Work Text:
Taehyung hears the fast-paced steps, then the heavy breathing.
He doesn’t realize Park Soojin has entered the cubicle until his chajangnim, Lee Solbin, stops talking and focuses her gaze on a point behind Taehyung’s shoulder.
“He came back earlier.” Park Soojin’s voice is a whisper of pure excitement.
At that, Taehyung turns around: he quickly and politely bows to his timjangnim, but Soojin is not even acknowledging his presence at the moment. Which is a first: since he started working here, she took him under her wing and never once she didn’t offer to spend lunch together or chat during breaks.
So, when Taehyung sees her for the first time today – a little worn off from the run she must’ve made from the lounge, but still glowing in her oversize pastel dress – he’s taken aback by the lack of manners.
“He came back earlier!”
Park Soojin talks addressing only Lee Solbin, like Taehyung isn’t there at all, like this one isn’t his cubicle.
Who came back—?
“What—” Lee Solbin’s face, after a moment of confusion, morphs into disbelief: “He—?! How do you know?”
“I just saw him. In the lounge, he was talking to the sajangnim—The president was welcoming him back. Asked how Japan was and if he found the time to relax after the stressful period.”
Solbin’s voice gets pitchy. “The president did not say that right in front of his face.”
“He did—Everyone freezed. I freezed.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow: Japan? Coming back? Oh.
“Is—is the head of the department back?”
Soojin looks at him: “Taehyung-ssi, hi, I’m—sorry” she takes a step back, bowing. “Yes, Kim Namjoon-nim is back from his work period abroad, so much earlier than we thought.”
Taehyung remembers what they told him when he signed his fixed-term contract: temporary assistant for the head of the finance department. Twelve weeks. ₩850,000 monthly. The current bujangnim is working in our Japanese branch, he will not be back until next year. In his absence, you will work for deputy head of department, Lee Solbin.
Taehyung’s contract expires in a month and a half, early December. He really hoped he could get by without working for some overworked, at the top of the hierarchy, probably mean and full of himself, male alpha.
He liked working on a full omega floor: the curious gazes faded away quicker than he thought.
Kim Namjoon.
He didn’t recall his name; if they had told him, he didn’t pay attention.
“Do you think it’s because—?” Solbin cuts in, letting the end of the sentences in the air.
“I have no idea, it must be, right? What else could it be?”
Taehyung sheepishly clears his throat: usually he is not the type to interrupt conversations even when people are talking over him. He got accustomed to it years ago, but the co-workers on this floor made him feel at ease even on these occasions.
“Isn’t it a good thing? That he came back earlier?”
Soojin and Solbin exchange a look and almost burst into laughter.
“Taehyung-ssi, you don’t know the half of it.” Solbin quickly grabs Taehyung’s coat, hung on his chair: “Let’s get lunch.”
Menu offers spicy japache, bone broth beef soup and all different kinds of banchan. Taehyung chooses the bone broth beef, sitting at the cafeteria’s table with Soobin, Solbin and their japache.
He ears some looks while he walks to the table; mostly from the other side of the cafeteria, where male alphas mostly sit.
He’s been working for this company for two months, but somehow, someone still turns their head when he passes by. Taehyung still wonders how they always seem to just know. Probably the fact he’s the only male working in an all-omegas floor gives it away.
Taehyung likes this company: it’s a mixed one, full with seminars about inclusivity and anti-discrimination policies. Even with that, of course, the higher positions are all taken by male alphas. Ceiling glass, isn’t it?
But the man who interviewed him didn’t care about the part of the resume that stated his birth-assigned sub gender.
“Only 3% of the population, right? I’ve read about it”, it’s the only thing he said before adding, pragmatically: “I guess we need to discuss heat leave, as well.”
Taehyung liked that. He does like this company. Too bad the pay is low, and the benefits don’t even cover all of his yearly health checks up.
He takes a spoon of fuming broth to his mouth.
“So,” Soojin doesn’t waste any time: she looks around to make sure they are sufficiently far away from any indiscrete ear, poking the japache with the chopsticks: “Kim Namjoon is the head of the finance department, right? He’s a very close friend of the CEO, which makes him very influential here.”
“That has nothing to do with the story”, Solbin swallows her noodles, interrupting abruptly.
“Ya! I was getting there! You are so annoying.”
Taehyung suppresses a giggle into another spoon of broth.
“As I was saying, he’s influential and he’s worked here since… Maybe he joined the company more than ten years ago, I don’t remember, I wasn’t even here at the time.”
“I was—aishh, I can’t believe I’m almost fifty.” Solbin looks at Taehyung, smiling fondly: “Oh, to be twenty-four, again.”
Taehyung looks down, cheeks pink.
“But even when I was twenty-four, I wasn’t as pretty as you, Taehyung-ssi. You have a nice alpha to take care of you, right?”
“Chajangnim—"
“You are making him so uncomfortable,” Soojin laughs: “Please let him eat his lunch before it gets cold.”
Solbin smiles once again and gets back to her plate, leaving Taehyung with a strawberry-colored face.
“Anyway,” Soojin continues: “Kim Namjoon has been working here for so long, and for all this time he was in a public relationship with a chaebol’s daughter. I’m talking public public: there were articles about them from time to time, and photos… They seemed fine, I guess. Talked to her once, at a company party, and she just looked like every other bored, family-rich woman. They got married about three years ago and since then they—I’m not exaggerating—it hadn’t been a week where you couldn’t hear them fighting over the phone.”
Solbin hums in agreement: “And it was always her.”
“Always her! I know in these situations it is easy to blame the overemotional omega but believe me, she was crazy.”
“Once, I heard her yelling because she wanted children. Another time, she thought her husband was cheating on her at work. You know—since we are all omegas.”
“There was a period where she used to physically storm in his office, every once in a while, complaining and yelling. Unreasonable. She was crazy.”
“Poor man—” Solbin sighs: “We noticed he started to work overtime just to avoid her. He seemed very stressed about the situation. Rightfully so.”
“I had no idea” mumbles Taehyung in disbelief, trying to remember if he ever stumbled across one of magazines that write articles about rich families in Korea. Trying to remember if the name Kim Namjoon rings any bells.
It doesn’t, Taehyung has never cared about this stuff.
“But they finally divorced, four months ago.” Soojin rests back on the chair: “Rumors spread like the plague—After that, Mr. Kim immediately asked to be moved to the Japanese branch until next year.”
Taehyung frowns: “Then—why is he back already?”
Solbin pushes the empty plate away from her: “I bet he got back with the toxic wife.”
“Nonsense”, Soojin gives her a look: “you can’t really believe it, it’s insane. He isn’t a masochist.”
“What else could it be, then?”
“Maybe they are fighting over divorce papers—maybe he found a lover.”
Solbin laughs, taunting.
“It could be!” Soojin insists: “Have you seen him? I hope he found himself a nice, not-crazy-rich-and-bored girl.”
“Maybe he felt lonely.” Taehyung says, dipping the spoon in the broth.
Solbin and Soojin turn their heads toward him, brows quirked up.
“I—I mean” he clears his throat: “In Japan. Divorces are tough… Maybe it wasn’t fair that she got to get through it with her family and friends by her side and he was alone in another country, working.”
“Yeah—could be it.” Solbin shrugs: “Anyway, now you have a new boss, Taehyung-ssi.”
“How—” Taehyung doesn’t like changes, not when they happen this fast: “How is he?”
His colleagues exchange an unintelligible look.
“He’s a good man,” Soojin says, eventually: “Demanding. Very work focused. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
I hope so.
“Yeah.” Taehyung flushes one of his most charming smiles: “I’m sure I will.”
Kim Namjoon is the bujangnim of the finance department, thirty-eight years old, male, alpha.
Taehyung meets him the next day: as he enters the cubicle stations to go to his office, Kim Namjoon stops and politely bows to everyone without saying a word.
All the 4th floor stands up as well, bowing back to him.
Normally, it would be hard to get a full glimpse of the man from where Taehyung’s cubicle is collocated, but Kim Namjoon is very tall, broad shoulders and imponent silhouette: he’s wearing a gray two piece suit, white shirt and black leather shoes. His dark-brown hair – striated with a few gray hairs – is styled smartly, leaving his forehead exposed.
Although he’s fourteen years older than Taehyung, time hasn’t left any sign on his face; there’s a hint of a wrinkle on the outer corners of his eyes and around his mouth, but not much more than that: his skin looks smooth and shaved.
He looks like any successful male alpha working for a big company where the pay is good. Expensive, put together and in charge.
The only thing that gives away the stress that he must’ve gone through in these past months, is his tired gaze: Kim Namjoon has elongated, almond-shaped eyes, sharp and heavy under his monolithic eyelid, and they look tired as soon as he steps into the office.
He gives a quick but charming smile, showing perfectly aligned white teeth, before heading to his office: as soon as he closes the door behind him, a waterfall of murmurs spreads among Taehyung’s colleagues.
He looks good.
Maybe he found an omega in Japan.
You think?
He looked tired.
Taehyung sits back at his desk, trying to flat out the wrinkles on his navy shirt that he forgot to iron the night before: last night he was so tired he couldn’t even finish the schedule-management for the next week, but he hopes he can catch up today.
This morning he looked so worn out, he spent extra time putting his concealer on just because he knew that the bujangnim would be back, and—first impressions matter.
“Taehyung-ssi?” calls one of his colleagues from behind.
He turns around: “Yes?”
“Mr. Kim wants you in his office.”
“Right.” Now he works for him, not for Lee Solbin.
Taehyung stands up and walks toward the door with the big silver plate engraved with the name Kim Namjoon: he knocks and then quietly enters.
He has never been in this office; since he’s worked here, this room has mostly been kept in the dark and closed, but still meticulously cleaned by the janitors.
Kim Namjoon is sitting straight at his desk, laptop already open and papers on the table: the big window panes from the wall opposite to the door make the space feel big and bright.
Taehyung didn’t expect the room to look like this: the view of the Han River is really mesmerizing from here.
Kim Namjoon doesn’t look up from his PC when Taehyung enters and closes the door behind him; Taehyung has no choice but to awkwardly stands there, not daring to make another step forward.
“Annyeonghaseyo, bujangnim.”
The head of the department barely tilts his head up: “Annyeonghaseyo” he says, voice deep and firm.
Kim Namjoon stays silent for a long moment, like he’s waiting for Taehyung to speak:
“—Do you need something?”
Taehyung blinks, taken aback: “Ahn Jihu-nim said you were looking for me.”
“There must be a mistake—I asked for my new assistant.” Kim Namjoon frowns and looks down to search with his eyes for a sheet of paper that is laying on the desk. When he finds it, he quickly scans it and looks up again: “My assistant is an omega.”
“I’m the new assistant.” Taehyung clenches his jaw, stomach tangling up: “An—an omega.”
“Oh.”
The look Kim Namjoon gives to him is something between surprise and an apology: he turns the office chair to Taehyung’s direction, untangling his crossed legs:
“I’m deeply sorry. I—I shouldn’t have assumed.” He seems sincere while looking at the paper, again: “I must’ve read the name wrong. Kim Taehyung-ssi, is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m Kim Namjoon. My apologies, again.”
Apologies? That’s a first.
“Don’t worry.” Taehyung is suddenly aware of how awkwardly he’s standing but can’t really do anything about it while Mr. Kim takes in his entire figure: “It happens more often than not.”
“Three percent of the population, right?”
“Around it, yeah.”
They both stay silent for a moment, then Kim Namjoon clears his throat and turns to his laptop:
“So—I need the meetings’ schedule for the next week and the report on both the growth of the insurances of last month’s clients and the month before that.”
Taehyung’s palms start to sweat on the spot. He doesn’t have any of that—Lee Solbin made him work only on the management part for the last six weeks.
“I—I don’t have either.” Great first impression.
Mr. Kim looks up at him; between his eyebrows there’s a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, probably caused by a frown of annoyance that he’s trying to hide.
“Haven’t you worked here for almost two months?”
“Yes, but I—”
“Then why don’t you have them?”
“I wasn’t instructed to—compile them.”
“Did you need to be instructed?”
Taehyung doesn’t know how to answer to that.
Kim Namjoon stays silent and looks down: he takes a long breath in. It’s the first day back and he’s already cursed with an incompetent assistant, that’s probably what he’s thinking. Taehyung can bet on it.
Taehyung feels humiliated: his superior is already done with him and they met less than five minutes ago.
“I need those files as soon as possible—I have to make a presentation by the end of the week. I needed to start working on it today. But clearly, that’s not possible. Which means we are already behind schedule.”
“I will start to work on them immediately—” Taehyung bows a little too low, eager to just leave the office and burn in humiliation by himself, in his cubicle: “I’m sorry, bujangnim.”
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Mr. Kim dismisses him coldly, and Taehyung leaves, burning in shame.
Taehyung spends the next 12 consecutive hours working on the reports, going from department to department to ask for data sheets. As soon as he gets to his one-bedroom apartment, he cancels the plans he made with his friends in the evening to keep working; he falls asleep twice with his forehead on the keyboard. He skips dinner, he wasn’t hungry anyway.
As he wakes up next morning, he realizes he fell asleep on the couch with his work-clothes and makeup still on: his hair is a mess. And he’s late for work, of course he’s late for work.
He showers as quickly as he can, and there’s no time for breakfast, or makeup, or fixing his hair – black curls from the permanent he did weeks ago are all over the place –.
On the subway, he double-checks the reports on his laptop, precariously open on his lap.
As soon as he enters the building, he heads to the printers and prints out both files, praying not to mess up the layout.
When he hands them to Kim Namjoon, the head of the department quickly scans the papers with his eyes.
“The overall balance curve is missing” is the only thing Kim Namjoon says after the silence, handing the reports back to Taehyung.
Taehyung takes them and walks out of the office without a word.
He knew he missed something, he’s that stupid, isn’t he?
No, no, no. Don’t cry at the workplace. Don’t you dare to cry at the workplace.
Only six more weeks. He can do it.
The next two weeks are some of the most stressful Taehyung has ever lived.
When Soojin and Solbin said that Kim Namjoon was very demanding and very focused on work, it was an understatement: the bujangnim is always the first one to arrive at the company, and the last one to leave.
When Taehyung ends his workday, at 6pm, and most of his colleagues have already left and the October sky outside is already dark, the light in Kim Namjoon’s office is still on and bright. Taehyung wonders at what time his superior leaves, if he does at all.
Namjoon doesn’t talk much: he’s polite to everyone, and to Taehyung, but most of the time he opens his mouth just to ask reports and data sheets that Taehyung has never heard of.
The bujangnim never yells or complains if Taehyung messes up—somehow, the lack of response is even worse: Taehyung just stays there, in that office with the silver plate on the door, while Namjoon asks in monotone voice if he’s able to fix the problem by next morning.
For an office-job, Taehyung is moving way too much: he’s always running after someone who can explain to him what bujangnim wants, and where to get it.
On Wednesday he had to tackle down the head of the HR department to her house, because she was on sick leave, but Taehyung needed the envelopes of the latest accords with the Indian clients. (Taehyung still doesn’t have a driver license, so he had to take the subway to the other side of the city—an hour and ten minutes.)
He works over-time, all the time: when he gets home, he eats while answering emails, or revising some files, or just straight up plans the schedule for the next day. And when he thinks he’s done, Namjoon pings him another email, another reminder.
And when Taehyung thinks he did a good job – a somewhat good job, since he doesn’t know what he’s doing or what the numbers on all of those files mean – Namjoon points out all the errors and mistakes he made.
This data is from three years ago, I need the latest one.
Where is the reference of this part?
This module is not signed up by the client—I can’t send it.
The transactions the company made last month don’t add up with the total balance, you need to revise it.
Taehyung has been seeing, breathing and hearing numbers for the last two weeks. Just numbers, all the time. He thinks he might throw up if he sees another balance report after his contract expires.
Kim Namjoon, on the other hand, crushes the numbers like it’s the only thing he understands: during the meetings the bujangnim attends, Taehyung is always there by his side – taking notes and updating his personal agenda –, and it’s almost mesmerizing watching him talk.
The head of the finance department is the youngest between all the others bujangnim: without Taehyung’s surprise, they are all alphas, followed by their female-omega assistants.
Kim Namjoon speaks clearly and concisely during his presentations, making brilliant points and observations to any new proposal or strategy: when he disagrees with someone, he’s not scared to go against his sunbaenim and stand his ground.
Unlike the other alphas there, he often asks Taehyung to intervene; mostly about trivial stuff, like being sure he’s referencing something correctly, or asking him to read a certain sentence of a document. But every time it happens, Taehyung gets his heart on his throat, and the other omegas look at him with wide eyes.
“Your voice shakes when you speak” Namjoon once told him, after a meeting, while he was getting his folders and they were alone.
Taehyung didn’t know how to reply.
“It shouldn’t be—Try to be more confident, okay? You made a good impression today. Good job.”
Taehyung felt a shot of warmth in his stomach: something akin to pride, or shyness. From time-to-time Kim Namjoon seemed less cold than usual, less harsh with the critiques, almost supportive. Maybe that was what Soojin and Solbin meant when they said he’s a good man.
Taehyung once mentioned it during lunch break to some of his colleagues: that the bujangnim made him participate even in meetings with his superiors and was eager to let Taehyung show everyone part of the work he had done.
