction is gone, and he fucks Namjoon with them faster and faster until Namjoon feels like he'll stop breathing from it. He's there, he's right there, teetering at the edge of it, he's so fucking close—
Then Yoongi takes the head of Namjoon's neglected dick into his mouth, and Namjoon comes with a sob.
Yoongi keeps fucking him for a little bit, well into overstimulation territory, but Namjoon doesn't stop him. He just lets out little pained whimpers into his pillow, his eyes squeezed shut, reveling in the utter emptiness of his mind of anything other than what Yoongi's doing to him.
After a minute or so, Yoongi pulls his fingers out. "You good?" he asks, softly.
Namjoon lifts the pillow from his face, cringing a little at how damp it is. He throws it at Yoongi's head.
"Yah!" Yoongi yelps, throwing it back haphazardly. It misses, bouncing pathetically off the headboard. Namjoon bursts into laughter, breathless and light. A moment later, Yoongi grins back at him.
"I'm good," Namjoon confirms, smiling. "I'm so good." He stretches languidly, groaning in satisfaction at the way his sore muscles pull. "Hyung," he sighs, letting his head flop to the side, peering at Yoongi from under his lashes.
Yoongi freezes where he's been absently stroking Namjoon's calf, looking like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. Namjoon, overwhelmed with fondness, can't decide whether to make fun of him for it or blurt out that he loves him.
Instead of either of those, he asks, "Let me suck you off?"
(He knows Yoongi knows, anyway.)
"Aren't you tired?" Yoongi replies, eyebrows raised, but he's already knee-walking up the bed toward Namjoon's head.
Namjoon nods. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Like having you in my mouth, though."
Yoongi goes a little pink again at that, and Namjoon feels his own lips curl up smugly at the corners.
"Shut it," Yoongi says without heat. He reaches down and strokes Namjoon's hair back from his forehead--then grasps it in his fist and pulls. "Open up for hyung, Namjoon-ah," he says, voice low, his other hand holding his flushed dick level with Namjoon's lips.
Namjoon shivers, eyes falling shut, and opens his mouth.