Work Text:
As far as bars go, STIR is a tolerable place to work.
It’s incredibly pretentious, horribly over-priced, and constantly trend-chasing, but that’s management’s problem, not Namgyu’s.
Namgyu’s only real problem with the place is the short-sleeved branded polo shirt that counts as their uniform – they’re fully cotton and they wrinkle like a bitch, and dress code bans shirts being layered under the polo shirt. Namgyu’s manager had threatened to write him up the first time he saw Namgyu wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but quickly shut up when Namgyu pushed up his sleeve. It’s a bar, and it’s dimly-lit, but it’s not that dim.
And it helps that Namgyu doesn’t need this job. Even after paying off his debts, and splurging quite a bit, he still has over a billion won in his bank account. While it would be a blow to his ego if he got fired – much as it had been when Club Pentagon fired him after his unexplained week-long absence – it wouldn’t ruin him. It makes it far easier to tolerate when his coworkers get on his nerves or customers piss him off, knowing he could quit at any moment.
On this particular Monday, Namgyu is considering it. After the nightly chaos that was working at Club Pentagon, there had been a certain novelty to quiet shifts. That has since passed, and now quiet shifts are boring.
He texts Thanos as much, as he usually does. Rather than the deluge of messages he gets in response – Thanos taking his boredom as permission to stream-of-conscious ramble to him about whatever crosses his mind – he’s met with silence.
Bastard.
At least there’s only an hour left on his shift.
His manager begrudgingly agrees to help cover the bar so Namgyu can head out for a smoke break. It’s been chilly on his previous breaks, but with the sun having set, the temperature has dropped to freezing. Namgyu is incapable of either lighting or holding a cigarette in gloves, and his bare hands shake as he repeatedly tries to spark a flame.
“Let me help you with that.”
A hand enters his vision to grab the lighter from his hands – the sight of a distinctive line tattoo and gaudy colored nails loosens something within Namgyu. To his side, Thanos stands there, haloed in the orange streetlight, wearing a bulky purple bomber jacket and a smug smile. He should say something appreciative, but as another shiver racks his body, he blurts out, “The fuck are you doing here?”
Thanos flicks the lighter, leaning in to light Namgyu’s cigarette. “You said you were bored.” Once the flame catches, he lowers the lighter but doesn’t move back. “Thought I could keep you entertained.”
He certainly is an entertaining figure. Namgyu is too busy taking his first drag to say so.
A breeze blows a strand of his hair free, and Thanos reaches up to tuck it back behind his ear.
Despite the near-freezing temperature, his hands aren’t cold. Lucky bastard.
“You going to hold my cigarette as well?”
Thanos responds by plucking the cigarette out of his hands.
Namgyu rolls his eyes. He’s never had someone hold his cigarette for him, but he’s secretly glad to shove his hand back in his pocket. Leaning fully against the rough brick of the bar, he takes another drag of his cigarette, then another. The cold air turns his cheeks pink, but warmth otherwise engulfs him as he smokes. Thanos stays oddly silent the entire time, gaze flicking between Namgyu’s eyes, his lips, the slowly-dwindling cigarette.
Thanos pulls a half-step away, turning to look towards the street. Satisfied smile on his face, he takes the last drag himself. Before Namgyu can call him a bastard for it, his free hand grabs Namgyu’s chin.
Namgyu opens his mouth as Thanos tilts his head down, breathing in as Thanos blows the cigarette smoke out. The brush of their lips is a better hit than the nicotine. Namgyu holds the smoke and Thanos’s gaze for heartbeat after racing heartbeat, and continues to hold his gaze as he blows the smoke off to the side.
Thanos’s eyes drop down to his mouth, and he sways in closer, before blinking and pulling back. He clears his throat and looks away. “So, this place any good?”
After a long moment, indulging in the thrum of victory beneath his skin, Namgyu pushes himself off the wall. “Depends what bartender you get.”
