Chapter Text
Namjoon has always been more interested in women. Well, that’s not exactly true, but sex and romance aren’t a priority in his life, and women are “easier” to have casual flings with. He doesn’t have to pick a specific location where no one will get mauled when he feels in the mood to seduce someone or feel some warmth through the night.
He isn’t straight, he knows that much, but he is too busy with life and work and creating to really look at men. He’s had his fair share of highly homosexual crushes in the past, and some experiences, especially when he was in university. But now that capitalism is kicking his ass, he stopped thinking about it. He hooks up here and there with women, but hasn’t considered anything else in years, be it a more serious relationship or a night with a man.
All that to say that, when Namjoon comes home one day to see his best friend and roommate and entirely platonic pal bent over their couch, making the sweetest noises as he gets, for lack of better words, absolutely railed into oblivion by a tall stranger, and when Namjoon’s lower half heats up and stirs in interest, he’s confused. Very confused and surprised. And very horny. Way too horny. Almost teenager-Namjoon levels of horny. He feels dizzy with it.
It's this dizziness he blames for his decision to stay there, standing still in their entrance, unmoving and staring. It’s creepy and gross and he hates himself for it, but the way Yoongi’s skin looks, fair and almost glowing under the city lights flooding their apartment, is hypnotizing. He can’t move. At some point, the stranger grabs Yoongi’s thigh (it looks ridiculously small in his bear’s hand and Namjoon feels heat bubble in his stomach) to haul his leg up on the back of the couch.
Yoongi lets out a moan so loud and so melodious Namjoon almost comes untouched.
He runs away.
He doesn’t know thanks to what miracle he goes unnoticed, but he gives a small prayer to gods he doesn’t believe in, thanking them for their mercy. He spends the next two hours sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for his stomach and his face to stop burning. When he walks back in the apartment, the foreign pair of shoes in the entrance is gone and there’s no trace of the filthy scene that took place in their living room. Namjoon tries to be as quiet as possible when he takes a quick, ice-cold shower. He prays one last time for his brain to forget the entire ordeal and hopes for sleep to wash everything away.
Of course, he doesn’t forget. It’s actually the first thing he thinks about when his eyes open the following day. But that’s fine, some distractions and time will make it pass. He’s certain of it.
That day, his first interactions with Yoongi are awkward. Thankfully, his roommate is half-asleep, and his eyes are almost fully closed. He doesn’t spot Namjoon staring at the soft skin of his legs, at the delicate expense of his neck. Yoongi pours them coffee. He doesn’t notice when Namjoon almost spills it all over himself.
He’s too tired to notice. Namjoon tries not to think about the reasons behind that fatigue and fails miserably. He spends the rest of the day hauled up in his room, trying to ignore the raging boner that refuses to go away.
He just needs time. It’ll get better.
Days pass slowly and Namjoon isn’t getting better.
Yoongi plagues every one of his thoughts. It’s nothing explicit, Namjoon’s brain doesn’t even have to go there for the thoughts to ruin his days. It’s Yoongi smiling and Yoongi laughing and Yoongi cooking and Yoongi fixing stuff. Things he’s always done, things Namjoon has always witnessed him doing. But now, Namjoon thinks about it, and realizes how real Yoongi is when he does them.
Yoongi isn’t just the concept of a best friend, of a platonic soulmate. Yoongi is a body. When he laughs, his lips part and his throat moves with it. With he smiles, his cheeks rise up and his eyes sparkle a little. When he cooks, he hums to himself, and shakes his ass a little bit, a habit Namjoon never noticed before. When he fixes something broken, he purses his lips in focus and his muscles bulge with the exertion.
It's small details that make Yoongi’s existence suddenly way too tangible and make Namjoon go a little bit crazy. Yoongi exists. He could touch him. He could hold him. Yoongi is real and he’s strong and tall and manly and Namjoon is slowly realizing that he is stronger, and taller, and he could do things to Yoongi… the things he saw that man do, the things he does to women sometimes.
And Yoongi would like it.
Maybe that’s what really fucks him up: he saw Yoongi have sex. He saw his preferences. He saw how he liked to be manhandled, to be dominated, in a way. Maybe not entirely, but physically at least. Yoongi likes to be bent over and to be ravished.
And Namjoon needs a distraction.
That’s all he needs. He needs to evacuate the tension building inside him and he needs to realize that Yoongi is just like anyone else. And that those thoughts can be taken out on someone else. Namjoon is simply too horny, that’s what it is.
Yeah.
When Friday comes around, he decides to go out. Maybe he’s that affected because he’s been celibate for a little too long. Sharing a night with someone can’t hurt. Now that he thinks about it, he might have been craving it a little bit. His bed has been cold and his nights not so restful.
Yeah, it’s the right thing to do. He’s going to find a cute girl, have a nice conversation with her, make her laugh, make her blush, make her want him, and fuck her. He’ll be sweet about it because he’s not an asshole and everything will be fixed.
“Hyung, I’m going out tonight! I probably won’t come home until tomorrow, you have the house to yourself!” Namjoon yells as he desperately tries to get his buzzcut to look a bit… less buzzy. How is he struggling to style a buzzcut?
“Damn, really?” Yoongi says, voice much closer than it should be. Namjoon jumps and hits his elbow against the mirror (somehow). He watches the reflection of Yoongi’s face split in a huge grin as he laughs at Namjoon’s clumsiness. Have his lips always been so pink? “It’s been forever. Glad you’re finally going for some action, Joonie!”
