Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yoongi can't stop thinking about it.

Two years ago, one year ago even, he would've been disgusted with himself, but he has come to believe the voice in his head that whispers that it's okay to have feelings that are soft and weak, it's okay to need people. The voice sounds a lot like Namjoon on some days, Hoseok on others, steady and matter of fact. Or Jimin, urging him to tell him how he feels, or Seokjin who never asks so directly but means it just as much. Jungkook with his willingness and steady presence, Taehyung who is so alike and so wildly different from him.

So, fine. Yeah, he knows it's okay to have feelings, he knows his members will always support him. That doesn't make it any easier to admit what he wants, what he's craving so bad that it's come to this single, humiliating moment. But he's gonna lose it if he doesn't try.

He's got the Chimmy outfit on again, even the silly yellow boots, even the heavy Chimmy head that made his neck ache after hours of filming. He's got his story ready, because of course they're going to ask why on earth he's wearing it again on his day off when he did nothing but complain about it on set.

The mirror on the back of the door shows his reflection and he regrets the existence of mirrors immediately. He turns away from the pathetic idiot with a giant yellow bobblehead he sees there and holds himself close. Frozen in hesitation alone in the quiet of his room, he chews on his lip and slides his hand down to do it himself. Rubs his tummy.

It works, it works just enough to make it terribly clear that it's not enough to do it himself. Over the years he's caught himself doing it to himself a lot when he's anxious, petting his own hair, holding his own hand, squeezing his own shoulders tight. It only creates an ache, it doesn't give him that rush of calm, of safety, of, of-

He can't even say it to himself. Of being cared for. Surrendering.

Tears well up in his eyes, frustrated and desperate and so sick of his own silence. No one believes that he doesn't need comfort anymore, they've all just accepted that comfort seems to make him feel worse, to make him build up walls. So they let him be, mostly. It's the routine they've all fallen into.

Now that he's standing here in this stupid outfit, his plan seems stupidly unplanned. Of course he can't just walk up to one of them and demand they rub his belly and pet him like a puppy, but during the vlive filming, it had been incessant after he put on the Chimmy costume. They couldn't keep their hands away. The memory floods him with a little ghost of warmth.

So that's the plan: maybe if he just... goes out there in the costume again, maybe, maybe, they'll do it again.

He's sick with himself but even more sick imagining not going through with it. Insults fly in his head until it builds an irritated motivation. He swings the door open and shuffles toward the living room. Secretly he kinda likes how rounded and cuddly the costume makes him, how he shuffles down the hall, how it billows in the middle a bit, even without a mic belt in the way.

Anticipation builds up so thick he can hardly breathe by the time he makes it ten seconds down the hall, but. No one is there.

His shoulders fall with a pout, and he's ready to skitter back to his room before anyone can see him like this when a loud, “hyung, what the fuck?” comes on a low giggle behind him.

Taehyung. Out of all of them that could've found him, Taehyung is promising. He's always affectionate, doesn't judge, doesn't care much about weird or not weird, he just sees what is.

There's also the unresolved tension between them, the fact that his body seems to crave him just a little more than anyone else. He couldn't have asked Taehyung to do it, that would've meant too much, but if Taehyung just happened to find him here...

He turns just as hands grab him by the waist and twist him around, nearly making him trip over his own giant yellow feet.

“It- it's actually really comfy! I made the stylists give it to me,” he says, not at all the story he had rehearsed.

Namjoon walks in with a bowl of tangerines, amusement all over his face. And suspicion. He flops onto the couch and watches as Taehyung gives Yoongi exactly what he's wanted: a firm, comforting belly rub.

For a second, or maybe for a few, his eyes glaze over and he loses his words. It's so nice. So nice. Vulnerability swims in Taehyung's big puppy eyes as it always does, even as a smirk quirks at his lips, like he knows how much Yoongi likes his hands on him. Big hands, warm grip, sensual and earthy by nature. He could almost cry, he could almost grab Taehyung's hands and beg him not to stop.

But of course, he does stop. Because it would be weird, to sit there and rub his hyung's belly for a few minutes or a few hours the way his hyung would rather die than admit he wants. Yoongi pouts at the ground as Taehyung bounds over to the tv to grab the remote and crashes next to Namjoon.

There's a rustling at the front door and Hoseok walks in, shopping bags in hand. He pulls the face mask from his ear and looks up. A big laugh bubbles up, followed by another “hyung, what the fuck?”

