Chapter Text
It’s all because of Seokjin’s housewarming party.
If it was anyone else, Yoongi would be asking what the fuck kind of college student throws a housewarming party, but the answer to that question would be Kim Seokjin, so Yoongi doesn’t ask. The guy is middle aged on the inside and would probably be married with a cat and waning sex life by now if he didn’t have the friends he did. Luckily for him, he does have his friends and they know how to keep him away from the edge. As Namjoon (who is technically co-host of the occasion, though no one expects Seokjin allowed him to have anything to do with it) says when he hands Yoongi his verbal invitation, ‘Hyung, you know this housewarming thing’s gonna be less canapés and good wine, and more straight liquor and cheap beer, while all the surfaces get christened in bodily fluids.’
Namjoon, of course, is right. When Hoseok and Yoongi arrive at their friends' new place – a swankier apartment building closer to the centre of Hongdae – an hour late, the party has already escalated from sophisticated gathering of mature young adults to full-blown rager. Outside, someone is throwing up into a neatly trimmed shrub, his friend standing next to him in fits of laughter.
‘Just because they told you to drink it out of the bucket,’ the friend is slurring, as Yoongi follows Hoseok past the pair, ‘doesn’t mean you should drink it out of the bucket, dumbass.’
Inside, the music is loud enough that they hear it as soon as they step out of the elevator. The front door of the apartment is open, lights flashing into the corridor as a couple stumble out, locked at the lips, looking a lot like they're about to fuck right up against the opposite wall. Hoseok catches the front door before it shuts again and they slip into the madness. The impressively large apartment is packed with at least double the amount of people Seokjin probably invited, every inch of the place heaving with bodies. There are empty cups everywhere, puddles of liquid on the pretty mahogany floors, a suspicious amount of toilet paper strewn up the hallway and over the furniture. Glancing around at the chaos as they push towards the kitchen, Yoongi knows they’re going to be met with one of two Seokjins: a Seokjin who is pacing around the kitchen, ready to kill anyone who comes near him because who the fuck threw up on his scatter cushions?! Or a Seokjin who has already passed through that state of blind rage and scatter-cushion-induced anxiety with the help of too much vodka and is now trashed out of his head.
‘Jung Hoseok!’
‘Uh-oh,’ Hoseok murmurs, just as Seokjin appears, the arm not clutching the vodka bottle winding around his neck to pull him into a sloppy hug. 'Hi, there, hyung,' he says carefully, his voice edged with laughter.
Pulling back, Seokjin squints at his younger friend. ‘I can’t decide if I wanna dance with you or throw up on you,’ he slurs.
‘Hot,’ Hoseok remarks, torn between amusement and concern. ‘You holding up okay, hyung?’
‘Oh, I’m good,’ Seokjin drawls, but his smile is a little psychotic. ‘We’ve got one cracked window, four burst cushions and six puddles of vomit, but we also have lots and lots of vodka, so hyung is just fine.’ Seokjin’s woozy gaze drifts over Hoseok's shoulder. ‘Yoongi-ah! You came!’
And then Yoongi is being hugged as well and the smell of alcohol is so strong that he can taste it at the back of his throat. ‘You look...’ Seokjin frowns, clutching Yoongi’s shoulder with one hand and taking a swig of vodka with the other as he eyes him up and down (he doesn’t even wince as he swallows the mouthful). ‘Far too sober. You both you do. Let’s get you wasted.’
Yoongi could not agree more.
It’s the first party Yoongi’s been to since he arrived back in Seoul, after spending most of the summer at home in Daegu, torn between slaving ungodly hours at the bar where he managed to get a night shift and working at a small recording studio for job experience. He didn’t exactly have a lot of time for partying the summer away, which led to a pretty lonely couple months under the watchful eyes of his parents. So, between his eight-week deprivation and the alcohol streaming into his veins, it doesn’t take long for that gentle burn to flare up low in his stomach, a hot simmering under his skin that sends a warm flush into his cheeks and has his eyes wandering around the room.
