Archive of Our Own ^beta

the award is heavy in namjoon’s hands. weighty and sandblasted crystal that matches the other six he’s got on the shelf in his office. he can’t even recall what they were all given to him for. can’t remember his acceptance speech or the lights, crowd and cameras. can’t even remember the name of this particular ceremony as he reclines in the plush leather backseat of the blacked out company vehicle. he loosens his tie, unbuttons the top three buttons of his suit and sighs wearily. bone tired.

it’d been another year of making music he wasn't quite sure he liked anymore. another chasm of months lost to capitalism over creative expression. he was all cored-out. hollowed. every ligament and muscle strained and uninspired. what good was it, to sit at the proverbial top and not even be able to enjoy the view?

“what happens if i quit?” he asks. maudlin words thunk out loud. the honesty in them is near-suffocating. and yet, even just the utterance spares namjoon a glimpse of relief.

for a long moment, yunjin was silent. acrylic nails rhythmically tapping across her phone screen as she tends to emails. when she speaks, it's with the patience of a personal assistant but the bluntness of a friend. “objectively? nothing. the company would still run under yoongi’s artistry. you’d get money from royalties and shareholder investments. you could completely go into hiding if you really wanted to.”

“but?”

she finally looks up, head tilted. he watches her through lowered lashes. “but you wouldn’t be able to survive without making music. everybody knows it.”

he groans. shifting uncomfortably like he can’t seem to get enough leg room. like he’s lost all comfortable footing. “i’m tired.”

“do you want to? to retire?”

“i want…” he chokes on the words, his vocal chords constricting around the sudden lump in his throat. to be happy. to make music until my soul sleeps. to be a real poet again. seoul’s concrete jungle slips by through the window. glum cityscape grey creeping into minimalist highrise beige as they approach his home. “i think i want too much.”

yunjin laughs.

namjoon lifts an eyebrow. unamused. “what?”

“i’ve been working for you for a long time, joon. you rarely are ever in want of anything. almost to the point of self-sacrifice. it’s a little stupid.”

he grimaces, mock-scolding with as much energy as he can muster. “i don’t pay you to insult me.”

“you pay me to keep it real,” she snipes back.

he closes his eyes again. “i haven’t been real in a long, long time.”

“i think it’s time you take a break. a hiatus.”

“you want me to go on a wellness retreat? do some yoga and talk about my feelings?”

she softens. “i want you to feel like you’re living again.”

as they pull into underground parking, yunjin goes back to typing on her phone, leaving namjoon to stew in his muddled thoughts. she politely and loyally walks him to his elevator, holding the award under one arm like a clutch bag. they’re nearly to the top floor when she speaks again, her tone careful and measured. “the renovations are done on the house in california. they sent me the pictures, it looks really good. peaceful.”

namjoon hums. there’s no such thing as fate. but as far as coincidence goes, namjoon can only hope the universe is reaching a hand out to steady him with this one and not to‒ as morbid as it sounds‒ shove his head underwater.

“you should go. award season’s over anyway. i’ll have the rest of your schedule for the month adjusted accordingly.”

“los angeles?”

yunjin nods, smiling. “L.A baby.”

🌊

ages ago, namjoon bought a house. he’d told himself it was for the retail value but truthfully, he couldn’t be bothered to live in midtown los angeles. not with the noise and the traffic and the dry smoggy air. he was happier with his moderately sized, pool inclusive, six bedroom, four bath, built in gym with a sauna humble abode. truthfully. (and yes, he is aware of how ridiculous he sounds, bile meets his tongue whenever he thinks about it.)

on past work trips, he’d never had much reason to be there for more than three days at a time until now. his visits were always brief and full of business, complete with set schedules for schmoozing and unmissable alarms and enough alcohol to fuck time sideways. but this time his pilgrimage had no time stamps attached. no obligations beside rest. no dinner parties or contract negotiations or studio time. just rest.

in his search for the perfect residence, the god complex mansions in the foothills of calabasas never appealed to him— nor did the idea of brushing shoulders with a kardashian-jenner or up and coming bubblegum pop star. he wanted space. solitude. silence. wanted the roar of the ocean so loud he could feel salt being embedded into his eardrums, he wanted a place to lay his weary heart down.

so, it’s him and a spanish colonial fever dream nestled in the hills overlooking the ultramarine flustered pacific. namjoon remembers the paragraph extract sent along by the real estate agent that yunjin had put him in contact with, key-phrases like “mediterranean revival oasis” and “traditional hacienda flare” stuck in the recesses of his brain. he was captivated by high cathedral arch ceilings, custom dark wood finish floors, bright cuts of tile and an ocean view that squeezed his lungs flat. he was looking forward to seeing the yellow beamed glitz of santa monica city lights dappled in the distance from his back porch.

and truthfully it wasn’t the classic red terracotta tiled roofs or the lime finish off white stucco walls that sold him. he wanted the promised isolation. the firm separation of interaction, a bubble of loneliness. cut off from downtown LA. by at least an hour’s drive over hilly terrain and highway, he’d be safe from any and all polite conversation.

after their conversation post award show (Melon, not MAMA as he’d had previously assumed) namjoon books a red-eye.

it’s against yunjin’s professional advice but he rebels. bypasses her offer to book him the company jet outright. he hasn’t travelled economy in a while. he seems to yearn for the mundanity of rocking up to check-in without any of the usual short-cuts to save him time nor energy.

see, namjoon’s been whittled down to the pith. his nerve endings raw and exposed to the forces, his heart trailing off his sleeve. there’s an indignant, suffering part of him that lofts on the idea that he really isn’t running from his problems so much so that he’s carrying them with him to a sunnier, breezier climate.

he reminds himself that LA isn’t just work. the beaches and the palm trees and the sand dunes are his to linger near, he can scrub salt into his wounds on the sea bed, he can rest his head on the shore. watches the purpling crocuses creep up from below the soil, get lost in the hum of cicadas, the scent of the earth.

it’s a commercial flight from incheon. he hunkers down, elbows blustered against an older halmeoni setting off to visit her grandkids and a young, blonde haired blue eyed exchange student. he makes small talk; compliments the older woman on her perm, smiles at pictures of her handful of grandkids, compares climate notes with the kids, bitches about the leg room. eats his in flight meal with a smile and naps.

namjoon was always taught to always clean his wounds. disinfect. cauterise. close. cotton buds soaked in hydrogen peroxide pressed to sheared vermilion varnished flesh, the hiss of pain hidden behind front teeth, a lesson learnt once, only to be taught a million times over. like this, his nose clogging from the dry air pressure and overexposure to so many people’s germs in such a small place, he almost feels like he’s scraping the surface of his inner cavern of misery, clearing out the muddled gunk that’s been building there.

he’s clumsy by nature but careful by nurture. a sweet epithet to shroud his amateurish approach to life that was often shaped by his heart damaging anxiety. his heart already felt lighter as he’s left seoul behind, his old life fading away in the skyline. namjoon was a man of many wounds. the process would take time but if anything, he was dedicated to the task and los angeles would be a good compromise for both his ailing artistic and emotional sensibilities.

🌊

there’s a familiar head of red hair waiting for him at his arrival gate.

yunjin’s dressed down, california casual. her oversized white button down is paired with denim shorts and sneakers, a pair of sunglasses sits on her head. she’s holding up a sign for him, a piece of A4 paper with ‘r.m’ scribbled on it in scrappy sharpie.

as far as assistants go, she’s the best in the world. but as far as friend’s go, she’s a pain in the ass.

“subtle,” he says in lieu of greeting.

“you look like steamed shit,” she returns, happily.

they take the highway, the heat broiling off the tarmac thawing namjoon’s achy flight-cramped muscles. the drive from LAX to his place is long enough for yunjin to explain the plot of the last three books she’s read in vivid detail. she mentally walks him through her new flat in west london and updates him on the latest stretch of her proposal plans for her girlfriend. it’s the most personal and easy-going conversation that namjoon’s had with her in months.

they slip out of clogged bumper to fender traffic a few hours later, yunjin’s rolls royce phantom seamlessly purring as she pulls up into his familiar palm-tree sheltered driveway. she happily leaves him to fend for himself with his luggage before demanding that he take a refreshed tour of his own house. she leads him through the house, narrating the renovations, filling him in on the last of his schedule. she walks as fast as she talks and namjoon has to jog to catch up to her.

“so— that’s it for necessities. the only other thing is— the pool boy.”

“the pool boy?”

“yeah. you own a pool, if you were yoongi, i’d say go ahead and DIY the upkeep but—”

“i’m not.”

“no. so i’ve left a number for him in the booklet, the other service i used to get for you shut down and they recommended this guy— high praise. apparently all the housewives in the neighbourhood love him.”

“you can stop making fun of me now.”

“but isn’t that what you pay me to do?”

“you’re going to hate london.”

“i know.”

“call me the second you can’t stand it anymore and i’ll personally pay for your flight home.”

she laughs at that. “hey, i’m still here for a few more weeks. don’t send me off so soon,” she taps his shoulder twice, sternly. “don’t skimp on your last few tasks and don’t be a stranger. we can do lunch.”

“LA’s changed you.”

“that’s actually love, bitch.” is what she calls as she walks away.

he feels her absence immediately. the stark onslaught of loneliness and jetlag a sudden inescapable weight on his shoulders. wary of ghosts of his own configuration, namjoon chooses to settle in the luxuriant master bedroom where a touchsoft canopied kingsize awaits him. custom wrought iron headboard, imported cotton sheets and pillows. heavily carved walnut night tables frame the width of the bed, matching furnishings greet him in the nearby walk in, follow along into the talavera tiled bathroom. the copper bottomed tub calls to him, the ache of an eleven hour flight having beaten his muscles into burning submission.

he opts to stand under the heavy duty spray of one of the spa approved double shower heads, drags his fingertips over the grooves of the inset tiles as he lets the water pressure hammer against his skull. it feels good to be clean after a full day of travel day, and as the smell of eucalyptus and jasmine filters through warm clouds of steam, a knot in the pit of namjoon’s belly loosens.

i can do this, he chants. i can i can i can.

dense darkness meets him when his eyes blink open hours later, a ring of sweat gathered under his neck, a disconcerting rival to the dryness in his mouth. california runs warmer than seoul, drier. he’d almost forgotten. he can only make out the silhouette of things as he pats around blindly for his glasses, his phone. he jogs his way down to the kitchen. flicks the lights on and takes deep, heavy breaths. he takes in the fresh summer colours of glazed azulejo tile against clean white walls, pots and pans hang unused above his quartz slab island.

there’s something about the emptiness of such a beautiful kitchen that brings an ache to the pit of namjoon’s belly. the hollowness of the whole house stung existentially but right here at the culinary hearth he felt the pangs of it the most.

he gulps his water, picks his fingernails, types out a list of groceries off the top of his head. the void of loneliness that greets him in silence is juxtaposed by a budding sense of something namjoon hasn’t been privy too in what feels like forever‒ peace.