Now, Namjoon isn’t shy. He stopped being shy, especially around Yoongi, years ago. They had so many embarrassing moments together, he lost count. Yet, his eyes meet Yoongi’s teasing ones and his entire face go up in flames.
“Yah! Shut up, I’m not— I—”
It does nothing but make Yoongi laugh harder. His eyes look like they hold galaxies in them. Namjoon can’t help but wonder if they look as shiny when he basks in pleasure. He wants to find out. He really needs to go out tonight.
“It’s all good, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi reassures, still laughing softly, oblivious to Namjoon’s disgusting thoughts. How much would he hate Namjoon if he found out? “Have fun! If you do come back in the middle of the night and wake me up, I’ll kick your ass.”
“What, you think I can’t get laid?”
Yoongi snorts. “Sure, totally what I said. And your hair is fine, stop messing it up. I wanna shower too.”
Yoongi giggles one last time before disappearing. Namjoon rolls his eyes.
His heart is totally not hammering against his chest.
Namjoon refuses to prove Yoongi right, because he isn’t. He can get laid. He could’ve totally accepted that girl offer to follow her to the bathroom, or that woman (mother maybe) to follow her to her car. He had plenty opportunities. He just… didn’t feel the spark.
His cheeks feel warm. Gosh, what is he, sixteen? The spark? He didn’t go out to find love. There doesn’t need to be strong feelings to hook up with someone. Some affection maybe, attraction and complicity, but nothing more. There doesn’t need to be love.
Except that maybe, there is, and Namjoon is an idiot. But it doesn’t matter, because the only important thing is that Yoongi must never find out he came back at two in the morning. He needs to be extra quiet, and his infamous clumsiness needs to cooperate.
He forgoes the elevator for the stairs, who are kind enough not to creak under his tired steps. He bumps in no wall in their hallway, doesn’t need to turn the light on, doesn’t type in the wrong code. He’s perfectly discreet. The door doesn’t squeak when he opens and then closes it. He doesn’t stumble over his shoes when he takes them off. He’s perfect. He even manages to take off his coat and hang it so that it looks like he came home in the morning like a normal person.
He’s doing so great, there’s no way he’s waking up Yoongi. He just needs to be as quiet until he’s in bed and it’ll be perfect. Their rooms are right next to each other, so he has to be careful, but he’s determined to make it.
“Fuck— ah…”
Namjoon freezes. Did he wake Yoongi up?
He feels stupid for even entertaining the thought. Of course not. He knows that voice, a bit too well now. Yoongi wasn’t asleep to begin with. Fuck. Something cold slips through his bones, freezing him in place. He can’t panic right now, but this is the exact opposite of what tonight was supposed to be about. He feels fucked by the universe.
It’s okay, he tells himself, breathing in to calm his thundering heart. It’s nothing. He can just rush to his room, grab a pair of earplugs and sleep until morning. That’s easy. That’s what a normal roommate would do.
Namjoon is set on his goal and confident he can make it. He simply didn’t expect for Yoongi’s door to be ajar. Who doesn’t close their door when they’re having sex?
Someone who thinks they have the house to themself and doesn’t have to care, stupid ass.
Namjoon’s inner voice isn’t very kind.
He hates his body for the way it reacts to the thought of Yoongi fully letting go, knowing he won’t get caught. He shouldn’t be entertaining these thoughts. He should move forward. Why is he not moving?
His stomach feels heavy and tight, like when he was a kid about to mess around and go against a rule. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he can’t help it.
He steps toward the door. Yoongi’s door. And he looks.
Yoongi is laying on his bed. His shutters aren’t closed, his blinds aren’t even pulled. Does he have some exhibitionist tendencies? Anyone could watch him from their own apartment. His body is spread in a pool of moonlight, and it looks absolutely beautiful. He looks beautiful. Namjoon is a bit terrified by the realization. Yoongi is beautiful and Namjoon desperately craves to see more.
But Yoongi isn’t alone. There’s a stranger on his bed, caging him in, hovering over his much smaller frame. He doesn’t seem to be the same guy Namjoon saw last time, but he’s just as big. Min Yoongi has a type. Namjoon doesn’t know how to react to that information. He tries not to think about it. Tries not to think about the fact that they’re tall with short hair and tan skin and—
Yoongi moans. His voice cracks. His throws his head back and the man above him bends down to press his lips against his neck. Fuck, his neck. His entire throat is exposed to the moonlight and the man’s teeth. It would look beautiful with a few marks. Namjoon needs to stop. He can’t.
Yoongi’s voice gets higher, less stable, breathier. He’s hands flail to grab onto his pillow as his entire body arch.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful. Gonna make you come everywhere.”
Yoongi doesn’t reply, just nods. Namjoon needs to go. He takes a step forward. It’s dangerous and bad but he’s never been so hard in his life and adrenaline makes his thoughts a bit foggy.
That’s why he isn’t sure if he hallucinates it or not when Yoongi’s crossed, glossed over eyes meet his, and that the older man comes all over himself in a high-pitched moan. Yoongi’s eyes fall close. The other dude leans down to kiss him.
Namjoon runs away.
He tries to sleep, that night, he really does. He gets rid of his dirty clothes, slips into his bed, and waits for his stupid dick to go down. It does at some point, but he stays wide awake. He hears everything. He notices that the guy Yoongi brought home is kind and funny, kinda. He makes Yoongi laugh at least, but maybe post-orgasm Yoongi is easier to make laugh. (Which is a totally normal thought to have about your best friend.) The guy also does several back and forth between the bathroom and Yoongi’s room. Cleaning him up maybe. That’s good. Yoongi deserves someone who is kind and takes care of his needs. (Super normal thoughts.)