Dozens of bodies writhe together on the makeshift dancefloor, narrow hips clad in tight denim, thin cotton clinging to skin with sweat, everything that bit prettier under the neon glow of rainbow-coloured lights. There's a lot to look at, but Yoongi doesn't find his gaze lingering on any one thing for too long, his attention being tugged easily away by Namjoon's priceless drunken rants or Hoseok trying to drag him out to dance. Yoongi doesn't dance, much to Hoseok's dismay, but later, once the party has turned into a blur of noise and faces that Yoongi can’t deal with anymore, he finds himself holed away in a tiny, but relatively quiet space with his younger friend. He thinks they're in a room just off the kitchen, nothing much in it apart from a washer and dryer and a length of marble counter. A utility room, Yoongi supposes. Only Kim Seokjin could afford an apartment with a freaking utility room.
Yoongi watches from his perch on the counter as Hoseok rolls a joint with deft fingers which suggest he’s probably still sober. Yoongi can’t quite say the same thing for himself, though he’s not quite wasted yet. He’s just at the stage of drunk where he’s warm and kinda dizzy and really wants to make out with something.
‘Yeah, so anyway, he’s fucking adorable, hyung, I swear to God,’ Hoseok is saying, his words a little muffled as he lights up, sucking in deep. He exhales heavily in a cloud of sweet smoke, a dreamy look in his eyes that has less to do with the weed and more to do with his latest conquest, who he has not shut up about for the past ten minutes. ‘But he’s also... hot, you know? He has arms and abs and shit. Like, I’d trust him to protect me in a dark alley, but I also wanna buy him flowers and those cute chocolates shaped like bears because I know he’d really like them.’ He shakes his head, tendrils of smoke drifting from the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s so weird, hyung. I’ve never met anyone like—‘
Hoseok cuts off as the door to the utility room opens, bringing with it a blast of noise from the kitchen and a person that Yoongi doesn’t have a chance to process properly before he’s launching himself at Hoseok with a delighted cry of, ‘Hyung!’
‘Taetae!’ Hoseok practically coos, wrapping the boy up in a hug, careful not to burn his clothes with the joint in his hand. ‘I missed you, kid, where you been? Also, shut the door before someone smells this. I don’t feel like sharing.’
‘Just got here this morning,’ “Taetae” replies, releasing Hoseok and moving to close the utility door. ‘But, hyung, I’ve been hearing things...’
Yoongi gets his first proper look at the boy as he leans back against the wall of the cramped room, an eyebrow cocked as he smirks at Hoseok and—oh... okay, then. Yoongi feels that soft fire in his stomach burn a little brighter as his eyes take their time giving the boy a once-over. Tousled brown hair, just a few shades darker than his skin which literally looks like it was painted by a sun god, all golden in a way that makes Yoongi feel like an actual ghost. Younger than them, Yoongi reckons, but probably not by much, and taller than Yoongi, though that’s not hard. He’s wearing a light denim shirt over a white t-shirt, jeans with rips in all the right places, slivers of tan thighs and knees that have Yoongi taking a slow breath to steady himself. He’s only just managed to tear his eyes away when he hears his name.
‘Yoongi, this is Kim Taehyung,’ Hoseok introduces, kicking Yoongi’s dangling foot to get his attention. ‘I adopted him last year, since my parents forgot to supply me with a cute dongsaeng. Isn’t he adorable?’
Adorable is not quite the word Yoongi would use to describe Kim Taehyung as he meets his gaze. His eyes are long and slender, huge and dark in a way that makes Yoongi pretty sure you could lose everything from your soul to your car keys in them if you stared for too long. He bows a little in greeting and Yoongi inclines his head just enough to be polite.
‘And this is Min Yoongi,’ Hoseok goes on. ‘Roommate, been stuck with him and his grumbling since high school, but he gives good blow jobs, so I’m not complaining.’