“Yeah, he takes these things really seriously”, they explained him: “Omega emancipation—he was the first one to push for the equal opportunities-policy. Nobody wanted to be the head of an all-omega department, but Kim Namjoon-nim did. Have you noticed the others bujangnim barely let other omegas talk during the meetings? Mr. Kim always tries to make everyone participate. I’ve been his assistant for a few years it was always like that.”
Taehyung finished his lunch in silence and couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.
(When he stood up to go back to his cubicle, he ran into Kim Namjoon, who was just about to enter the cafeteria: he was with a group of alphas, and politely bowed to Taehyung, not sparing him a smile.
Taehyung didn’t take it personally—A few compliments by his superior didn’t mean they suddenly were friendly to each other or that Namjoon liked him as a person – didn’t look like it –.
He bowed back, respectfully.)
Almost two weeks later the arrive of Kim Namjoon at the company, Taehyung is once again the last but one to leave the office: days are getting darker and colder, and he just hopes that the black coat, the muffler and the gloves will be enough to keep him warm while waiting for his train.
He heads to the bujangnim’s office, as he always does, to announce that he’s leaving and saying have a good evening and see you tomorrow because—manners.
But when Taehyung is about to knock on the door, he hears a sudden, raspy breath coming through: a muffled voice seems mumbling something. It sounds angry.
He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.
He really, really doesn’t. Kim Namjoon is clearly having a private conversation with someone on the phone—and Taehyung is not that kind of person.
But when he’s about to make the quietest steps to leave, pretending he wasn’t even there, the bujangnim raises his voice: he sounds furious, his voice like Taehyung has never heard before, and that’s enough to glue his feet to the floor, scared that moving will get him caught and that Namjoon will direct his anger toward him.
It’s a stupid thought, Namjoon doesn’t yell at people. However, he stays there, immobile, holding his breath.
“You were the one who so eagerly wanted to sign the papers!”
Namjoon sounds out of his mind.
“I—Fuck no, that wasn’t me, I even proposed couple therapy, you know I—Let me speak! You know I tried so hard to give this a last chance—”
He trails off, Taehyung hears him standing up, walking up and down the office in long, heavy strides.
“—that wasn’t even—!”
A sharp, loud breath in: “You know what? I’m so fucking done with you, Hwana, you can’t even imagine—Keep fucking that guy, I don’t fucking care. I should’ve fucked someone else too, a long time ago, and break things off with you. The papers are signed, my lawyers are setting everything. They just need my signature, that’s why I came back—I don’t wanna see you ever again. Don’t fucking try to come to my apartment, at work or call me ever again or I—I will call the police and I will make a fucking scene in front of everyone—of your beloved press. Wonder how your stupid father would take that. Goodbye.”
The phone call is abruptly cut off. After a moment filled with heavy breathing and quiet cursing, Namjoon kicks a chair: the sound of metal against the floor echoes in the office loudly.
Taehyung stays still.
Seconds pass and feel like minutes.
Namjoon sighs, eventually: he lifts the chair back up and puts it where it was.
Taehyung waits for Namjoon to sit down again, before leaving as quietly as he can, holding on to the strap of his shoulder bag.
He knows he shouldn’t think too much about it: his boss’ personal life isn’t his business and he will leave this job soon but—still. Waiting for the subway, he can’t stop replaying the call in his head. Taehyung feels bad for him, wonders what would bring a person to cheat when they are married to someone like Kim Namjoon.
Taehyung, he has to admit, looked for the articles his colleagues talked about, one night when he couldn’t fall asleep.
Just because he was bored, and Kim Namjoon is reserved, he couldn’t help the curiosity: everything that came up about him was so positive. They reported that Kim Namjoon was a philanthropist, raised in a middle-bourgeoisie family, top thirty students of the country, somehow met, dated and married the daughter of a chaebol. Judging by the paparazzi photos of the two together, she looked stunning.
They looked like the perfect, beautiful, rich, and traditional family: handsome, strong male alpha and petite, thin, long hair and small face female omega.
Taehyung isn’t petite and he doesn't have a small face.
When people mistake him for an alpha, things are easier.
He shakes his head, now is not the time for these kinds of thoughts—they are pointless. He’s not a teenager anymore: being self-conscious makes him feel so stupid now.
The train arrives: Taehyung tries not to think about his bujangnim’s personal life while he puts his headphones on, and presses play on a random playlist.
“Are you even watching?”
Jimin lowers the monitor of Taehyung’s laptop. For the first time in an hour, Taehyung raises his head and stops revising the excel file that Kim Namjoon sent him.
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung apologizes once he realizes the movie is on pause. He takes off his glasses and massages the bridge of his nose: “I’m—just trying to finish this before tomorrow.”
His friend, popped on the couch next to him, gives him an annoyed look: “Do they pay you the extra hours?”
“Well, no, but my boss—”
“Is demanding, yes, yes, we know.” Jimin bites his lower lip, and runs a hand through his short, dyed-blonde hair: “You are working too much, I’m just worried.”
From the kitchen door of Jimin’s apartment, Jungkook appears balancing in his hands a pot of boiling ramyeon and three bowls:
“It’s scorching hot”, he says, before putting the pot on the trivet on the coffee table and placing the bowls.
When he’s done, he curls up right next to Jimin, throwing his arms around the man’s waist and snuggling on his side: Jimin, almost automatically, cards a hand through the long, black locks of Jungkook’s hair and kisses his temple.
“Thanks, babe.”
Jungkook smiles, bunny teeth showing up when he scrunches up his nose: the piercings on his lower lips shine in the dim light of the living room.
Taehyung closes the laptop and grabs a bowl, filling it up with soup and noodles to the brim; he passes it to Jungkook.
“Thanks, hyung.”
“We can start the movie again—Where is the remote?”
Jimin takes the bowl Taehyung gives him: “Not before you promise me you won’t open that damn laptop again.”
“Was he still working?” Jungkook asks, mouth full.
Taehyung sighs: “It’s—It’s important, okay? My boss—he’s very busy. I have things to do. And it’s only for another month, then I’ll be unemployed.”
The two alphas exchange a look, the kind of looks they always exchange because, apparently, they can communicate with their eyes. Taehyung hates it.
“Just—don’t overwork yourself, okay?” Jimin reaches a hand to tap his cheek, gently (he calls Taehyung’s cheeks bread from time to time). “We hardly hang together these days, we miss you.”
Jungkook makes a disgusting, loud, slurping noise, breaking the moment, and both of them laugh.
“Is he at least hot?” Jungkook asks, after Jimin wiped his chin with a napkin.
Taehyung swallows his noodles: “Who?”
“Your boss—you work twenty-four-seven for him now, is he at least a hot dilf or something?”
“You’re so gross”, Jimin says, chuckling.
But the question strikes Taehyung. He stops and really thinks about it: Namjoon is objectively a handsome man, but he never looked at him in that way. Sure, he’s tall, and broad, and he looks like he hits the gym more often than not – Taehyung has no idea where he finds the time for that – and, taking into account the fact that he’s almost forty, he sure looks incredibly good.
Then there’s the grooming part: Kim Namjoon shaves daily, and he dresses neatly and sharply every single day.
Taehyung has never seen him with a hair out of place. He always smells like a million bucks. That’s for sure attractive in its own way. He’s dutiful and fair and damn good at his job; most of the time it’s hard to guess what he’s thinking about, but he always tries to include Taehyung’s work in a room full of alphas: that must come from a good place in his heart.
He never really thought about it but—
“Sure.” Taehyung shrugs, looking down at his bowl: “Yeah, he doesn’t have kids, but I guess so. He’s kind of a hot childless dilf.”
Jungkook smirks: “I knew it.”
November starts with Namjoon calling Taehyung in his office.
Taehyung, unlike before, has found the time to iron his shirts: now they suit him neatly, giving him a neat look. When he gets up from his desk, he makes sure to flat the fabric on his arms to prevent wrinkles, and he fixes his hair.
He heads to the bujangnim’s office with his folder in his hands, knocks on the door and, after a positive response, enters.
Kim Namjoon is sitting at his desk, papers scattered all over the table. He raises his head only when Taehyung closes the door behind, clearing his voice.
“Ah, Taehyung-ssi” Namjoon greets him, sitting back on his chair: “Good morning. I called you because I need the documentation on the last deal we had with the Japanese branch—"
Taehyung takes a few steps forward and lays the folder on Namjoon’s desk, without even letting him finish.
“Here, bujangnim.”
Kim Namjoon seems taken aback: he looks at the black cover of the folder like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“What is it?”
Taehyung bites the inner part of his cheek: “The report on the last deal we had with the Japanese branch.”
“You—” Namjoon looks more suspicious than anything. He tentatively reaches his hand to open the folder and peek in: “you already wrote it?”
“I worked on it yesterday. Today is the first day of the month, I figured out you might have wanted it.”
Taehyung needs to physically stop himself from fidgeting while waiting for Namjoon to browse through the folder, eyebrows knitted together.
“And the data sheet is—?”
“Page twelve.”
Namjoon browses through it, long fingers edging the angle of the paper when he needs to turn the page, quickly checking the paragraphs and the data.
He closes the folder, sitting back on his chair. His gaze, under the heavy eyelids, falls on Taehyung: even if Taehyung’s the one standing and the bujangnim is the one sat, Taehyung suddenly feels very scrutinized under Namjoon’s gaze, like he’s been looked down on, head to toes.
“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi. I’m very impressed. Good job.”
Two words – good job –, and Taehyung’s stomach tightens. He hides a smile that threatens to bloom on his face; instead, he just bows in response, heading to the door to leave the office and return to his cubicle.
Just when he’s about to push the handle, Kim Namjoon stops him.
“Taehyung-ssi?”
Taehyung turns around to face him again: “Yes?”
“I wanted to ask you another thing—Most of our tender deadlines are around the last weeks of the month, so this month will be very busy, and the company requires maximum effort from everyone.”
Taehyung nods, not knowing where Namjoon is aiming. “I will do my best.”
The bujangnim crosses his legs, under the glass desk: “I’m not worried about your productivity; I know you work very hard. I’m worried about mine, especially when I don’t have an assistant and the schedule is very dense.”
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t have an assistant during November.”
“I was wondering when you will be going into heat.”
Taehyung’s blood freezes.
“I’m sorry—” he must’ve heard wrong. Kim Namjoon did not have the audacity to ask him that. “—What?!”
Given that Taehyung’s eyes are wide, and his voice doesn’t hide the absolute shock, Namjoon retracts a little bit: he knits his eyebrows together, visibly worried he might have said something wrong.
“Is—is there something wrong with my request?”
Taehyung’s entire body is tense like a violin, standing here, fingers still wrapped around the handle of the door, knuckles white. A part of his brain just tells him to answer, swallow the pride and go back to work: it’s just one more month in this company and, after that, he will never see Kim Namjoon ever again in his life.
But—it’s just one more month in this company and, after that, he will never see Kim Namjoon ever again in his life.
He has nothing to lose. He has been speaking and showing his work in room full of senior alphas almost daily in the past weeks: if there’s one thing he learned, it’s that he should be more confident even when speaking to people who don’t make him very comfortable.
Fuck this.
He clears his throat and straightens his back, facing the other man.
“That’s—that’s an extremely inappropriate thing to ask, bujangnim.”
Namjoon is taken aback: “I didn’t—” he squirms into his chair, in clear distress: “I didn’t mean to offend you in any way, Taehyung-ssi. I usually don’t even ask about it—It’s just that this November will be exceptionally busy and I need every week covered.”
He doesn’t get it.
Alphas never do.
Taehyung takes a deep breath in, heart pounding like crazy in his chest:
“It’s not appropriate to ask omegas when their heats will be—When time is due, I will notify the HR department and ask for my heat leave as I’ve always done. It’s a private matter—asking me about my heat, as an employee, puts me in an uncomfortable position. I hope you can understand that.”
Tracking heats and pregnancies is one of the most common discrimination factors in the process of hiring omegas (do you have more than three cycles per year? How many days? Do you plan to have kids?); Taehyung knows that. Kim Namjoon apparently doesn’t.
The bujangnim looks at him with wide, guilty eyes: he looks at loss of words, too stunned to even speak, frozen on his chair by the sudden aggressive tone Taehyung used on him.
Taehyung feels his chest tightening up as soon as he stops talking. He almost feels sorry for lashing on Kim Namjoon, but he knows—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep that night or look him in the eyes ever again if he kept all by himself.
He did a good thing and, right now, doesn’t want to think about the consequences.
Taehyung leaves the office, bowing stiffly. Namjoon doesn’t call him back for the rest of the day.
Later that night, Taehyung is laying down in bed trying to watch an episode of a Kdrama he isn’t really into: his mind, however, keeps relentlessly replaying the convo he had with Kim Namjoon earlier.
To be fair, his heat shouldn’t hit before mid-December.
Namjoon doesn’t have to worry about inefficiency. Still—he hopes his boss didn’t take his words in the wrong way: he didn’t want to be that harsh, but maybe he came off as such and even though Kim Namjoon seems comprehensive, Taehyung can’t really know. Maybe Kim Namjoon will fire him tomorrow or demote him to a lower position. Maybe he—
His phone thrills, screen suddenly brightening up in the dark room.
Taehyung mindlessly reaches it: this late, it’s probably Jungkook recommending him a new anime to watch.
From: Kim Namjoon
He needs to read the name twice; the tiredness must play games with him.
Kim Namjoon texted him. Not an email, he texted at Taehyung’s personal number, the one he gave the HR when he first started, the one Kim Namjoon never used, because for some obscure reason he always communicated only through emails.
He sits up straight, unlocking his phone.
Taehyung reads the text again and again until the words fade in front of his eyes: his heart is beating fast in inside his chest. He—he didn’t expect it.
He texts back, typing quickly, like the phone is burning in his hands: thank you for understanding and I won’t report it to the HR and good night, Kim Namjoon-nim.
He turns off his phone and plops back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like a drum in his ribcage.
The next day at work, Kim Namjoon makes sure to apologize again, in person this time: he stands up from his desk and bows and basically repeats what he texted Taehyung.
Taehyung repeats what he texted back as well.
The conversation is quick, but Taehyung leaves the office with the lightest heart he had in months: he did a good thing by calling out his boss, not letting the misbehavior slide. He knew things could’ve gone wrong, but they didn’t and, for once, speaking his mind without fear of the consequences paid back.
He’s glad the bujangnim listened and realized his mistake, without putting up a fight or acting weirdly: Taehyung has to admit, the man is growing on him.
The rest of the week passes by in a blink of an eye; the entire floor is busy, working extra hours and draining the supply of instant coffee in the lounge. Taehyung segregates himself into his cubicle, trying to collect all the documents for the clients, writing what’s missing, calling the providers when the transactions don’t match up.
His work phone rings every two minutes or so, and his head pounds painfully every time he picks up: the providers are calling, a client hasn’t received the documents yet, the IT department compiled the data sheet you’ve been asking for.
When he isn’t working, Taehyung is preparing and sending his CV to every company that meets his standards: the responses so far have been positive, and it’s just a matter of weeks before he can say goodbye to the finance department forever.
He found a vacant position as the assistant of the creative director of a modern art gallery in Gangnam. They still need to schedule an interview, but he already passed the first round. ₩1,950,000 monthly, paid sick days, heat leave and maternity leave, five days a week 9-5.
After years spent as an unpaid intern or underpaid assistant, working in fields he doesn’t care about, this really seems too good to be true.
And maybe it is: he can just dream about having that kind of position. He can only imagine how many people applied to it. Taehyung’s is not even particularly qualified for the role: realistically, they probably will reject him.
He tries not to think about it as he pushes through the week.
On Friday, he finally hands over to Namjoon the first and biggest part of the documents he had to revise before the deadlines, and Namjoon hands to him the folders Taehyung has to consign to the marketing and sales department.
They smile at each other – because they both casually finished their reciprocal work at the same time – and it’s a first.
To be fair, Taehyung thinks they work well together. He needed a little bit of time to get the bujangnim, but now they found their tune: Namjoon corrects him less and less during his presentations, and makes less and less comments about the reports he writes, which is a good sign. Which means his work is steadily and slowly increasing in quality. They even started to communicate through text messages rather than emails.
It’s been a successful week and Taehyung feels good: that’s why, on his lunch break with his colleagues, he decides to text Jimin and Jungkook.
Taehyung is on his third overly sweet drink of the night and midnight didn’t even clock.
He’s dizzy, just the right amount: he’s lucid but feels hot and warm all over, and so, so nice.
The place Jimin wanted to try is a posh bar in Seocho, near the skyscrapers of the richest companies of the country: they usually don’t hang out in these kind of places – Jimin and Taehyung spent most of the university life getting wasted in trashy convenience stores, on cheap soju and beer –, but since Jimin got hired as a choreography coach for idols in the biggest and most influential music company of South Korea, things are different.
Now he can spoil Taehyung from time to time and pay for his younger boyfriend’s tuition while the latter is studying to get his degree in music production.
They’ve been dating for five years and living together for one in a nice apartment nearby: Jungkook studies, cooks and cleans while Jimin is gone, and often jokes about how he would love to do it as his official job for the rest of his life.
Two alphas in love.
They get weird looks from time to time, but thankfully times are changing.