Eventually, the guy leaves. There’s still some noise, probably Yoongi fully getting ready to bed. A midnight snack, some water. But around four, silence finally settles over their appartement. And Namjoon is wide awake. He’s staring at his ceiling like it holds the answer to the questions he doesn’t have yet.
He can’t think of anything past the way Yoongi looked, Yoongi sounded. Could Namjoon make him look like that? sound like that?
He wants to find out. It’d be so unhealthy, so bad for their friendship, but fuck, he wants it desperately. He never considered Yoongi like that before but now? The thought is engraved in his mind forever, there’s no way to forget it.
His dick hardens up again. He hates it, but maybe taking care of it will help, so he does. It’s the best orgasm he had in months. Maybe guilt does that. Is it weird? Is he a weird guy with weird kinks? Maybe, it’s not his biggest problem at the moment.
Min Yoongi.
It’s either the best thing that could happen to them, or Namjoon will have to find a new place to live. And a new best friend. (The words rip his heart apart a little bit.)
But he has to find out. He’s gonna hate himself.
Yoongi looked so pretty.
Namjoon has been acting weird. There’s no other way to put it. He’s been acting weird and Yoongi would be worried if he wasn’t so confused. Namjoon has been all over him, and that’s weird because they aren’t like that.
Jimin and Yoongi are like that, because Jimin is like a sloth that refuses to let go of its tree, and Yoongi makes do with it.
Jeongguk and Yoongi are like that, because Jeongguk is Yoongi’s baby and he wouldn’t ever dream of telling him no.
But Namjoon and Yoongi aren’t like that. They barely say hi to each other. It doesn’t mean they’re not close, but physical intimacy has never been part of the deal.
Yet, for the past few days, Namjoon has been all over him. Well, not that much, but it’s enough to be noticeable. (1 > 0, yadda yadda yadda.)
For instance, last Sunday, Yoongi was cooking lunch and preparing the jokes he was gonna throw at Namjoon’s face after his night out, when Namjoon came out of his room and went straight for the kitchen. For Yoongi, actually. He ignored the coffee, the leftovers from Yoongi’s messy breakfast, and latched on Yoongi like a lost kid to their mother. Which is a super weird comparison, so let’s scratch that.
Yoongi almost burnt his fingers when Namjoon’s entire body pressed against his back, chin coming to rest on his shoulder. No one said anything, Yoongi because his entire thought process froze and Namjoon because, well, he was either still half-asleep, or drunk.
They stayed like this until Yoongi had to move to grab the marinated meat and Namjoon moved with him. If anything, his hold tightened, like he didn’t want to let go. Yoongi’s breath stuttered and, had his mouth not been closed, his heart would’ve probably fallen out. Namjoon was warm and soft against Yoongi and it fucked him up a little bit. At some point, Namjoon let out a guttural groan, like he was a caveman or something, which was a pretty accurate description of hungover Namjoon, and it sent shocks fly through Yoongi’s body.
At some point, Namjoon also started to play with the hem of Yoongi’s shirt. Probably a sleepy habit, probably nothing to consider as even remotely important. Yoongi’s heart skipped a bit a little and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally (Yoongi prayed it was accidental) slipped under his shirt, brushing over the sensitive skin of his stomach, he shrugged him off.
He tried to be gentle about it, as to not hurt Namjoon’s feelings, as if that thought made sense. But Namjoon didn’t seem to care. He collapsed on one of their kitchen chairs and rested his forehead against their counter, eyes closed. Yoongi tried to ignore the way his body buzzed and hoped his voice didn’t betray him when he tried to speak.
“You okay? Didn’t sleep well?”
“Hm…”
“Ah… Hyung will add some eggs to your plates.”
He had dozens of punchlines ready for this situation, but none of them came out as he continued to cook. His back felt warm from Namjoon’s touch for the rest of the day, and he wasn’t sure he would ever get rid of the goosebumps covering his arms.
He blamed this moment on Namjoon’s knocked out state, but the problem was: it wasn’t an isolated event.
A few days later, Yoongi had a day off. And if there is one thing Min Yoongi will do on a day off, it’s lay around and do nothing, except maybe some skincare if he feels like it.
That day, he felt like it. Some show was playing on the tv, and he just had just finished lathering his legs, calves and thighs, with vanilla-scented body lotion. He was waiting for his skin to dry so that he could get in bed and enjoy the softness of his skin against his freshly cleaned bedsheets. Let’s just say: he wasn’t dressed to impress.
Namjoon was at work and in any case, it never mattered if any of them were to walk around half-naked in the apartment. It shouldn’t be a problem if Yoongi was only wearing a t-shirt. (It was probably Namjoon’s shirt too, maybe that was part of the problem.)
Things were fine. Namjoon came home early, which took Yoongi by surprise but again, it shouldn’t have been a problem. Yoongi said hi. Namjoon said hi. Namjoon came to sit next to Yoongi. Yoongi moved his legs to make room for him. And the problem started again. Yoongi would have to be blind not to notice the way Namjoon froze for a spare second, eyes all but glued to Yoongi’s bare legs. Bare thighs. And if Yoongi was one thing, it was unable to not notice anything Namjoon did.
But even if he hadn’t noticed the stare, the action following would’ve been impossible to ignore. Namjoon sat down next to Yoongi, a bit closer than he normally would, and grabbed his legs to throw them over his lap. For a second, Yoongi stopped breathing, heart hammering against his chest. This was weird.