Yoongi rolls his eyes and kicks out at Hoseok’s thigh as the younger chuckles lightly, settling the joint between his lips again for another lengthy drag. And it’s during those few seconds, after the eye-roll and while Hoseok’s still preoccupied with getting the most out of his lungful, that Yoongi catches the look the boy gives him. It’s the kind of slow up-and-down appraisal Yoongi gave Taehyung just moments ago. And judging by the faint smirk he gives Yoongi when he finally meets his eye – he likes what he sees.
Oh, Yoongi thinks again, his teeth snagging on his lower lip as he looks away, his stomach doing something hot and insistent. Okay, then.
‘Hyung, what is that?’ Taehyung asks suddenly, and Hoseok grins at him, slow and lazy now that he’s had a few decent hits.
‘I’m experimenting,’ Hoseok says, handing Taehyung the joint. ‘Wanna taste?’
‘Thought you weren’t sharing tonight,’ Taehyung reminds him, a cheeky quirk to his mouth.
‘I’ll always share with you, Taetae,’ Hoseok coos, his voice full of mock emotion, his smile more genuine. ‘You haven’t been drinking, though, have you?’
‘Only a little,’ Taehyung replies, smiling as he takes the joint in long fingers, a few thin silver rings glinting under the light. ‘Don’t worry so much, hyung.’
Yoongi can’t help but watch as Taehyung takes the end of the joint between lips too full and soft looking for this world, cheeks hollowing out and wow, those are cheekbones. Taehyung’s eyes widen impossibly as he hands it back to Hoseok, breathing out a cloud of the sweetened smoke and yeah, okay, maybe Yoongi can see where Hoseok got adorable from now.
‘It tastes like cupcakes,’ he says, nothing short of awestricken.
Hoseok nods, grinning. ‘Vanilla flavoured,’ he explains. ‘Cool, right? You wanna try, hyung?’
Yoongi shakes his head. He’s curious, but he’s not curious enough to spend the night throwing up somewhere, which is what he did last time he smoked after drinking too much. ‘Another time,’ he says, and Hoseok nods, understanding.
After that, the conversation is mostly Hoseok relaying the same summer tales he already told Yoongi, but to Taehyung now and Yoongi pretends to listen, while actually becoming mildly obsessed with Taehyung’s mouth. The way it narrows out when he smirks, stretches into a wide, boxy grin as Hoseok tells him about the antics of the kids from the dance workshops he helped with – Yoongi is fascinated. When he’s listening intently, his lips part, go all pliant and soft in a way that makes Yoongi itch to know what they taste like, which in turn leads him to frown at himself because what the fuck? How sappy is he going to get tonight? He must be more drunk than he thought.
‘Wait—' Hoseok says, after a while, so suddenly that even Yoongi drags his gaze away from Taehyung’s mouth to look at his friend. ‘Is he here?’ he asks Taehyung, eyes wide, joint dead and forgotten between his fingers.
‘Jimin?’ Taehyung nods. ‘Yeah, last I saw him, he was being low key suffocated by Seokjin-hyung, so he’s probably—‘
‘Here, have this,’ Hoseok cuts across him, shoving the near finished joint into Taehyung’s hand as he heads for the door. ‘You two will be fine, right? Don’t let Yoongi-hyung scare you. He only feeds on the souls of the innocent on Thursdays.’
Taehyung frowns. ‘It is Thursday.’
Hoseok pulls a face of mock horror. ‘Well, shit, it was nice knowing you, Taetae,’ he says, and with that, he’s gone, leaving nothing behind him but a soft chuckle and the click of the door closing.
Taehyung eyes the joint he’s been given and pouts a little. ‘It’s out,’ he observes, eyes flicking around the room for a lighter. It’s on the counter next to Yoongi. Taehyung only has to take a step to cross the narrow space, reaching out to snatch up the lighter, which is when Yoongi’s body goes rogue, fingers catching at one side of the open front of Taehyung’s shirt. Immediately, the boy’s eyes slide to meet his and there’s a split second where nothing happens, both of them still and neither of them breathing.