“It's really comfy! And I needed some warmer pajamas, so...” It sounds like such a weak excuse, but no one says anything. Taehyung's attention is on the tv, Hoseok just laughs again and paws at his belly before shuffling on to his room. Namjoon though, Namjoon is watching him.

His ears flush hot. Namjoon always knows him too well, always knows when he's full of shit, when he needs space or needs someone to confront him to make the words come out.

It's all over too soon. It worked; he got what he wanted but it's not enough. Just standing there in the middle of the living room like he's waiting for someone feels way too exposed. He starts to feel as stupid as he looks, giant bobble head and poochy tummy. An incoherent mumble before he trots back to his own room and flings the giant head to the floor. Stupid, dumb idea in his stupid, dumb brain.

Convincing himself not to cry, he squeezes his eyes shut and fluffs his hair back up, keeps going when the rhythmic scratching against his scalp seems to soothe him.

“What's up with the Chimmy costume, hyung? Really.” Namjoon closes the door gently and leans against it.

Yoongi scratches at his hair and can't meet his eye. It's not fair, Namjoon has some magic bullshit-negation powers that render him speechless.

“Hyung,” he repeats, softer, closer.

Hands raise, one on his shoulder, the other rests on his yellow tummy. “Is this it?”

His lips fall open, ready to deny, to argue, to joke it away. But Namjoon's long, steady fingers are caressing wide circles on his stomach and relief floods his mind and drowns the words.

Namjoon takes the silence and stillness as confirmation. “I noticed on set, when everyone pet you. That same look you get when someone plays with your hair, or back hugs you, or holds your hand.”

His face is on fire. Damn Namjoon and his hyper-observance and steady voice and warm hands.

“You can just ask, you know. You know none of us would mind. I mean fuck, look at Jimin, he'll climb into anyone's lap.”

“I'm not Jimin,” he grumbles. Humiliated, but the rhythm of Namjoon's hand is making his brain all fuzzy and his eyebrows un-furrow.

“No,” he agrees. “But you're Yoongi.” He says it like it's supposed to mean something good, but all Yoongi can see is the ways being Yoongi is a trap.

“Yoongi who is afraid but tries hard anyway. Yoongi who can admit he was wrong, or changed his mind. Yoongi who can change even though he wasn't raised that way. I see you, hyung, I always see you.”

There's nothing he can say to that. He feels like a raw, exposed nerve, he feels warm and held and seen.

“Come here, hyung.” Namjoon tugs him toward the bed and sits with his back against the wall, arms beckoning him in.

He stares. It's Namjoon, eternally awkward, never as good at casual affection as he wants to be. This is probably so weird for him, but he's here doing it for my sake, because I'm an idiot in a cartoon dog costume. Probably feels sorry for me.

“Namjoon-ah, you don't have to do this.”

His arms flop to the bed with a sigh and fidgets with a fair heap of vulnerability himself. “Maybe I want to?”

Part of his head tells him not to question it and just crawl onto the bed. The other part of his head wins. “Why?”

They stare at each other, and it's unsettling him more how surprised Namjoon looks at the question. Yoongi had just expected some kind of broad answer about supporting each other and fighting toxic masculinity. He didn't expect this: Namjoon pouting his lip forward like he does when shyness stops him from saying the words in his mouth. Serious shyness, instead of the awkward squawky-laugh shyness that made sense for such a ridiculous moment.

His stomach swoops. Namjoon who he knows so well, Namjoon who he's always had a sort of... well. It's hard to tell sometimes, if the attraction to someone you've known so long is a misplaced fondness or if it's really a thing. Vaguely, abstractly, they've talked about it, as an idea, as a hey isn't it funny that it's sorta like this between us sometimes conversation.

Maybe he's just tired, or tired enough to stop with all their bullshit. They both pride themselves on being so real, but are they?

“Why, Joon-ah?” It's nearly a whisper, but he wants to know, he wants to hear it.

“Because I want to.”

“You want to because you want to.” he rolls his eyes and smirks. Not surprised this conversation has been put off for another day, another lifetime.

But Namjoon speaks up again, leaning forward to catch his wrist. “I want to. I want to.”

That's a little different. More than expected, even if it isn't the whole thing. His mind still asks why but more importantly, the offer of the belly rubs he's craved for is here. If not for Namjoon's insistence, he would've left, he would played the whole thing off even though he wants it so bad. He would've gotten spooked and hid inside himself to rot like always.