Namjoon barely reacted. He locked his eyes on the tv while his right hand settled over Yoongi’s thigh. His thumb was tracing idle patterns on Yoongi’s skin like it was normal, like it didn’t make every one of Yoongi’s hairs stand up, like it didn’t make his breathing stutter and his skin buzz. It felt so nice, so good, but it wasn’t normal.
“Wh—”
“You were comfortable, don’t move just for me, it’s your day off after all.”
Yoongi worked part time because it was enough to make a living and he refused to give any more energy to capitalism than necessary. He had plenty of days off. Namjoon wasn’t making any sense but the hand that was still resting on Yoongi’s thigh made it impossible for Yoongi to find an argument against his reasoning.
Namjoon has been acting weird, but Yoongi’s head is too foggy for him to decipher why. What was it about Namjoon’s presence that made his brain so… slow?
Days later, the spot where Namjoon laid his hand still feels tingly.
Days later, Yoongi still thinks about how, for a split second, he imagined Namjoon’s hand moving higher, between his thighs. How, for a split second, he let himself dream of how good it’d feel to have Namjoon touch him for real.
Guilty isn’t strong enough of a word to describe how he feels.
He tries to think about it, to find an answer and a possible situation, because if this goes on, his sanity isn’t going to last. Did something happen to Joon? Did his night out go so badly he needed physical comfort? If so, he could just ask. Yoongi wasn’t going to tell him no. (He probably was unable to deny him anything that mattered, but that was a talk for another day.)
Things did start to get weird after last Saturday. Maybe Yoongi can ask him if something happened at whatever club he went to. Maybe he can give him some advice, recommend another place, although the idea of Namjoon struggling to get laid to the point that he would come to Yoongi for physical intimacy is absurd. Namjoon is tall and hot and smart and stupid. He’s the perfect guy, who wouldn’t want to hook up with him?
Yoongi’s face flushes red when he remembers how his last hook up finished. How he was so lost into it he imagined Namjoon looking at them and had the best orgasm of his life. But this isn’t about him and his repressed wants.
He’ll confront Namjoon tonight. He’s the hyung, he has to help.
“Namjoon-ah, I—”
Whatever Yoongi planned to say dies in his throat as he spots Namjoon’s tall frame spread on the couch, snoring. He’s not discreet, not in the least. Yoongi wonders how he didn’t hear it from his room. Maybe his own thoughts were too loud. He’s been thinking hard for the past hour, trying to come up with the best way to broach the conversation. (Overthinking, one could call it.)
Something warm and cozy and totally uncomfortable tugs at his stomach, or maybe his heart. Yoongi pads toward the couch. He wonders how Namjoon can be so smart and intelligent and bright and manages to look every bit like a frat boy failing calculus. While being almost thirty, very much Korean and having aced math in university.
He’s sprawled on the couch, wearing shorts and a sleeveless top that makes Yoongi feel extremely bothered. It’s white and contrasts perfectly with his tan skin and Yoongi wants to scream a little bit.
He has a crush on Kim Namjoon. He’s been having a crush for Kim Namjoon. It’s been there for years now; he’s used to it. The warmth constantly making a part of his heart swell when Namjoon is around is familiar. It doesn’t mean he’s immune to… well, this. To Namjoon being more touchy than usual, to Namjoon being kind, to Namjoon being hot and pretty and funny—
It’s getting worse and Yoongi doesn’t know how to stop it.
“Hyung…”
Yoongi jumps. He doesn’t know if it’s because of Namjoon’s voice or his hand finding Yoongi’s forearm, but he jumps dramatically and gosh, it’s humiliating.
Namjoon is waking up. His face is scrunching up and his eyes look bleary and he’s so cute Yoongi could explode. He needs to fix the situation. He can live with his crush as long as there’s no weird hope.
The way Namjoon tugs him down on the couch and smiles, pleased, is strongly going against the last statement.
Namjoon has been working out. He’s strong. (Tall and strong and kind, no wonder Yoongi has a stupid crush.) But he’s not strong enough to restrain Yoongi while still half-asleep and unaware he’s doing so. Why Yoongi doesn’t manage to stand up is a secret between him and his heart doing flips after flips in his chest.
Namjoon took a shower and put on clean clothes. He smells like fresh laundry and a hint of peach. Drowsiness settles over Yoongi like a warm blanket and really, there’s no way for him to win this fight. His position isn’t even comfortable. He’s half-sitting on the edge of the couch, half-sprawled over Namjoon’s chest. It’s gonna fuck up his back.
But his face is on Namjoon’s chest, close to his throat, and he feels so comfy. He can’t get himself to move.
He doesn’t fall asleep, not quite. He hovers between sleep and consciousness, barely aware of his surroundings, but aware enough to pick up on small things, like noise. Or movements. Movements like Namjoon stirring under him before freezing for a few seconds, probably realizing their predicament. Movements like Namjoon’s stupidly long arms and stupidly delicate hands reaching around Yoongi’s body to readjust his legs. Movements like Namjoon’s breathing, that Yoongi can feel perfectly now their entire bodies are pressed together.
It's short and slightly erratic, like Namjoon is nervous. Yoongi’s own breathing would probably speed up too if he were awake enough to care. Right now, all he can focus on is Namjoon’s hand against his back, and Namjoon’s warmth everywhere.
His lips are probably only centimeters from Yoongi’s face. If Yoongi was to scoot up, tilt his face up…
He’s so royally fucked.
