Work Text:
We were in the gold room where everyone
finally gets what they want, so I said What do you
want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me.
Here I am leaving you clues.—Richard Siken, “Snow and Dirty Rain”
The room is peach and rose gold where the sun is filtering through the half-drawn curtains; the rays sneak strategically between the cracks just right to crawl up the side of Seokjin’s face and hit him in the eyes. Squinting, he drops his head down and snuggles into the warmth.
“Can you please stop doing this?” Namjoon grumbles and rubs a hand over his face. “Please?”
“It’s way too early for this shit,” Yoongi agrees, sounding as cranky and tired as he looks. “And we’re kind of trying to have a discussion here.”
It takes a whole minute and a half for Seokjin to realize that he is the one being addressed. Or at least, one out of the two.
Oblivious at first, he picks his head up from where it was buried into the juncture between Taehyung’s neck and shoulder and purposely digs his chin into the soft skin there. The grip on his hair weakens as Taehyung wiggles against him until he lets up.
“Hurts,” Taehyung lets out a soft whine, hand reaching from where it was tangled into Seokjin’s locks to rub at the sore spot on his shoulder where the oversized shirt has slipped off.
Seokjin huffs, tightening the embrace around Taehyung’s middle, drawing him closer to his body where the boy slumped down on the couch a little, back pressed against Seokjin’s front, nestled cozily between the older’s thighs. The tip of Seokjin’s nose pokes at Taehyung’s fingers repeatedly, driving them away until the boy complies and returns his hand to its previous spot, circling Seokjin’s neck to weave itself into the hair just above his temple. Encouraged by a hum of approval, Taehyung’s nails gently scratch against his scalp, and Seokjin angles his head to drop an apologetic kiss to the red blotch on the boy’s shoulder.
Only when the smack of his lips against skin comes off unusually loud, exaggerated even, does he realize that the room is completely silent.
Five pairs of eyes, ranging in intensity, wakefulness, and irritation of the stare, lock onto Seokjin’s unassuming face, firing his ears up.
In his head, he replays last bits of conversation and phrases uttered before everyone fell quiet but there is nothing particularly stand-offish to catch his mind.
“Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, a big one. You two being all over each other first thing in the morning and not paying attention here when we’re all clearly stressed and tired and just want to get this half-assed meeting over with.” Yoongi’s voice, ringing with poorly hidden annoyance and fatigue, drops lower as the sentence progresses.
“We’re not,” Seokjin gasps, indignant, arms tightening around Taehyung’s waist defensively. Even if we were, he adds mentally, where is the harm in relieving stress through affection and a bit of platonic cuddling?
It’s not like it really is a problem for anyone.
The sound of his voice makes the boy stir against him and lazily crack an eye open. Taehyung’s back arches into a bow when he stretches out in Seokjin’s hold and gives an open-mouthed yawn, slim, lithe body warm under the fingers Seokjin barely stops from running in glissando over slightly protruding ribs.
It’s hardly a talking-serious-business type of meeting when it’s just the seven of them in pajamas, scattered across their living room, each representing a different level of drowsy and heavy-headed. They decided to wake up early and gather up to discuss the details of a couple of oncoming projects but still haven’t settled on anything solid forty minutes in. Plus, their coffee machine broke, which is probably to blame for the overall crankiness. That would also explain why Yoongi is on the higher-ups of the snappiness histogram.
“Just please, hyung,” Namjoon reasons, always the peace-maker, always the one jumping in the crossfire to reach the compromise. “Stay a bit more focused.”
“I am focused,” Seokjin grumbles under his breath but something akin to guilt stabs its needles into his chest anyway.
“Yeah. On the wrong things.”
Seokjin’s eyebrows knit together as he looks up at the source of the voice and meets with Yoongi’s judging face. They communicate in the eternal (ex)roommates language without words, only using expressions and pulling weird faces for a minute, and Seokjin would usually stand his ground until the last breath but he can barely keep his eyelids from drooping and the dark circles under Yoongi’s eyes beg him to take mercy and comply for once.
Under Yoongi’s heavy, unwavering stare, sighing and grunting as he does, Seokjin pries a protesting octopus off himself and hunches over the papers on the coffee table. Rid of his personal human furnace, he is immediately hit with an unpleasant realization that the thinness of his pajamas doesn’t stand a chance against the early morning chill and thanks whatever force pulls Taehyung in and makes him gravitate toward Seokjin’s shivering body to weave his long arms around his waist like a grapevine, not crumbling under the weight of Yoongi’s raised eyebrow and Namjoon’s unamused glance.