🌊

he sets a schedule for himself. a few days to wallow, to rot. to rehabilitate and renew. yunjin marks it in his personal calendar as ‘settling in.’ essentially, he lays in bed in his underwear and guzzles bottles of water and pats around for crinkling bags of chips and chocolates. he chainsmokes. he doom scrolls. he naps. he looks up his worst reviews, his best reviews. he ignores texts from yoongi, from seokjin, from his mother.

time passes in this daze like water through mud. sunrise to sun peak to sunset. he bakes in the heat of his own bedroom till he can’t stand the smell of his own body odour and then he rolls out of bed to trudge to the bathroom and stand listlessly under the tepid spray. not too hot because it makes him sleepy and not too cold because it’ll wake him up. afterwards, he spends far too long in the fogged mirror surveying the planes of his face as though a stranger to his own likeness; scrutinising the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his neck, his crows feet and smile lines, the bags under his eyes and the shades of grey inhabiting the thickness of his hair, his five o’clock shadow. when he’s had enough he goes back to mindless autopilot.

his thoughts sludge on listlessly and by the time he processes the static ring of the doorbell, he’s halfway through dragging on a pair of old basketball shorts that cling a little too tightly to his ass, sit an inch too high on his thighs. he’s still damp and groggy as he pulls the heavy front door open. there’s a boy standing there on his cobblestone stoop. his broad back to namjoon, his white-sneakered foot tapping idly.

namjoon clears his throat. the boy turns and oh.

an angel.

he’s so pretty in the face, like a doll. a girlish mouth and big animated eyes. lashes so long they whisp in the wind. artistically fine lined and plump with juvenescence. his voice when he finally speaks is soulful, deep and warming like sencha on an empty stomach.

“hi,” the angel-boy chirps. “i’m taehyung. jennifer hired me, pool cleaning services?” and then, when namjoon fails to speak, his pretty smile falters at the edges. “oh— do i‒ do i have the right house?”

“yes.”

“namjoon kim?”

his american accent parts for a slight flush of hangul-shaped vowels, namjoon’s name comes out lush and tongue cradled. nyam-jun the way his mother says it when she’s endeared by him. the way namjoon says it in the mirror when he’s trying to find his soul.

“yes.”

“nice,” taehyung smiles. he’s got a great smile. colgate commercial white teeth that are very so slightly enchantingly crooked. “so. um. can i get started or? is—is now a bad time? i can come back. that’s not a problem, you’ll just have to let me know when— i— are you okay?”

taehyung is beautiful.

namjoon is incapable of looking away. the act of not staring quickly becomes an icarian feat. and taehyung, a reverent demiurge syphoning sunlight.

he nods. coughs roughly. steps back a shoulder’s breath so he can let taehyung in, politely ignoring the way the boy’s eyes take in his dishevelled, half-clothed form with something like obvious interest. as a flush of shame covets his cheeks, he lingers there for a moment, recalibrating. there’s a hazy stir of pleasure in namjoon’s gut, a buzz in his head. he’s biting on his own tongue as a heavy tension crests between them. evident and tangible. a shared leering of catastrophic proportion, a looking and being looked at. and even though he reminds himself he’s grown man with enough won in his bank account to buy himself an island, he’s still truthfully contemplating making a quick exit when taehyung speaks again.

“you’re from korea right? i mean obviously— i’m from daegu. or well, my parents are. where are you from?”

“ilsan,” namjoon tells him, even though he’s been saying ‘seoul’ to anyone who bothered to ask in the last ten years.

“ohhh cool! posh!”

unsure of what the etiquette is, namjoon doggedly follows taehyung out the glass panelled side doors to the pool. he steps out onto the grassy lawn as taehyung sets up his stuff, surveying his movements half-heartedly so as to not seem creepy.

as the minutes inch by quietly, he makes the amateurish mistake of looking up “what are the services offered by a pool boy,” scrolls quickly for a concise answer, comes across a snipped “clean the pool. fuck the owner who hired him to clean the pool,” and shuts his phone off completely.

“taehyung.”

“yes?” taehyung’s still smiling. he’s got good teeth, excellent cheekbones. there’s a healthy flush to his plump cheeks. baby fat, namjoon thinks obscurely.

“what is it exactly that you‒um– do?”

“oh!” he lights up again. happy to talk. he’s dynamic and earnestly sincere. “basically i maintain the pool’s chemical balance and stabilisation, clean the surface, check the equipment. that kind of stuff.”

“ah.” namjoon says, shockingly eloquent. he consoles himself with the thought that this measly conversation with taehyung is his first human interaction in days. and while he feels like an idiot standing shirtless under the shining sun. he also feels compelled to stay, like taehyung’s mere presence has beguiled him.

he putters around with the potted plants lining the deck as he watches taehyung set to work, shooting for nonchalant observation and falling somewhere short of desperate instinctive yearning. he crooks his fingers, raking them through perspiration damp soil as he takes in the sharpness of taehyung’s collarbones when he bends, his tanned forearms and slim, smooth hands. long fingers with neat short nail beds, kissable knuckles and thin, dainty wrists.

seemingly oblivious to namjoon’s caranal gaze, taehyung remains eager to chat. he narrates his actions in his bassy, soft-tongued voice. it’s resonant and soothing and namjoon hums and ‘ohs’ in all the right places, percolating on the perfect question to ask to keep taehyung talking. finally, (idly and with his only working braincell) he settles on:

“do you speak korean?”

“ahh, nah.” taehyung sniffs. “i can understand it though.”

“passive fluency?”

he shrugs. “laziness.”

namjoon laughs. taehyung brightness even more.

the enormity of the weight of namjoon’s shoulder’s seems to diminish. blown away by the incoming briskness of seabreeze and the dazzle of taehyung’s smile, his warm emittance. he loathes the thought of staring away from taehyung’s vibrant light.

so he sits in the covered patio retreat, dark bamboo wrapped furniture and stuffed cotton pillows and coffee accented neutral tones blended with the aquamarine depths of the mosaic lined pool, the tall tufts of reddish sumac and evergreen coast oak intermingle with oval leafed rubber trees and indian laurel on the fringes to provide constant sunshade along the outer perimeter. gold-cored blush petaled flowers run parallel on either end, north to south. frangipanis, namjoon thinks, thickets of them. the neatly trimmed lawn comes right up to the hedges hemming the pool, curving around the lavish sprawl of empty backyard, carrying all the way up to the cliff’s edge where boxwood shrubs seal the sharp hang.

the lanai’s stylized similarly to the inner furnishings of the house; natural elements, neutral tones. potted plants along the colonnade columns, exposed beaming on the ceiling, diligently spinning fans that cloister sea breeze in lazy circles. and taehyung, ripe with youth’s sweetness and sunnier than a tropical climate, seems to blend seamlessly into the surroundings. picture perfect congruence.

he texts yoongi for wisdom and clarity on his rapidly declining resolutions, practically denouncing his moral proscriptions. he receives none.

would it be cliche to fuck my poolboy?

lmaoooooo

you’ve been there one day and you’re already cali-ing out

pathetic

says the guy that fucked the intern

one time. i slept with one intern. one time.

what’s his name?

none of your business

oh you’re absolutely going to fuck him

🌊

at the official ending of his rotting period, yunjin texts him just after sunrise, asking if he’s found himself any new distractions as of late. he impertinently shoots back “who is this?” with a frowny face and heads out for his morning run.

he likes the trails out here. the lush ridges of green, untouched by corporate greed and climate ruining complacency. the trees sprout so thickly together that he can barely see between them. slowly, the ache in his chest soothes in tandem to the mounting burn in his lungs, the pulsating twinge in his soles and calves as his legs work to propel his body– three miles one way, three miles the other. there’s not a soul in sight to see him.

each lungful of air he takes is fresh and unburdened. each sprint burns down to his muscles. he heaves his breaths rhythmically. in-in-out. and it feels a little like living again. a little like scraping away all the protective layers namjoon had spent years building around himself and reverting back to the basics. he can hear it all laid out in his head in yoongi’s voice, can feel the pseudo-soulmate approval of his new schedule over their 6000 mile separated telepathic connection.

he has to do most things for himself and by himself with purpose and willingness but that means he gets to eat delicious food (that he makes) and get adequate rest in clean sheets (that he washes) and spend time with the sea, with his garden, with his lyrics and with–

“taehyung.”

“good morning!”

and perhaps namjoon is guilty of timing his runs and workouts and gardening and bi-weekly grill cleanings with taehyung’s schedule seeing as these activities are the perfect excuse to swagger around his property sans shirt. his chest puffed out and his muscles slightly flexed so he can lavish in the pleasure of watching taehyung’s big brown eyes fixate, his lovely face flush and his plush mouth fall open in a delicious, ragged display of obvious want.

today, taehyung tenderly takes his time cleaning the surface of the pool, checking the filters and the chlorine levels. by the time he makes his way to the outer deck, the mid morning sun has started to beat down in a harsh, stinging glare and namjoon’s made it halfway through his novel (tolstoy. war and peace. a love story.) and replies half-heartedly and further negatively to yunjin’s earlier text just to piss her off.

he marks his page, eyes flitting up in search of taehyung’s slender form. truthfully, he’d been hoping to steal a moment to simply admire, but when he looks at taehyung, he finds that he’s already being looked at. studied intently. checked-out. he’s aware of several things; the sweat running down his own throat like spilled whiskey, the aching hardness of his own nipples, the practised contraction of his abdominal muscles and the charming nuzzle of sea breeze up his bare legs. taehyung’s gaze is so sharply intense. like he’s prying namjoon apart organ by organ, bit by bit. skin surface to hypodermis to muscles to bone. and yet his big, puerile-virgin dolly eyes are bright with mirth and mischief.

“namjoon-ssi.”

“hyung,” namjoon corrects automatically, intuitively. “ah— you’ve been refamiliarizing yourself.”

taehyung nods proudly. his gold necklaces glints around his sweat damp neck, his thin grey t-shirt dips teasingly between the teeth-aching fullness of his pecs, his skinny arms and long, slim legs are already a flourishing honey-warm shade from mere moments spent in the sun.

“hyung,” he starts again. “can i ask you for something to drink?”

and oh.

isn’t that cliche. the sweet-sexy pool boy seeking a cool drink on a hot day from the exceedingly lonely, incredibly bored, condom + lube equipped and conveniently stashed househusband. namjoon’s stomach bottoms out. he gulps out “of course,” and makes his way inside in a sort of horny-haze.

courteously‒ with the urbane of a man brought up under his mother’s strict civility and not a caveman with a doctorate in prime breeding positions‒ he pours taehyung a glass of iced-lemonade. the carton kind because it’s all he has in the depths of his fridge. their fingers brush when namjoon hands it over to him. warm and electric, his thumb deliberately chasing the bend of taehyung’s in the exchange. he doesn’t miss the hitch in taehyung’s breath, the way he steps closer on unbalanced feet, stumbles slightly. flusters as namjoon reaches to steady him with a whispered, “careful, sweetheart.”

taehyung all but swoons. and for a moment, namjoon can think of nothing but kissing him senseless. nefariously sucking the tang of his spittle off his rose-pink tongue. chasing the glisten of fragrant sweat down his delicate neck with rapturous devotion. he sobers abruptly, stepping back to test if taehyung will chase. he has to bite down on a smile when obediently and innately taehyung does so.

“you’re good at this…is it an acquired skill set?”

taehyung giggles. high and breathless. the sound like music to namjoon’s ears. “are you asking me if i’m an expert in pool cleaning services?”

“something like that.” a measured pause. “are you?”