The answering bark of laughter is another victory, as is the smile on Thanos’s face as he knocks their shoulders together. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
—
What he’s got is not as good as the tits on the two university students sat at the bar. They’d recognized Thanos as soon as he sat down and started fawning over him almost as quickly.
And Thanos is basking under the attention.
Namgyu is not surprised, seeing as Thanos is an attention whore. It is a very obvious fact about the rapper, one that proceeds him. Namgyu was aware of this before Thanos stepped into Club Pentagon for the first time, then became very aware of it whenever Thanos spent his time at the club surrounded by an adoring mass of fans, sycophants, and skanks.
Thanos has drastically scaled back on his clubbing, given how his fuckass agency put him on probation, threatening that one failed drug test would immediately terminate his contract, but he still goes out. He’s still handsome and charismatic and charming and all that.
It’s just, Namgyu can count on one hand the number of times that he and Thanos have been in public together since they’ve started sleeping together. And during all those times, Thanos’s attention was on him. And Namgyu basked in it.
And now…
He’s not some clingy bitch that needs to check in and constantly ask what are we. He’s a grown ass man. They both are, even though Thanos doesn’t act like it, despite being ten years his senior. They’ve been exclusive, and sure, it’s been a few days since Namgyu has been back to his own apartment, and sometimes Namgyu will spend the night even if they don’t end up having sex, but they don’t really need to define what they have, because what they have is enjoyable, and it doesn’t need to be anything more than that.
It makes sense that Thanos still flirts.
It’s perfectly fine.
It doesn’t hurt.
Namgyu just doesn’t want to be forced to watch it.
Instead, he turns his attention to his watch, willing for the last half-hour of his shift to pass quicker.
And, once the clock hits 8pm, he wills for his replacement to hurry the fuck up. Yeonsu has spent the past week complaining about how she overspent on her vacation to Jeju Island, Namgyu doesn’t understand why she’s not scrounging for every minute on the clock possible.
She’s apologetic as she slides behind the bar, nearly ten minutes late, and Namgyu musters a polite smile in response. In the staff room, he doesn’t bother taking off his work polo, just grabs his wallet, buttons up his peacoat, and heads out the side door.
The temperature has dropped even lower, which worsens Namgyu’s mood even further.
“Damn, boy, you wanna head home that bad?”
Namgyu wants to ignore the voice, but he’s turning towards Thanos before he can stop himself. “Yeah,” he grunts, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and tapping one out. “It’s over an hour back to my apartment, so...” He chances a glance up to see Thanos frowning at him. It sparks a brief flare of guilt, followed by annoyance for feeling said guilt, and he solves the problem by turning back away.
“Well, I’m taking a taxi back to my place.”
As if on cue, a car pulls up to the curb.
“Good for you,” Namgyu mutters as he starts to pat down his pockets for his lighter.
“You gonna come with me?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure about that?”
It’s overly smug, and Namgyu lasts five seconds before he caves.
Thanos is leaning over the car door, brandishing Namgyu’s lighter. He beams. When he gets in the car, he doesn’t close the door after him.
Namgyu scowls.
—
Thanos spends the sixteen minute drive to his apartment grilling the taxi driver on his musical taste. Then he spends the five minutes it takes Namgyu to finally smoke his customary after-work cigarette trying – and failing – to draw Namgyu into conversation.
And, because he cannot be quiet for more than ten seconds, he hums to himself on the way up to his apartment.
They step inside, and Namgyu barely has his shoes off before Thanos is crowding him against the door. He bumps their noses together, kissing his lips, his cheek, the corner of his jaw. “Why you acting so cold, baby?” he croons into his ear. “Thanos the Great will warm you up, no need to put up a front.”
Thanos is unbearable, and Namgyu opens his mouth to tell him so, but Thanos is kissing him before he can get a word out.
And Namgyu has gone through more flings and one-night stands than he can remember, enough where he considers himself pretty damn experienced, and not easily impressed, but…
There’s something special about Thanos.