It’s not fair, Seokjin thinks, studying the words and print-out images before him, being called out like that when Jungkook slumps against Jimin five minutes later, eyes dropping shut, smacks his lips and proceeds to drool over Jimin’s sleep shirt, undisturbed, shielded by the ever-present maknae discount armor. Or Hoseok, who has thrown in his suggestions and ideas at the beginning of the discussion and now scrolls through the twitter feed, interest thinning out by the second. Or even Taehyung, warm and cozy and cuddly, human-size teddy bear Taehyung, who has already yawned twelve times right into Seokjin’s ear and is more occupied with the hem of his sleep shirt than anything that is on the agenda.
Grumpy and not warm enough to function properly but fueled by the desire to slip under the covers and snuggle into the embrace of his bed, Seokjin grabs a pen and starts making notes, genuinely trying to sort something out, and only pinches Taehyung’s thigh twice in the process: one time for dozing off and almost knocking their heads together, second time for biting his shoulder and trying to sabotage them both.
They wrap up the meeting an hour later, fleeing into steamy showers, studios, and their respective rooms. Seokjin shuffles down the hall and opens the door to his bedroom, heart flipping over at the welcoming sight on his unmade bed.
Despite tiptoeing on the edge of unconsciousness not even five minutes after his head hit the pillow, Seokjin registers the click of the door opening and closing before a fresh-smelling someone squishes himself into Seokjin’s side and snuggles up to him, damp hair soaking the pillowcase and tickling his ear. It’s a bit uncomfortable but nothing that cannot be compensated by a crazy amount of heat that Taehyung radiates and the sweet, flowery scent of his shampoo.
Drowsiness creeps up on Seokjin at double speed, it seems, and he can’t vouch whether the sensation of warm lips, pecking the corner of his mouth and the side of his jaw, was more than just an intricate fabrication of his own sleepy mind.
Even if he could, he wouldn’t find it in himself to care.
It’s not like it’s a problem, either way.
_
“So, when are we going to address the elephant in the room?”
Seokjin takes a sip of his instant coffee and cringes, getting flashbacks to that one time in his childhood when he was stubborn and stupid enough to assume that drinking puddle water was a great idea.
Stuffing his mouth with a muffin to soothe his protesting taste buds, he fixes a longing stare at the coffee machine that has been sitting on the counter for three days, roaring like an engine and spluttering pathetically all over the surface, yet to be fixed.
Finally, his eyes shift to Hoseok’s face across the kitchen table.
“You mean us drinking this watered-down dirt instead of calling someone to come and fix it like responsible adults?”
“We really should but now it sort of turned into a game of who will break down first,” Hoseok seizes up the mud-brown liquid in his own cup. “And nah, I meant your personal problem.”
“I don’t have any,” Seokjin replies, swallowing down a chunk of pastry, not without difficulty. He can tell Hoseok is two milliseconds away from rolling his eyes into his skull.
“Your Taehyung problem,” he elaborates with an ambiguous curve of his lips.
“I don’t have one.” Seokjin takes one look at his cup before attempting to gulp it down with an expression of utter anguish written all over his scrunched up face. And failing.
“Well, if you two constantly ogling like you want to fuck each other into next century and not even trying to be subtle about it is not a problem to you,” Hoseok pauses, interrupted by Seokjin spluttering coffee all over the table like their goddamn coffee maker. “Then you might just as well pretend the shit in your cup is world-class coffee blend and savor it for the rest of your life.”
“What the hell?” Seokjin glares at him, wiping his chin on a sleeve. “You hang out with Yoongi too much, he’s rubbing off on you.”
Hoseok throws a glance somewhere past Seokjin’s shoulder and an affable smile quirks up the corners of his mouth.
“Morning,” comes a low voice, rough with sleep, and Seokjin doesn’t need to turn his head to know who it is.
“Morning, Tae,” he says when Taehyung paddles over and plants himself on a chair next to his. “Sleep well?”