They don’t speak about it. They should but apparently, Namjoon is a happy idiot entirely oblivious to whatever is happening (or it just doesn’t matter to him but that thought is somehow a little bit too painful for Yoongi to consider), and Yoongi is a stubborn coward.
So, they don’t speak about it. Even though they made eye contact when Yoongi woke up from his way too restful nap, even though they had to entangle their limbs that somehow managed to mend together in the few minutes they shared an embrace, even though Yoongi had to ask Namjoon to stop holding him otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stand up.
They don’t speak about it.
And things start to deteriorate in a way Yoongi can’t describe.
Namjoon becomes… how could he say it? A flirt? He teases Yoongi, touches him all the time, makes little innuendos, just subtle enough that if it happened only once, Yoongi would think it’s a coincidence, but often enough that they both know it’s intentional.
Yoongi can’t tell if Namjoon is trying to make something happen or is just having fun. Maybe his night out had been too embarrassing, and he wants to flirt somewhere safe. Yoongi is safe. But right now, he isn’t sure he wants to be. Because whether it’s just childish flirting or a direct road to hooking up, Yoongi knows he’s not gonna make it out unscathed. His heart already speeds up every time Namjoon enters a room. He’s already in the “holding out my breath because my crush is in the same room as me” phase.
If it gets any stronger, if Namjoon gives Yoongi’s stupid brain anymore hope that “there could be more”, the crush isn’t going to last. It’s going to become way, way worse. And Yoongi doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to fuck up their friendship because of a stupid broken heart. A crush is fine. A crush has been fine.
No reciprocity was perfect. But now… Yoongi’s heart is tender and yearns for love. He isn’t the most expressive when it comes to sharing his feelings. He doesn’t cling to people, rambling about how much he cares for them. He doesn’t make a huge deal what he feels in general. He simply appreciates people presence, enjoys doing things for them, and sees how things go.
But it doesn’t mean he won’t cave under the first hint of affection. He is weak and thirsty for love. He’s okay living without it, friends and family are more than enough to have a satisfying emotional life.
It doesn’t mean he isn’t greedy. It doesn’t mean he won’t latch onto the first string of love thrown his way and cling to it until he must be ripped off.
If Yoongi doesn’t stop this, whatever is happening, he knows his heart won’t make it. And he knows he can’t sustain their friendship with a broken heart. He knows he’ll become cold and distant and scared and whatever they have now, won’t make it. Because as much as Namjoon cares for Yoongi (as a friend, always as a friend), he won’t endure whatever Yoongi’s sadness will put him through.
Not because Yoongi will lash out and throw his anger and pain at him, because of something worse: guilt. He’ll know he’s the reason of Yoongi’s odd behavior, of Yoongi’s obvious pain. He’ll know Yoongi was in love with him and Namjoon broke his stupid pisces heart in pieces. Namjoon is nothing but kind and loving. Guilt will eat him alive.
Yoongi knows Namjoon and Namjoon knows Yoongi.
And this is slowly becoming the biggest problem Yoongi ever had to face. How does he stop his best friend from making him fall in love without making things weirder than they already are?
He knows communication is the answer. He’s usually good at communication but he isn’t good at being this vulnerable. He knows he can trust Namjoon: he won’t hurt him on purpose, won’t laugh at him. He’ll be kind and understanding and will smile with his stupid dimples and make the situation worse and—
Yoongi takes a deep breath and rushes out of the café where he’s been hiding for the past two hours, spiraling like it’s a sport. Overthinking won’t lead him anywhere. He’s gonna go confront Namjoon, ask him what the fuck is wrong with him, and go from there.
And maybe call a “friend” to ask if he can come over tonight, to get out of this way too stuffy apartment and get some… distraction.
Either way, he will make things move on.
Jimin would be laughing at his face, falling off chairs one after the other, if he knew what was happening, and really, Yoongi would have no right to blame him, because whatever this is, it’s ridiculous.
Maybe Namjoon knows Yoongi wants to communicate like an adult and is trying to get in the way of that, because he’s very effective at highjacking every attempt Yoongi’s made so far.
How did he even get in this position? It’s ridiculous.
“Hyung, you’re gonna hurt your back…”
“As if you can talk about getting hurt right now,” Yoongi snaps back immediately but there’s no bite to his voice. Namjoon looks down at his lap, failing to hide his sheepish smile. Yoongi immediately tugs on his hair to force his head back. “Stay still.”
Namjoon gives a very small, very polite nod, and Yoongi’s heart swells with fondness as the last remnants of worry wash away from his heart.
He isn’t being dramatic: seeing his roommate/best friend/situationship with blood all over the right side of his face, about to slice their hand open with a pair of scissors, was terrifying. He should be used to it by now: Namjoon was known for his clumsiness. Yoongi’s heart never got used to it though.
Turns out that it was nothing serious: Namjoon tried to open a cabinet and hit himself on the face, causing his brow line to dramatically bleed everywhere. That area bled a lot very easily, which led to very benign injuries looking like death at your doorstep. It was nothing serious but the probability of Namjoon making it worse by trying to fix it was very real, so Yoongi sat him down on their couch and took matters into his own hands.
“Stop moving, you’re gonna get blood on the couch, and I’m not cleaning it again,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath, trying to focus on not hurting Namjoon too much while cleaning his wound.
“But your back… You sit like a shrimp at your desk every day, bending over like this is gonna make your backpains worse.”
Yoongi tries not to ponder over the use of “bending over” and shakes his head in dismissal. It’s true that standing up and hovering awkwardly over Namjoon kinda makes his lower back sting, but he needs the angle, and Namjoon is too freaking tall for Yoongi to be able to just sit down next to him.