“no,” he shakes his head, curls bouncing. “but i do work for—” he points at the cutesy little dolphin logo on the breast pocket area of his thin shirt, “—my friend’s dad every summer. we’ve all been doing it for a few years now.”

and before namjoon can stop himself, he hears the words, “bet all the housewives love you,” coming out of his own crush-clobbered, unfiltered mouth.

the bass of taehyung’s laughter is deeper this time. he’s genuinely tickled. his lush lipbalm-pink lips are gaped in half-surprise, half-amusement. “sometimes,” he offers coyly. and then, with a twinkle of rascality in his eyes, “i’m usually more interested in the house husbands.”

“and is that a rigid circumstance or..?”

taehyung cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth peeling up into an adorable smirk. confident and dirty and begging to be defiled. “or am i just attracted to older men?”

namjoon looks him over slowly, top to bottom. his gaze greedily and shamelessly raking down taehyung’s lithe figure like he’s coating him in hot buttered caramel sauce. tongue tip touched to his roguishly bared canine teeth like he intends to eat him up. taehyung seems to enjoy the gesture just as much, his bottom lip bitten hostage and his long pretty lashes fluttering, eye hooded in satisfaction. namjoon lets the moment linger, clog the tension-charged air between them, fetter and then drop.

he nods towards taehyung again, shifting the conversation. better to keep him reeling, reaching and grasping than to concede to his own desires. “so what do you do? or want to do?”

taehyung tilts his head, button nose wrinkled, carelessly expressive. “ah, you’ll think it’s silly.”

“try me.”

he turns to the expanse of the brisk morning horizon, avoiding namjoon’s curious gaze entirely. “i want to be an actor— i know it’s stupid, me and every twenty something in LA, right?— but it’s the dream, you know?”

“it’s not stupid.”

taehyung genuinely startles, as if no one had ever said those words to him before. as if he’d been braced for the sting of rejection. namjoon suddenly feels a pang of possessive protectiveness filter through him. tip to toe. the roaring beast of primordial instinct clawing inside his chest to wrap taehyung up and shield him from anything that threatens the inviolability of his natural sweetness.

“it’s not stupid at all,” he staunchly reiterates. “it’s beautiful to have a dream. honorable. and for what it’s worth, i can see it.”

“you can?” he looks especially young now, small and vulnerable. so wide-eyed and innocent that namjoon aches to hide him away from the world.

“of course i can. you look like a movie star. talk like one too.”

taehyung flusters more organically this time. head ducked, round cheeks rosy, his smile lights up the corners of his face and namjoon finds himself longing to kiss him breathless. he attempts to return to his book, his mind reeling with images of his mouth sucking on taehyung’s blush-tinged ears.

“for the record, hyung.” taehyung raises his glass. “i like strawberry juice.”

🌊

as the weeks creep by, namjoon diligently keeps his word on getting his work done. he’s got meetings in the city on friday, travels down to the financial district. sits for hours in a suit and tie and listens to music execs and corporate bigwigs monotonously drone on until his eyes feel as dry as sandpaper, his ears ringing. they get dismissed sometime after lunch on the account of further proceedings over coffee, scheduled microsoft teams rendezvous’ and an incoming storm warning.

the chaos of the weather upends the city like nothing else namjoon has ever seen. heat breeds in between the densely packed skyscrapers along the wilshire corridor, cloud cover low and stifling in lieu of the brewing storm. a film of perspiration clings to namjoon’s spine as makes his way out of his second and final meeting of the day.

he couldn’t claim to be any more relieved than he is as he takes a walk in search of lunch. foot traffic sparses out in between cafes and he makes a split second decision to nip into one of the higher end bakeries. peruses freshly baked breads and artisanal jams, sugar dusted cookies and strawberry filled cakes. his mind whirling fast and furious at the thought of watching taehyung eat his fill, messy and reverent. leaving crumbs and syrupy remnants behind for namjoon to lick away.

he flusters. impulsively drops an atrocious amount of money on baked goods and meanders his way through a few other stalls on the street, thinking selfishly and wondrously of taehyung all the while. taehyung’s cherry-red mouth, taehyung’s perfect teeth, taehyung’s laugh, taehyung’s preference for sweet rather than spicy.

it’s all he can think about on his way back to the house. his brain happily settling into the salt of his skull as he navigates the customary chaos of highway traffic straight to his driveway. he’s wondering if taehyung will be weathering out the storm under his blankets at home all the way across the city, shamelessly indulging in the image of him rolled cosy into his bed. surely he isn’t working. it’d be crazy for him to go out once the rains start. absurd to think he might be all the way up in mountains and—

shit.

he’d completely spaced on taehyung’s schedule.

“taehyung-ah,” he calls as he makes his way past the threshold with the wind snapping at his heels. his voice travelling sharply through the empty house. in the ringing silence he yells again, a little louder and sterner. bordering the line of panic. “taehyung-ah!”

there’s a clatter and a yelp and the sound of slippered feet smacking against tile before taehyung appears– a spot of summer warm sunshine on a gloomy day. he’s panting a little, mouth agape, the hint of resting smile carrying the curve of his mouth into something sweet. the ball of anxiety in namjoon’s chest shrivels all at once.

“hi!”

“hey,” with newfound relief, namjoon shuffles further into the house, places his bags of takeout and groceries onto the island, rolls up his shirt sleeves and digs around for a tall glass. “water? juice?”

“sure,” taehyung says.

namjoon gets himself a cool filtered glassful before reaching over into the reusable bag to procure one of the bottles of strawberry juice he’d picked up.

“oh! my favourite!”

“i know.”

“you’re cool, hyung.”

taehyung’s pretty, praising smile charms an echoing one from namjoon. they sip silently for a moment and namjoon quenches himself on his fill of taehyung with a long, hard stare. he’s modestly dressed today; navy polo and khaki shorts and a red cotton headband that holds his bouncy curls away from his forehead. all of his shirt buttons are undone and the slip of skin from his neck to his chest is sheened with sweat, a perfect sard-toned shade that makes namjoon ache. his uniform golden necklace defies symmetry by curling into the dip of his clavicle.

“did you know it’s about to storm?”

“they always say that.”

“it’s a big one this time, kid.”

“yeah, they always say that.”

“aish– no taehyung. like an actual storm, they’re sending out flood warnings and everything.”

“shit.”

for the first time since namjoon’s met him, he watches taehyung’s face fall. all resting grace and giddiness souring into something like worry. namjoon’s quick to placate him, an arm outstretched to the air as if aimed to soothe. “hey, it’s okay. if you leave now, i’m sure you’ll make it in time.”

taehyung shakes his head, mouth thinning. “they’ll close the roads. traffic is probably already a shitshow.”

“then stay.” it comes out too quick for namjoon’s liking, too eager. he feels flustered, fever-hot behind his ears. he hesitates before he speaks again. “you could– if you wanted to, i splurged on take out and it’d be dangerous of me to let you go out there now…so. stay?”

“yeah. yes– i want- um.” taehyung’s wide eyed, both hands crossed over his little bottle of juice, knee knocking against the island cupboard door. antsy. “i would like that.”

they scarf down thai food and brown-sugar coated pastries as the cumulonimbus clouds fatten earthward, low looming and heavy grey. the scent of petrichor and ocean-salt breezing in through the open back door. in the distance, the sea answers every rumble of thunder with a swathe of spitting frothed waves.

taehyung chatters easily. there’s no other word in namjoon’s vocabulary for it but easy. there’s not a moment that passes between them that strains or sputters awkwardly. even the moments that skew towards skin-shearingly serious.

“what was the military like?”

“ah.” taehyung’s wrapped in a fuzzy throw, his bony feet sticking out the end of his rolled tight cocoon. he looks soft. namjoon wants to pry him apart slowly. “hmm. it was hard. sometimes it felt like it would never end. sometimes it felt good— belonging, sharing, working diligently but. it wasn’t anything amazing. it just…was.”

taehyung hums. stretches. his eyes never stray from namjoon’s face. his gaze is reverant.

“what’s it been like growing up here?”

taehyung laughs. it’s a little silly. a full “ha ha ha” from his belly up. warm and darling and fresh like spring grass pulled beneath the knuckles. “not like the movies. dry. beautiful. sometimes everything feels like cardboard.”

“fake?”

“yeah. and— god i don’t know— it’s like you belong but you don’t,” he waves a hand noncommittally. “like in the diaspora. it’s hard to please each tier? each different group of perception…..everybody wants to be somebody. i just want to be.”

🌊

taehyung falls asleep on the phone with his mom. he can hear them chatting softly. he isn’t eavesdropping but his hearing has always been remarkably adept; the earthen warmth of daegu satoori in a smooth womanly cadence matches nicely with taehyung’s sleep-slurred english. he takes his scolding serenely, says “yes eomma, i should have checked the weather,” and “no my boss doesn’t mind…he’s a nice korean boy,” and “eomma, i don’t care if imo has three viable daughters, he’s not looking for a wife…”

sometime after that, he slumps sideways and namjoon makes haste to look busy so he can feel like less of a creep. he likes taehyung so much it makes him dizzy. he can’t ever remember feeling this way, like puppy love. like monarch butterflies are dancing in his chest. like suddenly all the joy in the world is tinctured into taehyung’s every giggle.

he lets himself daydream as he pours over contracts. thinks longingly about taehyung asleep on his couch after work everyday, of leaning into his calls with his mother and greeting her respectfully, of waking him up with wet, sloppy kisses all over those thighs.

when he feels like he’s gone too far in the safety of his own head, he steps out onto the lanai. the storm has finally flooded in. he hems himself to the cobbled edge to feel the raindrops lick at his toes and when that isn’t enough he sheds his shirt and follows the stone path all the way down to the grassy cliffs drop where the sea licks and spits and threatens to climb up the hillside for him.

he basks.

wet cold pacific rain on his skin, soaking him to the bone. whipping winds pounding against him as lightning creases across the folds of dark midnight. for the first time in a long time, namjoon feels like a real person.

there’s a tap to his shoulder, a startling flash of honey skin and red bitten lips and big brown eyes and suddenly namjoon isn’t just living; he’s soaring.

he’s licking the salt out of kim taehyung’s offered mouth, cupping his hands around those slim hips. thriving. his heart beating all the way up in his throat as taehyung mewls, a sweet silky sound punctuated by a cosmo-deep crash of thunder.

namjoon grips him tighter, backs him all the way up into the house. they trail puddles of storm water up the steps, stream a real river of it as they linger near the french doors. taehyung’s a slip of supine skin and bone as namjoon crowds him against the surface and claims his mouth like a dying man finding an oasis. the very crux of his acumen is skewered by the soft, pliable warmth of taehyung’s body.

he’s shaking like a leaf, clinging to namjoon, bodily like he’s terrified. and something about the inclination has namjoon kissing him harder. cramming the weight of his body against taehyung’s leaner, lither frame. his slim hips wiggling a little. namjoon traces the sinewy shape of him, his broad shoulders, down his veiny forearms, that tiny slip of waist. he squeezes there, groaning as his thumbs meet in the middle.

“fuck, you’re tiny,” he growls.

taehyung moans, hips jerking. he’s awfully sensitive and namjoon pulls back to watch him as he circles his thumbs into the concave of taehyung’s hip bones. his plush bottom lip red-wet, kiss-swollen. those big brown virgin-lure eyes half-hidden behind lowered lashes. the prettiest sheen of youthful desire kissing the apples of his full cheeks. angel.

he blows against taehyung’s rain-damp neck, noses his way across the gooseflesh there till taehyung’s shuddering, his waist rolling up against namjoon’s thigh. the soaked fabric of their clothing adding delicious friction to each barely aborted thrust and squirm. he can feel how hard taehyung is already, his own cock stirring sticky to attention at a leisurely pace. something dark and needy and possessive capturing him as he watches taehyung chase it. namjoon pulls his hips and drags him, works a thigh between his slimmer ones and lets him rut. swallows up the nectar-sweet whines that spill from his hot little mouth, velvety-slick kisses. his own mouth waters. he’s not sane enough to handle the delicacy that is taehyung’s willing, nubile body laid out on a wet and ready platter for the taking.

