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Blame it on the rush of adrenaline, on the inexplicable, overpowering sense of euphoria that sets their bodies aflame every time they are on stage, on pure magic of standing in front of thousands and hearing their own voices transmitted throughout the venue. Blame it on gold and glitter of Seokjin's eyes, on the unfeigned, unadulterated bliss filling them up, on sweat drops, glistening on the underside of his chin, trailing down his temple and painting his neck. Blame it on his freshly-dyed purple hair with flashes of blue, on his high, open forehead, plush lips, covered in gloss, legs in tight-fit pants or on a loose shirt, hanging off his shoulder to expose a collarbone with a pretty mole sitting an inch lower.
Seokjin’s beauty is tantalizing. Most times Taehyung wants to devour him whole, which is not really a secret to anyone who actually looks.
Blame it on the intoxicating cocktail of everything at once, but Taehyung is getting bolder, consistently so, in his unreserved craving to touch, to feel, to mark his presence. To be close.
To tease.
(For lack of a better option.)
Provoking Seokjin is fun in a way that it almost never works — years in the industry, even more years of performing on stage — a professional to a fault, too composed and collected to fall for any of Taehyung’s tricks. But Taehyung is a professional himself and takes pride in many crafts: singing, dancing, acting, getting what he wants, catching people off guard.
Besides, he is a man of little needs. He never strives for causing a commotion or employs it as a way of keeping the attention fixed on his figure, but there is something that stirs a greedy, possessive feeling within him. Something that he craves for himself and himself only, even when there are hundreds upon hundreds of eyes, keeping tabs on every twitch of his finger — a fleeting moment when everything is in perfect alignment: the lights that reflect in Seokjin's dilated pupils and dance across his body; his labored breathing, coming out a little ragged as he struggles to keep the pose and facial expression in check for a perfect shot; the sweet echo of his voice, resounding in Taehyung's ears.
It is moments like this Taehyung feels it rising up inside him — the ever-present need to step closer and breathe in a head-spinning mixture of sweat, hair spray, powder, and Seokjin's own smell, fresh and cotton. To feel the muscles of Seokjin's back or shoulders under his palm, where his shirt is plastered across the skin. To lean in and crowd into Seokjin’s space until 'personal' and 'appropriate' are just distant words, erased by the heat and proximity of another body against Taehyung's. The same need that urges him to make himself present, to obscure Seokjin's vision until their eyes inevitably lock on each other, until there is nothing and no one else except two of them, sharing the moment.
Sometimes the need is too strong, making Taehyung push for reaction, not to the point of breaking, but enough to tip the balance. Enough to witness the blissful expression in Seokjin’s eyes shift into something new, alert but intense, cautious but challenging. A little thrilling, a little dangerous, but all the more setting Taehyung ablaze.
Sometimes his fingers itch with the desire to push even further, until he is pushed back, but at this point, Taehyung has received more than enough don't-you-dares hidden under a funny face or an exaggeratedly surprised expression to not recognize one. So he grasps at what he can get — presses a hand harder to the clothed skin of Seokjin’s shoulder, claiming as much space as possible, and morphs another fairly innocent line into something suggestive with a sultry look on his face, reserved for Seokjin and Seokjin only.
Taehyung basks in minuscule victories. When it takes more time for Seokjin to jerk back and avert his gaze, a moment longer than feels — looks — natural and reflexive. Or when he does it too soon, abruptly angling his upper body away with what seems like an utmost, genuinely bewildered expression — an acting major in front of the camera is akin to a fish in the water. But during this little stance, which Taehyung sees right through, their hips unintentionally glide against each other, and it's another success on Taehyung's part. His face almost splits in half with a Chesire cat grin that spells ‘it’s mine, you can’t have it’ that he knows Seokjin can decipher, that he hopes Seokjin looks for.
On rare occasions, when Seokjin holds the gaze of Taehyung's unabashedly hooded eyes and sends him a wink or a sly look in response, it's Taehyung's turn to shy away and sport a giddy, flustered smile for the rest of the performance. After all, he is used to a one-man show and doesn't know how to act outside of the protocol.
Teasing Seokjin is fun, exhilarating, in a way. Even though Taehyung rarely gets a proper reaction.
The exact same moment the top of Taehyung's head disappears under the stage floor with the rest of their bodies, still ringing with excitement and adrenaline, he is instantly stripped off of his cheekiness and bravado, letting his on-screen persona die out along with the blinding spotlights and last splashes of the artificial colorful ocean, created by the audience.