- - - - -
He is beautiful and he is terrifying and Taehyung feels every nerve ending in his body spark with excitement and fear and want when he feels those long, pale fingers tangling into his shirt. He slides his gaze up to meet Yoongi’s, the elder's eyes dark and dangerous and disarming on his. Taehyung wastes only a fraction of a second commending himself for thinking of three ‘d’ words in a row before he drops the lighter and the burnt out joint on the counter, only too willing when Yoongi’s other hand snags his shirt as well, tugging him closer. He is gentler than Taehyung expected; Taehyung could pull away if he wanted to, but why the hell would he want to?
‘Hi,’ Taehyung whispers, when his legs meet the cupboards below the counter and he can be reeled in no further.
‘Hey,’ Yoongi says quietly, and Taehyung’s stomach flips at the sound of that voice, holy shit. It practically makes his mouth water, his tongue slipping out of its own accord to wet his lips.
Taehyung laughs a little, and maybe it does sound kinda nervous because he’s used to feeling a lot more in control of these situations, used to being the one with the sultry looks and the daring hands. ‘You are kinda scary,’ he admits, his gaze roaming over Yoongi’s face, a canvas of contrasts: sharp, slender eyes, his nose soft, almost button, his mouth a simple work of art, that cupid’s bow so perfect Taehyung has to stare as Yoongi curls it into a smirk.
‘Yeah?’ he asks, barely more than a whisper. ‘How so?’
‘Thought you were pretty,’ Taehyung murmurs, noting the glint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, but Taehyung has always found it easy to compliment people in the most honest ways he can, ‘—with your pink hair and your beanie,’ he continues, his hands settling on Yoongi’s hips, albeit a little hesitant, ‘all small and cute and stuff, but then your voice is like a bag of rocks and deeper than the freaking Pacific and now your eyes look like they wanna eat me and watch me while I scream.’
Those eyes narrow a touch and Taehyung feels a thrill of something like fear humming through his veins. He’s not sure—actually, he knows he’s never been so scared of someone he’s wanted to kiss him so bad before. Sitting on the counter the way he is, Yoongi is a few inches taller and Taehyung almost shivers when he feels a cool hand slip under his chin, tilting his head up a little.
‘Maybe I do,’ Yoongi suggests in a low voice, and Taehyung swallows hard against a soft curse, his hands tightening on Yoongi’s hips.
He can’t help the way he stretches onto his toes, nose brushing against Yoongi’s as he screams it loud and clear with his body – KISS ME ALREADY, DAMMIT. He almost groans aloud when Yoongi pulls back just out of reach, his teeth snagged on his lower lip and mischief glinting in his eyes and Taehyung’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything so freaking hot in his life.
There's no stopping the small moan that rises against the barriers in his throat when Yoongi finally kisses him. It’s light, just a taste, but either Yoongi was just testing the waters before diving in, or something inside him snaps and banishes all thoughts of teasing, because the next kiss is harder, longer, more insistent. Yoongi’s tongue wastes no time in skimming along Taehyung’s lower lip and Taehyung’s mouth practically falls open for him, fingers digging into Yoongi’s hips as the kiss deepens.
Yoongi’s tongue slips in like it owns the place, curling against Taehyung’s, flicking over the roof of his mouth, tracing the uneven ridges of his teeth, and Taehyung doesn’t even care. He’s practically got the deeds to his mouth in his hand, ready to hand them right over to Yoongi because holy hell, he knows how to use his tongue. Taehyung can feel his bones turning to butter as Yoongi slides his fingers into Taehyung’s hair, tilting his head to pull him in even deeper.