Taehyung looks at them, on the other side of the table: Jungkook’s arm hugs Jimin’s waist tenderly and Taehyung feels a knot in his stomach. Probably envy—he came to terms with it a long time ago: he wishes he had what they have, he always had.
But he loves them so much, he can’t wish them enough happiness even if he tried.
“This place is so nice, Jimin”, Jungkook pouts, nesting his head in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.
Taehyung laughs. He feels as light as a feather: “Not used to bars this—fancy.”
Jimin runs a hand through his beautifully styled hair: his pendant earrings move, shining under the dim lights. “Fake it until you make it—You sip on that ₩15,000 drink like you were born with it.”
He smiles and sips again.
Music is present but low, and Taehyung taps his foot to the rhythm, tilting his head side to side, eyes almost closed while his chin is resting on his hand, elbow propped on the table.
For the first time in months, he feels good about himself: he put on makeup, revived his curls with some fancy styling gel and put on the tightest black jeans he owns, as well as a loose white shirt with a deep V cut that lets his chest almost bare, thin silver-draping-necklaces like pretty webs around his neck.
“You’re so hot tonight, hyung.”
When Taehyung opens his eyelids again, Jungkook is looking at him with big, watery, doe eyes. “It’s nice seeing you in something else other than your work clothes.”
Jimin nods, humming: “Everyone looked at you when we got in—Maybe we’ll find Taehyungie a nice alpha to bring back home.”
Taehyung lets his head drop down, laughing: “Right.”
Jimin smacks his glossed lips, focusing his gaze on something behind Taehyung, far back to the entrance.
“Hot alphas are getting in as we speak, just to let you know.”
Taehyung turns his head, because he’s human and if his friend says there are hot alphas in the same bar, why wouldn’t get a sneak peek? He feels confident tonight. He doesn’t do it a lot, but when he feels good and alcohol is helping him, he likes to flirt a little bit; he even tried to do so on dating apps—but alphas on there get creepy as fuck when they find out he’s a male omega. He deleted them after a few days.
He turns around, getting a look of the group of four alphas that just got inside: they are dressed expensively, in long coats and shiny leather jackets. They look a little bit older than him, but still incredibly hot and—
His eyes lock up with Kim Namjoon’s.
The blood freezes in his veins.
That’s—that’s Kim Namjoon, right?
For a moment, Taehyung isn’t sure. Seeing his boss in something different than his work clothes is messing with his brain: instead of the double piece suit, Namjoon is now pulling off slightly loose jeans and a brown leather jacket. Instead of a white shirt there is a long sleeve khaki polo, first button unbuttoned.
He’s wearing glasses – since when has Kim Namjoon worn glasses? –, frame dark and thin.
But maybe, the most shocking thing is that his hair is not slicked back: instead, it falls on his forehead, kinda messily, dark and thick.
Kim Namjoon looks back at him, still.
He seems as shocked to see Taehyung as Taehyung is, but after a moment he tentatively raises a hand and waves at him.
Taehyung awkwardly does the same, cheeks getting warm from the embarrassment and the utter shock.
One of Namjoon’s alpha friends – a short one with a black mullet and piercing eyes – follows the interaction: his curious gaze lands on Taehyung; he quirks an eyebrow, whispering something to Namjoon that makes him earn a side eye.
Namjoon ignores him and leads the rest of them to the counter.
When Taehyung turns around, red to the tips of his ears, Jimin and Jungkook are looking at him with the widest eyes.
“Do you know them?” Jimin asks, voice squeaking in excitement.
Taehyung would love to be swallowed by the floor right now.
“He’s—he’s my boss.”
“What?!” Jungkook not-so-subtly turns his head and gives a good look to the group of alphas. “He’s fucking hot.”
“Don’t look at him so obviously, idiot!” Taehyung hisses through his teeth.
Jimin follows Jungkook, blatantly looking: “He really is a hot childless dilf.”
“Fuck.” Taehyung tries to cover his exposed collarbones, pulling his see-through shirt better than he can: “We need to leave.”
Jimin grabs his hand, still wrapped around the thin neck of his cocktail glass, knuckles white: “We are not leaving.”
“I can’t stay here!”
“Why not? He knows you saw him—if you leave right now it would be rude.”
“I—” Taehyung doesn’t know what to say: “I can’t let him see me like this. I’m dressed like—like—”
“A slut?” Jungkook tries, a smirk hided by the glass of the beer he’s sipping.
Taehyung looks down at the rim of condense his drink formed on the table: “That.”
“Hey, hey,” Jungkook puts his beer down, reaching to grab Taehyung’s hand: “No shame in that—I’m dressed like a slut. I am a slut.”
“He really is”, Jimin gives his boyfriend a knowing look under his heavy eyelids.
“You two—are really not helping”, Taehyung bites his lower lip, feeling like he’s about to cry. Why does he feel like that?
Oh. Right.
“I think I’m drunk” realization sinks in, and the last lucid part of his brain panics: “I’m drunk—how many drinks I had?”
Jimin laughs out loud, crystal clear and beautiful: “Oh, baby. You’re always so messy.”
“I just—don’t know what to do”, he pouts.
“I’m telling you what we are gonna do.” Jimin straightens up, letting Taehyung’s hand go: “We are going to stay here and enjoy the night because you did so well this week. Those alphas are already sitting at another table—they won’t bother us. Plus, you aren’t working right now, you can dress as slutty as you want without feeling guilty.”
Jimin doesn’t even let Taehyung reply: he gets up, heading to the counter to order three more drinks.
Taehyung looks at him. His friend is right. There’s nothing to worry about.
At some point, Taehyung forgets what all of that fuss was. He’s feeling so good once again, calm, sat on the steel stool by the counter, waiting to order his second, third?, shot of soju.
He can’t believe he almost went home just because his boss entered the same bar. He’s so stupid.
Taehyung hasn’t even thought about Kim Namjoon in the last hour—doesn’t really care; his boss and his alpha friends sat at a table far away from theirs, and he forgot about him since then.
Maybe it’s the dizziness, but the lights of the bar seem to have dimmed down, the music got louder: he’s not drunk, just dizzy. A good dizzy, warm all over, eyes a little watery.
Jimin and Jungkook—they disappeared ten minutes ago, said they were going to the restroom.
They are probably just making out in a stall. They will come back in a moment – red lips and messy hair – and act like nothing happened.
That’s what Taehyung gets for having his two best friends dating each other. Fair enough.
Elbow propped on the table, Taehyung closes his eyes and hums to the music.
“Taehyung-ssi.”
When he opens them, turning to the voice that called him, Kim Namjoon is there next to him, standing by the counter.
His boss is looking at him, clearly feeling uncomfortable by the whole situation, but his eyes—they linger a second too long on Taehyung’s exposed collarbones. And that’s enough to bring Taehyung back on earth, to make blood flooding in his cheeks, because Namjoon isn’t supposed to see him when he’s—like this.
Taehyung straightens up, forcing sobriety back on him: he uncrosses his legs, and leans forward in a wobbling attempt of a bow.
“Bujangnim.”
Namjoon smiles – he smiles – and a pair of dimples pop up on either side of his mouth. “You can drop the work honorifics when we are not at the company.”
Kim Namjoon has dimples. Taehyung bites his lower lip: “Namjoon-nim.”
“Better.” Namjoon clears his throat, turning his head to look at the bartender, busy with the orders: “I’m just getting a few beers for my friends.”
“I’m—” Taehyung swallows air: it’s hard to even talk normally, he feels as if his mouth is stuffed with rubber. He doesn’t feel that drunk, though; his body is just acting weird for some reason: “I’m waiting to order as well.”
Namjoon doesn’t look at him when he speaks again, he just pushes his glasses back up on his nose and nods.
“It’s on me, then—you did a really good job on that report.” Namjoon taps on the counter, impatient: “What do you and your alphas want?”
“My—?” Taehyung widens his eyes, stuttering: “No, no!—They are not. They are not my alphas—like. At all.”
Namjoon turns his head at him, eyebrows up in a questioning look.
Taehyung hiccups.
This is so embarrassing, fuck.
He fucking hiccupped from the urgency to make clear that Jimin and Jungkook are not his alphas. His cheeks must be bright red at this point.
“They are my friends—they are a couple.”
Namjoon looks surprised. Taehyung bites his tongue—he doesn’t know Namjoon’s views on same subgender couples: outing them like this is a very dangerous thing to do. Why did he do it. He’s so stupid when he’s drunk, why is he always so stupid—
“Oh.” Namjoon smiles, reassuringly: “That’s cool. Two of my friends here—they are a couple of alphas as well. What were the coincidences, right?”
Taehyung breathes again. “I guess so—I just came here with them. I don’t—” he hiccups, again. He’s so pathetic: “I don’t have an alpha.”
Namjoon gives him a look, without saying anything. Maybe Taehyung is so drunk he started seeing things, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches: he straightens up, and only now Taehyung realizes how bigger than him Kim Namjoon is.
With the tight polo and no jacket to cover his torso, Namjoon’s shoulders look broader and he’s in good physical shape: he must hit the gym a lot. He looks way younger than he is, now that he’s dressed so casually.
Is it the alcohol? Or has Kim Namjoon always looked this handsome?
When he looks up again, Taehyung meets Namjoon’s amused eyes.
Caught.
Fuck him.
Taehyung’s heavy breath and red cheeks must be amusing to Namjoon, because he smirks when Taehyung presses his hand on his own face, trying to cool down.
The bartender finally arrives: they both order their drinks, and Namjoon pays with a platinum credit card.
“Thank you, Namjoon-nim—You didn’t have to.”
“When you get old you get more generous.”
Taehyung shakes his head: “You’re not old, Namjoon-nim.”
“Right,” Namjoon chuckles, showing his dimples again: “Aren’t you twenty-four? Fourteen years between your age and mine.”
“My parents married when my mum was twenty-six and my dad thirty-six. It’s a ten-years difference—I don’t think fourteen it’s that much bigger.”
Namjoon shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth are quirked. “That’s an inappropriate parallel.”
“I didn’t—” Taehyung raises his hands, mortified to death. Why can’t he shut his mouth: “I didn’t mean we would—I would never—”
Kim Namjoon laughs, again, smiling so wide his eyes turn into crescent moons: he turns to Taehyung, closer than he was, and tilts his head to his side, looking at him, amused. Taehyung feels the warmth of Namjoon’s body from where he’s sitting, smell of his perfume so strong and masculine he doesn’t know anymore if he got dizzy from it or from the alcohol.
Taehyung now is too embarrassed to look at his boss: he much rather prefers fidgeting with his hands on his lap, biting his lips and trying not to look at his boss’ body, right in front of him.
“I thought you weren’t the talkative type—guess being drunk helps.” Namjoon seems to find the entire situation funnier than it is.
Taehyung peaks up, meeting the alpha’s gaze. They are much closer than before—maybe the space around the counter is just more crowded, Taehyung doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything anymore.
“I don’t think—I’m not that drunk, Namjoon-nim.”
“Yes, you are. We need to find your friends—I won’t leave you here alone and drunk between all of these other alphas.”
Taehyung shivers, the tips of his ears getting impossibly red. He would like to speak—to say something, anything, but his mouth feels stuffed, dry from the alcohol, from the absurdity of the situation he’s living in right now.
Namjoon finds the lack of words amusing, apparently: “Also, do me a favor” he smiles so softly Taehyung has to hold his breath in: “please try to avoid marrying much older alphas.”
The drinks arrive, but neither of them makes a move to grab them.
Taehyung wants to say something—he feels so stupid, so drunk right next to him.
Namjoon’s finger reaches for one of his necklaces: the fingertip brushing against the skin pulls all the air out of Taehyung’s lungs; he can’t breathe and can’t look anywhere else but Namjoon’s fixed eyes on his exposed neck.
He feels his insides burning up, blood pushing so violently against the skin he fears he might explode.
Namjoon moves and pulls one of his necklaces delicately, then retracts his hand and looks at Taehyung, apologetic:
“They were tangled,” he says, like it’s an excuse. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”
He straightens up, clearing his throat and looking around: “Let’s find your friends, Taehyung-ssi.”
Taehyung nods dumbly, incapable of doing much more, and tries to get off the stool: he must be more drunk than he feels, because his legs give up as soon as his feet touch the marble floor.
He loses balance, leaning forward and threatening to fall: Namjoon is quick, though, and grabs Taehyung before he can fall, hand on his hip.
“Be careful.”
Namjoon’s hand is so big on him, so warm even through the fabric. It hugs Taehyung’s bone so prettily, like it was made for it—for touching him.
Shit.
That’s such a stupid thought.
“Taehyung?” It’s Jimin’s voice.
When he looks up, his friends are looking at him, lips red and hair messy. Worried.
“He drank too much. I don’t think he’s feeling good”, says Namjoon, keeping his hold on Taehung’s waist: “You should bring him home.”
He gets gently tossed, like a dead body, to Jungkook.
“Are you okay, hyung?”
Taehyung is so embarrassed and feels so sick he can’t even talk, doesn’t even dare to look up.
Jimin and Namjoon exchange a few more words — thank you, don’t worry, we’ll go home now, thanks again — and before Taehyung can say anything, he kinda blacks out.
He doesn’t remember anything about his way back home: just Jimin and Jungkook’s bodies close to him, on the subway, holding him, Jungkook buying a bottle of water from some vending machines and feeding it to him, then Jimin’s words, in front of the door of his apartment: baby, do you remember the code? We need to get in.
His friends make sure he’s laying on his bed, shoes off, before asking: “Do you want us to stay here with you, tonight?”
Taehyung shakes his head, the bottle of water he drank on the way here is already sobering him up, he feels better already.
“Are you sure, baby?”
Taehyung pouts a yes, I’m sure and thank you, I feel better.
Jimin and Jungkook put a blanket on him.
“Text us if you need anything, okay? G’night, Tae.”
They leave quietly, but not before Jimin leans down to press a soft kiss on Taehyung’s lips. (He’s like that. Taehyung always lets Jimin do whatever he wants to him: he doesn’t really understand, but he enjoys the physical touch.)
Taehyung lays alone in the dark room, trying to even out his breath and sleep. He can’t.
Kim Namjoon haunts his thoughts: he still feels his hand on his hip, the warmth of his body, his fingertips on his neck.
He grabs his phone, clumsily, and forces his eyes to focus on the bright screen when he opens Instagram, searching for Kim Namjoon: to his surprise, he finds him almost immediately. Only a dozen of photos and barely any of them show Namjoon’s face—it’s mostly landscapes and photos of museums and art pieces. The most recent post is from more than a year ago.
Taehyung sits on the floor, knees tucked under his chin, and pathetically goes through all of his boss’ feed: a part of him is lucid enough not to morbidly press like to any photo, but he clicks follow.
One of the first posts captures a party: Namjoon – handsome, younger, longer hair and tight t-shirt – is smiling, sat next to what at the time was his wife. Taehyung recognizes her from the magazines. She’s—the prettiest woman he has ever seen to this day.
Jealousy floods like a venom: why would Namjoon ever look at him, a masculine male omega, when he married the epitome of femininity? Taehyung doesn’t have curves, or a breast. His skin is not milky white, and he can’t do makeup like his ex-wife did.
He wants to cry, right here on the floor of his apartment, like he’s sixteen again.
Because Kim Namjoon’s hands fit so nicely on his hip bones. Because he wishes Namjoon touched more of his neck, looked at him more insistently.
Has it always been that? The need to be praised at work hid something else?
He doesn’t fucking know. He doesn’t think so—he… he just wants Namjoon’s body to cage him up, not letting him breathe.
He’s so pathetic.
I won’t leave you here alone between these alphas.
Taehyung presses his knees together.
Please avoid older alphas.
Warmth spreads between his legs, he’s getting aroused by the memories of the conversation, by Namjoon’s perfume. So fucking pathetic.
Namjoon’s fingers on his skin. I shouldn’t have done that.
Is Taehyung crying? Probably, his face feels wet. He opens the KakaoTalk app.
Taehyung closes the app, throws the phone back on the bed, and lets his head fall down on his knees. The tingle and warmth between his legs don’t stop: he thinks he started to bulge up.
He crawls to his drawer, taking out the shoe box he keeps hidden under the folded sheets.
With every fiber of his body burning up in embarrassment, he takes out his favorite toys: a glass dildo and a purple vibrator. In his hands, they feel heavy and thick.
When was the last time he played with himself?
Taehyung takes off his pants, kneeling on the mattress, left cheek pressed on the bed: tentatively, he reaches to his dick, pumping his length, one, two, three times, until he’s hard, until precum starts to spill out, smearing on the sheets.
His pussy is so wet already: he usually needs some lube to make his cunt take the glass cock, but not this time.
Taehyung aligns the dildo to his entrance and pushes in, in a swift motion. His walls open up in a squelch sound, almost greedy.
He’s leaking so much he doesn’t know if the wet sensation on his inner thighs comes from slick or sweat. Taehyung bites his lower lips, trying to moan as quietly as he can, but little whimpers escape his lips while he closes his eyes and thinks about Kim Namjoon.
The vibrator gets pushed on the skin between his pussy and his cock: it’s a sensitive spot, right under his balls. Massaging it is just enough to drive him insane but not enough to make him come.
I won’t leave you here alone between these alphas.