“tae,” he caveman-grunts.

taehyung whines, lashes fluttering as he uses namjoon’s body to chase his high. “god, i want you to fuck me up.”

namjoon backs off him. hands raised in surrender. “tae,” he warns. “we shouldn't.”

he whimpers. pretty features pulling into a miserable pout. namjoon’s heart lurches immediately in his chest. he looks so small and vulnerable. drowning in his wet clothes, kiss drunk and sleepy.

“hyung.” taehyung simpers. “i’ll be so good, i can take it so good.” he’s nodding. body trembling. “please.”

namjoon reaches for him unthinkingly. “shh,” but taehyung just shivers harder. namjoon rubs his spine, leading him further into the house. “it’s okay baby, you’re okay, you’re gonna take a warm shower for me and then come down yeah?”

“shower?”

“shower,” namjoon affirms. “and i’ll get you some dry clothes and something to eat, hm?”

“eat?”

“are you just repeating everything i say, honey?” namjoon defly redirects the hand that taehyung slips up his shirt, holds his wrist tightly to his side as he speaks again. low and stern, “gonna be a good boy for me? gonna listen to hyung?”

taehyung nods. blinking rapidly. he obediently lets namjoon send him off to shower with a pat on the butt. he comes back down as namjoon’s plating dinner, swaddled in a shirt that’s too big for his frame and sweatpants that sit low on his hip bones. namjoon’s cock aches. he distracts himself from lewdly possessive thoughts that spur from the sight of taehyung’s body draped in his clothes by pouring another glass of chilled berry wine. it sits tart on the palette and tastes like summer on his tongue. namjoon sips it slowly while taehyung tracks every movement of his mouth with vested interest.

“can i have some of that?”

“can i see some I.D?”

taehyung rolls his eyes. he plucks namjoon’s glass by the stem and helps himself to a sip anyway, the tannins of the liquid staining his mouth on the backwash. he smacks his lips, pleased.

“it’s nice.” he smiles, “i’m twenty-two, by the way.”

“i’ll get you a glass.” he serves up dinner at the island. they sit around on stools across from each other; so namjoon can watch taehyung as taehyung watches him.“you’re staring.”

“i’m being a good boy like hyung asked,” he simpers, faux-coquette and measured. he’s far too good at that. eyes round and sparkly, head cocked to just the right degree. namjoon’s a weak man. “don’t good boys deserve rewards?”

“taehyung eat your food.”

spitefully, taehyung forks himself a mouthful and a half of eggplant, cheeks bulging cutely as he chews. namjoon laughs breathlessly, reaches to wipe the marina sauce from the corner of taehyung’s mouth, sucking the excess of his thumb while taehyung watches with heated intent.

“you’re messy,” namjoon hums.

“i can clean up any mess you want me to, my mouth is very versatile.”

“i’m old enough to be your father.”

taehyung scoffs. “my appa is in his 60s and my mom would never go for you.”

namjoon cocks an eyebrow. “but you would.”

he nods, fork in his mouth, eyes big and watery and innocent. “in a heartbeat.”

they polish off the wine. namjoon is pouring himself twice the amount he does taehyung at half the frequency yet he watches taehyung’s cheeks colour, his eyes glaze over, his inhibitions slacken to the furthest degree. he lifts abruptly from his chair, swaying. namjoon finally crosses the distance between them to steady him.

“careful sweetheart,” he offers.

“are you done torturing me now?”

“for tonight,” namjoon answers truthfully. he watches as taehyung’s gaze triangulates his eyes, his mouth and slowly back up to his eyes again. “bed time.”

“bed?”

“yes.”

taehyung nods, wobbly on his feet as they retreat down the hallway. namjoon guides him by his elbow, past the open door of his own bedroom to the furthest guest room where the sheets are fresh and the blinds have been pulled back to bare the storm rolling in over the coast.

“not your bed?” taehyung asks.

“that’s your bed,” namjoon informs him. taehyung’s long lashes flutter, his mouth softening into a petulant pout. namjoon wants to eat him, in every context that he is morally allowed to do so. he trails his fingers down taehyung’s supine spine, revels in his responding shiver. “not tonight, taehyung.”

“i like the way you look at me.”

“i know,” namjoon says. “you look at me too.”

taehyung nods, his halo of hair flopping cutely. “s’cause i want you.”

“but not tonight. not like this. when you’re sober and steadier, hmm? when you can come to me on your own violation and not because you’re feeling lonely, baby.”

“baby,” taehyung echoes. “you’re making it so hard. i won’t be able to sleep.”

“you’ll sleep. you’ll like the rain.”

“i won’t.”

he’s so stubborn. so cute. namjoon brushes his knuckles across the chub of taehyung’s cheek, leans in till they’re nose to nose. taehyung’s breath is grape-sweet, his brown eyes liquidating the hallway lights to pools of molten gold. his lips are wine stained, bitten plush, and siren-calling. they’re soft, supple against namjoon’s mouth. taehyung melts. his lithe little body falling into namjoon’s. pliant and wanting.

namjoon’s pulls away, breaking the kiss.

taehyung exhales harshly, mouth clicking.

“goodnight, pretty,”

🌊

namjoon wanders down sometime after three in the morning. he’d given sleep a few hours of persistence before he called it and gave in to the lull of creative insomnia. his mind swimming in salt water slick thoughts of taehyung. the way he looked soaking wet, the obscene pitch of his needy little moans, how desperate he seemed for namjoon to touch him. namjoon ignores his achy half-chub in favour of sitting down in front of the rustic grand piano in the sitting room with a hotel notepad and a ballpoint pen.

and he writes.

he’s months rusty and a little lexically dry but the emotions are there. the gut-punch, lung-suckering hit of yearning sprawled across the page in chicken scratch. twisted between vining innuendos and honeyed proclamations of love-love-love.

the melody comes easy after that. his fingers are clumsy across the keys but eventually he perks up into note, listening by ear for the symphonic progression that strikes his heart chords the right way. he doesn’t even notice taehyung’s lurking figure until the sky outside starts to brighten. pale grey-blue light filtering in through the windows, beams refracted like grainy film. taehyung’s haloed by it— angel.

“hyung,” he says, breathless.

“how long have you been up? did i wake you?”

“no….i’ve been listening for a while.”

namjoon ducks his head, feeling silly and sheepish. “sorry.”

“no, no,” taehyung placates. “i liked it. at first it was so…so haunting. and a little sad but then,” his eyes sparkle with genuine joy, “but then it was smooth and silky, like jazz.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“still,” namjoon turns back to the keys, clicking his pen shut. “hyung’s sorry he woke you, taehyung-ah.”

taehyung shakes his head. “ah...the alcohol wore off,” he steps closer. “and you said to come to you when i’m sober…”

“right.”

“and when i’m…” even closer, his footfalls so light. “i’m…lonely.”

“are you lonely, sweetheart?”

he nods. namjoon gestures for him to come forward. and when taehyung sits gently on the little bench next to him, namjoon scoops him up by the waist and places him on the lid. lifts him like he’s lighter than cotton. taehyung’s whole body trembles, the surprised gasp that sits on his pretty pink lips spills out alongside the cacophony of his flexed calves pressing against the keys, namjoon’s own fingers fiddling just beneath as he locks his thumb and forefingers around taehyung’s ankles, caressing upward.

“better?” he asks.

taehyung swallows. it’s certainly a wonder that he manages to look perfectly debauched, sensually fucked when he hasn’t been touched at all. puppy eyed and pleading, innocently aroused.

“hyung,” low and whiny, is the only answer he gets.

“taehyung.”

“you said to come to you when i want it but—” his elegant fingers flatten against namjoon’s jaw. “but i have this problem.”

namjoon leans into his touch. “what’s your problem, baby?”

“even if you give it to me,” he continues earnestly. “i’d still want it. even if you keep giving it to me over and over and over again until i pass out—”

“taehyung,” namjoon growls out in warning.

“— i'd probably still want it while you’re all the way inside, stuffing me up like a thanksgiving turk—ah.”

namjoon’s restraint seems to exit stage left, resolve shattered under taehyung’s utterly ridiculous ploys of seduction. he sinks his teeth into the meaty muscle of taehyung’s left thigh just as he’s been longing to do since day one. he bites mean, sucks tender and kisses lovingly. taehyung’s resounding moan is so loud, he startles himself.

“do you know what you’re asking for?”

taehyung nods again. determined. sweet little face scrunched in sureness. “m’asking for hyung’s cock.”

and when namjoon groans, he giggles.

“you’re a menace.”

and then they’re kissing.

this kiss is shier than their first. sweeter. less saliva guzzling and a little more caution. namjoon’s nose drags across the buoyant chub of taehyung’s cheek, their mouths meet at a conjecture of clumsy and chaste. there’s an interspersed tangle of pressure and ragged breaths, namjoon hand steadies taehyung by his jaw as his tongue traces the shape of his mouth, coaxing. it’s a little sloppier after that, taehyung’s thighs bracketing namjoon’s torso, his knobby feet out-pointed, his hands crested at namjoon’s shoulders with a polite grace. like he’s too scared to take more than he’s given.

namjoon has him eased into soft-bellied submission with no more than a few kisses and a half baked promise or two. he nips at taehyung’s bottom lip, pulls back to look him over.

“you’re stubborn, you know that?”

“i’m determined.”

“you’re a brat.”

taehyung giggles again. “then maybe you should punish me, da—”

and namjoon isn’t sure he can handle that. he shuts taehyung up with a finger in his mouth. mollifying him like a naughty, teething puppy with a chew toy.

“shhh,” he coaxes. he fits the jut of his thumb against the flat of taehyung’s willing gum-pink tongue. presses. watches taehyung’s eyes roll back, the whites on display as a guzzle of slobber gathers under his palette. his whole body shuddering in pleasure. his nostrils flare as he fits his mouth to suckle, the warm wet heat of his mouth enveloping namjoon’s finger, suction tight. unwavering gaze held like a promise as drool excesses at the corner of his pull-puckered lips. namjoon’s cock throbs, heavy and needy and sticky in his sweats. “good boy.”

taehyung’s body is so supple, so divine. namjoon could probably get off just watching him like this. wet little mouth barely filled and desire painting his delicate, innocent features lewdly impure. he’s reluctant to release namjoon’s finger, pretty pink lips pouted on the back-suckle. it takes effort to pull away and the suction wet pwaph of release has them both groaning.

“come here,” he lets his hands span up taehyung’s long, lovely legs. fingers outstretched to pet and grope up-up-up, digging into the bunched muscle of taehyung’s thighs, higher till his thumbs press into the vee of his thin hips. he tugs him closer. all the way off the piano lid and into his lap. he’s quick and careful to drink up taehyung’s breathy, surprised gasp from the chalice of his mouth, sucking on his tongue like he’s seeking nectar.

taehyung’s horny. impatient. young libido no match for namjoon’s curated patience, his years of experience. his hips give chase, a slow dragging dry hump that sows his round little ass right across the length of namjoon’s rapidly filling cock. he stills taehyung’s heediness, guides the needy hitch of his hips with his thumbs pressed down against taehyung’s tummy. fingers folded below his belly button, savouring each arousal-shy shudder and moan.