“Uh-huh,” the boy emits an affirmative hum and drops his forehead on a table surface. Seokjin’s hand reaches out to smooth an adorable cowlick-y patch of hair that sticks out at the back of Taehyung’s head but freezes mid-air under Hoseok’s attentive gaze. Before it has a chance to turn awkward, Taehyung’s magical affection senses tingle and he picks his head up, leaning into the touch when Seokjin’s fingers run through his hair, leaving it even more ruffled than before.
“What are you guys drinking? I thought the coffee machine broke down,” he mumbles, peeking into Seokjin’s almost empty cup.
“We found instant coffee,” Hoseok explains. “You won’t like it.”
Taehyung inches closer to Seokjin’s cup, slightly opening his lips, but doesn’t make a move to take it into his hand, waiting, until Seokjin heaves an exaggeratedly annoyed sigh and moves it up to Taehyung’s mouth. The boy takes a sip, then smacks his lips a couple of times, considering.
“Doesn’t taste like coffee,” Taehyung announces the verdict. “Doesn’t taste like anything, to be honest.” He grins lopsidedly and Seokjin can’t help but break into a smile. Taehyung is cute in general but this Taehyung, with cheeks and eyes puffy with sleep, pouty and morning quiet, is nothing short of adorable. The sight before him tugs at Seokjin’s heartstrings and makes him want to pinch Taehyung’s perked up cheeks and maybe boop his nose and maybe press a pad of his finger against that cute little mole on the tip. Across the table, Hoseok chuckles and tries to hide a knowing smirk behind a palm, closely watching Seokjin’s face as if his every thought was broadcasted in neon signs right across his forehead.
It’s a little irritating, the way Seokjin suddenly feels restricted and uneasy in doing what he usually would do without a second thought. Hoseok’s smile is genuine, there is no malicious intent behind it, but the seed of doubt planted into Seokjin’s head makes it look like his friend is in on something no one bothered to share.
Rather abruptly, Seokjin stands up and carries his cup to the sink, not trusting himself not to unravel whatever arguments he has built against the problem Yoongi, Namjoon and now Hoseok are trying to persuade him he has.
He doesn’t.
“Tae, you want anything? Tea? Cocoa?” he suggests without turning around, rinsing the cup under the spray. “Hot chocolate? If there is any left.”
The cup sets on a drainboard with a cheerful clink, the tap turns off. Seokjin almost squeals, dropping the towel he was using to dry off his hands when he is suddenly pressed against the counter. Taehyung clings to him from behind, locking his fingers over Seokjin’s stomach in a tight hug.
“Cuddles.”
Lips brush against Seokjin’s skin, making the fine hairs on his nape stand up as Taehyung presses the word into it, nuzzling into his neck and sighing contently.
It’s nothing out of the ordinary, definitely not something Seokjin would consider a problem but he finds himself hoping Hoseok already left the kitchen or at least, doesn’t pay them enough attention — finds himself hoping he only imagines his fox eyes, glinting with amusement, drill into the back of his head, making his ears burn.
_
It’s a pleasant evening, unrushed and a bit lazy. With the hectic schedule, it’s not frequent that they have time for something like this: lounging around together, watching some random movie with a plot borderline on absurdity — just an excuse to get tipsy and talk over it.
Seokjin’s lips wrap around the bottleneck (“Glasses suck”, Yoongi announced in the beginning and everyone agreed), and he already feels a little light-headed, a little relieved of metaphorical weight on his mind and shoulders. And in the meantime, relieved of not so metaphorical — on the contrary, very physical — welcome weight on his lap.
It’s a pleasant evening until—
“You two seem awfully close.” Jimin nestles against his side, right into the warm spot Taehyung left behind.
“You too, Brutus?” Seokjin whines. “Are you conspiring against me?”
“What? I’m just saying.” Jimin wriggles his eyebrows, a sly smile on his lips all but spells that he is not just saying and there are certain implications behind his words Seokjin doesn’t want to even begin thinking about.
“We are...” he trails off, feeling like he needs to say something but doesn’t know what exactly he is supposed to say — waits for the right word to jump at the tip of his tongue, but it seems like the connection with his hazy mind is unstable. An uneven inhale makes the alcohol burn down his throat when Seokjin tips the bottle and swallows. “You could say we’re comfortable around each other, I guess.” It makes him cringe internally.
“Jin-hyung,” Jimin exclaims, theatrically offended, clutching a delicate hand, one that is not busy holding the bottle, to his chest. “Are you not comfortable around me?”