His hand works so restlessly his wrist is hurting: the glass dildo is pushed in and out, in and out, in and out. The motions are fluid, his cunt so hungry. If he was able to just calm down, he would aim right, hitting the spot that makes his brain shut down, his toes curl up, his pussy feel like heaven.
He can’t, though; he’s too horny.
Please avoid older alphas.
He grinds the red tip of his cock against the sheets: he needs to find friction, the vibrator on his length is not enough, he needs external stimulation. He needs a hand wrapped around his cock, a knot pushing inside him.
How would a knot feel inside him? Would his cunt be stretchy enough?
How would Namjoon’s knot feel?
Taehyung whimpers, the thought of it is enough to make him clench, warmth pooling in his tummy.
Would Namjoon fit cozily? Would he smear Taehyung’s slick on his own labia, dragging it up to his cock while jerking him off? Would he find his pussy pretty? He did a ₩350,000 laser removal during his senior year of college because he wanted his first alpha to find his pussy pretty. (It was painful. And there wasn’t any first alpha.)
Is Namjoon’s dick big? Taehyung feels drunk all over again: he’s sure Namjoon’s big. So big it would take them a few tries before it fitted inside. But it eventually will—Taehyung would be so, so, so good for him.
I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m—
Taehyung’s hand works the dildo faster, rubbing against the raw flesh inside: the warmth is getting unbearable.
They were tangled.
Taehyung comes with a broken whimper; his legs give up on him and he falls on his side.
He doesn’t take out the dildo, not yet: it feels so nice, Taehyung wishes it would inflate, like a real knot. The comedown with a knot stretching his abused cunt must feel so good.
He stays there on the bed, still, trying to catch his breath, trying to wash out the embarrassment of masturbating thinking about his boss’ cock pounding inside him.
After some minutes, Taehyung slowly takes the dildo out his pussy and gets up: he needs to wipe himself and put on some pajamas. He’ll change the sheets tomorrow.
He’s feeling like shit and he doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, the emotions or the masturbation session. When he touches his cheeks, they are damp.
The next morning Taehyung wakes up cranky, finding out that Namjoon followed him back on Instagram. (His heart races in his chest. He didn’t remember he drunkenly followed his boss, and then masturbated thinking about him.)
Taehyung feels like shit for the rest of the weekend.
On Saturday, he thinks he’s just hungover. On Sunday, maybe he caught a cold.
He wanders around the apartment like a ghost: one minute he feels cold, then hot. His head hurts, then his tummy. He can’t catch up on any work—he should, next week is gonna be busy as hell. But every time he tries to focus, he thinks about how embarrassing it will be to look at Namjoon when he will be back at the office.
On Monday, he wakes up at 4am in a pool of cold sweat, with unbearable cramps: he makes it to the toilet just in time not to throw up on the carpet.
What the fuck.
Between his legs, everything is sticky and burning hot: he reaches a hand, and there’s heat-slick gushing out his cunt, drenching his underwear, his pajamas.
Taehyung widens his eyes in confusion. His heat was scheduled next month, mid-December. Four cycles per year, it’s always been like that: March, June, September and December.
Why would his heat arrive an entire month earlier? Why would he—
“Oh shit”, Taehyung, crouched down next to the toilet, presses a cold hand on his sweating forehead: “Oh shit.”
The realization that his heat was triggered by Kim Namjoon, more precisely by the masturbation session, hits him like a truck. This—this is hell.
He didn’t—why is this happening to him? Fantasizing about his boss – his older, divorced boss – masturbating like he hasn’t done in months thinking about him, and now, now this.
Now his fucked up heat cycle.
Taehyung knew this could, theoretically, happen: he had Sex Ed in high school, he knows that heats are a fragile thing, their balance can be shaken by a strong sexual desire or lack of it. His female friends always talked about how their heats started to come earlier or later based on the desire they felt for their boyfriends or how a rut sometimes could trigger a heat in long-term partners.
It’s about synching up and hormones and… and pheromones and—Taehyung doesn’t know.
The only thing he knows is that it never happened to him and the fact that now it did makes everything ten times more real and worse. He just wanted a job to pay for his rent until he could find something better. He did not ask for this.
He crawls to the med shelf: swallows an ibuprofen without even thinking, and curls up on the floor waiting for the cramps to stop.
He needs to text Namjoon—he needs to let him know he won’t be at work this week: the earlier the better—he just needs to get his phone, in his bedroom.
When the cramps will allow him to walk, he’ll take the phone and text his boss. He will. It’s a promise, he just needs a minute here on the bathroom floor, until his cramps will go away.
Taehyung wakes up at 9am: he fell asleep on the bathroom floor after throwing up twice and shivering like a wet dog. The ibuprofen took so long to activate, and he passed out as soon as it did, exhausted.
“Shit.”
He should’ve been at work by an hour; he didn’t notify anyone about his absence.
Taehyung gets up on wobbling legs, running to his bedroom and unplugging the phone: three missed calls by Kim Namjoon, four text messages by his colleagues.
He calls back Namjoon first: the bujangnim answers after just one ring.
“Taehyung-ssi?” There’s urgency in his voice, worry.
“Bujangnim, I’m so sorry I—I didn’t notify with the due notice that—”
“Are you okay? Where are you? Did—did something happen?”
Taehyung feels his tummy knot from Namjoon’s voice. He catches himself smiling at nobody.
“I’m good, thank you. I just—I—” He bites his lower lip, sudden embarrassment burning under his skin: “My heat arrived sooner than I expected. I had no idea, otherwise I would have contacted HR and—and told you, of course.”
Namjoon stays silent for a moment.
“Ah, your heat”, he clears his throat: Namjoon doesn’t seem angry, just in distress. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have forced you to tell me that. Your—your heat is private information that you can disclose with the HR or… or—”
“Bujangnim,” Taehyung bites his inner cheek: “it’s fine—I did want to tell you about it. I just felt so sick I couldn’t call.”
Is Namjoon thinking about his heat?
A fucked up part of Taehyung brain replays the sexual fantasies he had Friday night: Namjoon pining him down, forcing him to take—
“Whatever you feel comfortable with, Taehyung-ssi.”
“I’m sorry for the short notice. It was—” triggered. By you: “So sudden, it wasn’t supposed to come until December. I apologize.”
“Don’t apologize, okay? Just—take care of yourself. See you in a few days, okay? Stay healthy.”
Taehyung can almost see Namjoon’s soft smile through the phone.
“Of course, bujangnim.”
(Taehyung spends the rest of the heat alternating between unbearable cramps and unbearable horniness: the glass of his dildo becomes irreparably opaque by all the slick Taehyung coats it with while thinking about Kim Namjoon. He needs to recharge the vibrator twice a day.)
Taehyung returns to work on Friday: Namjoon is not there.
“He took a day off—I think he had a meeting with his lawyers and the ex-wife,” answers Solbin when Taehyung asks: “I heard him making some calls.”
“Maybe they are getting back together,” Soojin teases, sipping on her cup of coffee and smirking like a vixen.
Taehyung feels his stomach knotting up: “You think?”
“To be honest? No,” Soojin shrugs: “But I would love some gossip in this office. Things get boring pretty quickly.”
“You’re so annoying.” Solbin side-eyes her colleague, then turns her attention back to Taehyung: “You’re coming tonight, right?”
The hweshik. Taehyung forgot about it. Namjoon should come as well, right? It’s a finance and marketing department dinner… Even the bujangnims are invited. They had been planning it since Taehyung started working here, it would be rude to decline.
“Yeah—of course, haven’t had Korean BBQ since forever.”
Solbin smiles at him, pleased: “Good, the ones from the marketing floor are so annoying, I need somebody to talk to otherwise I will lose my mind.”
Taehyung can’t ask if Namjoon will come. It would be too indiscrete. The idea of seeing him after what happened last week makes his skin burn up but—he wants to see him again so badly.
“If Mr. Kim doesn’t show up at dinner—” Soojin teases, once again: “Maybe it’s because he’s spending the night with his ex-wife.”
Taehyung’s heart sinks down his torso.
Solbin rolls her eyes: “Go back to work.”
They all meet up at a Korean BBQ in Yongsan. The atmosphere is casual, the restaurant nice but not too fancy: there are posters from Korean movies hanging all over the walls, smell of smoked beef and soju all over, and it’s so hot inside all the windows are fogged up.
Taehyung arrives ten minutes late, wearing a comfy pair of jeans and an emerald sweater his mum gifted him last Seollal: everybody else is already sat down, banchan already served, and Kim Namjoon is not there.
Maybe it’s because he’s spending the night with his ex-wife.
“Taehyung-ssi!” Soojin raises a hand and gestures to sit next to her and Solbin.
“You look so pretty in green!” Solbin pinches his cheek and Taehyung blushes.
“Thank you, Solbin-nim.”
“Let’s drink, this is your last week at our company, we should have a toast to that,” Taehyung arrived less than five minutes ago, and a shot of soju is already pushed between his hands: “Did you find another job already?”
Taehyung holds the glass, looking at the clear alcohol inside it: “There’s this position as the assistant of the creative director of an art gallery in Gangnam—I got through the first round of interviews but there are so many applications. A miracle would get me the job—maybe the recommendation letter of the president of Korea himself.”
Soojin coos: “I’m sure you’ll be fine—you were amazing, here. Never seen somebody working that well that quickly with Mr. Kim.”
Taehyung feels his ears burning; he tries to change subject, focusing again on the shot between his hands: “I didn’t even eat anything. I’ll start drinking when the meat arrives”,
“Nonsense,” Soojin swallows her soju without the blink of an eye: “Everybody will be wasted by the end of this dinner, and we are not going to deal with the marketing alphas’ bullshit while we are sober.”
Taehyung looks around: the room is crowded, eight tables taken only by his company’s departments. Everybody is talking to each other, laughing, drinking, and the barbeques in the middle of the tables are already scorching hot.
He wants to enjoy this dinner without overthinking. He brings the glass to his lips and swallows the soju in a swift move. He makes a funny face because soju tastes like bitterness; his colleagues laugh.
The meat arrives: an alpha that Taehyung has never seen before starts cooking it on the barbeque, cracking sounds of burning fat fill his ears.
Taehyung wraps every piece that it’s put on his plate with some kimchi, and every now and then Soojin refills his glass: Taehyung is too polite to tell her to stop, so he drinks.
One more, two more, three more.
Kim Namjoon is still not here: he feels all the sadness and the disappointment and the you are so pathetic for even just fantasizing about it crawling on him from the inside. What was he thinking?
Maybe Namjoon’s really spending the night with his pretty ex-wife, maybe they got back together, maybe—
“Here comes the bujangnim!” shouts Solbin, suddenly, tipsy, looking at the entrance.
Taehyung turns his head so fast it hurts.
Kim Namjoon is walking toward their tables, still dressed for work, smiling and apologizing to everyone.
“I’m so sorry, the meeting I had was dragged for longer than I thought—a person didn’t show up.”
A person.
He sits down next to the alpha that was cooking the meat, since, apparently, he reserved him a spot: Namjoon takes off his coat, and Taehyung feels his heart beating in his throat when their eyes lock.
The bujangnim smiles at him. Dimples.
“How are you feeling, Taehyung-ssi?”
Taehyung’s tongue is rubber. “Better, thanks.”
“That’s good.” Namjoon keeps looking at him, probably eyeing at his flushed cheeks.
Why is he always tipsy when Namjoon is around, off work? That mustn’t be a good look on him.
Namjoon gets immediately dragged to another conversation by some of the alphas that apparently have been waiting all week to have a chat with him. Kim Namjoon seems very popular and respected even among the older alphas of the company, Taehyung noticed.
More meat and banchan arrive, more glasses are filled. Taehyung laughs with his colleagues, while a lovely omega with ginger-dyed hair from the other department tells funny stories about her first years at the company.
It’s such a nice evening, overall. Even if Namjoon hasn’t had the opportunity to talk to him since he arrived, Taehyung is happy just to see him: smiling, eating. Namjoon doesn’t drink, though: he explains he needs to drive back home.
Taehyung is a patient man, he can wait for the dinner to be over before heading to Namjoon and apologize for his behavior last week. He didn’t have the opportunity to do it before and completely ignoring the situation somehow feels worse.
So, hours later, when all the stomachs are full and everybody is ready to call it a night – putting back on the thick coats and puffy jacket to warm themselves against the cold, ready to head to the subway – Taehyung says goodbye to his colleagues and waits for Namjoon, taken hostage by some alpha colleagues.
Suddenly, a man with red cheeks and an unlit cigarette between his fingers approaches Taehyung from behind:
“Ya, you’re the male omega from finance, right?” His voice is dragged out, altered by alcohol.
He stares at Taehyung from head to toe: Taehyung doesn’t know who this man is, he just recalls him sitting on a table on the back between other alphas. He’s old and shorter than him, but his eyes are small and so scrutinizing, it takes Taehyung aback.
“I’ve never met a male omega before.”
Taehyung doesn’t like this conversation, doesn’t like where this is going and doesn’t know how to respond. He’s alone, all his colleagues already left, and the few people still here aren’t pay much attention to him.
The man looks at him, clearly getting upset by the sudden silence. “I think you should—”
“Wonhae-nim,” Namjoon’s hand lands on the man’s shoulder from behind, stopping him mid-sentence: “You should hurry, the subway is closing.”
The man nods, mindlessly, and bows before heading out.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon smiles apologetically to Taehyung: “He gets unpleasant when he drinks.”
Taehyung feels his chest aching. He buries his hands in the pockets of his puffy coat, even though he’s still burning from the alcohol.
“Namjoon-nim”, he clears his throat, suddenly dry, trying not to lower his eyes when speaking: “I wanted to apologize for—for the time we met at that bar. I wasn’t lucid, I said things out of place.”
“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to apologize for.” Namjoon opens the door of the restaurant for him, and they both walk out: the cold air hits Taehyung’s cheeks brutally: he buries his nose in the scarf around his neck. They are alone now; everyone else left.
“I think you handle alcohol pretty well, Taehyung-ssi.”
Taehyung chuckles: “I really don’t.”
“Aren’t you drunk, right now?” Namjoon teases: “I saw you drank a lot.”
Were you looking at me?
“Just tipsy.”
“Right.” Namjoon looks away for a moment: “Shouldn’t you hurry to the subway?”
“I walked here.”
“Oh, do you live nearby?”
“Like—it’s a twenty-minute walk.”
Namjoon stares at him: “Taehyung-ssi, you are drunk and it's four degrees.”
“I have a scarf.”
Namjoon laughs, out loud, and shakes his head: “I’ll give you a ride. C’mon, my car is parked nearby.”
“What? Namjoon-nim, there’s no need to—”
“I insist.” The bujangnim leads him to the parking lot of the restaurant, without waiting for an answer.
Taehyung follows him, drums in his ears. Before he can realize it, he’s sitting on the passenger seat of his boss’ black Land Rover, fidgeting. Namjoon’s car is so nice and clean.
“I’ll turn up the heating, don’t worry.”
Taehyung tells Namjoon his address and the alpha types it on the touch screen navigator of the car.
Namjoon is very professional even when he drives: he checks the mirrors before turning on the engine and focuses on the road even though there’s little to no traffic.
They stay silent for a while. It’s nice for the first few minutes: Namjoon’s car is warm and smells nice.
But suddenly Taehyung isn’t feeling very well: the combination of the aftereffects of his heat – still lingering on his body –, alcohol, the warm air blowing on his face and Namjoon’s perfume is making him dizzy.
“Namjoon-nim, I don’t feel very well.”
“What?” Namjoon slows down, looking at him without turning. “What’s wrong, Taehyung-ssi? You’re pale.”
“Can you—”
Taehyung suddenly feels short of air. What is happening to his body? Is his heat not over yet? Namjoon’s presence triggered it again?
“—Can you please pull over? We are close to my apartment, I can walk.”
As soon as Namjoon pulls over in an empty parking spot, Taehyung gets out of the car, breathing heavily through his nose: the warm air was suffocating him.
“Hey, hey, hey” Namjoon is next to him a second after, voice altered by preoccupation: “What’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” why do these things always happen when he’s next to him? It’s so embarrassing: “I think—I had heatstroke.”
“In—November?”
Taehyung opens his eyes, brokenly chuckling at Namjoon, who looks more confused than before.
“It’s—it’s an aftereffect of my heat.”
“Oh.” Namjoon clenches his jaw.
Taehyung straightens up, looking away: “Thank you for the ride, Namjoon-nim.”
“I’ll walk you,” Namjoon urges. Then, when he sees Taehyung’s eyebrows raising, he quickly adds: “if it’s not a problem—I just want to make sure you won’t faint before getting inside your apartment.”
“Okay.” Taehyung doesn’t know what else to say.
They start walking side by side, hands buried in their own pockets: the night is dark and quiet, the only sound on the street is their own steps against the cement. It’s cold, but bearable.
“Are you cold?”
Taehyung presses the palms of his hands against his burning cheeks: “Not really.”
“Are you sure? You look like you’re freezing.”
“It’s the aftereffect.”
“Maybe you should’ve gotten more days off. I didn’t know heats could have such aftereffects, to be honest.”
Taehyung stops in front of the entrance of his building, turning around and tilting his head up because Namjoon is taller than him – just a few centimeters –: he doesn’t know what’s getting into him, something is making his skin itch from inside.