Namgyu doesn’t know how, but Thanos makes kissing a full-body experience. There’s his lips moving against Namgyu’s, his tongue moving against Namgyu’s, their breath heating the scant air between them. But then there’s also one hand on his cheek, thumb slowly caressing, while the other roams up and down his arm, up and down his side, constant seeking contact. And there’s the steady press of Thanos’s body against Namgyu’s – not a grind, just that same constant demand.
It leaves Namgyu breathless.
And Thanos smug about Namgyu’s breathlessness.
It’s a sting to his own ego how quickly he melts into it, how loudly he moans when Thanos moves down to kissing his neck, how biting his lip doesn’t muffle as much as it should.
Thanos pulls back to shove his own jacket off, but then he spends his time unbuttoning Namgyu’s peacoat, carefully sliding it off his shoulders, down his arms, even if the gesture is negated by Thanos letting it fall to the ground with a thwump.
Another kiss, and now Thanos’s hands are at Namgyu’s hips, palming up his sides, squeezing his waist.
It must be something with being a rapping, the way that Thanos is only breathing a little bit heavier while Namgyu keeps pulling back, panting for air. “Hyung,” he gasps, not because he has anything to say, but because it’s drawn out of him. “Hyung.”
“I’m right here, baby,” he says, voice roughened in a way that makes Namgyu repress a shiver.
He can’t help but shiver a moment later, though, as Thanos unbuttons, unzips, and shoves down his work slacks. The brief change in temperature clears some of his fog. He still has to clear his throat twice before he can manage to ask, “You couldn’t wait for the bedroom?”
Pressing in close, Thanos gropes his ass for a few moments, murmuring, “I like the view better without them.” He pulls back with a smirk. “Lead the way.”
Namgyu steps out of his pants, toes off his socks.
He pads his way through the living room, and he feels Thanos’s gaze on him like the heat of physical touch, feels it like the first buzz of ecstasy pumping through his bloodstream.
He knows he has Thanos’s attention, but he is greedy, and he wants more.
Not pausing his stride, he strips off both his shirts at once. His work polo will wrinkle, but he has a spare in the closet, and it is more than worth it for the breathy ‘fuck’ from behind him, the quickened footsteps.
Entering the hallway, Namgyu hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear.
Hands clamp down over his own, bringing them both to a halt. Then one travels up his stomach, his chest, his neck, before grabbing his chin and tilting his head back. The heat in Thanos’s gaze has turned searing. “You takes those off and I will fuck you in this hallway.”
Namgyu’s pulse picks up.
They haven’t done that yet.
Keeping his gaze locked with Thanos, he slowly pushes underwear down – down his thighs, down his calves, then hitting the floor with a soft noise.
Silent seconds stretch between them.
Thanos withdraws only enough to shove Namgyu against the wall.
Namgyu barely catches himself, palms smacking against the wall, and he chokes on a gasp as Thanos wraps his hand around him, giving him a rough stroke. He doesn’t know when he became fully hard, but Thanos is pressed fully against him, and at least he’s similarly affected.
“Forgot how much you like being manhandled,” Thanos says, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock. “Gonna get nice and wet for me?”
It would be nice if Namgyu could say something like shut the fuck up but Thanos is running his fingertips up and down Namgyu’s cock, the way he always does when he’s teasing, the way that always gets him worked up enough to give Thanos what he’s asking for.
The glide of his fingers gets smoother and smoother, and Thanos leans in even closer, lips brushing against his ear as he croons, “Good girl.”
Namgyu whimpers, twitches in his grip.
He’s met with a chuckle. “Yeah. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about that, baby.” Warm fingers and cool metal engulf him as Thanos starts to stroke him. It’s a languid pace, matched by the languid pace of his free hand tracing his hipbone, skimming up his ribs, circling a nipple, then tweaking it.
Biting back a curse, Namgyu thrusts into Thanos’s grip.
Thanos wraps his arm around Namgyu’s waist, pulling him so they’re flush together. “No, baby, you take what I give you, got it?”
Namgyu has no option but to nod.
Thanos smiles against his skin.