The relief of stepping into the safe, familiar territory of teasing and dancing around washes over him in a pleasant tide, makes his shoulders sag against the back of the couch.
“I’m not sure,” Seokjin draws out skeptically, pretending to study Jimin’s face, who bats his eyelashes and tries his best to conjure up a look of purity and innocence before breaking into a toothy grin that turns his eyes into pretty half-moons. “With this constantly sly expression of yours, I feel like I need to file a restraining order.”
It makes Jimin laugh out loud — he throws his head back and slumps against Seokjin, giggling into his shoulder, slightly shaking with laughter.
Even when the last fit of shared giggles passes over, Jimin doesn’t pull away — just stays there, head pressed against Seokjin’s side, breathing.
“How come Jungkook is the only one who hasn’t bothered me about— whatever you all think is going on here,” Seokjin asks quietly, careful not to be overheard.
He can feel the outline of Jimin’s smile against his arm.
“Jungkookie is a bit jealous and kind of upset he is not your favorite anymore,” Jimin says, reaching for Seokjin’s bottle and taking several impressive gulps, without as much as scrunching up his button-nose. “You’re lucky I took him under my wing.” Another smile, maybe a bit more complacent this time.
“Nonsense. I’m not choosing favorites.” Seokjin wrestles his bottle out of Jimin’s grasp, making a mental note to check on Jungkook. The doses of Jimin’s influence need to be carefully measured and supervised. “You all are equally annoying to me.”
As soon as a tall figure enters the room, slightly swaying, Seokjin looks up, finding Taehyung already looking at him. The younger makes a beeline to the sofa and plops himself right into his lap, totally ignoring the rest of the empty space to Seokjin’s right, fidgeting and squirming until he fits as best as he can.
“Hi, Jiminie. What are we talking about?” It comes out a little slurry but otherwise totally coherent.
“Hi, baby.” Jimin pinches Taehyung’s leg with a look of pure adoration on his face. “Hyung’s just been telling me that you’re his favorite.”
“Mmhm,” Taehyung rubs a cheek against Seokjin’s neck in a cat-like manner, the older catches a flash of a boxy smile in his peripheral vision — and suddenly doesn’t find it in himself to contradict or object.
Wordlessly, he takes another sip. Jimin seems a little too smug at this for Seokjin’s liking.
Setting his bottle aside on the floor, not more than a minute later, Jimin slides down the sofa and crawls over to Jungkook to snatch a phone out of his hands. Seokjin absentmindedly watches Jimin get tackled on the floor, laughing under the weight of Jungkook’s body who pins him down by the wrists and hovers over.
A halo of Jimin’s hair around his head, a flash of white teeth digging into his plump lower lip, the way he looks up at Jungkook, a little flushed, a little breathless — okay, maybe Seokjin is a bit too late with the check-up, but it’s only fair, he has a lot on his plate.
And on his lap—
“Hyung,” Taehyung breathes out, suddenly too close, too intimate. “I’m your favorite?” Seokjin feels his pulse picking up, his whole being zeroes down on the gust of hot air against the side of his jaw. “Is that so?”
Them drinking together, sitting wrapped up around each other, Taehyung claiming his lap as his personal throne and clinging to him throughout the evening like he is a life-jacket, only once disentangling himself from Seokjin for a bathroom break, although reluctantly — doesn’t look like a problem.
The way Taehyung’s hot whisper against the shell of his ear sends a jolt down his spine, a coil of heat tightening in his lower stomach — definitely does.
Fingers clenched around his drink, Seokjin takes too big of a sip, eyes scrunching shut at the smoldering bitterness traveling down his throat.
He nods.
The noise Taehyung presses into the sensitive skin of his neck sounds and feels more like a purr than anything else.
_
Sigh. Then another one.
“What are you thinking about?”
A tug on Seokjin’s hand when he doesn’t give an immediate response.
He blinks until his vision clears up, gaze shifting from a spot on the floor into his lap, which makes him acutely aware of Taehyung’s long, slim fingers entwined with his, the proximity of their bodies, which isn’t really surprising anymore — he feels like there will eventually be an indent in his shoulder or the crook of his neck in the shape of Taehyung’s head — dimness of the room. The almost silence, save for the soft murmur of the TV.