Maybe Namjoon’s presence and his fucked up cycle are a bad combination: he feels unleashed.
“They happen when the heat is spent alone.”
Namjoon stills for a second, clenching his jaw like he did before, like he does every time Taehyung mentions his heat: maybe it gets to him. Maybe Namjoon really thought about him during his heat.
Taehyung looks away when Namjoon’s gaze starts to burn on him. He clears his throat.
“Thanks for everything, Namjoon-nim. Have a good night.”
Namjoon doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t do anything.
“Are you doing it on purpose?” he suddenly asks, using a low voice Taehyung has never heard before: it makes him wince.
“What?”
“Taehyung-ssi,” Namjoon takes a step closer, then he seems to regret the choice. He takes a step back, turns around, turns back to Taehyung: he looks confused and frustrated, his left hand keeps massaging nervously his nape.
“Please, tell me I’m imagining things. I’m going insane.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Namjoon-nim.”
“Tell me I’m seeing things.” Namjoon looks at Taehyung under heavy eyelids: “That you’re not teasing, that this means nothing and it’s all in my head. There’s no way a young, handsome omega, my employee, would have anything to do with an alpha like me. I’m thirty eight, for fuck’s sake. I’m too old to even fantasize about a twenty four years old. I know that, believe me, but I can’t stop to—Shit, this is inappropriate. And I know that your contract will end next week, the things I’m saying won’t impact in anyway your job or the references you’ll—”
Taehyung takes a step closer: his cold hands wrap around Namjoon’s face and his chapped lips land on his in a misaligned kiss.
It lasts seconds, so quick he can’t even register Namjoon’s reaction.
He immediately gets back on his feet, taking a step back and not daring to look up.
What the fuck did he do.
He’s your boss.
Fourteen years.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He doesn’t know how Namjoon is looking like right now, but Taehyung must be burning up because his face feels like it’s melting away: after a moment where the only things he could hear was their breaths and the beating of his own heart, Namjoon closes the distance.
A second, and Taehyung is lost forever.
Namjoon kisses like all the air has vanished from the world, except from Taehyung’s lungs: he grabs his scarf, pulling it down to free his neck, where his hands land, holding him from each side.
Taehyung whines. He wants to say something, to push back with his hands on Namjoon’s chest, because Namjoon is crowding him up, holding him so tight, kissing him so deeply it makes him dizzy. But he can’t, he doesn’t even try.
Namjoon feels hungry.
“My apartment?” Taehyung whines between Namjoon’s lips, trying to catch his breath.
Namjoon nods, eyes turned glossy, as he silently follows Taehyung as he leads them to the second floor, as he opens the door and closes it behind them when they are both inside.
Namjoon doesn’t waste a second: he latches his lips to Taehyung’s once again, biting and sucking where he can. He’s so impatient, Taehyung is the one who has to push his coat down his grabbing arms, making it fall down on the floor: he does the same to his own jacket, struggling a little.
Kim Namjoon lets him do whatever. He can’t seem to be able to do anything but kiss Taehyung, pushing him, fumbling, until his back is pressed against the wall at the entrance.
Taehyung couldn’t escape even if he wanted to: Namjoon has both of his hands placed on either side of his waist, cupping the bones so nicely, his fingers sinking through the fabric in a strong grip.
Oh, Namjoon’s mouth is so hot on his neck, pinching the skin with his teeth. His perfume is everywhere. The trail of wet kisses goes from the back of Taehyung’s ear down to his collarbones.
Taehyung feels high on it.
He never felt something like this before: his body is reacting so nicely, squirming and whining, hinting at him that that’s what I’ve always wanted. Why didn’t you get this to me sooner.
“I—” his throat burns in shame as he speaks, trying to swallow down pathetic whines after pathetic whines: “I thought about you during my—ah, my heat.”
Namjoon stills and slowly raises his head, looking straight into Taehyung bashful eyes.
“Taehyung.”
Taehyung cards his fingers on Namjoon’s nape and bites his lower lip:
“You know it was you the one who triggered it, right? The night you untangled my necklaces.”
Namjoon rests his forehead on Taehyung’s shoulder, groaning:
“Taehyung”, he warns.
Taehyung doesn’t care. Shame burns well on him. “I have a glass dildo—”
The grip on his hips gets tighter, Namjoon’s breath heavier.
“I used it thinking about you—”
“Taehyung, shit.”
“—almost broke it twice.”
“Fucking hell.”
Namjoon’s arms slide to hug Taehyung’s entire waist: he presses him closer, tighter. They are both hard, and they can feel it through their pants.
He made Namjoon hard.
The older man grabs Taehyung’s ass with his hands, squeezing: they are so big they cup it perfectly.
Taehyung whines, embarrassed.
“Bed?” he asks, tentatively. He doesn’t know where this thing is going—it’s his first time, he’s still dizzy, his pussy is already leaking in his underwear.
Something, deep inside him, craves so badly for Namjoon to just take him, raw and fast. He likes Namjoon in a romantic sense – he had a pathetic crush on him for weeks before realizing it –, but his body doesn’t fucking care about romance: right now, he just wishes to be used, to be useful. Thrown around like a ragdoll.
Jungkook once smirked at him and said that virgins are always more of a slut than anyone else. Jimin laughed. Taehyung blushed but knew they were right.
If his body is meant to take a knot, who’s Taehyung to say no? He wants an alpha, he wants Namjoon. His untouched cunt would be so good to Namjoon’s cock. Warm and welcoming—not even in need of preparation, he wants him to just slide it in, smearing slick on his inner thighs.
“Bed, please?” he asks again.
Namjoon grunts again as he follows Taehyung to the bedroom, while kissing him.
They both make blind, tentative steps until the back of Taehyung’s knees hits the bedframe: he plops on his back, hitting the mattress.
Namjoon crawls on him without breaking the kiss, caging Taehyung’s waist between his knees.
“You’re so soft,” Namjoon whispers to the shell of his ear: “and so beautiful and so young—feeling like I’m touching something prohibited.”
Taehyung shivers.
“Ah, Namjoon…”
They keep kissing, tongues lapping against each other in the lewdest sounds: Namjoon caresses his neck, his sides, fingers hungrily grabbing the fabric, trying to feel more.
The buildup is so slow and torturous, Taehyung’s mind gets foggier and foggier. Having Namjoon’s weight on top of him is so nice.
He pushes his hips up, to find friction, and his hands travel down to Namjoon’s belt, urging to unbuckle it.
Namjoon grabs Taehyung’s wrists, stopping him.
“Taehyung.”
Taehyung looks up: “W-what?”
Is he already messing this up?
Namjoon looks at him before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath in like he is collecting himself.
“If I don’t stop myself now, I don’t think I will be able to stop myself later on.”
“Did—” Taehyung frowns: “did I do something wrong?”
“No, Taehyung. I wish you did.”
“Then why did you stop?”
Namjoon sighs: “You’re still tipsy and it’s late, I don’t want to do anything you might regret.”
“I—” Taehyung could cry as Namjoon moves to free his lap, sitting on the bed next to him: “I want this so bad, how could I regret it?”
“Impatient boy,” Namjoon tsks, kind of amused, making Taehyung’s back shiver.
He stays quiet for a moment:
“I want to take you out for dinner. In a nice place. I want a date, if you’re okay with it. Want to take things slow—I’ve rushed enough things in my life. But if you’re looking for something else, I understand. One night stands haven’t been my thing in a while.”
Taehyung feels his heart aching. He would’ve accepted whatever Namjoon offered him – to be used and to be useful –, and honestly he wasn’t hoping for something more.
“I would love a date.”
Namjoon turns around to face him: his eyes are sparkling.
“Yeah?”
Taehyung gets close enough to kiss Namjoon’s cheek and somehow the gesture alone feels even more intimate than the make out session. The skin is rough against his lips.
“Yeah.”
Namjoon leaves quietly after bringing Taehyung to the edge, making him a whimpering mess just by kissing him and whispering words to his ears and praising him.
“So, so, so soft” is the liturgy as Namjoon’s hands travel all over Taehyung’s body – sat on his lap –, like they don’t even know what to do, what to take in: they land on the curve of his ass, the fat on his hips, his back.
Taehyung almost begs, more than once, but Namjoon sucks away all the air in his lungs with deep kisses, tongue pushing back any word in Taehyung’s mouth. It seems like Namjoon’s trying to get to the throat, eating Taehyung from the inside.
Taehyung wishes he could.
Taehyung meets Namjoon on Monday morning in the elevator: they are alone.
When Taehyung sees Namjoon stopping the doors the moment before they close to get in, he tightens the grip of his fingers around the envelope held against his chest: he bites his inner cheeks trying not to smile too widely.
Will this feeling ever end? Getting this visibly excited every time Namjoon is around, eager to talk to him, to be noticed by him, to be the center of his attention.
“Good morning, bujangnim.”
Namjoon’s expression softens the moment he sees Taehyung. He bows, quickly, and gets by his side, waiting for the doors to close.
“You look lovely, today”, Namjoon says, looking straight ahead.
Taehyung is wearing a knitted lilac sweater that hangs loosely on him. He knows he looks cute.
He scrunches up his nose: “I’ve worn this before.”
“I know,”, Namjoon turns to look at him: “but now I can tell you how lovely you look without being creepy.”
Taehyung’s cheeks get warm in a heartbeat: he looks down, still unable to hold Namjoon’s gaze when it fixates so heavily on him.
Clearing his throat, he gets closer to the buttons: “Floor?”
Namjoon moves close and his arm brushes past him, finger pressing on the button to the last floor: Taehyung feels the man’s chest pressing against his back.
When he turns around, Namjoon is looking at him, so close he’s basically crowing him up against the mirror wall.
“Mind if we take a longer route?” Namjoon whispers against the shell of Taehyung’s ear.
Taehyung lets the envelope fall down as he cups Namjoon’s face and kisses him: he closes his eyes, as he feels the man’s hands cupping his lower back through the sweater.
Namjoon kisses him deeply, slowly, latches his mouth on Taehyung’s until he’s gasping for air, desperate. Taehyung’s bones feel like clay in Namjoon’s hands.
“We need to set boundaries at work,” Namjoon brokenly whispers between the kisses.
His lips are red as a cherry. Everybody will know.
Taehyung can’t focus: “I, ah, ah—completely agree.”
Another kiss, another bite.
“We need to keep distanc—”
“Distance, ah, Namjoon—”
“And—and we need to—to—”
“Just for this—ungh… This week.”
“You are so beautiful”, Namjoon breathes heavily against Taehyung’s lips, his eyes are glossy, his cheeks pink: “I want to take you out for dinner. Pamper you. Would you let me do that? Would you like that?”
Would you fuck me after? And hold me as you tear me apart?
Taehyung doesn’t want to get hard right now. He clears his throat: “Is Friday evening okay? My last day of work here? To celebrate?”
“Perfect.” Namjoon kisses Taehyung’s apple cheek. “I’ll give you a ride, if that’s okay with you.”
“It is, thank you.”
Namjoon takes a step back, straightening his shirt; Taehyung does the same, trying to cover the evidence.
The elevator’s doors open: Namjoon gets off and looks at him one last time, smiling fondly.
“I’ll text you, okay, Taehyung-ssi?”
“Yeah. Thank you, Namjoon-nim.”
The doors close again. Taehyung pushes the button for the sixth floor: the elevator stops once again, and when an old alpha from the seventh floor gets in, he bows to Taehyung and points at the envelope on the floor.
Taehyung forgot about it: he picks it up quickly, burning from the inside out.
On Tuesday morning, Namjoon walks past the printers while Taehyung is clipping some papers: his hand falls on Taehyung’s hip, thumb caressing the fabric for a moment, before moving along, not even looking at him.
The gesture makes Taehyung’s skin tingle. Namjoon’s hand is so big.
This is torture.
Kim Namjoon starts to cough violently; it’s so sudden and so loud in the quiet cafeteria that everybody turns their heads just to look at the flushed alpha choking on his lunch.
An older alpha pats his back, while Namjoon chugs on a glass of water. He’s fine.
“Did he almost choke?” Solbin asks without stopping chewing.
Taehyung shrugs, hiding a smirk behind a spoonful of soup.
On Thursday evening, Taehyung is choosing the outfit for his date with Namjoon. Jimin and Jungkook are facetiming him, laying all over each other on the sofa of their apartment:
“I don’t wanna be too over the top,” Taehyung hums, browsing through his closet: “Even though Namjoon told me it’s a fancy restaurant.”
Jungkook’s laugh reaches his ears: “But you wanna get fucked.”
Taehyung bites his lip, looking away from the camera to hide the pinkness of his face: “Yeah.”
“Baby’s about to pop his pretty cherry,” Jimin coos, snuggling closer to Jungkook.
“Stop saying it like that, it’s weird.”
“Sorry—I’m just really glad you met such a nice alpha who invites you over for dinner and museum dates.”
“And who’s hot—and rich.”
“I don’t care about his money.”
“I know,” Jungkook tsks: “But it might become handy.”
Taehyung grabs the two-piece sand suit – a white t-shirt under to make it more casual – that his parents bought him for his graduation: “How about this one? I forgot about it.”
“Shit,” Jimin hisses, getting closer to the camera to take a look: “You might as well kill the man.”
Taehyung plays with the fabric of the jacket, feeling it between his fingers.
“You looked so hot at your graduation, the prettiest of the campus.” Jimin smiles, knowingly: “Namjoon will love it.”
Taehyung really hopes he will.
Taehyung’s last day of work at the company passes by like any other day. His colleagues buy him a cake with a frosted good luck! on the top, and they eat it during coffee break.
Solbin and Soojin wish him well, promising that if he’ll want to work here again, they will put in a word of favor.
Namjoon takes a piece of cake when Solbin offers it to him, and bows to Taehyung, thanking him for his hard work: he doesn’t say much more, just quietly smiles as everyone Taehyung got to know here wishes him good luck for his next job.
By the end of the day Taehyung is unemployed.
It doesn’t feel so bad.
The restaurant Namjoon chose is in Gangnam, by the Han River.
The place is fancy, somebody is paid just to open the glass doors. It has an European-style architecture: high ceilings with big chandeliers hanging from every angle, dripping in strings of clear pearls, casting a warm, dim, yellow light on the tables decorated with big white embroidered tablecloths.
A humming jazz music fills the space, low and rhythmic, among the chatting of the people already eating what looks like expensive and elaborate food, sipping red wine.
There are mostly alphas in the restaurant, rich and old, way older than Namjoon, with their omega wives or much younger lovers.
Taehyung realizes that’s exactly how he and Namjoon look like, right now.
A waiter leads them to their tables, while Namjoon keeps a hand on Taehyung’s lower back.
When they sit down, Namjoon chooses the wine and waits for the waiter to leave.
Taehyung crosses his legs under the table, and his ankle brushes on Namjoon’s calf: it’s involuntary, but it makes both of them laugh.
“You look stunning.”
Namjoon’s elbow is propped on the table, his chin on his palm, as he looks at Taehyung fondly. Taehyung put on a little bit of makeup – a BBcream and some pink lip balm –, hoping it’s enough to cover his reddening cheeks.
“You already said that in the car. Twice.”
“It’s true.”
“You look very handsome as well, Namjoon.”
Namjoon’s wearing a total black suit: black shirt, black jacket, black pants and black shiny shoes; his hair is styled smartly, pushed back to leave the forehead exposed, just a few strands falling on it.
“When we got in, everybody was looking at you.”
“They—they truly weren't.”
Namjoon chuckles, softly: “Shy all of a sudden?”
“Shut up, you are getting cheeky.”
“Is it because you like the attention?” Namjoon’s teasing.
Taehyung looks at Namjoon, biting his lip, his chest burning up: this is his first date, his first crush, his first alpha.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing; just that Namjoon is so, so handsome tonight.
“I—” he starts: “I just like yours.”
Namjoon’s eyes get sharp under the eyelids. He clenches his jaw: “Taehyung—”
The waiter comes back, interrupting whatever Namjoon was about to say: he pours the wine in the elongated glasses and lists the menu, taking the orders.
When the food arrives, it’s delicious: a fusion of Korean and European cuisine that Taehyung has never tried before.
He doesn’t know if it’s the glass of wine he drank empty stomach – just to calm his nerves – but the conversation starts to flow so easily and naturally between them.
They never really had the chance to talk about their interests and hobbies before, so when they find out the mutual passion for modern art and old films, it’s thrilling. Namjoon asks questions about Taehyung’s upbringing in Dageu, and what he studied in Seoul, Taehyung does the same.
They show each other photos of their pets back at home and laugh telling each other weird stories about how the dogs joined their respective families.
Namjoon is amused by Taehyung’s anecdotes: he laughs, asks questions and makes Taehyung feel at ease.
Taehyung’s at his third glass of wine when the second course arrives: Namjoon is telling a story of when he almost got caught by the security while trying to sneak in the VIP section of a concert during his university years, and Taehyung is laughing so hard the waiter gives him a weird look.
He wonders if people here think that Taehyung is just a gold digger, flirting with an older alpha just to get something back. Even if that’s not the case, the thought doesn’t bother him as much as it should.
Kim Namjoon is the most handsome alpha here, the fact that he only has eyes for Taehyung makes his chest puff with self-confidence. Other omegas wish they could be him.