Handjobs usually take a while longer to get Namgyu off, or he has to be fantasizing about something else, but Thanos knows his body well enough by now that most usual things have stopped applying.
Because Thanos keeps his pace slow, but his hands are the most attractive hands Namgyu has ever seen in his life, and they feel better than any other hands have ever felt. And beyond that, there’s the soft press of Thanos’s sweatshirt against his back and around his waist, and the rough scrape of denim against his ass and thighs. It’s fully encompassing, and Namgyu whimpers again. “Hyung, please.”
Thanos squeezes his waist, presses further against him, but he picks up the pace, the slick sound of his hand on Namgyu off soon overpowered by Namgyu’s moans.
All it takes is one more quiet plea, and Thanos pressing a kiss to his neck, and Namgyu moans even louder as he comes. After a few breathless moments, he sags against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Thanos keeps stroking him through it, until Namgyu bats his hand away.
After catching his breath, it occurs to Namgyu that he came all over the wall. His face heats up. “You’re cleaning that up,” Namgyu tells him.
Thanos hums against his neck. “Maybe I should frame it. Say it’s an original from that one American paint drip guy.”
There are too many flaws to that logic to refute, so Namgyu doesn’t bother. Instead, he leans back, grinding against Thanos. “Bedroom?”
It’s gratifying to hear his sharp intake of breath. “Bedroom.” A pause. “Can you walk?”
Namgyu reaches back to swat at his side. He’s shaky as he finally pushes himself back from the wall, sending Thanos a warning look.
Thanos responds him a solemn look, even though his eyes are glittering in amusement.
Bastard.
Namgyu starts back to the room.
“You don’t wanna watch me strip?” Thanos asks as he follows.
When Namgyu flops on the bed, he looks behind him to see Thanos giving an exaggerated pout. This man is thirty-seven. Namgyu nearly rolls his eyes. Instead, he rolls onto his back and spreads his legs. “I want you to fuck me.”
After a long moment, Thanos hastily starts stripping himself.
Namgyu takes off his rings, sets them atop the lube-and-condoms nightstand, and grabs the supplies. Thanos’s expression drops at the sight of the condom, but doesn’t say anything. They’ve both casually mentioned that they happened to get tested recently, and have been exclusive in this arrangement, it’s just that cleaning up afterwards is rarely worth the hassle to Namgyu.
He squeezes some lube onto his fingers, braces himself for the cold, and starts fingering himself. Although he tenses at the initial cold, he makes himself relax and quickly works up to two fingers.
“What’s the rush?” Thanos asks, knee-walking until he’s between Namgyu’s legs.
Namgyu lifts his head to stare at Thanos, then pointedly look down. Thanos’s cock is the best Namgyu has seen outside of porn, and is without the doubt the one that has fucked him best. “Just fuck me already,” he says bluntly, then drops his head back down.
“You say the sweetest things, Namsu,” Thanos says. The sheets rustle as Thanos moves first to drop his own rings and other assorted jewelry off on the notepads-and-wireless-speaker nightstand. It’s followed by the snap of the lube cap opening, then… nothing.
Namgyu looks over.
“Warming it up for you, baby.”
It’s an oddly sweet gesture. Rather than comment on it, though, what comes out of Namgyu’s mouth is, “Don’t care.” Thanos huffs, but then obliges and slides in a finger along with Namgyu’s and making him sigh at the stretch. “God, your hands.”
Thano keeps pumping as his free hand kneads his thigh. When Namgyu removes his own fingers, he adds a second, causing his eyes to flutter shut. His hips shift subtly, trying to get a better angle for Thanos's fingers. He fully relaxes into the bed as Thanos shifts his hand to match, and there's a smooth slide. After it grows more and more comfortable, he says, “You can add a third.”
“I know.”
A faint sense of dread fills Namgyu, growing as he opens his eyes to see Thanos smirking down at him.
“You said you like my hands," Thanos continues. “I thought I would give you a chance to really enjoy them."