It's still a little impossible. He can picture it in his mind, crawling into Namjoon's lap, letting himself be held and pet. It's mortifying, completely impossible. Completely impossible, he can't make himself do it, frozen in place. He needs someone to “make” him do it, so he can whine and protest and act like he's doing it for them.

He hates being like this, needing a false structure to stand on, never ever able to really show himself, not this side of himself, vulnerable and unsure and unwhole without someone. In theory, he'd tell anyone he believes people should become comfortable with that side of themselves, and that relationships are built on honesty. He's a liar.

Namjoon watches him hesitate in a downward spiral and tugs at his wrist. “Hyung, just come get your cuddles already. It's okay if you need it, it's not weird. I was reading an article the other day about touch deprivation in our society and-”

“Namjoon, it's not that serious,” he chuckles. “Not like... like I'm desperate or something...”

He scoffs and motions down his body. “Desperate enough to put on that dumb ass Chimmy costume, hyung. Seriously, warmer pajamas? Please. And anyway, you don't have to be desperate for it! You always do this, this 'if I really need help, then I'll ask' bullshit, but of course you never do, because you're juuuust fine enough to pull through alone, but you're just... encouraging the same bad pattern. Like fuck, drink water before you get dehydrated, and then you'll never get dehydrated! Same principle!”

He smiles a little and kneels on the bed. Namjoon went into enough of a Namjoon rant for Yoongi to make this about him instead. Pressure lifted, just a bit. “Fine, fine. If you're gonna take it that serious...” he grumbles and sits on the bed. Sighs like Namjoon's demands are so tough but he still can't quite make himself snuggle into Namjoon's chest.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and yanks him over, fitting him between his legs, back to chest.

He's so warm and broad, and a little too firm with nervousness and frustration. The vice grip of a hug is at least half of everything Yoongi ever needed, too sudden and tight for it to be relaxing but the pressure is so good. After a minute, Namjoon remembers and slides a hand down to Yoongi's waist, patting at the poofed up fabric there and rubbing brisk circles.

For a few awkward minutes, it's all hard, harried motions. Faces hot, breath shallow because it sounds so god damn loud in their own ears, eyes boring holes into Yoongi's desk across from them like it's a fascinating piece of furniture. But then Yoongi starts to melt as the touches get gentler, more rhythmic like maybe Namjoon is melting a little too. He rises and falls gently on Namjoon's chest, a feeling of slow connection so foreign he can barely let himself look at it.

“Is this good?” Namjoon asks after a moment, quiet breath warm against his ear. “What you hoped it would be?”

He nods. It is good, it does sate him, in a way. But it's also... not enough. He feels like he's standing in his own way, mind too busy buzzing with the weirdness, ready to jump in with defenses or jokes, to yank back the vulnerability he has let out like a dog on a leash. He can't make himself go away and he needs it, feels like he's going to snap if he can't just let go for once.

“I'm just so sick of myself,” he whispers. “Not because I don't like myself or love myself but I'm just- just... sick of myself. I always... I dunno.”

Namjoon drops his chin to rest on Yoongi's head, hand soothing circles on his stomach. “But, you're my favorite person. My very favorite, seriously.”

Yoongi snorts. “You don't have to say that, Joon.”

The silence goes on long, Namjoon thinking seriously about what he's about to say. Yoongi can tell by the way Namjoon holds his breath and then huffs it softly out through his nose, a telltale sign. As Namjoon grows distracted or anxious, the fingers scrunching at his stomach get a bit frenzied. It starts to tickle and Yoongi is about to tell him to knock it off when Namjoon finally bursts into words.

“Hyung, I really like you. I keep thinking I'll wait until a better time to tell you, or that the moment would just... happen naturally, where it's easy and inevitable to say it, but I don't think that's gonna happen. I think I gotta just, just say it. That. That I really like you.”

He stays very still, eyes bugging out as tingles rush hot down his chest. “What- what kind of 'like' are we talking here.” Even though he knows, even though it has hung un-acknowledged between them all these years.

Namjoon groans or honks or growls or makes some weird frustrated combination of them all. “What kind of 'like' do you think hyung! What other kind of 'like' would be I be announcing like this, like a fucking idiot, like-”

“Okay! Okay, I'm sorry,” he laughs, and holds a breath of anxiety in his own chest. “Just wanted to make sure we were talking about the same kind of 'like' before I make a fool out of myself and tell you I like you too.”

“Oh. Are you- do you mean like like, or-”

“See!” Yoongi shouts, “See, it's not so-”

“But what about Taehyung.”