They talk some more, laugh, and Taehyung drinks more wine: he doesn’t know when, but at some point, while eating desserts, Namjoon reached a hand to Taehyung’s arm resting in the middle of the table, and started caressing his wrist, playing with the silver spider-web-thin bracelet that Jungkook gifted Taehyung last year.
The touch is hypnotic, Taehyung feels the skin tingling where Namjoon’s fingertips touch.
“Maybe we should order some Champagne, or Moscato.” Namjoon keeps his gaze on Taehyung’s wrist: “Cheers at your last day at the company.”
Taehyung tsks: “Cheers at unemployment.”
Namjoon looks at him, brows furrowed: “What are you going to do, now?”
Taehyung tells him about the art gallery position, even though he knows there’s no way he will get through the second round of interviews. It’s whatever.
“I’m sure they’ll choose you,” Namjoon looks at him, reassuring: “You were an incredible assistant, I was so impressed.”
“You know, I thought you didn’t like me at the beginning” Taehyung smiles sheepishly: “That you thought I was incompetent.”
“I didn’t, you weren’t. Aren’t. I’m—” Namjoon sighs: “I’m sorry if I looked cold. I know I’m hard to read, but these past months—have been rough. My mind was somewhere else.”
Taehyung doesn’t push; he doesn’t want to make Namjoon sad, this has been such a nice evening so far:
“Are you good, now?”
Namjoon traces the veins on Taehyung’s palm, smiling fondly: “Right now? The best I’ve been in years.”
Taehyung’s heart skips a beat.
“When did you start to notice me?”
“It’s hard not to notice you. You’re incredibly beautiful, people turn their heads when you walk by.” Namjoon chuckles: “But, the day you told me off—I couldn’t understand why I was so upset to myself, so much I couldn’t fall asleep. It took me time to fully realize why. Haven’t had interest in someone in a long time.”
“Oh, so you don’t fuck around with every younger assistant?” Taehyung teases.
“I can’t say that I do, no. You bewitched me.”
Taehyung smiles: “You were so distant, though. So professional, all the time. I would’ve never guessed you were looking at me.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I was just being a creepy old man fixating on the most handsome omega of the company. At the bar, that night—” Namjoon shakes his head: “what I did was so inappropriate. But you didn’t push me away, you leaned in. That made the last inch of dignity in me crumble down.”
“I’m glad it did.”
They look at each other, smiling and saying nothing more.
“There’s a bar lounge upstairs”, Namjoon retracts his hand from Taehyung’s wrist, clearing his voice: “It’s more intimate, fewer people—maybe we can have a drink there.”
“I would love to, Namjoon.”
They get up: Namjoon puts his hand on Taehyung’s back as he guides him, stopping just to order a bottle of Champagne to bring upstairs. Taehyung feels the skin burning under the fabric.
The bar lounge is intimate, like Namjoon said: there are few people, sat on the ebony stools at the counter or on the velvet sofas, low jazz music filling the ambient, lights so impossibly dim they let the room fall in the penumbra.
There’s a smell of cigar; probably this is a smoker area. Taehyung doesn’t mind.
They sit down in a corner, on the soft sofa located against the wall, side to side.
The champagne arrives shortly after, and it tastes so sweet on Taehyung’s tongue: sip after sip, glass after glass, as his eyes get glassy, the sounds around him muffled, and Namjoon’s voice so, so soft in his ears while he keeps talking.
After the second glass, Taehyung starts to get closer, touching Namjoon on his shoulders; after the third, his legs are thrown over the man’s lap, head resting on the crook of Namjoon’s neck.
Namjoon’s hand finds its way under Taehyung’s jacket, on his lower back, and he’s holding him close as his thumb draws circles over the fabric, pressing gently on the flesh.
Being this close, nobody will mistake him for a couple of friends.
The thought crosses Taehyung’s dizzy mind: everybody could look at them and everybody would just know. He likes it. He likes the idea of everybody knowing.
“Can I call you hyung?” he suddenly asks, high on the touch.
“You’re getting bold.” Namjoon seems amused: “Of course you can.”
“Hyung. Namjoon-hyung.” It tastes so sweet on his tongue. Maybe it’s the champagne.
Namjoon’s voice is low as he whispers against his cheek: “Why are you always drunk when it’s just the two of us?”
Taehyung’s not naïve: “Like it wasn’t your plan.”
“Get you drunk?”
“Get me fucked.”
Namjoon clenches his jaw. He’s so hot when he does it.
He looks at Taehyung, eyes heavy: “Do I need to get you drunk to fuck you?”
“No, I’m—” Taehyung brushes his fingertips on Namjoon’s ear: “I’m just nervous around you. I need liquid courage.”
“Does all of this make you uncomfortable?”
“No,” Taehyung urges, shyness pooling up in his stomach: “I told you I want this, I just—I want to be good. For you.”
“Taehyung.”
Namjoon turns his head, cupping Taehyung’s neck, and leans forward to kiss him, slow and deep. Taehyung lets Namjoon do whatever he wants, lets him take whatever he wants to take.
Nobody is looking at them, all over each other, breathing heavily through wet lips that search for each other.
Namjoon kisses Taehyung with long strokes, cadence so hypnotic Taehyung gets lost in it.
“Yours or mine?” Taehyung takes advantage of Namjoon catching his breath: “It’s whatever—I just want you so bad.”
Namjoon looks at him and, after a moment, he retracts his hand from Taehyung’s neck.
“I’m sorry, not tonight.”
Taehyung wants to cry, throat immediately tightening up.
Namjoon doesn’t want him, does it? He’s been a fool.
He’s a male omega. He has a dick and a pussy. Maybe Namjoon is weirded out by it, maybe that’s why they only kiss without taking things further.
“You don’t like me? You don’t find me attractive?” he whines, voice broken by alcohol and humiliation. He sounds pathetic, he knows.
“I like you so much,” Namjoon cups Taehyung’s cheek, warm and reassuring: “And you are so attractive, the prettiest. I think about you in my bed every hour of the day—I can barely work when you are around.”
“Then what’s the problem? I’m—I’m clean and—”
“It’s not that, Tae.”
A nickname. Taehyung’s chest tightens.
“It’s just that—” Namjoon leans back: “We need to talk.”
“What—” Taehyung tilts his head, and pushes his feet back to the floor, freeing Namjoon’s lap: “What is it?”
“I know you know I had a tough divorce four months ago,” Namjoon starts, looking straight at Taehyung, without embarrassment: “Everybody gossips about it behind my back, as if I couldn’t notice. It’s fine—I don’t blame anyone.”
He clears his throat: “Point being that, that part of my life is officially closed. Forever. And I’ve been so miserable in these past years—but now things are getting better, and I’m working on it.”
Namjoon pauses for a moment, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve:
“I like you a lot, Tae. And I know that you, being so young and promising, could be looking at… at whatever we have with different intentions than mine. If you do, I don’t blame you. But I’m looking for something meaningful, because for the first time in my life I feel like I deserve it. My therapist told me that, at least. I’m sorry if all of this is so sudden. I just—”
Namjoon looks down: “I made so much progress, and I don’t want to waste it getting too attached to a person who doesn’t want the same things I’m looking for. I want to avoid another failure, if I can, for once.”
Taehyung’s heart burns. In anger, mostly, but also in infinite sadness.
“It must’ve been hard” his mouth is dry: “I’m—I’m sorry that had to happen the way it did.”
“Thank you,” Namjoon smiles sadly: “I’m glad it happened, I’m just sorry it has been so draining and ugly.”
Taehyung kisses him on the lips, softly, just a brush.
“Tae,” Namjoon caresses his neck as he gently tucks Taehyung’s black curl behind his ear, lips hovering over his: “I need you to think about it—I need an answer from you.”
“I can give you an answer now.”
Namjoon chuckles: “You are too impulsive. I need you to think about it, really thinking about it, okay?”
Taehyung looks at him, so close their noses brush against each other.
“You won’t let this go, will you?”
Namjoon smiles: “You know it.”
“Okay,” Taehyung looks down, searching for Namjoon’s hand, caressing his fingertips with his own: “I promise I will really think about it.”
“Thank you, it means a lot to me.”
Taehyung bites his lower lip and looks up again: “Can we keep kissing at my apartment, though?”
“Aishh, Taehyung—That’s dangerous, you know.”
“—Your car, then?”
Namjoon laughs: “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Taehyung smiles.
On Monday it rains, and Namjoon hasn’t texted Taehyung in two days. Taehyung knows he is just giving him space to think, but the unemployment is giving him more time to think than he’d like to: his mind is restless.
The art gallery still hasn't called him back.
The man that he stupidly fell for is divorced, older, and wants to take things seriously even if Taehyung doesn’t even know what being in a relationship means. And he was his boss.
His apartment never felt so suffocating.
“I like him.”
Jungkook puts down the mug right in front of Taehyung: “Then what’s the problem?”
Jimin rolls his eyes to the ceiling: “He’s a divorced man, Jungkook. That’s an emotional baggage all by itself. And he’s older.”
Taehyung sulks, slugging himself down on the chair: “I don’t care about his age. I like him so much. I can’t stop thinking about him.” He looks up from the mug: “Do you think I won’t be a good partner?”
“Baby,” Jimin reaches a hand across the table to Taehyung, holding his hand: “why would you say that?”
“Because I’ve never been in a relationship—What if I mess up?”
Jungkook sits down, next to Jimin. “To be fair, he didn’t ask you to be perfect. He just wants to make sure you’re not looking for just some fun while he’s taking things seriously.”
“But what if we get together, and I’m such a bad boyfriend he stops liking me?”
“Hyung,” Jungkook interrupts him: “I’m sorry but by the interactions the two of you had, and by the conversation we briefly had with him that night at the bar, he seems pretty fucking over the hills for you—I don’t think the feeling will dim down once you make things clear and he can kiss you and fuck you whenever he likes.”
“You’re such a gentleman.” Jimin slaps his arm.
“Ouch—Did you like me less when I gave you the free pass to fuck me whenever you wanted?”
“That’s different, we weren’t even in a relationship when we started to—”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whines: “You two are not helping.”
“Baby,” Jimin caresses his hand, gently: “You need to ask yourself if you want to try and build something with him. That’s the only thing that matters, everything else comes after.”
Taehyung feels his eyes burning, the tears breaching in. He needs to swallow air to push them back, the knot on his throat so tight he feels like he can’t breathe.
“I like him so much,” his voice cracks, it sounds like a whisper as he forces himself to look at the mug, too embarrassed to raise his head: “I’ve never felt like this before. We like the same things and he’s so kind to me and—so handsome. He thinks I’m the prettiest omega he ever met, everybody talked so highly and fondly of him at work. I don’t want to be the reason he feels miserable again.”
“You won’t,” Jungkook stands up, and walks to him, letting Taehyung’s head laying on his stomach as he hugs his shoulders, rocking back and forth: “Don’t cry, hyung. You won’t.”
“I’m such a whining mess.”
“You aren’t.” Jimin follows Jungkook, hugging Taehyung’s shoulders from behind. “The only thing that matters is trying.”
I guess so, Taehyung thinks, staring with watery eyes at his tea, still in front of him, cold by now.
Namjoon lives in Gangnam.
The apartment is big, on the 7th floor of a building so fancy there’s a receptionist at the entrance that registers Taehyung’s name while keeping a forced smile on. For a moment, he feels as if she is judging his casual look – worn out skinny jeans and a soft light-blue cardigan – but it lasts just a second.
The mirror elevator he gets escorted to is as big as his apartment bathroom and it’s drenched in expensive perfume.
The flowers adorning Namjoon’s hallway floor are real ones, fresh and bright in colors, meaning a florist must come here every morning to change and water them: Taehyung knew Namjoon was wealthy, he just didn’t imagine he was this wealthy.
His own steps echo on the dark wooden floor of the hallway as he walks to Namjoon’s apartment door, finding it already open: Namjoon is there, in a loose pair of jeans and white shirt, waiting for Taehyung. He’s looking at him as if every fiber of his body is fighting the urge to reach a hand, to grab him, touch him.
Taehyung knows these eyes: it’s the exact thing he’s feeling right now.
“Hi.” Namjoon’s face always seems to melt into fondness whenever Taehyung is around.
“Hi.” Taehyung looks at him.
“Come in,” Namjoon says, moving to let Taehyung enter: “Excuse the mess, I came back from work and immediately took a shower. Didn’t have much time to do anything else.”
The living room of the apartment is huge, big comfy couches on either side of the room and an elaborated dark-wood coffee table in the center. Books and paperwork are scattered over it and over the floor, but for the most part the place is tidy: the bookshelves show different collections of books and little decorations that look like souvenirs from Namjoon’s trips around the world.
On the walls, paintings of all sizes and genres are hang up, creating a beautiful clash of colors and texture over the white plaster. This all feels like Namjoon, painfully so: the colors, the dim warm lights, the candle-smell of citrus and wood. On the opposite wall from where Taehyung entered, there’s a big windowpane overlooking the Han River: it’s dark outside and its surface reflects the lights of the skyscrapers around it.
Is this the apartment he used to live in with his wife?
Nothing indicates the presence of another person living here. But the mere idea makes Taehyung’s stomach clench.
“This isn’t the place where we lived together”, Namjoon says, as if he could read Taehyung’s mind: “We’ve been living separately for a year and a half. Best decision I’ve ever taken.”
Taehyung turns around, forcing himself to stop looking at the beautiful view outside: Namjoon looks more handsome every time they meet. How’s that possible? His hair is not styled back, it falls over his forehead, soft and freshly washed.
The t-shirt hugs his torso so nicely, the loose jeans make him look even more slender.
“This place is beautiful.”
Namjoon smiles: “Thank you—” he turns around, eyeing the open steel kitchen on the other side of the living room: “can I offer you something? I have wine, tea, beer…”
“Water is fine. Thank you, hyung.”
“Then, please, make yourself feel at home,” he says, while gesturing toward the couches.
Taehyung follows the suggestion and sits down, waiting for Namjoon to come back with two glasses of water, then he sits next to him.
“You look good, I miss seeing your face.”
Taehyung takes a sip. “I miss you too.” You have no idea.
“Before you tell me anything,” Namjoon puts his glass down on the coffee table: “I want to give you something, no matter how this conversation will go.”
“What’s that?” Taehyung asks, curious, as Namjoon takes out of his pocket a folded piece of paper and gives it to him.
Taehyung unfolds it, reading the first lines of what looks like a letter, as his eyebrows furrow deeper and deeper.
“It’s—” Namjoon clears his throat: “It’s a copy of the recommendation letter I would like to send to the owner of the art gallery you want to work for. With your permission, of course.”
Taehyung’s heart aches as his eyes skim over the words. A letter of recommendation from Kim Namjoon himself will open all the doors to him, skyrocketing his resume to the top three choices for the job—Taehyung… Taehyung didn’t even think about asking him such a favor. He doesn’t know what to say.
“This is not a favoritism,” Namjoon urges, clearly unsettled by Taehyung’s silence: “You were a killer assistant, you are smart, and competent, and you learn fast—I want other people to know you deserve that place. You were also reliable and ready to speak up wherever—”
“Namjoon,” Taehyung leans forward and hugs him, trying to stop his blabbing: his heads falls on Namjoon’s shoulder, soft and warm as he remembered. Everything feels so right.
When he retracts, Namjoon is looking at him with wide eyes.
Taehyung feels stupidly lost: “Thank you. That means—that means so much to me. Thank you.”
“I want you to succeed in whatever you want to,” Namjoon clenches his jaw, looking down at his own lap, suddenly tense: “please don’t think I want some kind of favor back, okay? We are good, I just wanted you to know that you deserved it.”
“We are not good, hyung.”
Namjoon looks up, brows knitted together. Taehyung puts down the piece of paper on the coffee table.
“I’m not good, hyung. I—” he gets closer, heart racing so fast in his chest it might as well explode, and lays a hand on Namjoon’s freshly shaved cheek: “I like you so much, hyung. I can’t stop thinking about you—Day and night, every second of every hour. I want to give you everything you want, you need, and more. I’m just scared I will make mistakes.”
“Taehyung,” Namjoon latches a hand on Taehyung’s wrist, looking at him: “I don’t care if you make mistakes, I’ve made so many.”
“I want to try. To be with you. I like you so much, I’ve never felt like this before.” His throat is closing up again: “Please, please, let me try. Don’t push me away, let me try. I like you so much, I like you so—”
“Oh, Tae-ah.”
Namjoon pulls him closer, so close Taehyung is basically sitting on his lap, thighs pressed on Namjoon’s sides.
Namjoon leans forward and kisses him, deep and needy: his hands roam all over Taehyung’s waist frenetically and urgently, like he can finally scratch an itch that was bothering him.
Taehyung whines: he lets out a sigh of relief when his crotch touches Namjoon’s and the latter’s hands fall on the curve of his ass. He has been wanting this for so long.
Jimin and Jungkook were right. He’s kind of a slut.
“We can try, I’m so glad you want to try with me.” Namjoon kisses his jaw, tracing down.
Taehyung shuts his eyes and bites his lower lip, swallowing back a moan when Namjoon kisses the juncture between his lobe and his neck.