Carefully, Taehyung lets his thumbs sneak under Yoongi’s t-shirt, tracing the hard lines of his hipbones and Taehyung has no idea why he’s being careful at all because it’s not something he does. Yoongi’s skin just looks so soft and delicate, he feels he needs permission to touch it. The hitch in Yoongi’s breath, however, is all the permission he needs, his palms flattening against Yoongi’s stomach, fingers roaming over the soft bumps of ribs. And Yoongi must like that, his grip tightening in Taehyung’s hair, his heels pressing into the backs of Taehyung’s thighs, which seems to remind him that Taehyung can’t get any closer than this, not yet.
‘Do you—‘ the older boy manages to breathe between kisses, his voice even rougher than before, making the hairs prickle on the back of Taehyung’s neck. ‘—you wanna go—somewhere else?’
Taehyung’s stomach does something strange, plummeting like it did that time he went bungee jumping for his birthday, but blooming with heat at the same time, a burning ache so strong and sudden it’s almost painful. The suggestion surrounding the 'somewhere else' is enough to let Taehyung know Yoongi means somewhere private and preferably with a soft surface and Taehyung would like that. Taehyung would like that a lot. ‘Yeah—yeah,’ he whispers, pulling his hands out from under Yoongi’s t-shirt and curling them into the front of it, savouring the last few kisses he’ll get before they have to fight through the party still raging beyond the door. Then that turns less into savouring the last few kisses and really just initiating the kissing all over again, Yoongi’s fingers not bothering to untangle themselves from his hair as Taehyung drags him back in.
‘You know,’ Yoongi manages to mumble against his lips, a hint of what might be laughter colouring his tone, ‘you’re gonna—have to move for me—to get down.’
‘Let go of me, then,’ Taehyung shoots back, his voice a breathless disaster that would make him blush if he wasn’t already so flushed. Without giving Yoongi any time to reply, Taehyung’s hands move to the small of his back, sliding him forwards on the counter until his chest is pressed against Taehyung’s. Yoongi doesn’t complain, his arms crossing behind Taehyung’s head as he sinks further into the kiss, his tongue hot and wet and twining with Taehyung’s in a way that makes him certain he should not still be conscious. His hands slip underneath Yoongi’s t-shirt again, sliding up the warm, smooth skin of his back and god, it really is as soft as it looks. Taehyung barely allows any pressure into his fingertips, scared he’ll tear it or something with his clumsy touch.
He has to pull back for breath. He doesn’t want to, but he has to, white spots bursting behind his eyes from oxygen deprivation. Yoongi, on the other hand, is not human. He continues along Taehyung’s jaw, nipping at the skin, Taehyung’s toes curling in his sneakers at the sting. It’s quickly followed by a lick of damp heat over what will no doubt be a bruise and—that’s it. They need to go now or it’s happening right here, under the judging black stare of Seokjin’s washing machine.
Taehyung pulls away, running his fingers along Yoongi’s arms and tugging him down with him. Yoongi’s lips are flushed a dark pink, his cheeks almost matching and he doesn’t look real as he presses Taehyung up against the opposite wall, eyelids low and hands sliding into Taehyung’s back pockets as he kisses him again. It’s a peck that’s really more teeth than lips and Taehyung is kind of starting to fear for his life, but also totally down for dying tonight if it’s with this guy’s hands on his ass because yes.
‘Come on,’ Yoongi says, low and a touch raspy and Taehyung wonders if the kissing affected him as much as it did Taehyung. The older boy pulls away and opens the door, Taehyung quickly following him out into the noisy mess of the party.
They tumble into the first bedroom they come across, barely remembering to shut the door behind themselves. Before Taehyung has time to breathe, he is on the bed, stripped from the waist up and gasping as Yoongi’s lips suck at the sensitive skin of his neck. It takes Yoongi no more than two seconds to find that one spot just underneath his jaw that draws something dangerously close to a whimper from Taehyung’s throat, heat flooding through his body. Lips press gently against his Adam’s apple, soft as velvet, teeth snag viciously at his lower lip, and that tongue has already secured Taehyung’s tongue’s hand in marriage. They’re going to elope and move to Venice if Taehyung doesn’t keep himself in check, remember how breathe, reel his tongue back before it tries to move in with Yoongi’s on a permanent basis. He thinks of what Hoseok said, about Yoongi giving good blowjobs, and he doesn’t doubt it in the slightest, but Jesus Christ, those teeth are sharp and Yoongi likes to use them. The prospect of letting his mouth anywhere near Taehyung’s second favourite body part makes him feel faint – he can’t decide whether it’s in a good way or a bad way.