That shuts him up. A sickly warmth fills his cheeks. No one is supposed to talk about the very something nothing between him and Taehyung, or the night in Hawaii that Hoseok walked in on them kissing and screeched loud enough to wake the whole house. It never happened again.

Yoongi couldn't pretend he didn't see the hurt in Namjoon's eyes when he heard about the kiss, but it's not something they talked about, because then they'd have to talk about the very something nothing between them too. Him and Taehyung had played it off as just being too drunk, but Namjoon knew. Namjoon always knows, always sees him.

Guilt seeps in, like maybe he's been leading on two people even though he hasn't, he just... likes them both. It's not allowed but he just does. A pathetic frustration boils up in him; it's always be yourself, be yourself, but when he's himself, everyone is unhappy, and hurt, annoyed or mad at his selfishness.

Namjoon takes his silence as some kind of answer, a confirmation. “You know it's... it's okay if you....” he pauses to think, hand stilling on his stomach. “Do you really like like me hyung? Like really. Don't say yes because you think you have to, I know I kinda... sprung this on you...”

It's the thing that tips the scale, crucial enough to rip away his self-consciousness. Doubt is something he can't allow to seep into Namjoon, not about this, not about himself. He knows how poisonous that doubt can be and he's desperate to remove it from big, earnest Namjoon. He twists in Namjoon's lap, kneeling in front of him in between his legs. “Namjoon, I do, I really do. You know me, I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it.”

Their eyes meet just long enough to confirm the sincerity and falls back down to Yoongi's lap. “Okay,” he whispers, and the joyful little smile playing at his face nearly takes Yoongi's breath away. “But it's okay, if you like Taehyung too. You can... I mean, whether you want to... pursue that or not or- however Taehyung feels, I dunno, but. I'm... I'm okay with that.”

Yoongi's lips part to let out a little chuckle of surprise. “Joon, how can you be?”

He shrugs, finally looks up at him. Sometimes, Namjoon looks so young, and it's usually those times that he seems old enough to be eternal. “I just... don't think the idea of belonging to someone made much sense. If you love someone, it's almost like... what does that have to do with you loving or not loving someone else, you know?”

It's like Namjoon flung open the doors of his cage, wings free to stretch full and wide. He's speechless. It's not the love he's been prepared for; love is sacrifice, love is slowing down, love is hard work. And it is, maybe it is, but he's never known this: love is freedom, love is vast. Love adds to rather than takes away.

It's almost too much for him to admit he wants love to look like that. He couldn't have asked for it himself, but here it is offered freely and his heart is as light as soda fizz.

His hands drift up in slow motion, cupping Namjoon's soft face. He looks surprised and smitten, it's cute. Cute Namjoon, petty Namjoon, Namjoon who always finds a way to make the world look a little more like he thinks it should. Namjoon who always finds new ways to put his heart at ease, this moment is no exception.

Their faces move in to meet each other, and suddenly he's doing what he always wondered if he'd ever actually do: kissing Namjoon.

So warm. Gentle and tentative and big, everything Namjoon is. Once they start, his head goes fuzzy. The furious dissatisfaction that's been itching at his mind for days, for weeks, forever dissolves as Namjoon's hands soothe over every touchable inch of him as they kiss, slow, slow.

“Yoongi.”

Such a pretty sound, rough and airy like autumn oaks. He grunts in reply, dipping back down to kiss Namjoon's top lip and then the bottom.

“Will you- will you please take off this god damn costume,” he laughs, fumbling at the back zipper.

In his bliss, he'd forgotten all about it. He pouts in embarrassment, readying to get defensive. But then Namjoon follows it up with, “I wanna feel you more,” and Yoongi is a small, blushing mess frozen in between his legs.

He lets Namjoon pull him closer to tug the zipper down and shrugs his arms out of the stiff yellow onesie, leaving it to pool around his waist.

“So, is it specifically belly rubs or do you just want skinship in general,” Namjoon asks, and there's only a little bit of laughter in his voice.

“I just...” he chews on his lip and dares to look up at Namjoon. “If you laugh at me, I swear to god I'll-”

“I'm not gonna! I just wanna touch you good!”

They both go a bit awkward at that particular wording.

“It's not just belly rubs, I just, I just...” he can't make himself say it. I wanna be pet. Just pet me. Hold me and pet me. Hold me and pet me. Hold me and pet me. “Hold me and pet me.”

