Chapter Text
Yoongi is invited over for dinner by the bossman’s wife. It’s a rather odd time slot to be hosting a dinner—ten o’ clock on a Wednesday—but free food is free food, and he’s been treated to a few, home-cooked meals and had enough to-go plates over the past year to know Hoseok is a remarkable cook. Even if all he’s got is a handful of rocks and seasoning, he’ll find a way to whip up something delicious.
Yoongi knocks on the stained glass door and is soon greeted by Hoseok—
Dressed out in full lingerie: A filet-lace teddy plunges deep into his cleavage and hugs his curves. Thigh-high stockings connect to a garter belt, and he wears crystal platform pleasers on his white, polished toes. Everything’s cream-colored. The soft hue is a lovely complement to his coffee-toned skin.
Yoongi’s lungs collapse. Heat evaporates from his face and sprints south to his groin.
And the worst part is, he can’t look away.
“Good evening, Yoongi hyung,” Hoseok hums, gently leaning against the threshold, one ankle crossed over the other. Yoongi privately notes how the mesh lace moves with him.
“Good… Good evening,” stammers the eldest, visibly shaken, “tonight’s the dinner, right?”
“Yes, tonight’s the night.”
Yoongi scratches behind his ear, “Ah, okay, but I might've misread your text. The time wasn’t ten, was it?” Because he’s clearly interrupting something intimate.
“It was ten o’ clock, and you’re right on time for dinner, actually,” confirms Hoseok, with a not-very-subtle bite to his bottom lip, “Everything’s hot and ready.”
Huh?
So, Yoongi didn’t get the times switched with some other event?
Then, why the lingerie? The heels?
The big, brown bedroom eyes?
What the fuck is happening?
“Where’s sajangnim?” Yoongi unconsciously spits.
Hoseok giggles at the mention of his husband and widens the door.
“Are we going to play twenty questions all night? Dinner’s getting cold, Yoongi hyung. Aren’t you hungry?”
Yoongi knows he shouldn’t step one foot inside their home, just like he knew he shouldn’t have kissed Hoseok back the night of his boss’ 45th home-thrown birthday party last week.
But he does anyway.
Yoongi enters, slips off his shoes and begins to shuck off his long jacket. Hoseok hurries behind him.
“Oh no, please, let me take your coat for you.”
Hoseok’s delicate little hands peel Yoongi’s jacket from his body. He promptly turns around and hangs it up on the coat rack situated in the corner. Yoongi gets a full view of his small backside, his plump, perfect cheeks. (The teddy is a thong cut because of course it is.) Yoongi almost swallows his tongue.
Inside, the lighting is dim. There’s low music from a modern-day gramophone floating in the air. Yoongi thinks he’s walking into a murky, blues joint.
“You can wash up in the bathroom on the first floor. Do you remember where it is, or would you like me to escort you?”
Yoongi grins, immediately raising a waving hand, “No, that’s not necessary, I remember.” And he also remembers the last time Hoseok “escorted” him to a room in his house.
Hoseok smiles with his lips and eyes, “Great! Then I’ll start arranging your plate,” and click-clacks into the kitchen.
Yoongi beelines for the bathroom, shuts the door and throws his back against it like he’s in some slasher film. What the fuck did he quite literally walk into?
And where is bossman? Isn’t he attending dinner?
Yoongi can’t be alone with Hoseok.
Yoongi washes his hands, contemplating his fate. There’s a toothbrush holder containing a tiny pink toothbrush, obviously belonging to their five-year-old daughter Joohee. Then he makes note of all the pink, princess-themed bathroom decor.
And the anvil falls square on his head: Yoongi realizes that he is washing his hands in his boss’ daughter’s bathroom, preparing to eat a meal cooked by his nearly butt-ass-naked wife.
He is so fucked.
Yoongi awkwardly returns to the dining area. Hoseok is hitting his ladle against the edge of his large pot of pasta. His silhouette is unreal—strong, shapely legs propped up in those impossible heels Yoongi can’t imagine taking one step in. The tiniest waist, the softest dark, wavy mullet, a long, elegant neck that makes Yoongi’s right hand itch… Yoongi is caught ogling him by those keen, brown eyes. Hoseok beams knowingly and approaches him.
“Just in time, hyung. Hope you brought your appetite.”
Hoseok carries Yoongi’s plate in one hand and gingerly grasps his hyung’s hand to lead him to the dining room table and thus his seat for the night.
“Do you prefer wine? Water? Sparkling water?”
Yoongi sits, “Water, please. Thanks.” No alcohol tonight.
Hoseok procures a tall glass of iced water, “Enjoy.”
The meal is banging, spices and seasonings are all there, but Yoongi can hardly focus on eating. He’s much more interested in eating and banging someone else and he hates himself for it. Hoseok is sitting in the chair adjacent to him, quietly sipping on his goblet of red wine. He isn’t eating, but is rather enjoying watching Yoongi indulging in his meal. They engage in small talk until Yoongi walks right into his trap.