Taehyung’s hands tug at Yoongi’s hair, noises of encouragement slipping past his lips as Yoongi mouths down his chest—and there go the teeth again, grazing over one of Taehyung’s nipples and it seems like Yoongi’s about to move on until he notices the way Taehyung’s hands fist tight in his hair.
‘Oh, god,’ Taehyung whispers, his back arching off the bed as Yoongi locks his lips around the hardened nub, his tongue doing unbearable things that have Taehyung biting down on the inside of his cheek to stifle sounds that he may never live down. It’s just as he’s tasting copper in his mouth that Yoongi shows a little mercy, his lips travelling up along Taehyung’s collarbone, a sigh rushing out of his lungs as Yoongi rolls his hips down, grinding them against each other through their jeans. Taehyung’s already hard, and so is Yoongi, and this friction is nowhere near enough, but just for now, it’s good, and Taehyung lets his head fall to the side, giving Yoongi’s lips more room to work on his neck.
Yoongi’s hair is still threaded through his fingers, the soft, pink strands making Taehyung think of candy floss as the older boy's lips find his again. But Taehyung is not thinking of candy floss when Yoongi sits up, pushing his hair back off his forehead as he straddles Taehyung’s hips. It’s dark in the room, save for the white glow of the streetlight outside the window, washing over the pale expanse of Yoongi’s chest, the lightly muscled arms. He looks ethereal. His eyes meet Taehyung’s, deep black and hooded.
‘How d’you wanna do this?’ he asks, his voice oddly soft considering the gravelly edge, words dripping from his tongue like honey. His fingertips skim over the skin above the waistband of Taehyung’s boxers and Taehyung shivers a little. The light touch tickles, but it also makes heat pool somewhere deep inside him, his hips circling up, desperate for friction. Yoongi indulges him, a hand braced on Taehyung's chest as he rolls down against him with what looks a lot like the faint beginnings of a smirk curling his mouth.
Taehyung knows exactly how he wants to do this.
‘I want—‘ Taehyung manages to grind out, his hands moving to grip Yoongi’s hips, stilling them so he can try to speak in coherent sentences. ‘—want you to ride me.’
Yoongi’s gaze is unwavering, hard on Taehyung’s in a way that makes him wonder if he's offended him in some way – until the smirk becomes more pronounced, a flash of teeth.
‘Was kinda hoping you’d say that,’ Yoongi murmurs, eyes darkening, all of a sudden looking distinctly more predatory than they did a second ago.
Taehyung exhales shakily – was he really just thinking of candy floss?
- - - - -
It happens in between one whispered curse and another. One minute, Yoongi's riding Taehyung for everything he's worth, the boy's eyes gleaming in the half light as he lies back and watches with his teeth snagged on his lip, fingernails digging into Yoongi's thighs. The distance is familiar and something close to comforting, and if Yoongi closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was alone, cool air from the cracked open window rushing over his skin. But Yoongi doesn't close his eyes and he thinks that's probably where the problem starts. He keeps his gaze trained on Taehyung, watching every flicker of pleasure that passes across his face with each slow grind of Yoongi's hips, and Taehyung's an eye contact sort of guy, so maybe there's some intense staring. Maybe.