“you like that, baby?” it doesn’t take much for namjoon to realise that taehyung gets off on his voice and his words just as much as he gets off on his touch.

taehyung tilts back. nodding frantically, bodily preening. his lush little sounds are spittle wet and reedy. he’s a hot little mess in namjoon’s lap. the packaged bulge of his cock tenting his grey sweats, a juicy wet spot formed where its head might be, growing with each passing moment as taehyung pantomime-rides namjoon into near oblivion.

“more,” he begs.

and more is what namjoon provides. grabbing up the petal flare of his hips, his plush ass, rocking him down on his cock like he would a high quality fleshlight. he keeps his pace torturous. maddening. dragging it out so he can watch taehyung’s tummy clench. he’s so little and precious in namjoon’s hands, so soft and yielding. slutty little body shivering as namjoon gropes his ass, his teeny waist. “so gorgeous like this, taehyung-ah. so beautiful. hyung’s never seen anyone as pretty.”

his hips buck. words gnashed out between whimpers. “m’pretty?”

“the prettiest boy in the world. baby. look at you, hmm? look at that face.”

he can’t cum like this. it doesn’t seem right. wants to save it for when he’s buried inside. because he’s decided he’s going to. one way or another, he’s going to fuck taehyung silly. lay him out on expensive sheets and watch his pretty angel face go cross-eyed and orgasm-dumb. taehyung sniffles. waist working in messy half circles. eyes widewet and throat bobbing.

he aches for a preview of that fantasy of pleasure now. speeds up. coaxing those soft, syrupy whimpers from taehyung’s throat. pets taehyung’s flank, soothing as his own hips kick hindbrain-lazy. bouncing taehyung in his lap, leg muscles flexing. he pulls taehyung’s arms behind his back, noses up his neck, says “that’s it, baby. chase it. you’re right there. hyung can taste it.”

and taehyung, hair trigger sensitive and whiny, works so diligently to get himself off. grinding his hips with a furrow of frustration between his brows, cock finding friction against namjoon’s terse abdomen, body wracked by primal, hard-rubbed need. his pretty skin’s dusky with sweat, curls matted to his forehead, breathless from the effort. namjoon kisses him through it. coddles him right to the edge.

and taehyung cums beautifully to namjoon’s vulgar-wrought utterance of “you really think you can take my cock, sweetheart? you’re so little, where would i fit it?” bodily off kilter, mouth poised in a wail of pleasure as his hips jerk rhythmlessly, fingers wrung into the fabric of namjoon’s shirt.

all at once, namjoon feels like a shiny new penny. heart light in his chest. a fondness blooming like summer roses behind his ribcage. he can’t dare to say this to taehyung yet so he kisses his top lip, then his bottom. holds him in his lap till the post-orgasm haze fades out, till his muscles uncoil and soften. till he goes boneless, cum-faded.

“hyung,” taehyung simpers. “god, hyung.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” taehyung whines back, half-smiling. and then, with a wicked glint of determination in his eyes, “if that’s just a preview, hyung. you have to promise me you’ll make it fit.”

“dirty.”

taehyung preens. “can we cuddle now? in your bed?”

🌊

taehyung barely comes over under the guise of work anymore.

one day he shows up in a mood. indignant and sly. aching for attention. he’s bloomed like a flower into namjoon’s affections. his youthful, charming likeability morphing into something warmer, needier. something that sticks under namjoon’s skin, between his back molars like taffy. he likes taehyung like this. when he’s conniving. defiant. resinous.

there’s a familiarity in his graceful movements as he ambles his way across the house and onto the back porch where namjoon’s taking a call, his zoom mic muted so he can text yoongi and laugh at their bone-headed board members in peace in between powerpoint slides.

behind his laptop, taehyung enacts a shallow mimicry of his duties with pronounced attention as if he hadn’t done a thorough job the evening prior; all while performing a step by step tutorial in the style of a late 2010’s one-man-show youtuber monologue. namjoon eyes him with venal interest as his back is turned, appreciating the breadth of his shoulders and the proportional cinch of his waist, the way his pert little butt fills the flimsy nylon of his shorts. globular shapes shaded in a mouth-watering, ripe cherry red. namjoon wants to sink his teeth into him, to see if he’s as juicy as he looks.

eventually, he gets too swept up in his affairs for taehyung’s liking. his pale blue telescoping pole falls with a clatter, his quaint little huff of annoyance as enticing as a primal mating call. namjoon bites down on every instinctive muscle-deep instinct to reach out and claim him. he feigns disinterest. fills his gaze with impasivity, meeting taehyung's pleading stare with a sullen blankness that draws another huff from him, his lips sulking into a suckable pout.

taehyung stands before him, hands on his hips. and when namjoon maintains his faked focus, he strips his polo shirt. white today, a little wash-worn. it’s endlessly endearing to namjoon that his arms and legs pack muscle easily but his tummy’s bitably soft, his belly button a perfectly round dip in a plump mouthful of flesh. he’s got a pair of red heart-shaped sunglasses holding back his curls. it jostles with his antics.

he stretches, golden skin absorbing the morning sunlight, little red shorts hugging his tiny hips, creeping up his slim thighs. namjoon remains stoic; he wants to see where this will go and he wants to get his meeting over with as soon as possible.

taehyung gives him a brevity of two minutes: contorting himself into various yoga-esque stances that involve a lot of bending over and wiggling. he moves with vulpine propriety. lean muscles flexing beneath sunwarm skin. his angular structure is michelangelo-divine as it’s taken into the loving hands of the midday rays. taehyung is a masterpiece of sex-appeal, a magnum opus of beauty. it’s in moments like these that namjoon seriously considers sending taehyung’s mother flowers just for birthing him.

and of course, even in the sheer absurdity of taehyung folding himself into a smooth tadasana, namjoon’s hysterically attracted to him. he has to physically bite down on his knuckles to keep from laughing, his cock ruefully stirring in his pants. yoongi texts him ‘stop fucking around.’ he doesn’t deign to reply. not when this game he’s playing with taehyung is the very definition of fucking around. on several levels.

it’s a hot summer’s day and he’s found himself engaging in psycho-sexual warfare with a beautiful boy. he’s willing to take his chances. taehyung isn’t dimmed nor deterred. namjoon’s lassitude is only a mere catalyst to him upping the ante. he looks seconds away from tugging his pants down and arching onto his hands and knees. face to the concrete, ass in the air. namjoon doesn’t doubt he’d coat his own fingers in spit (‘hawk-tuh, rub that baby in’ style) and present his glossed up cinch for a fucking. namjoon doesn’t know if he has the heart health to survive that, so he raises his proverbial white flag, clears his throat to draw taehyung’s attention.

“going for a swim?” namjoon concedes. “it’s pretty deep in there.”

taehyung looks up at him through those long khol lashes, mouth set small and innocent. “i like it deep.”

“you’re killing me.”

he smiles. pleased as a peach, a dusky blush caressing his cheeks. “come over here, hyung. i’ll kiss it better for you.”

oh, namjoon is so going to fuck his pool boy.

the moral indecency of the task trashed to one side, the logical need to fill taehyung up till he’s blabber-dumb and senseless encroaching from the other. he makes his way over, bare feet pressed to hot tile. hands shaking with the need to press into taehyung like putty. to touch, take, grope, own. to test how malleable taehyung’s flesh can be, how well he can flex with his hole occupied, his hands tucked behind his back. his brain supplies him with the sacred image of taehyung cumming; hotblushed cheeks, crooked teeth bared, spiderleg eyelashes fanned as they flutter, eyes screwed shut, his mouth a hotpink slash of spit-slack pleasure. he can’t get to taehyung quite fast enough, his legs taking predatory, chasing strides.

within sniffing distance, taehyung all but swoons into him. damsel-distressed, dainty as a babydoll as he wraps his arms around namjoon’s neck. he smells so good. like the ocean and bergamot cologne and sweat. saliva gathers beneath namjoon’s tongue in anticipation.

“do i need to show you where it hurts?”

taehyung shakes his head, his loosely tangled curls haloing around his face. namjoon soothes them back, his thumb hinging into the crux of taehyung’s sharp jaw.

“you took so long to give me attention,” he whines.

“hyung’s sorry.”

“hyung owes me kisses too.”

namjoon leans in, places the tenderest of smooches to the apple of taehyung’s cheek, his chin, the dip of his cupid’s bow. his hovers above taehyung’s rosebud mouth, almost timid in his teasing. taehyung whimpers, wet and warbly and finally, namjoon kisses him. a chaste brush of lips that quickly devolves into namjoon slurping up taehyung’s sweet-sloppy tongue when it’s offered. it’s a viscous, cannibalistic sort of kiss. mouths mending desire, teeth claiming territory. the audible click and slick of spit swapping between them, drool drops painting chins and stubble. namjoon clutches taehyung’s waist.

his hands drift from ribcage to hip, fingers fierce in their trail. he almost wants taehyung to bruise, bluish flowers of lovelorn desire for him to kiss away later. he trails ardent, drivel-damp kisses down taehyung’s neck. the steady thump-thump-thump of his rapid pulse a welcoming rhythm. “nervous?”

“like a virgin,” taehyung breathes, swallowing audibly under namjoon’s lips.

head cocked in sneered arrogance, namjoon sinks his canine teeth into taehyung’s neck something wicked. soothes the sting with a swift sweep of his thumb over the touch-hot skin, already pinkening to blemish. taehyung’s mouth falls open into an amorous hiss and namjoon probes his tongue in to lick over the crowns of his neat molars. all pretences abandoned, his other hand creeps down to cup the sumptuous curve of taehyung’s ass. a polite sort of feeling-up, complimentary pressure, a kneaded squeeze of the left cheek and then the right as taehyung wails and writhes, turned up into pleasure like a ballerina in a music box.

truthfully, taehyung deserves a luxurious lazy-lovemaking. a california king bed covered in rose petals, a simmer-slow undressing, a million kisses to every blemish and bruise. but namjoon knows his own lust like he knows his own impatience. he finds that same unremitted carnality mirrored in the starlight-sparkle swirls of taehyung’s unblinking eyes.

there’s a flurry of motion as they race their way into the pool. bare feet skidding along tile. bodies sinking with an obnoxious splash. taehyung fakes paddling away, squeals delightedly when namjoon catches him by his ankles and drags him into the unrepentant circle of his forearms. and even when he’s cocooned by namjoon, cuddled in chest to chest, taehyung’s a bundle of mawkish excitement. his arousal flushed across his cheeks like wine stains. his wide, innocent smile pulling firmly on namjoon’s heartstrings. the water is aptly temperate as they dip their toes in. it licks up their calves, their hamstrings, the tangle of their legs tipping them sideways. namjoon uprights them reflexively, his heroism collocated by a tender salaciousness as his hands travel the length of taehyung’s spine southwards, tugging at his thighs with a deprived desperation that he evidently enjoys. namjoon’s name falling from his mouth wrapped in a dainty, scolding giggle, “nyam-jun.”

effectuating the core strength he works so hard to maintain, namjoon holds him half plunged, the water ringing below taehyung’s ribcage, just beneath his full pecs and puffy brown, suckable nipples decorated by a diamond sheen of water droplets that he longs to chase with his mouth. taehyung’s long legs cross at the small of namjoon’s back, his ankles an anchor dug above namjoon’s coccyx, his hands wound loosely into namjoon’s hair. he’s safe, secure and surrounded.

namjoon’s cock nestles perfectly into the meat of his ass. thumbs pressed into the apex of his hips, he’s got taehyung in a tight hold, a precise pounding position. taehyung seems to know it too, the sly little thing, with the way he hinges his hips in a semicircle against namjoon’s groyne. his tiny swim shorts rucking recklessly as he does, the chub of his cock bundled at namjoon’s pelvis, his soft stomach shaking as he ruts.