Namgyu closes his eyes again. They’ve done this enough, and Namgyu knows that if he tries to tell Thanos to hurry up, he’ll go even slower. Unless he begs, but Thanos hasn’t earned that yet. He focuses on breathing, hoping that'll help him overcome his impatience.
A third finger finally rubs along his entrance, before sliding in as well, stretching him deliciously. It's very quickly not enough, though, and Namgyu gets desperate for some type of relief. He reaches down and wraps his hand around his cock.
But Thanos pulls his hand off, lacing their fingers together instead. When Namgyu opens his eyes to glare at him, he gives a wink and kisses the back of his hand.
Face heating up, Namgyu glares him down. “Bastard.” Pleasure jolts through his body as Thanos finally brushes against his prostate, and a high-pitched moan escapes his throat.
“You were saying?"
He just moans again, hips rocking into the touch.
Thanos’s fingers go still, and slowly start to pull out.
“Hyung,” he whines.
“Much better,” Thanos says, pressing another kiss to Namgyu's hand. He resumes, but at a tortuous pace.
Namgyu is a squirming mess when Thanos withdraws his hand. When he hears a murmured, “hips up,” he obeys immediately, allowing for Thanos to slip a pillow under his hips. He watches as Thanos reaches for the condom, and he very nearly groans. It's easy to imagine him taking his time rolling the condom on, taking even longer to slick himself up. He doesn't have as quick a refractory period as Namgyu, but he has ungodly stamina, and thrives on any and all theatrics, and Namgyu has no idea how long Thanos will draw this out. Before he can stop himself, he says, “If you’re going to take five minutes to put the condom on, don’t bother.”
Thanos stares down at him for a long few moments, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”
With how eager he’s been to ditch the condom, the fact he’s double-checking is oddly sweet. Any potential mess is a later problem, and his mind is more focused on the now.
Namgyu spreads his legs further, hoping Thanos will take the hint.
He does. He still takes his time, moving in closer, pressing a kiss to the inside of Namgyu’s thigh, but it’s less teasing and something closer to reverence.
It’s a slow slide in and Namgyu can’t fault him for it, needing every second to adjust to the sensation. The heat of skin, every minor ridge and vein, the sensation bordering on too intense, too immense, too intimate. He whimpers, buries one hand in Thanos’s hair, the other scratching pink lines under his Thanos tattoo, using all his strength to draw him in closer.
Thanos bottoms out, shuddering over him. He stares down at Namgyu, face perfectly illuminated by golden lamplight but his expression impossible for Namgyu to read.
“You can move,” Namgyu says, voice sounding too loud in the scant space between them.
In response, Thanos leans down and kisses him, a brief, chaste thing, before he attaches himself to Namgyu’s neck. He licks over his pulsepoint once, twice, and then his lips are moving against the skin, kissing or rapping or babbling.
He starts a slow pace – not as slow as earlier in the night, but something to allow them both to acclimate, to find their rhythm.
It doesn’t take long for Thanos to hit his prostate, and to start hitting it on every thrust.
Namgyu’s moans louder and louder each time.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Thanos says. “Gonna make you feel so good.”
Arousal is sparking through his body. “Already feel good,” he says. With any other partner, he’d feel embarrassed about how quick he’s become desperate, but being with Thanos removes any sense of shame or embarrassment, stripping him down to nothing but pure pleasure. “So good.”
“Gonna make you feel even better, take all night to take you apart.”
He could. He has, and he probably will again.
But Namgyu is greedy, and desperate for immediate gratification, and he wants Thanos – to bring him pleasure, to be brought there himself – now.
The easiest way to get what he wants is begging through tears, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to work himself into tears for another few minutes. Thankfully, he’s learned another trick. He tosses his head back and forth, messing up his hair. He bites on his bottom lip, chewing it for a second, then he pitches his voice up as he says, “Oppa, please.”
The next thrust knocks the breath out of him.
He moans, loud and unapologetic as Thanos pounds into him.
“So fucking sexy, my boy,” he grunts. “Know just what to say, got me wrapped around your finger. I’ll give you anything you want, baby, just tell me.”