Next thing Yoongi knows, his body is on fire, wrapped up in Taehyung’s and he's not entirely sure how it got like this. Their chests are flush, Taehyung’s hands scorching up his back, the heat of his lips on Yoongi’s throat, sucking at his collarbones, licking the sweat off the skin of his neck and holy shit, that’s actually kind of hot. Yoongi’s fingers curl into the pretty wooden headboard behind the younger boy to steady himself as he rolls his hips, lifting halfway off Taehyung before slamming back down, the new angle ensuring he hits his prostate with almost every stroke. Yoongi’s breaths are so loud and ragged now they’d almost be embarrassing if Taehyung wasn’t moaning softly into every kiss against Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s never liked the vocal ones, but these moans are small and breathy and low, rumbling softly in Taehyung’s chest – Yoongi likes this, the quiet appreciation without the porn star yelling. He wants to taste them, the small noises, his fingers fisting in Taehyung’s hair, tilting his head back to kiss him, licking into his mouth, vanilla and soju. Taehyung’s hands skim hot down his sides, light as fucking feathers. A moan tingles against Yoongi's lips, this time in the shape of his name, just as Taehyung starts thrusting up with own hips, meeting Yoongi halfway with a dizzying slap of skin-on-skin.
‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears harshly into the younger's mouth, teeth knocking and really neither of them is functional enough to be kissing right now, but it’s hard to tear his mouth away when Taehyung tastes like the vanilla donuts from his favourite coffee place.
Taehyung jerks his hips up again, slamming into Yoongi’s prostate so hard he sees stars, tastes blood in his mouth and oh, shit, that’s not his blood. He’s about to apologise, but judging by the groan Taehyung lets out when Yoongi clenches around him, he didn’t even notice. His fingers still on Yoongi’s hips to grip with bruising force, his forehead falling into the crook of Yoongi’s neck and Yoongi knows he must be close. He can feel it tightening low in his own stomach, too, every spike of pleasure when he hits that spot just right so intense it almost hurts. He stifles any noise against Taehyung’s head, lips pressed into dark, damp hair, his fingers clutching at the sweaty strands as his other hand drops between them, wrapping itself around his own cock. He gets one, maybe two strokes in before he feels his hand being batted away, a larger palm curling into a fist around him, just the right amount tight, if a little too slow, but better, definitely better.
Both of them are borderline desperate now, hips stuttering, falling out of rhythm, fingers dragging on skin and tugging at hair. The heat clawing through Yoongi is horrible and perfect; he needs it to stop and never wants it to end and maybe he moans Taehyung’s name as the younger thumbs at the leaking slit of his cock, but he kind of hopes he didn’t. Yoongi’s pretty surprised when he doesn’t come first, when he feels the shudder running through the boy below him, feels Taehyung’s heavy gasps of yesyesfuckyes against his neck. And it must have something to do with that or the way Taehyung’s hand tightens reflexively around his cock, speeding up his strokes, but next thing Yoongi knows, he’s hit with an orgasm the size of Seoul, eyes forced shut, a groaned curse fighting its way out of his mouth through clenched teeth as he comes over Taehyung’s hand, wet streaks up both their stomachs. Taehyung gasps at the tightness around his now sensitive cock, his teeth scraping along Yoongi’s collarbone, his hand still fisting Yoongi as he rides out his orgasm with a hissed stream of the filthiest language he knows – which is pretty filthy, so bad in fact that Taehyung lets out a small, breathless laugh against Yoongi’s chest.
‘Wow,’ he whispers. ‘Those are words.’
‘Yeah,’ Yoongi murmurs, sarcasm lost in how wrecked his voice sounds. ‘Well done.’
He feels dizzy. As the last of his orgasm ebbs away, leaving nothing but a hot tingle and a clammy mess in its wake, he actually feels dizzy. His eyes are shut, but he still thinks the grip he has on Taehyung might be the only thing keeping him upright.
He doesn’t remember the last time he came that hard - if ever.
He takes a few slow breaths, smells sweat and an unfamiliar sweet soap, which is what jolts him into realising what he’s doing right now. His face is still pressed into Taehyung’s hair, his fingers still tangled, and he’s panting into the soft, damp locks, his other arm slung around Taehyung’s neck and—wait, what? Is he--? He’s not... he is not.