He rocks back and forth on Namjoon’s lap, grinding down as he searches for Namjoon lips: the alpha squeezes the fat of his glutes. A warning.
“Ya,” he breathes out: “that’s dangerous, Tae-ah.”
Taehyung stops to look at him straight in the eyes, already glossy. “Can you fuck me, hyung?” he asks, tracing Namjoon’s ear shell with his fingertip: “Now and whenever you want?”
“Fuck,” Namjoon grunts: “Who taught you to talk like this?”
Taehyung latches their mouths once again: they kiss messily, sloppily, wet sounds of lips smacking against each other filling the room, among the little quick breaths that Taehyung lets escape from his mouth every time Namjoon’s hands grab his ass, the fat of his thighs, his hips.
Taehyung feels high on the attention. On the desire.
“Bedroom.”
Namjoon gently pushes Taehyung’s body off his, without stopping the kiss; he drags him through the apartment until they reach the bedroom. Taehyung doesn’t pay too much attention to the room – too busy with Namjoon’s mouth –, he really doesn’t care: he lets Namjoon lead, doing whatever he wants.
He’s just glad there’s enough light, coming from an art-modern-looking lamp in the corner, to be able to see Namjoon’s face as they kiss.
If it was for Taehyung, they could’ve done it in the living room, right on the couch, wherever. Namjoon could’ve taken him on the carpet, bruising his knees. The thought makes him even more aroused.
He realizes that they are in the bedroom only when he feels the bedframe on the back of his knees.
He falls on the mattress, kicking off his shoes. When he looks up, he sees the heavenly vision of Namjoon already worked up, towering in front him: it makes his stomach clench.
Namjoon is enjoying the view of Taehyung spread on his bed as well, clearly.
“You’re so hot.” He caresses Taehyung’s covered knee: “I’m gonna make you feel good, Tae-ah. I promise.”
“Please.”
Namjoon’s hands grab the hem of his own shirt, taking it off in a swift move, and tossing it on the floor.
For the first time, Taehyung gets to see Namjoon’s body naked: the vision makes his mouth fall open. Kim Namjoon is even bigger and fitter than he could’ve imagined: under all these baggy clothes and dark suits, he’s buff and muscular, honey skin looking smooth all over. His arms look so strong.
“You got pecs,” Taehyung whines before he can stop his stupid brain: “and biceps.”
Namjoon puts a knee on the mattress, next to Taehyung’s waist, and smiles: “’s that a problem?”
“No, just—” Taehyung suddenly feels bashful. Small under Namjoon’s big figure: “I’m such a chubby next to you.”
It’s true. Taehyung never had abs in his entire life, just a soft tummy with a pinch of fat in his hips that never went away.
“You’re perfect,” Namjoon’s hand travels under Taehyung’s cardigan, squeezing the skin, as he lowers down to nose the neck: “So soft.”
“Where do you even—ah,”
The hand reaches Taehyung’s jeans hem, caressing the sensitive skin under his navel.
“—Where do you even find the time to go to the gym? It’s unfair.”
“Every day before work?” Namjoon says as if it’s obvious.
Taehyung looks at him: “You’re insane.”
“But you like it.”
“I do.”
Taehyung dares to reach a hand and lands it on Namjoon’s right pec: the skin is so soft, the muscle firm. A shot of arousal pumps in his blood just thinking about how easily it would be for Namjoon to fold him in two, fucking him senseless.
“Now your turn.”
Namjoon helps Taehyung taking off the cardigan and t-shirt underneath, whispering a litany of so fucking pretty and so soft, you smell so good Tae-ah, you’re fucking perfect when he gets the full vision: he trails kisses all over Taehyung’s collarbones, then down to his dark nipples, on his soft tummy.
Taehyung can feel Namjoon’s hardening cock against his thigh: it feels heavy, length and girth bigger than Taehyung’s dildos. The bare contact makes his pussy clench. He wants that thing inside.
Namjoon’s hands are already working on unbuttoning Taehyung’s jeans when he suddenly stops, looking at him.
“W—” Taehyung is already out of breath: “what?”
“I’ve never been with a male omega before.”
Taehyung’s stomach closes up for a second, but Namjoon’s heavy eyes look determinate and hungry, everything but hesitating.
“It’s just—a pussy and a cock.”
Namjoon smiles, mischievous: “Two of the things I like the most.”
His cunt throbs at that and his cock chubs up painfully inside his jeans.
“You’ve—” Taehyung’s throat is dry: “You’ve been with alphas before?”
“Yeah, during college. One of my closest friends nowadays, Yoongi—I met him as a hookup.” He pushes Taehyung’s knees apart, making himself space to work faster on the buttons: “Now he’s engaged to another one of my closest friends, Hoseok.”
Taehyung is speechless: “So—you like cock?”
Namjoon’s smirk peaking between his legs makes Taehyung’s head dizzy: the image of Namjoon’s mouth on his pussy and his cock is too much for his brain.
“Of course, if it’s pretty. And you’re pretty all over,” Namjoon tugs Taehyung’s jeans down, leaving him only with his underwear on: “Haven’t sucked one in a minute, though.”
Taehyung feels dumb, face hot and red as he watches Namjoon gently pull the last piece of fabric down his smooth legs, to his calves, to his ankles, then tossing it on the floor.
And like that, he’s at Namjoon’s mercy: he’s naked, legs open in a mattress that is not his own, with an older alpha – his ex-boss – between them.
Taehyung’s so horny he doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just hot. Pink-red all over.
He showered before coming here: scrubbed and shaved and smoothed everything with shea butter. He’s been drinking cranberry and pineapple juice for the past 24 hours just because once he read that they make slick taste better. Taehyung knows he looks appetible, right now. He got all pretty and ready just to be devoured.
He wants Namjoon to devour him.
And that’s probably what Namjoon wants to do to him as well, based on the way he’s looking at Taehyung’s cock, mouth agape.
“Fucking hell,” Namjoon groans, voice low and raspy: “You waxed?”
Taehyung bites his lower lip: “’s that a problem?”
“Fucking hell, Taehyung. You are so fucking smooth—I knew you were pretty down there, as well. Shit.”
Namjoon massages the outer labia with his thumb, pulling the lips apart: Taehyung swallows back a moan. There’s a hand on his pussy. A hand that isn’t his own.
He needs to fight the urge to clasp his knees back together because the feeling is just too much.
“You look so tight.”
“Hyung,” Taehyung whines, dropping his head on the mattress, shame eating him from the inside: “Don’t say things like that, please—”
Once, back in college, he sexted an alpha for a few weeks before the guy ghosted him: sent him some sexy pictures – faceless, of course – and one of first things the alpha replied back with was your pussy looks so tight.
Taehyung asked what he meant. The alpha didn’t spare any detail: apparently, his outer lips were so puffy and chubby they met creating a lovely tiny split, completely hiding the inner ones. That made his pussy look very tight, and so, so pretty.
Anime-like pussy is what the alpha called it.
(Taehyung watched some hentai to get the reference. He kinda liked it.)
Does Namjoon think the same thing?
“Aishh,” Namjoon groans, hazy eyes focused on Taehyung’s genitalia: “Wondering—it’ll feel as tight as it looks around my cock? Or is it just a little deceiving thing? Did you use that dildo of yours so much your pussy lost the grip?”
“N—ughh, no—”
Taehyung isn’t that proud or foolish, he doesn’t want this to hurt. He knows Namjoon wouldn’t hurt him. Or does he?
He props on his elbows to look at Namjoon straight in the eyes.
“Prep me good,” he bites his lip, pouting. They must be cherry red by now: “please?”
Namjoon kisses the inside of his thigh, looking at him under the heavy eyelids: “Of course—I’m gonna get you nice and loose.”
Namjoon grabs Taehyung’s hardening cock, stroking him once, twice, until the tip start leaking, and Taehyung is whimpering like a mess.
“Look at me, Tae-ah.”
Taehyung feels deliriant as Namjoon keeps their eyes locked while he goes down on him: his pretty lips open up on Taehyung’s tip, sucking just on the slit, barely going all the way down.
“Hyung, hyung—” Taehyung throws his head back, hissing between griding teeth: “Fuck—ah, ah—fucking hell.”
Namjoon doesn’t spare him a second to catch his breath: as he pumps Taehyung’s length, the licking gets slower and slower. His lips sloppily trail up and down Taehyung’s dick, smearing saliva and kisses on the thin skin.
“Uh—pretty face, pretty cock, pretty pussy—”
The whispers Namjoon breathes on Taehyung’s sensitive dick give him goosebumps.
“—The things I’d do to you, you have no idea.”
Taehyung’s cock throbs in the tight fist Namjoon caged him with: the alpha goes down on him again. He sucks on Taehyung’s length messily, a cacophony of squelching and wet sounds and pops and uhmms. At some point, he uses his tongue to push down on the slit, a tiny pressure that makes Taehyung see white.
Taehyung bucks his hips up, whining, but Namjoon doesn’t stop: he just smiles around his cock and pushes the hips back down, putting his big hand on Taehyung’s tummy.
Taehyung pants, open mouth, loud and shameless, tilting his head forward to look down.
“Namjoon—”
The vision is breathtaking: Namjoon’s lips are red as strawberries, wet and smeared in precum. His cheeks are puffy and pink, his eyes hazy as if his mind is so into the pleasure he can’t even see straight.
The alpha frees Taehyung’s cock in a wet pop sound: “Even your moans are pretty, Tae-ah.”
Taehyung feels the urge to reach a hand down and card it through Namjoon’s hair, dictating the rhythm on his cock, forcing the alpha to take him deeper: he stops himself before he does it. He doesn’t want to come like this.
He wants to come on Namjoon’s knot.
Namjoon takes Taehyung’s cock in his mouth once again, massaging the length with his hand where he can’t reach it with his lips.
“Can—ah—” Taehyung can’t even talk, whimpers are breaking his voice: “—down there—please—”
Namjoon gets what he’s trying to say immediately; the hand on his tummy travels toward his cunt. His thumb caresses the outer labia, pulling the skin to find the little split where Taehyung opens up like a rose.
Before breaching in his hole, Namjoon takes his time to massage the inner lips up and down, circular motions close to the most sensitive part, right under his balls. Taehyung’s brain is melting away.
“Namjoon, please, please, please—”
Namjoon’s thumb breaches in, hole stretching easily around it.
“Look at you,” Namjoon’s voice sounds like velvet on his ears: “that went in easily, right?”
The thumb gets pulled out, replaced by the index and the middle finger that gently push in, stretching the skin a little bit: in and out, slow, in and out.
Taehyung is so wet, it’s squelching. It should be humiliating, but it’s just hot.
Namjoon speeds up the movements up: in and out, in and out. The fingers slide so easily, as if Taehyung’s just a loose hole, as if he isn’t just a virgin who only ever took fake cocks inside.
“Fuck—” Taehyung hisses through gritted teeth, hands grabbing the sheets around him just to have something to squeeze on.
Namjoon is still pumping his cock merciless: “Cunt acting so good, Tae-ah—I think it earned a third finger—uhm, what do you say?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes—please. A—ah, ah, ah… A t-thrid. Please.”
“So polite,” Namjoon smirks as he leaves one feather kiss on Taehyung’s cock: “even when you are like this.”
A third finger slips in, meeting little resistance: Namjoon is patient though, and works his hand slowly, building up the stretch until Taehyung’s cunt gets loose, welcoming three fingers wholly to the knuckles.
Taehyung’s muffled moans must motivate Namjoon, because he quickly gains confidence, starting to pound inside with more decision: on a particular deep thrust, he brushes that spongy spot inside Taehyung that makes the wires in his brain short-circuit.
Air is pulled out of his lungs as he pants out loud: “Namjooon, fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Found it, uh?”
Namjoon is the devil. He sounds so amused.
He circles the spot once again, curling his fingers so heavenly, but avoiding touching it directly, which makes Taehyung so frustrated tears pools up in his eyes: it’s torture.
“Don’t—don’t—”
“Uhm?” Namjoon teases, dragging another thrust: “Are you trying to say something, Tae-ah?”
Taehyung opens his mouth, trying to speak, to say something.
Namjoon is faster: he goes down on Taehyung throbbing cock again, taking it all in his mouth, tongue swirling on the tip when he tilts his head back up.
Taehyung’s words die in a loud moan that he tries to hide by clasping both of his hands over his mouth: instinctively, his legs try to close shoving Namjoon’s head away, double stimulation so good it’s upsetting.
Namjoon is quick to force Taehyung’s thighs back on the mattress with a firm hand, keeping them impossibly spread.
“Please, please, Namjoon, pleas—ah! P-please stop—” Taehyung cries out.
Namjoon does.
Taehyung looks at him with teary eyes: “I—don’t want to come like this.”
“Oh.” Namjoon smiles and gently pulls his fingers out his pussy in wet squelch: “I think you’re ready—you drenched me.”
If Taehyung wasn’t dying from embarrassment before, he surely is now: he didn’t realize how much he slicked on Namjoon’s hand and arm until the alpha stands up in front of him, at the foot of the bed, and his hand is shining by all the slick Taehyung coated him with.
“I—I’m sorry.”
Namjoon laughs as he props a knee on the bed to lower down and kiss him.
“That’s so hot, Tae-ah. Gonna make you even wetter—can you squirt with that pretty pussy?”
“Hyung!” Taehyung punches Namjoon’s chest lightly.
“Sorry.” The alpha straightens back up, chuckling: “I’m gonna get the condoms.”
“Wait!” Taehyung stops him before Namjoon can walk to the drawer: that earns him a questioning look. “I’m—I’m clean.”
Namjoon stays quiet for a moment.
“Yeah—me too.” Namjoon tilts his head: “If that’s what you worry about. Haven’t had sex since I decided to live in separate houses.”
“Namjoon-hyung.”
“What?”
He’s so dumb.
“I’m on birth control.” Taehyung lets the information sink down on Namjoon’s brain: “I’m clean and on birth control.”
Air gets stuck in Namjoon’s throat. “Taehyung.”
Taehyung reaches a hand down, fingers pulling his own pussy lips apart, showing Namjoon his pink, wet hole. He saw a pornstar doing it once.
“Fuck it raw?” he asks, shameless.
Namjoon groans. “You can’t be serious.”
Taehyung pats his labia with a finger: “It’s waiting.”
Namjoon’s brain short-circuits. He grunts, loudly, gutturally, crawling on the bed to cage Taehyung under him once again, pinning his wrists over his head, on the mattress.
His kisses on Taehyung’s mouth and neck get rougher, he bites where he can, rocking back and forth as his hard cock pillows against Taehyung’s.
It feels so big.
“Why are your pants still on?” Taehyung brokenly asks.
Namjoon was leaving a hickey on Taehyung’s collarbone: he stops.
“You really want to get fucked, don’t you?”
Taehyung whines back enthusiastically, nodding wobbly.
“I still can’t believe we are doing it—” Namjoon kisses Taehyung’s cheek: “You’re too young and pretty. It feels like I tricked you—Why would you want to do this with me.”
Taehyung hates this talking, he’s too horny for it, his pussy hurts from the lack of attention. But for a moment he’s scared Namjoon’s rational side will talk him into backing off—he can’t let it happen.
“You’re so hot, hyung” says Taehyung: “Everybody wanted to fuck you at the company, I could tell—The way they look at you… I was so jealous.”
“You’re twenty-four. When you’ll be twenty-six, I’ll be forty.”
The image of them still together in two years, Namjoon in his forties, still fucking Taehyung into oblivion, shots warmth in his cunt:
“That’s so hot, hyung.” Taehyung whines: “So fucking hot.”
Namjoon laughs: “You’re a freaky one, I see.”
Namjoon retracts once again, freeing Taehyung’s wrists, putting his feet on the floor to take off the gray sweatpants: Taehyung props his elbows on the mattress, taking in the vision that is Namjoon’s body.
He looks so good: abs, pecs, biceps, broad shoulders, honey skin, dark nipples. Taehyung wants to put his mouth on all of it the next time they’ll do it.
As Namjoon pulls off his pants and underwear, Taehyung swallows a lump on his throat, following the movements with his eyes.
“Fuck.”
It’s an involuntary exclamation.
Namjoon’s dick is bigger than it felt against Taehyung’s thigh: it falls between his legs, hard and heavy-looking. Girthy and dark, uncircumcised, Taehyung can’t recall a single dildo he ever had that was bigger than it, and he has his fair collection.
It’s roughly shaved, coarse thick hair covering the base and the balls: Taehyung can’t help but imagine the sound they’ll make while Namjoon pounds inside him, slapping against his drenching pussy.
“You good?” Namjoon gets back on the bed.
“You are so fucking big,” Taehyung doesn’t know how to stop his thoughts from becoming words: “You’ll shred me.”
Namjoon crawls back over him: his cock bobs at every movement, it’s hypnotic.
“I’ll be gentle, Taeh-ah.” He moves to position himself between Taehyung’s legs, where a pool of slick already stained the sheets.
“Wait, wait!”
Taehyung can’t do this in this position, seeing everything. He’ll die from embarrassment.
“I—I want to take it from the back.”
Namjoon stops, taken aback for a second, then he smiles reassuringly: “Whatever you are most comfortable with, Tae-ah.”
Taehyung turns around, knees and cheek pressed against the mattress. His face is burning, he doesn’t know if this position is any better. His pussy is on full display now, wet and puffy-pink, cock laying heavy between his thighs.