Movie night is nothing new, Taehyung whines and throws in his best puppy eyes and bullies them into watching ‘Midnight in Paris’ for the tenth time, and Seokjin doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t, but he isn’t dumb and the way everyone else was miraculously swept by some urgent matters that conveniently came up five minutes before makes him a little restless. It’s clearly a setup and he will come for all of them once he finds out the reason why.
Taehyung takes the remote, puts the movie on pause and shifts his body to face Seokjin properly, keeping hold of his hand.
“You seem awfully quiet.”
Seokjin is about to respond with something along the lines of ‘we’re watching a movie, it’s supposed to be silent, duh’ to keep it light but he knows that Taehyung knows he wasn’t paying attention, and a flash from the screen catches on the boy’s face, painting it with watercolors — faintly blue, splashes of white and golden — and Seokjin finds himself holding his breath.
Taehyung’s big, beautiful eyes glint with concern and sincerity — it’s mesmerizing.
“There are just a lot— um, a lot of things on my mind lately,” Seokjin says finally. And it’s not a lie. There is a whole list of factors that feed the levels of his daily anxiety: schedules and dance practices and keeping up appearances and never-ending shootings and tours wrapped up in haste only to start preparations for the next one. Taehyung. Among other things.
An almost inaudible noise of understanding — Seokjin wouldn’t be able to hear it if they weren’t so close to each other — and Taehyung slightly leans forward, making him freeze on a spot. Body locked up, breath hitched — all of a sudden, he feels like a goddamn deer caught in the headlights, but Taehyung’s free hand merely skims along the expanse of his arm and comes around his head to squeeze the back of his neck. Gentle but firm, working in small circles to release the knots in his stiff muscles, Taehyung’s fingers start moving along his neck and shoulder.
The younger smiles reassuringly when, with a long exhale through his nose, Seokjin untenses, regaining control over his limbs, and gradually relaxes into the touch. Eventually, he closes his eyes and tries to measure time with the ins and outs of Taehyung’s breathing but quickly loses count.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed but clearly enough so that the gentle press of lips against his doesn’t come as a surprise.
What shocks him is the exact same fact that he, who has been on pins and needles throughout the whole evening as if waiting for a metaphorical shoe to drop, is not surprised. At all.
Or even opposed to it.
His eyes fly open, a telltale heat in his cheeks. “What are you—” But the quiet intensity with which Taehyung watches him, not blinking, as if afraid to make a careless move and scare him off, leaves Seokjin speechless.
“Taking your mind off things,” Taehyung says simply, voice low and impossibly gentle. They watch each other silently for several moments until the tiniest hint of a smile, hesitant and shy, slowly quirks up the corner of Taehyung’s mouth. “Did it work?”
It didn’t, Seokjin wants to say. It’s counterproductive, in fact. Now there is another thing added up to the list of the matters that trouble him, making it even longer: Taehyung’s lips.
Taehyung’s lips on his, specifically.
He suddenly wants to laugh. Did it work? Of course, it didn’t. Only made it worse.
Out of reflex, his eyes dart to the boy’s mouth, lingering there for a tad too long to be unintentional.
Oh god. He does have a problem, doesn’t he? Is that what the others have been talking about?
Before an internal turmoil totally psychs him out, Seokjin resolutely shakes his head no — because it clearly didn’t, it didn’t work at all — and surges forward. Not a shade of hesitation, Taehyung meets him halfway with a gasp of air caught between them, as though finally releasing a breath, drawn in anticipation.
The press of their lips is sweet and oddly familiar — it doesn’t surprise Seokjin either. Natural and making his chest impossibly tight — like everything that comes with Taehyung. Like talking into the quiet hours of the night and falling asleep together, limbs tangled, Taehyung’s cheek smashed against his chest, their breathing weirdly synchronized, like waking up together, like constantly seeking each other’s presence, reassuringly squeezing a hand that trembles out of nervousness, slotting together like a jigsaw puzzle.
Seokjin frees one of his hands out of Taehyung’s grasp only to put it on the back of his head, pulling him closer, the other one comes to squeeze at the boy’s shoulder — and he feels Taehyung’s body practically vibrate in his hold.
A wide, giddy smile interrupts the kiss, making their teeth clash.
“Fucking finally,” Taehyung giggles like he couldn’t keep it in any longer, voice high with suppressed laughter until it bubbles up out of him right into Seokjin’s mouth. “I swear I wasn’t subtle but you’re just beyond oblivious,” he grunts with not a tinge of annoyance and climbs over Seokjin’s legs to sit over his hips. “Couldn’t wait any longer, I can’t believe I had to bring in help from the outside,” he blubbers on, large palms cupping both sides of Seokjin’s face, almost wholly engulfing it.
