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    Yoongi leans close, closer, their mouths nearly fucking touching. Namjoon’s fingers dig in-between the gaps of Yoongi’s ribs. “Suran can’t come,” he repeats, loud, breath ghosting over Namjoon’s skin, heavy with spicy whiskey and cigarette smoke. “Too late.”

    Namjoon leans even closer, and this time there’s no where else to go; their lips are officially touching. “Sucks,” Namjoon slurs. And before his useless fucking brain can decide what to do about this sudden development, Yoongi appears to have a better handle on reality than he does, because Yoongi’s kissing him, little puckers of his lips against Namjoon’s that would make smacking sounds if the club wasn’t so god damn loud.

    He lets Yoongi do it. The hand over Yoongi’s ribs rub down to his hips, then up again, over and over, unable to be seen since it’s happening underneath his jacket. Adrenaline and pure joy seems to be affecting both of them, not just Namjoon; they’ve never experienced this level of success in the past four years of building a cheap excuse of a career.

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    Namjoon and Yoongi's careers are taking off. They're so happy, they fuck.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    19,610
    Chapters:
    2/2
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    07 Mar 2021