“Shit, you’re perfect,” Namjoon moves on the mattress to position himself behind Taehyung: “Do you need lube?”
“I’m leaking like a faucet, hyung. I don’t.”
“Bossy.”
“Just—” he’ll cry if Namjoon doesn’t put it inside immediately: “Fuck me, please.”
Namjoon aligns himself after a few tugs on his own cock: tip right on Taehyung’s entrance, he starts to push in, breaching the wall.
They both hiss: Namjoon grabs Taehyung’s hips to make him stop squirming as Taehyung fists the sheets, eyes squeezed, brows furrowed, mouth open, probably drooling.
“Shit, you’re tight.”
“Uhgggh.”
His pussy opens up easily on Namjoon’s cock for the first half, the stretch burns so good. It’s slow and constant: the dick fills him up so nicely.
Namjoon stops as soon as he finds resistance: he doesn’t go further, instead he drags his cock out, torturously slow, then in again, gently going a little bit further every time.
Taehyung feels his walls getting looser with each thrust: they let Namjoon’s cock inside easily, hungrily, welcoming it as they’re craving for it.
Dildos don’t feel this warm.
And dildos never fitted inside him this nicely: Namjoon’s dick is big, and it feels like it’s never ending. When it reaches the deepest spot Taehyung’s ever reached by himself, there’s still more: Namjoon didn’t bottom out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He pants, crying out loud.
“You feel incredible around my cock.” Namjoon’s voice got raspier: “Let me just—a bit more—here, here, fuck—”
He pushes in: Taehyung feels his pussy slapped by Namjoon’s balls, ass touching the tummy.
It’s all in.
Taehyung can taste it in the back of his throat, that’s how deep it is: he feels so stretched at the entrance he thinks his pussy must look cherry red around Namjoon’s dark brown cock.
It hurts. Taehyung kind of likes it when it hurts a bit.
“Fuck,” breathes Namjoon through gritted teeth: “You feel like heaven, Tae-ah—fuck.”
He pulls back and pushes in again, slowly getting the pace, testing the waters:
“Shit—How are you feeling, uhm? All good?”
“F—” Taehyung’s tongue is numb from how hard he’s biting into it, trying to relax on the impossible stretch. “F-full.”
Namjoon keeps thrusting. Back and forth, back and forth: “You feel full?”
“Y-yeah—"
“Uh, good.” His thrusts get faster and faster, building up speed at each stroke: “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
Namjoon sounds kinda lost as well.
Taehyung can’t even nod, since his head is crushed on the mattress, but he doesn’t think it would make any difference: Namjoon is getting rougher, lost in the movements and in the pleasure that is building up between their bodies. He grabs Taehyung’s hips tighter, sinking the fingers in the skin until it bruises.
It’s fine, Taehyung lets him do whatever he wants to: he can’t really think straight or complain, at the moment. A cock is pounding faster and faster into his sloppy hole, and it’s the first time for him in his whole life.
On a particular deep thrust, Namjoon hits Taehyung’s spongy spot once again: he moans, shamelessly, trying to muffle it against the sheets.
“Oh, fuuuck—”
“Y-yeah? Right there?” Namjoon’s voice sounds broken: “Gonna make your pussy feel good.”
“There—there, there, hyung please there—”
The pace is fast and precise, Namjoon grinds again and again against Taehyung’s G spot without missing a beat. Taehyung doesn’t even feel his pussy anymore: everything is wet, squelching, drenching and sloppy.
He leaked so much his slick drippled down his inner thighs, coating his own throbbing cock, Namjoon’s legs, Namjoon’s tummy and probably all the sheets around them.
It hurts. His cheek hurts, his knees, his cock. But his cunt—his cunt feels heavenly. It feels relieved, finally fulfilling its duty—being pounded by an alpha with such a big, nice cock.
“Stop clenching, Tae-ah—” Namjoon warns, hissing: “I can’t fuck you good if you keep clenching.”
Shit. “I—” Taehyung can’t even talk: “I can't control it, hyung.”
“Uh?”
“The clenching. I can’t fucking... I can’t—” My cunt is acting up on its own mind. I swear it's not me. I swear. “I want to be good. I want to—” Words just splutter out his mouth, without even making sense.
“Oh, baby.” Namjoon lowers down to kiss between his shoulder blades, as he keeps fucking him.
Baby.
Taehyung tries to calm his breathing, relaxing his pussy until it stops squirming on Namjoon’s cock: he gets there, eventually. Shame washes over him—that was such a virgin-like thing to do.
The pounding starts again, this time smoother than before, pussy loose and relaxed.
“I’ve been wondering—fuck,” Namjoon whispers after a while, out of breath, voice so low and raspy he doesn’t even sound like himself anymore:
“Where does a male omega come from? His pussy?” he gently slaps Taehyung’s labia, then moves to his dick: “From his cock?”
Taehyung feels delirious: his G spot must’ve been pounded into mush and the hand on his dick is too good; his brain can’t function as long as Namjoon keeps fucking him like this, whispering filthy words to his ears.
Both. Neither.
Taehyung can’t ever tell where an orgasm is about to hit: sometimes his dick releases come before he reaches the pleasure, sometimes he comes as he orgasms. Sometimes it happens only in his pussy. He doesn’t fucking know.
I don’t know just keep thrusting in me, please, please, please—
His whines must sound desperate, because Namjoon takes pity on him, cooing and kissing his back: “Doesn’t matter—I just want to make you come.”
After that, Namjoon stops for a second, readjusting himself inside and placing his knees firmly next to Taehyung’s calves; then, he starts to fuck him again.
Rhythm so precise and steady, Taehyung feels Namjoon’s tip brushing on his G spot, then on his cervix again and again and again.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Skin against skin.
Taehyung doesn’t even know for how long Namjoon’s been going. He seems to never get tired; he just keeps going. Taehyung’s throat is dry from all the panting, eyes teary, bloodstream stale in his legs and his arms, his head aches.
His abused pussy throbs in pain and pleasure and pain and pleasure—Namjoon is killing him.
This is too much.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
But his cunt—it feels so good. Even the overstimulation… just makes everything feel rawer.
Namjoon went non-verbal minutes ago: he just grunts from time to time, too focused on keep fucking Taehyung deeply, holding his hips so tight it hurts. Sometimes he whispers some filthy words, and Taehyung shivers, hearing how much Namjoon’s voice got guttural from the pleasure and the haziness.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Taehyung can’t take it any more in this position, his head is exploding; he’s so hot all over he thinks he got feverish. It’s so good it got unbearable.
“H-hyung—stop—ah, ah…” his voice cracks.
He raises himself placing his palms on the bed and tries to turn around to look at Namjoon.
Shit. Namjoon is lost lost in it: brows furrowed, forehead beaded in sweat, mouth slightly open, so fucking focused as he looks down directly at the point where his cock goes in and out Taehyung.
Namjoon looks so gone, Taehyung doesn’t even try to call his name again, instead, on a particular deep thrust, he clasps his knees together pushing Namjoon’s body slightly back: maybe this will get the message across.
He just needs a break.
The hope is quick to fade: Namjoon reacts almost automatically, grabbing the back of Taehyung’s thighs and pushing them far apart once again, forcing himself closer than before, forcing Taehyung to keep himself open and wet. He keeps thrusting mercilessly, deeper and faster than before.
SlapSlapSlap—
Taehyung cries out loud. His cervix is getting drilled.
“Namjoon...” A cry.
Taehyung reaches his hand behind, scratching Namjoon's abdomen. "Hyung, ouch.”
This time, Namjoon seems to wake up from his trance: he stops immediately, looking at Taehyung with big, scared eyes.
“Tae-ah.”
“I need a—” Taehyung’s voice is as fucked as his pussy: “I need a break, please. You're tearing my cunt apart.”
“I—” Namjoon looks down at his dick still inside Taehyung, then up again, his face is scrunched with guilt: “I'm so sorry baby. Let me—” Namjoon starts to pull out, slowly.
“No, no! Don’t pull out. I—I like the stretch. Just—” Taehyung maneuvers himself on weak arms and knees to turn around, plopping on his back: Namjoon seems to get the hint and helps him to accomplish the task without pulling out.
“I'm sorry.” His voice sounds sweet again. Like Namjoon: “I was so lost in it.”
On his back, missionary, Taehyung already feels better: he feels like he can breathe again.
“I, ah, could tell.”
Namjoon smiles, lowering down to kiss him softly.
“You have the softest pussy I've ever fucked” he whispers on his lips.
“Hyuuung,” Taehyung whines, trying to cover his face with both hands: “Don’t say things like that. I’m going to die.”
Namjoon gently grabs Taehyung’s wrists and pulls them away from his face, lowering down to kiss his lips again. Taehyung has kissed alphas before; Namjoon tastes the best.
“You’re too cute, Tae-ah. I’m the one who’s risking his life.”
They keep kissing, slowly and softly, lips brushing against each other in feather-touches as Namjoon caresses Taehyung’s thighs, now spread open the bed, girded around Namjoon’s waist. The hypnotic movement on Taehyung’s skin makes him shiver: his pussy is still stretched out by Namjoon’s cock, relaxed, and now he needs more.
“Hyung,” he whispers against his lips. Namjoon looks at him, forehead resting on Taehyung’s: “you can fuck me again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please. Like before.”
Namjoon starts thrusting in again, grabbing Taehyung’s hips for leverage: he starts slowly, dragging out, then in again. Out and in. Out and in, increasing the speed steadily.
Taehyung throws himself back on the mattress, hands over his head, already panting open mouth.
“Y-yeah.”
“Yeah?”
Namjoon slows down, from time to time, just to kiss Taehyung, swallowing down every whine, every moan: then he thrusts again, faster. It’s a cycle: thrusting, slowing, stopping, then thrusting again. Taehyung’s G spot is hit every single time, cock sturdy and precise against his raw walls, and suddenly everything is too hot and too much.
Pleasure pools in his lower belly, sticky and sweet like warm honey.
“H-hyung—” Taehyung whines: “I’m close.”
For how long they’ve been going? It’s pitch black outside.
“Tae-ah’s gonna come?” Namjoon teases, taunting, wrapping a hand around his cock, red and painfully throbbing.
Taehyung’s dick has been so hard and for so long, slapping against his stomach at every thrust that Namjoon pushed inside him, that it leaked on his abdomen, creating a puddle connected to his tip with a silver web.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
It’s over: Namjoon is pushing inside him and jerking him off at the same time. His body is burning from the inside out, the double stimulation so good Taehyung feels tears in the corners of his eyes.
“Don’t cry—” Namjoon is broken as he is, but somehow able to be amused even with every muscle tense, honey skin sweating from the effort: “Doesn’t it feel good, Tae-ah?”
Kim Namjoon is the devil.
Taehyung’s gonna come. Fuck. He’s gonna come, he’s gonna come he’s gonna come—
“I know, ah, I know, Tae-ah,” Was he saying it out loud? He doesn’t fucking know. His tongue is acting funky.
“C’mon, Tae-ah, I’m close—give it to me,” Namjoon’s hand speeds up: “Give it to me, give it to me, give it to m—”
Taehyung comes in a broken moan, tensing every muscle for a moment, before going completely lax: his cock spurts on his torso, his pussy clenches. Where did he come from? His pussy and his cock feel fucked six ways to Sunday. He doesn’t know.
The intense orgasm makes his eyes and brain sticky from the pleasure: everything is harder to see, foggy and watery, and his thoughts feel like coming from underwater. Sometimes it happens when he fucks himself really good: he’s just glad there’s Namjoon, right now, to take care of him.
“Tae-ah, baby, your pussy is pulsing.” Namjoon is breathing heavily, his voice sounds like it’s coming from another room: “I—I’m going to knot, is it okay? Do I need to pull out?”
No, no! Please, come inside, come inside, knot me, knot m—
Taehyung uses his remaining lucidity to weakly shake his head, pouting. Namjoon kisses his pout. “Fuck, thank you.”
Namjoon falls over him, engulfing Taehyung’s body with his, propped on his elbows, on each side of Taehyung’s head: Namjoon moans and groans, pressing his hips closer to Taehyung’s pubic bone, making sure he fits cozily.
The weight of Namjoon on top of him feels so nice, even if they are both out of breath, both sweating. The sheets under them are wet. After Namjoon’s knot they will be drenched.
Namjoon inflates inside Taehyung’s pussy. The sensation is so new and weird Taehyung gasps, feeling his walls stretching thinly: for a second he’s scared he’s gonna tear and bleed, adding another fluid to the mess.
“Fuck—” he feels sticky in the mouth: “Big—knot.”
The alpha breathlessly chuckles, but he looks too lost to reply. It gets bigger, and bigger, and seems to never stop until it does. When it happens, Namjoon starts coming inside Taehyung, copiously.
He’s a faucet. Taehyung pants.
He never felt this full in his entire life: where the knot and the cock don’t reach, it’s the amount of come that Namjoon is releasing inside him that fills him up.
“Shit, Tae-ah—” Namjoon hides his forehead in the crook of Taehyung’s neck: “You feel so fucking good.”
“Uhhg,” Taehyung fights against his sticky tongue to speak: “How—how long does it last?”
He likes the stretch and how they are locked together: he just worries about the moment Namjoon will shrink, flooding on the bed.
“About fifteen minutes.”
Taehyung hums, carding his hands between Namjoon’s hair.
“Can we cuddle and kiss in the meanwhile?”
Namjoon raises his head to look at him: his eyes are soft again, a little tired.
He smiles: “Of course. After care is important—until you fall asleep.”
“You’ll fall asleep first, old man.” Taehyung definitely will fall asleep first: his eyelids are getting so heavy.
“Right,” Namjoon kisses his cheeks: “I’ll change the sheets and then order some food, okay? What do you want?”
“Kimchi fried rice, please”, he pouts.
“So cute.” Namjoon kisses him again: “So… where did you come from?”
Taehyung chuckles: “Why do you care?”
“I just—I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it. A pussy and a cock.”
“Do you have a thing for male omegas, Kim Namjoon?”
“I didn’t until I met you.”
Taehyung looks at him, then cups Namjoon’s cheeks to bring him closer, kissing him on the lips: “From both, this time.”
Namjoon’s knot twitches inside him; Taehyung makes a face.
“You’re a perv.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I can’t control it.”
Taehyung laughs. They cuddle and kiss until Namjoon starts to shrink down, come flooding out of Taehyung’s pussy in waves: Namjoon tells him that the mattress cover is waterproof, so they don’t have to burn the entire bed after all the liquids they spilled.
Namjoon’s cock is shiny, coated in slick and come when he stands up again; Taehyung’s pussy and inner thighs feel wet now that Namjoon’s body is not warming him anymore, a pool of liquids formed directly under his ass.
The sensation isn’t pleasant, so Taehyung is glad when Namjoon searches in a drawer for a towel and then wipes him where he can.
Taehyung mumbles a thank you, cheeks burning, then he grabs the towel and wipes where Namjoon couldn’t reach.
“I’m going to get a shower, okay? Sleep in the meanwhile”, says Namjoon after he puts his sweatpants on, as Taehyung helps him to take the sheets off, kicking them off the bed.
He’s feeling so tired, already.
Namjoon grabs the mess of dirty sheets and gets out the bedroom, probably heading to the laundry room; he comes back after a moment, with a duvet on his hands.
He puts it on Taehyung’s naked body, warm and cozy: “I’ll wake you up before food arrives to take a quick shower, okay?”
Taehyung really needs a shower. He feels nasty.
“Yes, thank you hyung.”
Namjoon smiles softly: “Don’t mention it.”
When the food arrives, Taehyung already took a nap and showered. Namjoon gave him some of his clean clothes – a t-shirt and pajama pants –: they fall loosely on Taehyung’s body.
They eat on the couch, talking and laughing, a variety show playing in the background.
Everything feels so easy, so natural. Taehyung can’t even remember what he was worried about, now that he’s sitting next to Namjoon, laughing at something stupid he’s saying. He feels lighter than he ever did, worries long forgotten: a balloon filled with helium, for once, and not with common air, forced to lay on the ground.
Staying next to Namjoon makes him feel this way.
“I sent the recommendation letter to the art gallery while you were taking a shower”, Namjoon says, swallowing a bite of Taehyung’s rice.
Taehyung’s face lightens up: “You did?”
“Of course.”
The sensation of having things going in the right direction, for once, feels foreign on his skin: with that letter, he’ll have the job. He won’t have to worry anymore about rent and groceries and working for something he doesn’t care about, making his life miserable.
“Thank you so much, hyung. I—just. Thank you.”
And now he has somebody he likes in his life. And that somebody likes him back. How many people can say to be that lucky? He’s… happy. He is. He lets himself be.
He laughs misty-eyes, as Namjoon drops a piece of sundae on the couch, cursing between his teeth.
“Don’t laugh,” he pouts.
Taehyung feels his heart flooding with warmth: “You’re clumsy—”
Namjoon rolls his eyes to the ceiling.
“—Guess I’ll have to get used to that.”
Namjoon stares at him for a moment, eyes soft and full of words he doesn’t want to say, not yet. He lowers to kiss Taehyung’s lips, stained with kimchi rice.
“Thank you.”
Taehyung will. He will get used to it.