“How did you even manage to hurt yourself like that? Did you try to rip off our cupboard or…”
Namjoon throws his head back, resting it against the back of the couch and moaning in despair. Yoongi yelps, bracing a hand next to Namjoon’s head to keep the pressure on his wound. He almost loses his balance, barely catching himself by putting his knee on the edge of the couch, right between Namjoon’s legs.
He also almost faints seeing Namjoon’s tan and thick throat on display like this. Part of his brain tells him to lean down and bite, just to see how it’d feel like. It feels like his teenage years all over again. Is there something about men turning thirty and their hormones going haywire again? He should read into it.
“Kim Namjoon, stop moving, I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens, but Namjoon just hums. He sounds… far away. Anxiety tugs at Yoongi’s stomach and he immediately rises up to look at Namjoon’s face. “Yah, are you okay? You can’t fall asleep if you have a concussion,” he urges, peering into Namjoon’s eyes to check for any sign of possible fainting.
“You’re pretty,” Namjoon says eventually, and Yoongi hates the way his body reacts immediately, making his skin buzz and his cheeks burn red.
“And I think you’re dying,” Yoongi snaps back, trying to pull back because Kim Namjoon is definitely a lost cause.
“Maybe, will you nurse me on my death bed, oh dearest?” Namjoon giggles, looking a little bit too comfy against the couch. Yoongi should’ve had him sit on a very uncomfortable stool under the neon light of the bathroom.
“Nah, I’ll let you die and steal your money,” Yoongi sighs, grabbing the bottle of sanitizer and pouring some on a clean cotton dab.
“What money?” Namjoon snorts. Yoongi winces when he feels a twinge in his lower back. He really needs to exercise regularly, his body shouldn’t be in such bad shape. He’s still young.
“The one I know you’re hiding from me because you like to be doted on,” Yoongi shoots back, feeling all but pleased when Namjoon looks away, pink dusting his cheekbones.
“Stop acting like you don’t love being an adoring hyung.”
“As if you give me a choice…”
Namjoon lets out a loud laugh and Yoongi knows immediately he’s about to lose their little bickering match. “You’re fucking up your back trying to fix my face and I don’t recall forcing you to do that. You just looove taking care of your Namjoonie.”
Yoongi tries to act indifferent even though his face is probably beetroot red.
“You think I’m just going to let you walk around with blood everywhere while actively making it worse? I don’t have a choice and neither do you. We have white furniture. Cleaning blood is the worst.”
Yoongi is quite proud of himself for this comeback, but the feeling doesn’t last. Everything dissolves the second Namjoon’s soft hands (how are his hands always so soft?) curl around the back of his thighs and pull him forward.
“I guess, neither do you,” Namjoon smiles brightly, looking a bit too content having Yoongi sitting on him.
Legs spread over his lap. The stretch makes Yoongi feel a bit dizzy. By the time he feels coherent again, Namjoon’s hands have found a perfectly comfortable position on the back of Yoongi’s thigh, holding him steady.
Yoongi is going to die and there’s a part of his brain still managing to wish he wasn’t wearing pants.
“There,” Namjoon sighs, sounding more relaxed somehow, relieved almost. He pulls Yoongi forward, forcing him to scoot over until he’s basically pressed to Namjoon’s chest. “Better angle and no more back pain. What? You think I’m just going to let you walk around with backpain while actively making it worse?”
Namjoon looks positively smug as he uses Yoongi’s words against him and yeah, Yoongi lost that fight.
It usually doesn’t matter. They bicker all the time. It’s fun and lighthearted. But none of their bickering sessions ever ends up with Yoongi in a situation so… promiscuous?
Gosh, he’s turning into a Victorian lady. Maybe he should just binge watch Bridgerton to get over whatever is happening.
“D-don’t fall asleep, seriously,” Yoongi stammers when he sees Namjoon closing his eyes. As relieving as it is to be freed from his scrutinizing stare, Namjoon could have a concussion and no amount of embarrassment will stop Yoongi from worrying.
“But you’re so warm…”
Yoongi feels his heart soften and squeeze, overcome with fondness, affection and desire. He doesn’t know what to do.
It’s obvious that none of these situations are coincidences now. Namjoon is actively trying something with Yoongi. He’s interested. It doesn’t make any sense but it’s obvious, nonetheless. Yoongi needs to say something, stop it before it derails, goes too far. Before it hurts him too much and harms their friendship.
But Namjoon’s hands start moving up and down, making goosebumps erupt all over Yoongi’s skin, and it’s too late.
He can’t fight whatever is happening. Maybe he can avoid it though. The couch has to be avoided at all costs and Yoongi has to be strong. Hopefully it’ll pass soon.
Namjoon didn’t have a concussion. Yoongi cleaned his wound, that was more superficial than anything else, and patched him up easily. He let Namjoon pick up a show, threatened him one more time not to fall asleep, and cooked enough food to feed a family of twelve.
His pants were baggy, were too large over his legs, and yet, he still felt the imprint of Namjoon’s hands over his skin. So soft, so gentle as they stroked over his thighs…
Yoongi possibly burnt himself on the stove that night.
It doesn’t take long for another problem to arise. Namjoon keeps initiating physical intimacy. Yoongi stays far from their couch but somehow, it still happens. A hand lingering on his waist while he put on his shoes, a body pressed to his back, curious about breakfast, fingers brushing over his shoulder and the nape of his neck when he was working…
It was nothing extravagant, nothing really groundbreaking, but enough to mess up with Yoongi’s head. Enough to have him make little mistakes at work.