Oh, but he is.
His fingers are stroking up and down the side of Taehyung’s neck with a gentleness that makes him recoil. The whole situation is too close, too... tender. Yoongi needs out.
Without another word, he lifts himself off Taehyung and flops onto the other side of the bed, still breathing hard and not confident in his ability to walk straight.
‘Fuck,' he whispers, having trouble keeping his eyes open now that he's horizontal and so, so comfortable.
‘Yeah,’ Taehyung agrees, his voice rough, and Yoongi feels the mattress bounce as he rearranges himself to lie down as well, looking spent. Yoongi is relieved when he doesn’t try to do anything weird, like cuddle or something. They both just lie there bonelessly for a while, side by side and panting at the ceiling.
When Yoongi has sensation in his toes again and doesn’t feel like his heart is going to force its way out through his ribs, he peels his eyes open, locates a box of tissues on the bedside locker and starts cleaning himself up. When he’s done with that, he gets up on legs still a little shaky and drops the box onto the elegant black comforter next to Taehyung. He really hopes this isn’t Seokjin’s room, but considering they only have one spare room, the chances are high.
‘Here,’ he grumbles, and Taehyung makes a sleepy noise that Yoongi assumes is a thank you.
He drags his clothes back on, minus the t-shirt because it’s over by the door and he can grab it on his way out. He sits on the bed to tug on his shoes and makes the dumb mistake of casting a glance over his shoulder at Taehyung before he gets up. The boy is clearly half asleep, his hair a ruffled tangle against the pillow, his lashes low and casting light shadows over his cheekbones and dammit, Yoongi doesn’t want to admit it, but he is cute.
Yoongi hates cute.
He doesn’t, however, hate the vanilla donuts from his favourite coffee place and he finds it easy to convince himself that this is why he leans over the bed and kisses Taehyung again, licking as much of the taste off those sinfully soft lips as he can. They respond, slow and lazy, a gentle hum against Yoongi’s mouth. When he pulls back, Taehyung’s eyes slit open.
‘You shouldn’t fall asleep,’ Yoongi says. ‘You don’t want Jin-hyung to find out about this.’
His smile is full of mischief as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, hair flopping over his forehead. ‘You mean, you don’t want Jin-hyung to find out about this.’
Preparing to get to his feet, Yoongi casts a dark look over his shoulder at him. ‘No one wants Jin-hyung to find out about this,’ he murmurs ominously, and Taehyung chuckles. Actually, it’s more of a giggle. It’s enough of a giggle that Yoongi pauses a moment, mildly alarmed – did he just get fucked by something that could make that noise? Holy shit.
‘Hey, wait,’ Taehyung says, as Yoongi’s about to escape. Before he has a chance to turn around, he feels long fingers catch his bicep, holding him still as something cold and faintly wet presses against this shoulder blade.
‘Yah, what’re you doing?’ he sighs, still too wrecked to really care.
‘There’s my number,’ Taehyung says, finishing whatever he’s writing with a flourish and leaning in to press his lips the side of Yoongi’s neck, his fingers trailing down his arm. His voice is low when he speaks again, right by Yoongi’s ear. ‘We should do this again sometime.’
Yoongi can’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder, finding Taehyung’s face inches from his. His eyes are blacker than black, his swollen lips parted and turned up in the threat of a smile and the whole picture is so damn sexy, Yoongi has to wonder how the hell this person just giggled like a five-year-old girl. He gets a lot of numbers, but generally doesn’t call them, deletes them after a while, aims the slips of paper at the basket ball hoop over the wastepaper bin in the studio. The same thing will probably happen to this number, washed off in the shower and forgotten, but Yoongi doesn’t say that.
For a moment, he gives into the pull and he’s kissing Taehyung again, a firm hand behind the younger's neck, tongue skimming over the split his teeth left in his lip, tasting a bitter tang in amongst the vanilla and soju. Then Yoongi is tugging his t-shirt over his head and heading out the door without looking back.