“i like how big you are,” taehyung confesses breathlessly.

namjoon strokes over his wet, trembling tummy. “i like your belly button.”

taehyung wiggles a bit. cheeky. “my grandma used to tell me it looks like a korean pear.”

“it kinda does,” namjoon laughs. “give hyung a bite.”

“only if you let me put my mouth on you.”

“i’m starting to think you only want me for my cock.”

taehyung moues. his eyes saucer-wide and bright as the sun, “how will i know that for sure if you never let me touch it or see it, hyung?”

“maybe i’m shy.”

taehyung pats his biceps, soothingly. “c'mon hyung-ah, i don’t care about size.”

namjoon’s fingers trail restlessly over his smooth skin, shoulder to sternum, the stern line of his own mouth twitching in amusement. he knows taehyung well enough to know that on some level, he’s being contrarian but even then, his pragmatism is sweet. his heart palpitates pathetically in his chest as taehyung’s hands run down his torso. long, limber fingers dipping below his waistband, tugging impatient as he explores. a ragged, telling breath escapes namjoon’s lungs, as if he wasn’t the one giving taehyung a one man skin show week after week. as if he was almost too existentially cognizant for this, too in his head. but then taehyung’s pulling his shorts down till mid-thigh, his mouth gaping open like a fish, a strangled cry spilling out; all of namjoon’s preconceived doubts dissipate.

“fuck,” taehyung says. “nevermind i do care about size.” he all but moans, a heady crack of desire splicing his words. “god, you’re going to fuck my throat through my ass.”

“that’s graphic.”

“you’re going to break my little hole.”

“jesus, taehyung-ah.”

“amen. hallelujah.” he circles his fist around namjoon’s proud, hefty girth. he’s looking, studying with an anatomical precision that makes namjoon’s toes curl, his pulse rapidly increasing, his cock twitching in taehyung’s soft palm.

he declines his head against the bone of taehyung's shoulder, lips lashed against his skin. “let hyung see you.”

he takes taehyung’s treacly whine as enthusiastic ascent, digs his thumbs into the divot of his hips and rids him of those ridiculously tempting shorts. his pretty, elegant cock springing up against his tummy, sheened in relief and salt-tang slick. they’re so close that namjoon can just nearly smell it, taste it on the flat of his tongue.

he likes the juxtaposition of their bodies in this little bubble. he’s paler than taehyung’s sun tanned golden, wider with age and exercise. his hips veined, less lean, less absurdly twinky. taehyung’s body is so tight and mouth-wateringly biteable. his cock smaller than namjoon’s but longer than his own palm, brownblushed and smearing cockslick. namjoon thumbs at his head guilelessly as taehyung swears something dulcet and candy-sweet. he inches in to close the gap between them, lazily seeking the heat of taehyung’s body direct from the source, their cocks come together with a moist splish of water, a humid hiss of dropped-jaw mouths meeting, shy hands tailing from tip to taint.

and namjoon is the first to touch, his roughened hand seaming them together, the redolent chub of taehyung’s fat cock pressed to the crooked swing of his own. the uncut ribbon of his foreskin swills pre-cum, laudes taehyung’s pretty cocklet into the cushioned crux of his longer, fatter member with skin to skin ooey gooey glides. namjoon gets a hand around the hotness of them and hitches his hips up crest his cock at the exact spot of taehyung’s where he’s asymmetrically engorged, flutter-fucking against taehyung’s deep vee frenulum as his soaking wet, nubile body twists and trashes. he quivers so prettily, his spine curving to meet each stroke of white hot pleasure.

namjoon frots demanding, relentless. trapping taehyung’s cock in his hand and commiting to a steady stream of jammy, gush-wet rutting. cock-skins kissing tender and lewd. he marks his cockhead down taehyung’s length and then squashes them back together, his glutes burning with effort it takes to match a pace that has taehyung eyes rolling back into his skull. he’s all harried inhales and loose, pliant limbs, his toes pointed against namjoon’s calf as he struggles to hold himself upright. he lurches in heady, unsteady jerks, his sweet cock drooling, his breath hitching‒ so good, so sweet. he cums with namjoon’s nose dragging down the length of his throat, his fingers wound through namjoon’s hair, his cock spurting against namjoon’s flexed tummy. the moment is nearly lost to a gust of rich sea breeze. taehyung shudders, nuzzling closer to namjoon despite the stickiness between them, cloudy white whisping into the pool water.

namjoon’s too preoccupied with languishing kisses into the chub of his cheek to notice the fire of determination in taehyung’s eyes, the assurance of coy, deviousness. “can i suck you off, joonie-hyung? pretty please.”

and really, who is namjoon to say no to that?

the water ripples around them as they swap places, namjoon’s hoisting himself onto the ledge, mentally measuring mouth to cock height, courteously curling himself up a little higher so as not to cause strain to taehyung’s delicate neck.

and taehyung leans in, frames the skin around namjoon’s bell button with messy, love note luscious kisses. his petal pink lips an affliction to namjoon’s self-control. he stretches, spreads his thighs wider, hitching his hips further into taehyung’s body for the taking. shamelessly, taehyung presses his nose into the tufts of dark hair below namjoon’s belly button, inhaling. his sniffs hard. nostrils flared. groaning in pleasure. namjoon rakes his fingers through taehyung’s unruly hair, aiming to redirect him but somehow finding himself pulling taehyung closer.

he’s audibly panting. hot-puffed, chest cavernous breaths that shake his svelte frame. his hands paw at namjoon’s thighs, puppish and excited. he nuzzles at namjoon’s pre-slicked cockhead like he’s greeting an old friend, his long pink tongue wagged down to his chin in a shameless, gut-churning display of desire. he’s so very eager to be taken like this, all but presents his skull for defiling and if namjoon didn’t have his wits about him he’d have been balls deep in taehyung’s willing throat ages ago.

like this, he practises some control. the moist appendage of taehyung’s tongue travelling the length of his achy shaft, the sideways tilt of his head, the overeager half-hump of his hips; all things that grind namjoon’s patience to dust.

“taehyung-ah, take it or don’t. i can cum in your mouth or on your pretty face, it’s your choice.”

but even as he ultimatums, he realises that taehyung’s too far gone to be rationed with, his eyes lighting up at the very mention of cum. if he had floppy little puppy ears, they’d have been perked up attention by now. “can’t you do both, hyung?” he negotiates, a saccharine flourish to his words.

his tongue lolls, his mouth cavity spills open, he slots namjoon’s cock in all by himself and sinks down to vacuum suction like a seasoned pro. indomitable neck game that has namjoon questioning every single decision he’s ever made in life. the wet heat cavern of taehyung’s mouth dew-lined and gum-soft. he’s got the hand-bob-cheek hollow combo down, his throat undulating as namjoon’s tip brashly bats at the back of it, his snot-red nostrils flaring as he brazenly gag-fucks himself on namjoon’s full length. there’s something decadent to this. taehyung’s glutinous compliancy and hyper-drive focused cock-sucking is so tantalisingly good that namjoon’s almost certain he shouldn’t be allowed the experience more than once per lifetime.

even more so because taehyung’s gone to the pleasure of having his mouth occupied so thoroughly. his tight throathole barely retching on the downslide, his eyes lined with unshed tears that don’t spring despite the obvious effort he exerts to work his mouth up-up-up and then down. the faint “mmhmm-gluck” of each retch-suck reverbrating down namjoon’s cockveins, straight to the buttery bareness of his balls. taehyung drools so much they bat together with wet, sloppy claps coated in excess spittle.

“aegi-yah,” he warns, low and dry. his tummy tight with the need to release.

unsurprisingly, taehyung’s movements are still greedy. savouring speed accelerated to overstimulation-suckling quickness. namjoon barely has the coherency to be shocked. the agility of taehyung’s cockdrunk, cross eyed, gas-guzzling nearly too much for his sensibilities altogether.

“baby,” he whines again, vision blurring at the edges, “pull off, sweetheart. hyung’s going to‒oh. oh fuck.”

taehyung’s eyes are ashine with victory as he chokes down and swallows around every slushy, careless buck of namjoon’s hips. nose to his groyne, plus mouth retched into a thin, strained line, the sloven outline of his throat marred by the hooked edged bump of namjoon’s intruding cock. he can only watch as taehyung gulps it all down like a pro. his own heart in his throat as he hurtles over the edge with violent, bone quaking candour.

“jesus christ, taehyung,” he’s blissed out, bumbling. instantly reaching to taehyung for a kiss, lapping the tang of his own cum out of taehyung’s sodden mouth. he cradles him there, arms encircled around his waist with blush-worthy fondness. his own mouth lifted into a smitten grin.

“bet the housewives don’t know i’m capable of that.”

🌊

taehyung falls into namjoon's life the way the moon phases through its cycles. bit by bit by bit and suddenly; he’s full and glowing. he can feel it. the ebbing of what once was a passive, primal gnaw of desire. the crooked crack in his chest where the light slipped in all healed over.

a couple weeks into his retreat and namjoon wakes up with the gnarliest hankering for korean food he’s had in years. he says as much into taehyung’s collarbone. whines lowly about the atrocities of americanized take-out, of the maudlin acts he’d commit to be able to sit in a sweaty little pojangmacha and stuff his face with spicy food.

“i know a spot.” taehyung says, his long fingers combing through the thickness of namjoon’s hair. his eyes are a little dazed, like he’s cataloguing namjoon’s salt and pepper greys for his spank bank. namjoon nips at his shoulder, he shudders deliciously.

“unless you’d rather eat me, hyung.”

namjoon smiles. “i’ll have you for dessert.”

taehyung giggles, pleased. namjoon longs to bottle the sound, the lazy pleasure of this specific feeling. “good. then i know just the place, dinner’s on me.”

he drives them out to k-town by taehyung’s instruction. pulls up to a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant with bright bubble-lettered posters out front that advertised k-barbecue and large batch kimchi by the order. the glass windows are lined by neon fluorescent lights, the floors are spotless chequered tile and the melamine tabletops are wiped clean to shine, smelling faintly of pinesol.

behind the counter, folding cloth napkins into triangles, is a young korean man with fluffy hair and a goofy, good natured grin on his face.

“yo, taehyung-ah,” he calls in greeting. “when you said DILF you meant DILF, huh?” and then, just as namjoon’s coming into an embarrassed flush, admiring taehyung’s own, “wait, holy shit! i know you,” he points and snaps, napkin stack tossed in excitement, eyes wide in percolation. “you’re that music guy. dude. i swear i’ve listened to everything you’ve ever made..”

it’s his turn to blush fiercely. feeling more like a bashful teenager has as he states, “ahh, i’m just namjoon.”

taehyung clears his throat, speaks pointedly. “this is wooshik, hyung. his dad owns the pool cleaning company but him mom owns this joint.”