It seems like Taehyung is about to jump out of his own skin, so Seokjin’s fingers fix on his sides to keep him still.
“Thank god it worked,” Taehyung adds quietly, the intensity is back in his gaze, and swipes a thumb across his cheekbone with such reverence Seokjin’s heart feels too big for his chest, pushing insistently against his ribcage.
Then everything suddenly clicks into place.
“Is this why they started pestering me about some vague ‘Taehyung problem’ out of the blue?” Seokjin exclaims, finally putting two and two together, exasperated, and Taehyung bursts out laughing, peppering his cheeks with small pecks. A bright, happy sound Seokjin wants to drink in.
“Is that what they called it? ‘Taehyung problem’?” His dorky, rectangular grin crinkles up his eyes, makes the apples of his cheeks more pronounced and Seokjin has never loved it more than he does at the moment — he dives forward to kiss it off his lips.
There is a strange surge of pride, twisting in his gut, when his fingers barely slip under the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt, and the boy’s breath stutters.
They kiss chastely, exploring, a perfect slide of lips against lips, until hands find their way into Seokjin’s hair and tug his head back for a second, just enough for Taehyung to whisper “I’ve wanted you since forever” into his mouth.
And it’s too raw, too honest, Seokjin was never prepared for the way it makes him hot all over — a gasp for air, a shift in the pattern of his breathing. His mind stumbles, trips over a half-formulated thought, caught up between ‘sorry, I took so long’ or ‘I’m here now’ or ‘you don’t have to wait anymore’ or just pinning Taehyung down and kissing every centimeter of his golden skin until he makes up for all the time he spent waiting.
“Since when?” Seokjin asks, instead. Knuckles sliding up and down Taehyung’s sides under his shirt, he indulges himself and leans in to peck the mole on his nose, then one on the corner of his mouth, drops a kiss to his chin, leaves a trail along the hinge of Taehyung’s jaw, stops at his neck.
How come he never noticed how beautiful his neck is?
An urge to slap himself across the forehead has never been as strong as it is now — because he did, he noticed, just never admitted to it.
Gingerly, his lips come into contact with the skin of Taehyung’s neck, drawing a soft sigh out of him, and it’s nothing like a handful of kisses he playfully left here before. Taehyung readily bares his neck, fingers curl and uncurl in Seokjin's locks, making a mess out of his hair, as the older mouths at the column of his throat.
A shirt, too big on the boy’s frame, slides off just enough to grant Seokjin’s mouth easy access to a gorgeous bare shoulder but he stops abruptly, realizing his question was never answered. Intrigued, he pulls away to take a proper look at Taehyung’s face, only to find him flushed and biting at the inside of his cheek.
A thought to repeat the question barely forms in Seokjin’s brain when there is a nervous twitch to Taehyung’s mouth.
“Don’t want to scare you off.”
The eye contact lasts for just a second.
“Kinda late for that.”
It feels like Seokjin has just snatched all the medals at the Olympics at once because it makes Taehyung break into the brightest of smiles and draw the bottom lip between his teeth to tone it down. For a moment, Seokjin pauses to properly take in this familiar, beautiful face, this smooth skin, honey and sun-kissed, a teaspoon of freckles on the bridge of his nose, thick eyelashes that flutter when Taehyung tilts his head up in a silent plea, a rosy blush still evident on his cheeks.
If anything, the pace of the events that led to this exact moment is a clear indication that Seokjin totally sucks at reading signs, but this one he gets — Taehyung flinches ever so slightly at a soft bite on the fleshy part of his shoulder.
A shaky breath that follows only spurs Seokjin on, gracing him with a newfound boldness to swipe his tongue over the dip of a pronounced collarbone to witness goosebumps ripple across the skin.
“I’ve wanted you,” Taehyung’s voice takes on a beautiful rasp — pleasant vibrations against Seokjin’s lips. “Since…day one?”
Seokjin emits a strangled, surprised noise against Taehyung’s clavicle.
“When you were like ten and I looked like a potato with an awful haircut?” he pulls away, looking so incredulous and scandalized that Taehyung barely manages to bite down yet another goofy grin.