Enough for him to get writer’s block.
Yoongi had a lot of days off and could work part-time while still living in Seoul because he made music on the side. Production, lyrics, arrangements: he provided songs for studios who needed them. He got a little bit of royalties, and his commissions pricing did the rest. He lived comfortably thanks to that.
But those days, every time he sat at his desk, staring at his computer: nothing. He couldn’t think of anything, but the way Namjoon’s hands felt on him, and all the possibilities if he were to let things escalate. If he started to play too and initiate things. He couldn’t think of anything else. And it was a big problem.
Usually, when he had a music related problem, he went to Namjoon. That was his full-time job: he taught music theory and history in university and performed in niche bars. He leaned more toward the poetry side of the music world, but his advice always helped Yoongi.
But today, as Yoongi stares miserable as his monitor, hearing Namjoon do his work out in the living room, he can’t move. He can’t think of anything but how things will end up if he goes to Namjoon. How much resistance does he have left in him? How long until he lets himself get swallowed whole by Namjoon’s blazing warmth and his own desire?
His hands are shaky when he picks up his phone and dials the devil’s number.
“Hyung? What is it? Need help picking an outfit?”
“Jimin-ah, can I come over tonight? And maybe spend the night?”
“Uh? Why? Is there a problem with Namjoon-hyung?”
Yoongi screws his eyes shut as shame washes over him. How does Jimin always know? He should’ve called Jungkook. He’s always happy when Yoongi comes over because it means free food. He doesn’t ask question, doesn’t push, though he’s always ready to listen when Yoongi wants to talk. But Jimin is sharp and always on point.
“No, I just… want to see you.”
“You’re such a good liar usually. It must be bad, hyung… Sure, I’ll go buy some whiskey.”
“I hate you.”
“Hm hmm,” Jimin sing-songs before hanging up.
Yoongi is gonna regret this, but he needs some time away from the tension in this apartment.
But obviously, things don’t go as planned. They never do.
“Hyung? You’re going out?” Namjoon asks, looking devastatingly dashing, straight out of the shower. He’s wearing a large white shirt that Yoongi stole more than once and shorts. Yoongi wanted to slip out of the apartment while he was in the bathroom, but he spent too much time pondering if he should leave a note or not, and now it’s too late.
“I’m gonna see Jimin, gonna get drunk to forget about capitalism and all that,” he tries to appear nonchalant as he answers, focusing on his shoes and hoping he’s not putting them on backwards. All he can really think about is how Namjoon is approaching. He feels like a caged animal, and he hates that he doesn’t dislike it.
“Nooo, I wanted to watch a movie and order food we’ll regret later,” Namjoon whines. He’s been doing that lately: whining. Like he knows it makes Yoongi fold easily. He probably does. Yoongi needs to leave. He needs to—
His hands let go of his shoes just in time for him to brace himself against the door when all six feet of Namjoon fall on him.
“You’re abandoning me…” Namjoon pouts, and Yoongi feels the shape of it against his neck. Namjoon has his arms thrown over Yoongi’s shoulders, his entire body pressed to his, and Yoongi can’t breathe.
“It’s just one night, you’re being dramatic,” Yoongi gasps. He tries to pull off the door but Namjoon seems to make himself heavier. Yoongi’s heart starts to speed up and he really needs to get out of whatever this is before doing something ridiculous like kiss Namjoon and beg him to fuck him against the front door.
No one seems to know his weaknesses better than Kim Namjoon though, because he keeps moving, keeps making it impossible for Yoongi to resist. His face is buried in the crux of Yoongi’s neck, his arms are slowly moving down, letting go of Yoongi’s shoulders and upper body to wrap around his waist.
The worst part is: they both know that if Yoongi wanted to, he could get out of this. They both know what game they’re playing, and they both know Yoongi is losing.
It’s gonna end terribly.
Yoongi leans his forehead against the front door. It’s cool, but not enough to bring the heat making his blood boil down.
He gives up.
His entire body relaxes as he lets out a breathy sigh, arching to welcome Namjoon’s touch. His head rolls back at the perfect angle for Namjoon to have free access to his throat. One of his hands lets go of the door, knowing he doesn’t really need the support with the iron grip Namjoon has on him, and come to cover Namjoon’s over his stomach.
He adds pressure to Namjoon’s touch and when his best friend (fuck, his best friend) finally understands and pushes down against Yoongi’s stomach, Yoongi lets out a low moan that make his entire body tremble. It doesn’t take long for his ass to align with Namjoon hips, for their bodies to be so close they don’t know where one ends and where the other starts.
It feels delicious. They’re not doing much: they’re both dressed, no kissing, no stroking, just some pressure in an embrace. And it’s almost enough to make Yoongi see stars.
He wants to turn around, want to pull Namjoon in. He wants to kiss him and wants to make him fall apart and he wants to watch what his face looks like when he feels good, when he gets lost in pleasure. But his legs are shaking and if he moves, he’ll probably collapse.
“Hyung,” Namjoon whispers against his throat, arms tightening, trying to get rid of any space, any air particle that could be getting in between them.
“I’m here,” Yoongi answers and he’s shocked at how raspy his voice is. He feels Namjoon shudders, he’s probably not the only one surprised. “Hyung’s here…”
“Want you so bad, it’s so hard to resist,” Namjoon says and fuck, Yoongi didn’t expect a conversation. He didn’t expect honesty and communication. But that’s Namjoon, he should’ve expected it. He’s not a brute that’s just gonna fuck Yoongi and get on with his day.