It finally comes out and he really didn't think it would. The surprise on Namjoon's face is visible even on the edge of his periphery. He promptly buries his face in his hands and curls in on himself.

“Okay, hyung it's- okay. I'd like to do that, I- will you please- for christ's sake, why are we like this- Yoongi- hyung, god damn it!” he grunts and laughs when he can't even pry Yoongi's hands off his face. “Alright look! I wanna kiss you and touch you and pet you and s- uhh, and anything else you'll let me do. I know this is weird for you, I know it's weird because it's me, it's us, but- like, you know? If I met you in a different life, you'd just be this really hot, really cute, annoying smart idiot guy that I'd fall for, you know? I'd... I dunno. Just, I know this is weird but it isn't weird, okay?”

Yoongi mumbles something into his hands that Namjoon can't hear. Finally, he pulls them away and, still knotted up in a ball, tips over onto Namjoon's chest. “It's weird because it's us but it's not weird because it's you, Joon.”

Gentle at first, like petting a skittish cat, Namjoon rubs his hands down Yoongi's shoulders, big and firm around his arms. He follows the line of his body, over the mass of yellow cloth bunched up around his hips and over his thighs and back up to comb through his hair for a minute.

Frozen in nerves but thawing, Yoongi slumps down until his whole upper half is curled up onto Namjoon's legs and hugs his bent knee, face squished to his thigh.

The little snicker of laughter from Namjoon doesn't bother him. It all feels too nice, Namjoon pawing at the Chimmy costume so he has better access to caress his stomach and scrunch his fingers there for a while like petting a dog. His other hand is in Yoongi's hair now, mirroring whatever movement the other hand is doing.

After a minute, he scoops him in a half hug, folding his long body forward to press a kiss to Yoongi's shoulder. Yoongi is lost in the details and turns over on his back a beat too late to kiss him, Namjoon's already leaning back up.

They stare at each other, stupidly surprised like they forgot the last fifteen minutes had happened. But the fog of awkward panic has cleared a bit and they can really see each other, see them as a them instead of separate. It's a bizarre and lovely notion, and neither of them are sure how to proceed but it's so nice, in this single, soft moment. Namjoon's hand is spread wide across his belly, pressing just enough gentle friction to make Yoongi's eyes stay heavy and Yoongi grins lazy up at him.

Eyes locked, Namjoon picks up his hand, gingerly slides it under Yoongi's white t-shirt, and resumes the motion. Delicately and full of intention, velvety glide of skin against skin. Traces a circle around his belly button and glimmers when it makes Yoongi shiver.

He leans up as far as he can without doing a sit up and drags Namjoon's lips down to his by the back of his neck. Hungry for it, needy and anxious to let that be okay. Ready to smash it apart, all of it, whatever it is in him that keeps him from ever letting go. So fucking selfconscious, even though no one would guess it. Namjoon though, he always sees him, always has, and yet still he followed him in here with his big dumb Chimmy head on and rubbed his tummy and kissed him and told him it's okay if he wants to kiss Taehyung too.

A giggle bubbles out of him, low and grumbly, and he throws his arms around Namjoon's neck, kisses his ear. "Namjoon-ah. I don't- I don't wanna talk about Taehyung right now but, is it really okay? Are you really, really sure? I don't wanna... you know... I mean I don't know what I'm gonna do about Taehyung right now but- I don't wanna get all excited about this, about us and then fuck it up and make you unhappy because you thought you had to tell me it's okay."

He pulls Yoongi up into his lap so he has to look him close in the eye when he speaks, as if he could transmit the sincerity into his brain. "Hyung. It's really, seriously, completely okay. It might... be a little hard if it wasn't one of us, I- I dunno- no, even then it's just really okay. You know how we both are. Both not really the type to... be jealous of each other's time? Or... doubt each other's sincerity? And I guess I just don't think monogamy is what everyone wants, or needs, and I've thought about it for a while and I guess I'm one of those people that doesn't necessarily want that."

Yoongi is addicted to this already, slumping into Namjoon's chest and letting the rhythm of his warm palms lull him into peace. Namjoon holds him a moment, then wiggles like he does when he's happy and grins, smug and toothy. "You're excited about us?"

All he really wants is to curl into Namjoon's neck closer and float away beneath the pressure of his firm hands and tickly fingers, but Namjoon is so cute, so excited about them himself and Yoongi can't help but lean up to give him a big gummy grin and soft kiss. "Yeah, Joon. I'm excited about us."