“I was almost 18, thank you very much. And you looked hot,” Taehyung retorts passionately. “Used to be the main feature of my dreams.”
“Used to?” Seokjin squints. “You have something better to dream about?”
He means it teasingly, but a sharp pang of something that suspiciously feels like jealousy ripples through his solar plexus. He recognizes the sting, has definitely felt it before but perhaps, it’s the first time he properly classified it. He mentally catalogs it along with the other things to ponder about later.
“What kind of dreams, though?”
Taehyung’s tongue darts out to wet his already shiny lips, and the expression on his face turns into something that might well be responsible for the palpable shift in the air. Seokjin sees this look for the first time but immediately decides he can’t get enough of it. Flirty and shameless and clearly challenging, enticing — yet hopeful, somewhat tentative.
Frankly, Taehyung is a sight to behold. Body, seated firmly into Seokjin’s lap, twisted in an elegant curve, pretty lips parted, with a tongue slightly peeking out like he is drawing breaths through his mouth.
Sensually hooded eyes, looking at Seokjin with raw intensity. With hunger.
“Oh Jin-hyung,” he draws out with deliberate mannerism, locking his hands on the nape of Seokjin’s neck and leaning back, tugging, pulling the older on top of himself. Taehyung’s long eyelashes flutter across Seokjin’s cheeks as the older lowers his body until their faces just an inch apart. “Wouldn’t you like to find out.”
A hot whisper morphs into a breathy half-moan when Seokjin closes the gap and wrestles it out of his lips. Almost physically tangible, a spark of electricity between them works like a triggering mechanism that quickly turns everything hectic — open-mouthed, wet and full of tongue, just on the delicious side of desperate and not enough.
Taehyung shivers and squirms, groaning lightly, at the feeling of fingertips tracing patterns on his ribs, over the softness of his stomach. Seokjin takes his sweet time mapping out the warm, smooth skin underneath, reveling in a beautiful arch the boy’s spine gives in response to the touch, and Taehyung quickly grows restless, fidgety, licking into Seokjin’s mouth with double eagerness.
A fist crumples the fabric at the front of Seokjin’s shirt when his thumbs press against the boy’s hipbones, sliding over and over the sharp peaks, then trail up his abdomen to dance over the line of his waist. He uses the way Taehyung’s body curves upwards into his to slide his hands beneath it, finding the prominent dips of dimples on his lower back.
The pleasant ache of the nails that slightly dig into the skin, inching teasingly just under the hem of his sweatpants makes Taehyung keen. Simultaneously trying to escape the touch and push into it, he lifts his back off the bed, then drops down, spilling a high-pitched ‘hyung’ over Seokjin’s tongue, breathy and wonderful and dizzying, traveling right through him, adding to the pool of heat in Seokjin’s stomach.
With a gasp that punches all the air out of their lungs, Taehyung breaks the kiss and rolls his hips up, then again, pressing himself flush against the flesh of Seokjin’s thigh.
Involuntarily, Seokjin tenses, feeling the way Taehyung’s body suddenly goes rigid underneath him — thighs strained, muscles in his abdomen pulled taut.
“Sorry,” Taehyung whispers, panting, long eyelashes framing his wide eyes, then hides his rapidly reddening face into the crook of Seokjin’s neck, refusing to meet his amused expression. “I’m a little overexcited about all this.”
“I can tell,” Seokjin can’t help but tease, which makes Taehyung groan and bite into the soft of his shoulder, clearly embarrassed. Huffing a fond laugh, Seokjin traces soothing circles across Taehyung’s side, lightly pinching at his ribs until he starts squirming.
Yet another thing to the list of things he can’t think about right now but will definitely think later: the outline of Taehyung’s dick, hot and heavy against his hip.
In the meantime, Seokjin props himself on an elbow, tucks a wild strand of hair behind Taehyung’s ear and kisses the sharpness of his jaw. “One thing at a time, okay?”
At that, Taehyung slowly turns his head, a shit-eating grin spreading his lips, a raise of a single eyebrow that spells nothing but tease and trouble. Seokjin distinctly marvels at how quickly all that bashfulness and embarrassment evaporated from his features, leaving Seokjin with this cheeky little menace in a perfect state of disarray, smirking up at him.
“Oh, you have no idea how patient I am.”
It’s nothing even remotely close to a problem — rather a challenge Seokjin is more than ready to take on.