Chapter Text
The Gallerie dell'Accademia is an art museum at the Scuola della Carità on the south bank of the Grand Canal of Venice. Namjoon knows this place, he has been here many times. Not like this, though. Not with an actual job, with an actual project to run, instead of getting coffee for the director and the photography staff. Not like this.
It’s July; the white building in front of him makes the heat even more aggressive. But it's nice, his sunglasses shield him from the blinding light. He moves the specs down a bit, just to see it for himself, to really take it in. He's here.
"Mister, where would you like the bags?"
"Thank you, I'll take them upstairs".
His Italian is horrible. Well, to him at least. Namjoon really wants to get better than just being understood and understanding others. But what can he do? His accent is there. Whatever, if he could perfect his American, he can push himself a bit more with Italian.
Namjoon pays the taxi driver. He came straight from the airport, not even stopping at the hotel. Very tired and kind of sweaty, but still prim and proper in his white shirt and light summer suit pants. He likes Ralph Lauren - as of the six months he has been able to afford it. Namjoon just got promoted and offered a new project. It is a completely different position from his previous art dealing at this company. It used to be very local, just around the city and its surrounding shows around the state. Very occasional international travel, only when the directors need him for a large exhibition or sale. But now, now is different. He can do his own scoping, his own exhibits - very small, they told him multiple times, he has a small budget. But it's all his now. All the responsibility.
The sun gets a bit too heavy on his brow for a moment. It really is a large building. Now a bit more intimidating than friendly. He enters and the cold air within the stone walls envelopes him instantly.
He has been organizing this sale for months now. It's one of his first big successes, and his very first one in Italy. Namjoon is positively beaming at the thought of it.
"Welcome Mr Kim." The girl finally arrives to reception.
Vittoria is very happy to see him and show him around the gallery, especially since she seems tired of answering her walkie-talkie attached to her dress by the waist. Somebody is constantly giving her instructions, or more like demands, in Italian. He does not sound too patient. Vittoria, nevertheless, ignores the noise and quickly leads Namjoon through a set of rooms. The gallery is closed today, it's all empty except for staff members and crew.
"It's a photo shoot. For an advert." She turns around briefly as they climb a flight of marble stairs. Her brown hair flies like a dark flag from one shoulder to the other. She's quite pretty. Very pretty. As they arrive to the second floor, she reluctantly answers her talkie and quickly tells the person to hold on while she is dealing with somebody else at the moment.
"Fashion directors. So angry all the time!" Vittoria laughs a little but it just makes her seem more tired. "It's been a long week with them. They've rented out the gallery for every evening and all of the weekend."
"Oh, okay." Namjoon would say more but honestly he does not care. He just wants to see the painting. Make the sale. Plan his next step. Maybe sleep a bit.
Everything goes fine. The room is perfect, the lighting exceptional. It's ready for tomorrow. The viewing is scheduled for the morning and Namjoon plans the sale by the next day or perhaps even that night. "We'll see." He thinks for a moment. There is no rush. He is here to stay for about week anyway.
Vittoria is in more of a rush. She tries to finalise everything at lightning speed but she is still too late. There is a loud banging noise. The large interior door folds onto itself, one room-height segment after the other. The room opens up to the adjacent space; a much bigger and brighter area. The natural light is now obstructed by harsh artificial lighting. Namjoon turns around, confused.
The man pushing the sliding doors is middle-aged, tall, and very angry. He's wearing all black like all the other crew members. He dramatically throws his arms around as to present the busy set behind him. The display is done all for Vittoria who seems unfazed.
"Do you see that, Miss?" The man's voice is more high-pitched than excepted. He is pointing directly behind him. "Do you think that stays like that forever? No, it does not, it is going to faint any second now because your incompetent staff cannot provide cold bottled water! Is that so hard?"
Vittoria walks over to him swiftly and starts explaining something; their conversation is not discernible to Namjoon. He could pay attention but he is looking at something else.