“and you can call me edward,” wooshik says. “or ed. or wooshik. or— whatever you want. honestly. i’m a huge fan— i should probably say that, i’m not usually this weird.”

there’s a laugh from the other end of the room and a taller, bespectacled boy comes through the doorway. he seems older than both taehyung and wooshik but still younger than namjoon. he’s got a calming energy that namjoon takes to at once. “you’re always weird. hi,” he says, bowing. “seojoon.”

“namjoon, nice to meet you.”

and for once, namjoon’s parroted niceties seem genuine and real to his own judgmental eardrums. he assimilates easily into the familiar seesaw rhythm that taehyung has with his friends, bonds with them like a house taking to fire. they serve bowls of bibm-somen and perfectly soft-boiled eggs, grilled pork belly and charred beef with expert hands, sundae and somaek refilled on the side. along with a heaping of ripe, fragrant kimchi.

“taehyung’s eomma’s recipe,” wooshik says, gesturing with his chopsticks. “literally the best in city, i go through a container of this like‒ every week.”

taehyung snorts, “yeah and somehow none of her tupperware makes it back home.”

they bicker in between beers, seojoon throwing in an occasional comment that either stirs them further or soothes them both. more often the former. namjoon zones out, happy to watch taehyung be happy, his hand flattened against taehyung’s thigh beneath the table, swallowing the slim breadth of it. familiar and certainly possessive. his belly’s warm with good food and contentment, his blinks slowing into a comfortable drowsiness. he really isn’t paying much attention when the conversation shifts back onto him, is a little thrown by the tilt of taehyung’s head as wooshik repeats his question.

“sorry…?”

“weren’t you one of the producers on tomorrow by together’s last album?”

deer in headlights, he nods.

“dude, isn’t that crazy? they’ve been everywhere this summer. all over the radio and shit, congrats man.”

the praise rolls of his skin, oil and water. his hand is already raised in nervous ascent, he’s shaking his head in rapid denial. a firm, “it’s nothing, it’s nothing,” spilling off of his tongue.

“oh, but didn’t you win a shit ton of awards last month?”

namjoon skin prickles with the heat of embarrassment. but the usual bottomless pit of dread in his stomach doesn’t reappear, threatening to swallow him. instead he’s met with a self-aware tingle of recognition. a proud glimmer of something else bubbling beneath as he catches sight of the naked intrigue written across taehyung’s pretty face. “it was just a few here and there. it’s really more a company achievement, a joint effort‒”

but seojoon interjects then, steering the conversation.“and you used to be at those underground rap battles, right? back in the day?”

taehyung gasps in growing disbelief, soft and swift, his big brown eyes growing even wider by the second. namjoon aches with a strange mixture of delight and bashfulness. “no way.”

“ah you’re probably too young to remember,” seojoon claps his hands together, points both hands at namjoon. “runch randa? man, you were a beast. i had all your mixtapes.”

“yeah, my girlfriend had a photo of you in her wallet,” wooshik adds.

a pocket of silence buoys them then. namjoon’s blushing discomfiture and joyant shell-shock shifts the scales of tension, he’s trying to think of what to reply to that, trying to parse out the words to say that he really isn’t that guy anymore. he doesn’t know how to be. he appreciates the praise but really, he just makes music.

and then taehyung says, “like a real life girlfriend? or the imaginary one?”

he’s already ducked behind namjoon to dodge woosik’s clumsy swat, warm, brassy laughter blooming out of him. the swell of their antics shifts their collective interest and namjoon sighs gratefully, gives taehyung’s thigh a small squeeze.

the meal ends with wooshik shamelessly demanding a photo and autographs for the restaurant, his mother and his alleged girlfriend. seojoon and taehyung relish in directing them into successively absurd poses against the backdrop of the existing autograph wall. their phones held high to capture each one. namjoon sways on the precipice of merriment and frustration, biting back laughter. he’s somewhat soothed when he’s given several containers of take-away to go and an open invitation to dine again, on the house.

there’s a perfect californian sunset waiting for them as they make their way back out to the car. acrylic colours that are charmingly vibrant. indigo at war with strips of magenta, fluffed clouds of burnt orange tainted in between, twilight on the horizon. namjoon’s whole body aches as he soaks it in, he itches for a cigarette. almost. when he turns back, taehyung’s staring, eyes glazed over in want. face slack with naked emotion, something like respect. awe? an overt, unbridled veneration that burns namjoon down to his toes, heat fanning over the cockles of his soul.

“you were really a rapper?”

namjoon ducks his head, rubs at his nape. a flush curling up his cheeks and down his neck. “ah. i dabbled. in my misspent youth.”

“can’t be misspent if you still have dedicated fans.”

“taehyung-ah.”

“seriously, hyung‒”

“ ‒don’t start, i know what you’re about to ask.”

taehyung dazzles, clearly chuffed in this act of knowing and being known. “will you let me? listen?”

and namjoon sighs. he knows a losing battle when he sees one.

🌊

“so can i listen now?”

they've barely been home an hour. namjoon having coaxed taehyung into another sleepover via lazy makeout session on the couch. they’re all washed clean now, soft from mutual scrubbing and a shared shower. taehyung’s body drowns in namjoon’s comfiest clothes; an oversized shirt that nearly hangs off the slope of his shoulder and cotton shorts that he’s rolled up at the hip. he shifts idly from foot to foot. he does this shy little dance when he wants something, his head tilted, his plush mouth pulled down at the corners, chin almost poised to wobble while his eyes grow big and beseeching. he’s as cute as a puppy asking to play, just as heart wrenching.

namjoon couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“c’mere.” he crooks his fingers. taehyung follows obediently.

he makes his way between namjoon’s spread legs, his bottom up in the air as he crawls across the mused sheets, a soft grin bearing his pretty teeth.

there’s a certain smugness to it. pulling up the files on his laptop, slipping his headphones over taehyung’s adorable ears, manoeuvring him so the line of his back fits neatly against namjoon’s chest– “prime listening position.”

“i’m very good at listening,” taehyung assures.

“i’m sure you are, pretty.”

embarrassment dims his confidence as he loads up the tracks so he hits play as quickly as he can and buries his nose in taehyung’s nape, takes a long deep drag of sweet soap and powder and sunscreen and boy.

for too long, taehyung’s uncharacteristically still. quiet. namjoon can only clock a hint of his consciousness through the ebb and fall of his inhales and exhales. he counts passing time in the hitch of taehyung’s breaths, is able to guess what song is playing just based on the way he squirms and shifts and gasps. when he likes something, when he’s impressed, his grip on namjoon’s fingers tighten, he shivers.

it’s like an exercise on impulses. testing namjoon’s patience, his bravery. his anxiety is quelled by the weight of taehyung’s body, the inviting heat of him that bleeds through his thin sleep-shirt.

taehyung sways and bobs and fidgets through the next few tracks. his thumb drawing circles over namjoon’s knee cap. he swallows. “that was— can i say that was really hot? i shouldn’t say that. you’re very talented, hyungnim. a shining star. a poet.”

“—taehyung-ah–”

“—ok god, you’re sexy as fuck. i need– i would really like it if–oh my god.”

namjoon snorts. “taehyung-ah.” he harps again. taehyung whines, flails. his neck craning back against namjoon’s shoulder. he goes boneless like a mischievous kitten.

“i like the way you say that too. my name. sounds better when you say it.”

“i thought that about you too,” namjoon confesses. “that first day. the first time you said my name. wanted to keep hearing it, wanted to make you say it. over and over again”

“you’re killing me.” whining, he shivers and shifts and namjoon nuzzles into his neck, arching up to collect as many open-mouthed kisses as namjoon can offer.

“have you had enough?”

“is there more? can i keep listening?”

namjoon switches albums again, shifting to mono because he thinks it would most suit taehyung’s tastes. he can’t say he’s paying much attention, too busy tracing taehyung’s nipples through his thin white sleep shirt. one side, then the other to avoid suspicion.

“no thoughts on this one, baby?”

“s’good.” taehyung answered breathily.

he circles the sweet fat of taehyung’s areolas that puff through fabric. “just good?”

“ngh—hyung,” his spine strings into a ‘c,’ hips hitched up and back. his clothed bottom rucking against namjoon’s stirring cock.

namjoon pinches, pulls. parts taehyung’s thighs with his own leg and steadies him with a hand splayed over his tummy. “baby? use your words.”

“god— joon. shit.”

namjoon stiffles his laugh against taehyung’s nape. presses both hands to the flat of taehyung’s abdomen and drags upwards to cup his pecs. groping them gently, thumbs poised to twiddle over his stimulation-swollen nipples. all the while taehyung’s hips chase friction in a half-humped dance. the seam of his shorts pulled up between his asscheeks, planting namjoon’s cock further in between the heat of them.

“want more?”

“can’t even hear the words anymore. can’t even think— please, hyung—”

he nudges taehyung onto his back, crawls over him to loom and look like an apex predator with his snout in a prey’s nest. he noses taehyung’s oversized shirt up over his tummy. kisses sweetly across newly exposed skin, around taehyung’s korean-pear navel. laps into the fleshy dip of it, sinks his teeth at the curve. bites and sucks and soothes as taehyung keens high and needy. namjoon gets greedy and tugs his shirt off all the way, tossing it aside belligerently.

the pulse of taehyung’s whole body is frenetic. his shallow breaths harsh and ricketed, every inch of his skin burning where namjoon can feel. and it only makes him want to touch taehyung more. he chases it, the seismic shiver up taehyung’s spine as he lays half clothed and soft bellied beneath namjoon’s broader body. his plush lower lip trapped between his teeth, he’s maddening in his beauty. decollete dusted with sweat, bare skin bronzed by sun rays, a faint tan line channels up his upper thigh where namjoon’s hands have wandered to pet heavy.

taehyung’s necklace has pooled into the hollow of his slim throat, a puddle of liquid gold that namjoon teases with a forefinger, pulls taut till he arches up for a kiss. obedient and starry eyed.

“what do you want, sweetheart?” namjoon slicks into his mouth, tongue tracing his bitten bottom lip.

the gust of his sharp exhale is tinged with sugar sweetness. taehyung shakes his head, long lashes fanning fast, tickling namjoon’s cheek.

“uh—dunno— hyeong—” his spine bows, tummy trembling, “—wan’ everything. please, anything.”

“should i tell you what i want?”

he nods again, sweet and docile. namjoon presses a wet kiss to the beauty mark under his eye. makes his way back to taehyung’s pliable mouth to tongue-fuck him into a tizzy before he speaks again, voice burned low and lusty.

“i’m going to open you up, just like this,” he says. “and then when you’re nice and loose, i’m going to slurp you up, taehyung-ah, i bet you taste like fucking candy.” taehyung whimpers, trembling. “and then” namjoon nips at his chin, “and then, i’m gonna put my cock in you. stretch you out,” licks across his spit slick lips, “gonna ruin this hole, baby. you’re never going to be able to take another cock without thinking about me.”

“oh fuck,” taehyung squirms, his thighs batting at namjoon’s flank. “please, please, please—oh.”

namjoon grips him by the throat, lightly. the beat of his pulse hammering against the webbed flesh of namjoon’s purlicue. namjoon makes a point to look him in the eye as he presses down lightly on taehyung’s jugular, feather-gentle. less pressure, more intent, heat broiling in his belly as taehyung trembles.

“you like that?”