As always, backstage is swallowed in a post-concert frenzy, so when his loud, breathy voice draws out “It’s a bit dangerous but I’m so sweet” , it doesn't draw any heads — only an absentminded, melodic humming on Jimin's side as they make their way to their respective changing rooms.
"I’m here to save you, I’m here to ruin you," Taehyung’s voice reverberates through the walls of the hallway, growing louder and steadier. He purposely slows down his step. "You called me, see? I'm so—" The line catches in his throat when familiar fingers wrap tightly around his wrist, tugging.
Finally.
Taehyung barks a bright, frothy laugh and lets himself be dragged by the hand through the maze of halls he doesn't quite recognize.
"You absolute—" Taehyung doesn't get to hear the end of the sentence, because as soon as he is pulled into an empty room and the door behind his back slams shut, his mouth is immediately captured in a sloppy kiss.
He rarely gets a proper reaction from Seokjin — on stage. But when the lights and the cheering of the crowd merge into the background, they always pick up where they left off.
Taehyung feels dizzy and a little silly, not able to bite down a wild smile no matter how hard he tries, even against the drag of Seokjin's lips on his. Agitated, Seokjin groans in annoyance, swallowing down yet another unsuppressed giggle, and pinches Taehyung’s waist, making him squirm out of the grip with a yelp.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he shouts, laughing and panting, not looking or sounding even the tiniest bit apologetic. "I can't help it, you're fun to tease."
This earns him another pinch, this time at the tender skin of his hip. Taehyung wriggles violently, trying to escape the whiplash of Seokjin's exasperation, but hands on his waist pull him in, making his back arch into a pretty bow.
Seokjin, too, knows which buttons need to be pressed. It works like a switch — makes Taehyung slump forward against him, boneless and pliant, and melt into the touch. He is too far gone to mind the salty taste on his tongue when he licks across the dip above Seokjin's upper lip or to notice the way their mouths are a tad too dry for a proper slide. Taehyung presses up to the body against him and gets an encouraging hum in response along with the fingers that curve around his hips to guide him forward. A simple touch that indicates mutual neediness makes Taehyung’s mind fog up.
And there it is again. The almost primal urge to get as close as physically possible, to touch, to smell and taste, to feel with all of his senses.
One of his hands curls in the wet hair on Seokjin's nape, the other slides down his chest and abdomen to pull the shirt out of Seokjin's pants. The pins that secure the material in place surrender one by one to the unrelenting force of Taehyung's demand, and he snakes his fingers under the hem, splaying them across the damp skin of Seokjin's waist.
A hardly pleasant sensation of sweaty fingers on sweaty skin makes Seokjin scrunch his nose and pull away.
"Go take a shower,” he mumbles into Taehyung's mouth, but the other shakes his head in protest and chases his lips, squeezing Seokjin’s waist firmly. Despite the borderline uncomfortable heat between them, Taehyung desperately clings to his body, fighting tooth and nail against every inch of space Seokjin tries to put between them. "Take a shower, then come to my room," Seokjin insists, not yielding as easily as Taehyung was hoping.
Feeling the grip on his hips weaken, Taehyung can't help a displeased noise that forms at the back of his throat. Finally, Seokjin manages to shake grabby hands off his body and takes a step back.
The rush of air between them, now that they are not glued to each other, feels refreshing, but Taehyung whines at the loss of contact, nevertheless.
"I can come to your room right now, and then we'll take a shower after anyway," he suggests, assuming a smug expression, but a whiny lilt to his voice gives him and his impatience away.
A soft smile on Seokjin’s face and a half-step forward give Taehyung a faint hope, which is immediately crushed by Seokjin’s hands that wrap around Taehyung’s forearms to keep them from reaching out and pulling him in again.
"You know that gross and smelly are banished from my bed," Seokjin punctuates each word with a soft peck to Taehyung's lips.
"I like gross," is the only argument Taehyung can come up with when his mind is clouded with such close proximity to getting what he wants.
Seokjin snorts at that. "Oh, I'm well aware," he places another chaste kiss on Taehyung's mouth, the last one, a little longer and lazier, with a promise behind it, then pulls away completely, smoothing the front of his shirt as best as he can. "Meet me in ten."
Taehyung runs a hand through his hair and quirks an eyebrow at Seokjin, fixing him with a challenging stare. "Make it five."
The time is cut down to approximately two and a half minutes when Taehyung leaves the room thirty seconds after Seokjin and realizes that he doesn’t know which way to go.
He speeds down the hall, looking a little disheveled, a little wrecked already, but feeling on top of the world.