“This,” Namgyu says. Thanos’s body under his hands, Thanos’s body over his own, Thanos thrusting in and out of him, Thanos taking up his every sense, Thanos. “Just like this.”
“Of course, of course, whatever you want.”
“This,” he repeats, simple but naked and honest. He reaches down and starts stroking himself, pleasure consuming him as wholly as Thanos.
“Yeah, make yourself feel good for me, c’mon, Namgyu–”
His orgasm hits him fast and hard, Thanos’s name falling from his lips as he comes all over his fingers.
Thanos surges down to capture his mouth in a messy kiss, his hips falling out of rhythm, stuttering then grinding as he rides out his orgasm.
Namgyu watches, and he’s maybe a little delirious, but he doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful than Thanos’s expression, golden and euphoric.
Too soon, the moment passes. Thanos pulls out, and drops half-on half-against Namgyu. They lay together, slowly catching their breath together, then eventually just breathing together.
Namgyu shifts beneath him, starting to become too-aware of the cooling come on his stomach. He’s doing his best to ignore the not-entirely-pleasant sensation of Thanos’s come dripping out of him. He shifts again, but Thanos doesn’t take the hint – rather, he burrows further against Namgyu.
While Namgyu can admit that he can be clingy at times, this is an instance when Thanos is far clingier than him. While he’ll never ask for it, and he’ll argue with Namgyu about the terminology, he loves cuddling after sex.
It’s oddly endearing, and Namgyu doesn’t mind indulging him.
For a few minutes, at least.
Once the not-enjoyable sensations shift into being uncomfortable, Namgyu taps Thanos’s hip twice.
Thanos squeezes his thigh in response, then gets up, padding over to his en-suite bathroom. He returns with a warm, damp towel and starts slowly wiping the mess off Namgyu’s stomach and from between his legs.
Namgyu squirms underneath the tender touch.
“Ready for round three?” Thanos asks, waggling his eyebrows.
“Sensitive,” he corrects.
Thanos’s hands somehow go softer as he finishes cleaning Namgyu up. He makes his way to the dresser and starts sorting through their clothes. “Want me to heat up some leftovers or save them for our breakfast tomorrow?”
No do you want to stay for dinner or do you want to stay the night – he just skips right past that, takes it as a given.
Namgyu doesn’t point out how obnoxious this habit is. He doesn’t acknowledge that he doesn’t find it obnoxious when Thanos does it. Instead, he simply says, “I want fried chicken.”
“Your usual?”
“Mhm.”
Thanos drops clothes by Namgyu, then goes to grab his phone.
Namgyu looks at what Thanos has picked out for him. A baggy tee, flannel bottoms, and… a pair of blindingly purple boxer-briefs Thanos gifted him a few weeks back. He snorts at the decision but doesn’t request a change. His limbs are slow, and he’s not in a particular hurry as he dresses. He also doesn’t particularly care about how ridiculous he may look as he wiggles into his clothes, despite the quiet huff of a laugh across the room. When he’s finally dressed, he looks to the foot of the bed.
Thanos has put on a white tank and a pair of orange gym shorts for himself. “Dinner’s about twenty minutes out. Any preference on how to spend the time?”
Namgyu almost wants to tell Thanos that he should clean up the mess in the hallway, or ask him to pick up Namgyu’s clothes.
But he knows what Thanos wants.
He gestures for Thanos to rejoin him on the bed.
Thanos gladly flops beside him, shamelessly shoving Namgyu onto his side so he can sidle up behind him. He wraps an arm around Namgyu’s middle, pulling him in closer, and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “By the way, you should tell your manager, one of the bartenders was watering down the customer’s drinks. Not good customer service, my boy.”
Namgyu flushes, glad to be facing away from Thanos, hoping his ears don’t give him away. He clear his throat, and tries for nonchalance. “Didn’t think you were paying attention to the drinks.”
Thanos kisses the back of his neck. “Wasn’t. Was paying attention to you.”
Namgyu doesn’t have a response for that. He shoves his face further into his pillow and waits for their dinner.