“i’m gonna cum in my pants, i swear to god.”

namjoon kisses his cheek, his chin. bites his bottom lip wicked. “you’re so cute, baby.”

taehyung preens. body going lax under namjoon’s weight, letting himself get lapped and laved.

“you taste good. sweet.”

“you like sweet things,” taehyung says as namjoon licks up his chin.

“and you’re the sweetest.”

“hyung,” he smiles. “i’m already in your bed, you don’t have to keep charming me.”

namjoon snorts, keeps his resolve enough to works his way down taehyung’s dainty neck, teeth bared to graze the hollow of his throat where that gold necklace always sits. he flat-tongues his way back up, spit sheening the brown of taehyung’s smooth skin. namjoon likes him so much, likes him best like this. laid out like a five course meal, sweaty and squirming and ripe for the feasting. he bypasses taehyung’s pretty mouth, noses his way along to one of his charming slightly oversized ears. when he suckles at the lobe, taehyung mewls, hips kicking, legs flailing, nails crescenting at namjoon’s biceps.

“sensitive?” namjoon asks.

taehyung nods, swallowing hard.

“hmm.” and in the best, the deepest, most seductive min yoongi adjacent daegu satoori he can channel namjoon says, “kim taehyung,” and he pauses for effect, “hyung is going to eat you now.”

clumsy, vowels stuck under his tongue tip and eyes hazy, taehyung manages a, “eat well, hyungnim!”

sex is served best like this. with laughter ringing in between gritty moans. namjoon wants taehyung to know this, to remember. wants him to feel so good every touch is imprinted into his bones. he kitten-stretches lazily as his pants come down.

no underwear barrs namjoon from his long, elegant cock. a slobber of pre-cum wetting the chubby mushroom head. it splays nice and heavy between taehyung’s luxe-lovely thighs, the mauve-swirl of it seamlessly complimenting the hyperpigmentation there. namjoon’s mouths down the inseam of his crotch, hand carrying the underside of his thigh up and out, nose nestling against the breadth of taehyung’s shaft but he refrains from touching it otherwise. teasing.

he’s so warm. so responsive. delicious and desperate. namjoon licks down his length, following a vein that descends all the way down to the rotund-smoothness of taehyung’s cute balls. he works his mouth over one, licks over the other thrice in quick succession as taehyung’s thigh muscles flex and flail. namjoon’s name falling from his lips like sunday prayer.

his tongue tangles down taehyung’s silky taint. nose mashed to his skin to pull in rich lungfuls of sweat, skin and salt-musk. he takes a little nibble there, nurses the meat at the crux of taehyung’s bottom before he pulls him up by the hips and spreads him. lollipop-licking till he gets to the wet-rim centre.

taehyung’s hole is as smooth as milk. flower core hibiscus wrinkled, melanin dark and winking as namjoon’s blows against it. taehyung mewls. his whole body thrown into a spasm of pleasure.

“you like that baby?”

taehyung sobs. “please. please. i like it so much.”

he’s got the prettiest little honey-hole namjoon’s ever seen. he takes to a stretching like wet-clay to shaping. caramel core rim sucking back onto the finger that namjoon works in, convulsing around namjoon’s tongue. he drives himself into the soft-sweet crevice of taehyung’s ass cheeks.

tongue-swaddles taehyung’s rim and sucks on it till it puckers back and spasms. he eats with the vigour of starved man, feasts on taehyung til his jaws worked sore, only pulls away when taehyung’s rim is sopping in excess saliva. a gossamer gush of it slicking all the way down taehyung’s pert bottom.

the second finger he filters in is met with a heady wet-click clench that makes them both shudder in anticipation. he loses himself in this. he takes a mere moment to thank himself for leaving their lube conveniently under a pillow. squirts a generous helping of it onto his fingers, flooding the crux of taehyung’s hole, scissors and stretches. he presses a hand into the plushness of taehyung’s tummy as he keeps his kicking hips still, three knuckles deep in taehyung’s silk swollen hole, his rim puffy and pink hued, a flowering, cock-clinging-cinch.

“opening up so good for me, sweetheart.” namjoon praises. “taking it so well.”

“told you,” taehyung manages to brat, legs lifted against namjoon’s shoulders, hips humping high and fast.

“my cock isn’t even in you yet.”

“mmm—taking too long.”

“patience is a virtue, taehyung-ah.”

taehyung drags himself down the bed, legs locked around namjoon’s waist. the curve of his body is demure and inviting. the wet gape of his rim indelibly stretched and ready to be fucked. “i’m more of a slut than a saint, hyung.”

“you’re a pretty little tease.”

he hums, pouts his mouth for a kiss that namjoon happily obliges. “you like it.”

“i do,” he concedes.

he lets taehyung’s mischievous hands pull his cock out of his pants. there’s a delighted little gasp as the full coke-can length of him springs free to bounce back against namjoon’s tense abdomen. he growls as taehyung’s long elegant fingers wrap around him and tug. once, twice. nasty and amateurish in a way that has namjoon dizzy.

“jagi-yah,” he coaxes, just to watch taehyung’s hands falter, his mouth fall open in a deep harsh breath, throat bared as he throws his head back in overt submission.

“oh, that’s not fair,” he croons.

“is it?” namjoon asks as he pins taehyung’s wrist to his side, funnels his own cock down the length of taehyung’s supine body to where he’s the neediest. “tell me how bad you want it.”

“call me that again.”

namjoon smacks his cockhead ‘splat’ against taehyung’s lube-drooled hole. taehyung shakes, sex kitten persona falling in the face of pure wanton desperation. “be a good boy, jagi. tell me.”

“bad,” taehyung rasps. “so bad. so, sooo bad.”

namjoon rewards him with the push of his bulbing cockhead to his pretty hole, slips into the tightness of him till he’s corona deep. till taehyung’s practically trashing at the intrusion. he wants to bury himself all the way. wants to watch the scratch of his pubic hair meet the hairlessness of taehyung’s cherub-peach rear. wants to be snug inside.

taehyung’s eager for it, rearing up with surprising core-strength to jostle namjoon’s cock deeper into his rim. sugary-sobs of “uh-uh-uh,” spilling from his spit-slick lips. his pace is shoddy and clumsy but namjoon’s likes it. likes watching him chase and take. lets him drink his fill before he’s had enough.

he folds taehyung in half, dragging the heels of his hands down his body roughly. shoulders to hips in a way that makes taehyung’s moist rim clutch deeper, harder, greedier. his perfect ass rippling as namjoon fucks in all the way. holds him in place and makes him take it. masters a glide that has taehyung leaking, tummy trembling as namjoon nails against the nerve of his prostate. taehyung whimpers, nose snot-reddened, mouth hanging open dumbly as he cries out.

namjoon rises up onto his haunches, presses them chest to chest so he can feel the hummingbird beat of taehyung’s heart against his own. taehyung’s little nipples are so hard, jutting out, taunting namjoon’s thumbs to press and pull and pinch. his muscles tense and flex as he builds his pace, fucking taehyung in a molasses slow glide. rests his hand back on taehyung’s throat just to ground him enough for another kiss. a needy, breathy mouth against mouth sort of tongue-sucking.

their rhythm builds till his hips cradle taehyung’s ass in a full slap-slap-slap. long, deep strokes that’ll leave taehyung bruise-sore and touch-tender inside. his precious-puckered rim clinging on every single thrust. in-in-out till the spit, lube and sweat fucked are to froth around namjoon’s cock.

taehyung’s cock spurts across his tummy in intermittent, watery gushes. the flow stalled by the indulgently sloppy recklessness namjoon’s fucking him into the pillows, trapping him in place and reaming his ass the way he’s been feining for it since day one. taehyung seems too stunned to speak, to sob, to do anything but babble brokenly. he wraps his arms around namjoon’s neck and rolls his hips and takes it like a doll. pretty face brightened in pleasure. angel.

“you’re so close, aren’t you?” namjoon coos. “i can feel it, baby. i can tell. you’re clenching up for me.” he fixes his canine teeth into the side of taehyung’s dainty neck. “taking it so good, you were right. made for hyung’s cock.” namjoon hoists him higher, swallows his sobs. keeps talking as he feels taehyung teetering the edge. “you’ve been so good, sweetheart. so beautiful.” he hands squeeze around taehyung’s throat. “cum for me.”

and taehyung’s orgasm crests on him like a storm tide, marked by a frantic heave of “cum. cum. gonna cum.” he convulses like he’s been lightning struck. slim hips gyrating erratically as he rides it out. his chin wobbles, chest quaking. “hyung. fuck. oh god, joonie-hyung.”

namjoon stays inside. suckered in painfully. fucks taehyung deftly through each waining wave. they swap spit as namjoon all but beats his cock raw in taehyung’s gullible hole. sloppy but steady strokes, eyes trained on the mosaic of pearlescent spunk that decorates taehyung’s soft tummy, cum collected like a shot in his belly button.

and it’s this thought that has namjoon tipping. he’s curled over in the gut-clench, soul sucking pull of it. suffocating as his cock pulses out fat, cream-heavy spurts into taehyung’s hole. he’s knocked off-balance, the last of his strength seeping out into a few violent thrusts that has the bedframe knocking against the wall.

below him, boneless and dazed, taehyung pets the knobs of namjoon’s spine. and they fall into each other, sleep-heavy. sweat humid and satiated. they stare at each other. clobbered by exertion. bodies intertwined. hands pressed together palm to palm.

“okay?” he asks.

“fucked my brains out,” taehyung answers.

namjoon’s deep chuckle is buried into taehyung’s sweat-wet hair as he pulls him close, letting his head rest against his chest. baby-cradles him until the tension in his spine relaxes, his muscles uncoil.

“need anything?”

“just hold me,” taehyung says. “don’t let me go.”

🌊

their endless summer ends too fast.

one day he’s teaching taehyung how to carefully grill steaks under a milky midnight sky and then the next he’s swerving through outer-city traffic and pulling up to a bustling university campus.

he pulls the car up to the curb, hands casing the steering with nervous energy before he allows himself to reach out again for the meat of taehyung’s bare thigh. his skin is sunwarm, goose-fleeshed, namjoon cheeks down to kiss his mouth, taehyung angles so they slip together like puzzle pieces. a lock shifting into place. click.

“i don’t want to get out,” he whines.

“then don’t,” namjoon kisses him softly, “we can take a drive around town, get some lunch, i’ll bring you back before dinner.”

taehyung shakes his head, his gold necklace dislodged by the weight of the shiny new pendant namjoon had gifted there. a tiny halo that sits against taehyung’s chest.

“if i don’t get out, i won’t ever.”

“ah, your eomma won’t appreciate me dissuadeing your studies.”

“can’t i just go back home and be your pretty little housewife? i’ll learn to cook eventually, i promise.”

namjoon feels himself flush furiously at the implication. lets his mind churn out the image of taehyung in a silk robe puttering around his colourful kitchen, pouting as he concentrates on this bubbling pot or the other.

he soothes his thumb over real-taehyung’s solemn pout, mouths a line up his dainty neck. “you can do that on your weekends, baby.”

“will you come back for me?”

it’s almost laughable how eager namjoon is to please him. to fulfil his every wish. he’s yet to tell taehyung that much in words, has a pocketful of yoongi-approved demos that lay out his feelings instead. he’ll share them all eventually, kiss taehyung silly and whisper in confession something cheesy like, ‘you’re my muse, baby. i’ll go wherever you go.’ but for now he settles on easier answers like, “everyday, if you want me to.”

and taehyung grins. “i want you to.”