“I like that dress shirt on you. You look nice tonight, hyung,” Hoseok hums, slowly swirling the liquid around in his wine glass.
Yoongi smiles through his chewing, “Thanks, you t—”
Oh shit.
Hoseok perks up, “Mm? You like what I’m wearing?”
Yoongi doesn’t verbally answer. He doesn’t need to. Hoseok ominously chuckles deliciously low in his throat and knocks back the rest of his ruby red potion.
Neither says another word until Yoongi has cleaned his plate.
“How was everything?” asks Hoseok.
“Delicious, incredible, thank you.”
Hoseok smiles proudly, standing, hovering over him, “Would you like seconds?”
“I appreciate the offer,” Yoongi politely declines, “but no thanks.”
“Aw, are you sure? I made plenty. No need to be shy.”
“Yeah, I’m positive,” Yoongi begins to stand, “but I wouldn’t mind a small plate to go—”
Hoseok drops himself on his lap, all of his weight, sitting sideways. Something tells Yoongi he’s not going anywhere. Neither one of them are.
“I’ll get that packed up for you in a minute,” Hoseok traces Yoongi’s jaw with his french tips, “thanks for letting me cook for you tonight, Yoongi hyung.”
Yoongi swallows. He just comes out with it.
“Where is he?”
“‘He’ who?”
“Your husband.”
“Visiting his parents with Joohee. He’ll be back Monday.”
Yoongi sighs. They are alone.
This is so fucked up.
But he put himself here.
“I think you and I both know you won’t be leaving here tonight, hyung,” Hoseok purrs. And he’s right.
Yoongi recalls his boss’ birthday party. He remembers a colorful sea of drunken guests packed to the walls of his boss’ massive house. He remembers full, tinted lips and brown doe eyes staring him down with interest from across the room. Hoseok led him to one of the many unoccupied rooms of his grand home under the premise of escorting Yoongi to the nearest bathroom. But he purposely brought him to one of the guest rooms upstairs to get him alone. He cornered him, started kissing all over him. Yoongi didn’t have a choi—
Wait.
Yoongi did have a choice.
And he chose to kiss Hoseok back. To shove him into that corner and finger him under his pretty cocktail dress—no panties—until he came.
Choices were made that night. And with choices comes consequences.
Like water, Hoseok quietly slinks out of Yoongi’s lap and onto the floor, onto his knees. He whips out Yoongi’s semi-hard cock and starts sucking and slurping him down without preamble. He’s a professional with it, and Yoongi has no choice but to hold on to his chair while Hoseok is inhaling him into his throat. His left hand immediately finds purchase in the dark roots of his waves. It’s so soft, spritzed with some sort of expensive hair parfum that’s further arousing him. And he didn’t know he needed the visuals of Hoseok’s glossy french tips fisted around his cock. His glacier of a wedding ring twinkles in the low light in tandem with the vigorous strokes. All six eyes of the family’s professional portrait are staring right back at Yoongi. So Yoongi keeps his eyes on Hoseok’s pretty chocolate pair.
Hoseok gives a lasting suck to Yoongi’s cockhead before it slips completely out of his mouth, but he does not remove that small fist. There’s a slit in his teddy for his slit, no need to take anything off. In seconds, Yoongi’s whole length is absorbed into the wet grip of his tight cunt and he finally, finally understands why the boss married Hoseok within four months of meeting him and knocking him up four months after that. This pussy is gold. Hoseok, breathless, rides him cowgirl right there in that seat, the same one Yoongi realizes his boss religiously occupies at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That thought is both fucking and bricking him up further.
“Ho… Hoseo—” Yoongi helplessly breathes. He’s frantically slapping his thighs. Hoseok needs to hop off, or Joohee’s getting a sibling.
But Hoseok is gone, utterly unresponsive, brain scrambled by Yoongi’s dick like egg whites, only capable of hissing, “gimme,” and “yes,” and “hyung.” Hoseok’s pussy is punishingly tight. Every slick muscle is milking Yoongi’s cock in pursuit of his seed. Hoseok’s not stopping his plunges, he doesn’t care.
Yoongi resigns to gripping his tiny waist and just holds on for dear life.
“Oh, s-𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓉—”
Hoseok trembles like a battered leaf when he comes, singing Yoongi’s name on his lips, sinking his nails into Yoongi’s shoulders as he fills him up. The latter blacks out for three of the longest seconds of his life; Hoseok unconsciously grinds his hips in little circles, sure to get every little drop of Yoongi’s essence.
And shockingly, for the very first time that night, Hoseok lays his soft, pink lips on Yoongi’s mouth. That seals it. Yoongi has fallen. Hard.
And Hoseok is already planning their next dinner date.