“It doesn’t feel like you’ve been trying very hard to resist,” Yoongi laughs. He needs to lighten up the mood before he suffocates, but his voice cracks and Namjoon’s teeth graze the skin of his throat. “You’ve been so… touchy.”
“I wanted… fuck, I wanted to do so much more. You’re so— beautiful and sexy, flaunting your legs like they’re art, pouting with your pretty pink lips— I was gonna explode.”
Yoongi probably could’ve found something smart to retort, but something hot and wet closes around his throat, and a sharp feeling sends electricity run through his body. For a moment, he’s scared to have come untouched.
Namjoon bit him. It quickly turns into a wet kiss but it doesn’t make Yoongi feel less electrified.
“Let me— turn around,” Yoongi gasps, desperate. He needs to move, needs to feel a little bit in control before he loses it entirely. Barely anything is happening and he’s already feeling dizzy, on the verge of combusting.
Yoongi isn’t a virgin, far from it, but it’s the first time touching someone feels so intense. The buildup that’s been happening for weeks probably plays a part, but Yoongi has an inkling it’s not all there is to it.
Namjoon steps back. It’d be barely noticeable from anyone watching the scene, but he steps back, and Yoongi feels his world tilt off its axis. He stumbles over nothing, thanks the door for being here, and manages to turn around. And maybe it was a bad idea because there Namjoon is, tall and beautiful. His eyes are black and hungry, but his face is pinched with worry as he stabilizes Yoongi with his delicate hands.
So delicate.
That’s something Yoongi always noticed. Namjoon is clumsy and breaks things easily, if not on the daily. But his fingers are thin and long and the way he holds things, animals, people… It’s always so gentle. There’s nothing brusque, nothing violent about him. Something dangerously intense swells in Yoongi’s chest.
It’s Namjoon. He’s here and he’s holding Yoongi and he looks like he wants to eat him but also like he would cry if Yoongi did something as harmless as scraping his knees.
It’s Kim Namjoon and it’s his best friend and really, it’s not surprising that Yoongi fell in love with him.
They shouldn’t kiss, Yoongi thinks and repeats to himself as he stares into Namjoon’s eyes. They shouldn’t kiss. It needs to stay physical. It needs to stay just an itch to scratch. This way, they can move on and forget and not make it weird. If it’s not sentimental, Yoongi can cope.
“You’re so pretty,” Namjoon whispers, like a confession. His right hand comes up to cup the side of Yoongi’s flushed face and Yoongi knows immediately that it’s gonna be sentimental and he won’t be able to cope. He leans into the touch.
Usually, he hates when people he frequents call him pretty. When it comes from men, it feels like they’re not seeing him as an equal. It’s demeaning and makes Yoongi feel like a twink toy ready to be thrown away. From women, it feels like Yoongi is some sort of pet, a cute thing you pat on the head, put on a shelf, and forget about.
He has some insecurities to deal with, that’s for sure, but Namjoon is different. It’s Namjoon. There’s friendship between them but above everything else, there’s respect. Namjoon would never do anything to insult Yoongi. He also can’t lie.
Yoongi is pretty.
The door against his back feels cold and nice, a perfect contrast to the furnace that is Namjoon’s body in front of him. At this moment, Yoongi thinks there’s no where he could be more comfortable. He also feels like his body would fall apart, was Namjoon to let him go.
When their lips meet, Yoongi hears his future self, crying silently over his shredded heart, and he melts into the kiss. Whatever is happening, it’s beyond him. He has no control over anything, and Namjoon’s lips are soft, and his hands are gentle, and Yoongi doesn’t want control, doesn’t want to think. Consequences are for tomorrow.
He lets his body, his heart and his mind move at once. His arms reach up, his fingers find Namjoon’s hair, always so soft and fuzzy. Under his touch, it feels like Namjoon gets more docile, something Yoongi would probably love to explore if he could focus on anything that wasn’t Namjoon’s hands.
They seem to be everywhere: in his hair, cradling his neck, stroking over his back, tugging at his waist. Closer, more…
The kiss lasts forever. Yoongi can’t get enough. Namjoon tastes like everything he’s ever dreamt of. It’s familiar but the danger of the unknown is there, spicing it up, making Yoongi’s body shiver and shudder.
Namjoon breaks the kiss at some point, curses, and dives back in. The urgency make Yoongi feel like he’s flying. He tugs at Namjoon’s hair experimentally. He doesn’t have much to grab but it’s enough to have Namjoon groan into his mouth and Yoongi’s entire body vibrates with it.
Their tongues eventually stop playing shy, and it’s glorious. Yoongi can’t tell who initiates it but the minute their mouths open, the kiss turns wet and filthy, and it all goes downhill from there.
It’s entirely useless when Namjoon lowers himself to grab the back of Yoongi’s thighs and haul him up against the door. There was nothing wrong with their previous position, no need for Namjoon to show off and tire himself off.
But reason hardly matters so Yoongi plays the part, wraps his legs around Namjoon’s hips, and lets go of his sanity when their crotches align. The friction makes his body tremble, and he has to break the kiss to anchor himself. He gasps, or he moans, he isn’t sure. He’s so hard and he can feel that Namjoon is too.
Namjoon is hard and Namjoon’s hands keep flexing under his thighs, and Namjoon’s lips immediately find his neck, and-
There’s no way for Yoongi to ground himself. Namjoon is like a hurricane and Yoongi has no option but to let himself get blown away.
He’s probably going to lose himself in the midst of this storm, but it’s too late. He just has to embrace his fate.
“Fuck.”