In the middle of the other room is a half-naked man. He is sitting on an elevated surface that is covered in dark red velvet. A sea of it. The man isn't wearing anything, just the material draped over his lap. He is posing, sitting motionless. He looks very white and, with his breathing barely showing, strangely inanimate. Face turned towards the large windows by the side, he's looking slightly downwards and supporting himself with his hand, extended next to his body. His other arm is lying on his knee. Namjoon searches his face but cannot find any expression on it. It's hard to see much, his hair falls into his eyes, but there is also just nothing there. He isn't there. It's only his furrowed brows that make him somewhat alive.
Namjoon is stunned. He might have even stepped closer. He wants to say something. To get his attention. But how? And ... why?
He doesn't have the time to figure that out. The angry man and Vittoria move through the set, continuing their loud arguing, and as they walk across, the naked man glances at the person behind the camera. The photographer waves his hand at him dismissively. The model stretches his arms a bit and turns his head towards Namjoon. His expression is lazy and uninterested, he isn't even really looking at him. But then... he is. His half lidded eyes focus on Namjoon's face. He is disturbingly pretty.
Namjoon is melting away.
Somebody throws a pair of boxers at the model. He draws his eyes away from Namjoon to catch them. He starts putting them on, standing up. The black material against his pale skin makes Namjoon uneasy and sweltered in his button-up shirt. He is getting dizzy, like he's in a daydream. His mouth is completely dry now, throat closing in, and something hot pooling in his groin.
The man looks at him again, his fingers still holding the hem of the boxers, low on his hips. As he keeps staring down at Namjoon, his figure seems small and towering at the same time.
The doors are sliding apart now, somebody pushing them towards the other end of the room. A white wall is forming and Namjoon is slowly shut out from the brights lights and the chatter of crew members. The door is sliding by the man's face. He is still looking. Then he turns his gaze down just as before. Brows slightly furrowed once again.
The room is darker. The sunlight is more noticeable, sprawled on the floor in front of Namjoon.
He just now notices that he hasn't moved at all and has been standing quite a few steps from the other room. Not close at all.
-
"That's alright. I have an early morning tomorrow."
And also he doesn't really want to go.
Namjoon just stepped out of the elaborate bathroom of his hotel room. He is still wet, towel around his waist. He is also still preoccupied by the thoughts and consequent urges he had in the shower, just moments ago. He has sternly pushed them away without acting on them but the thoughts continue to linger.
The sitting room window is wide open, letting in the heat from the street overlooking a quiet canal. The museum assistant, Vittoria, called him to apologise for the mishap earlier. She suggested dinner, which he has now turned down.
"Oh, of course. Well, anyways, sorry again. And I told that guy from the set that he can leave your ring at the hotel reception."
"The ... wha... Who?" Namjoon holds his phone closer to his face.
"One of the guys on set? He said you left something there, I think it was a ring?"
"I don't wear jewelry." Namjoon hears himself sounding a bit agitated.
"Oh? Well... uhm... He should be waiting at the lobby by now. I can tell him to go away, if you want?"
Namjoon looks outside the window. Venice is even more captivating against the navy blue night-sky. He really shouldn't be so annoyed. It's an honest mistake. He sighs quietly.
"No, it's okay. I'll go downstairs and explain."
Still a bit annoyed, he puts on jeans and a t-shirt and takes the elevator. In the mirror he looks less pissed off. Good. He really shouldn't be so flippant. She was just trying to help. Reception tells him that somebody is waiting for him in the lobby to the right. It's a luxurious area with dim lighting and large square couches. But there is nobody there. No crew member, nobody resembling staff. Just a man sleeping on a black leather sofa.
He is almost unnoticeable, swallowed up by the seat, facing away from the reception counter. He's sitting on the edge of the sofa, head lolled back, his neck completely exposed. He's wearing something low-cut, the white fabric unbelievably delicate, covered up by a red velvet jacket that is heavily embellished.
"Who wears red velvet? And who looks this good in it?" is Namjoon's first thought but by the next moment he already knows who it is. It's him. The naked guy.
He is fully dressed this time. The jacket is undone, revealing a tiny waist, a chunky black belt and some very, very tight skinny jeans. Ripped at both knees, they give off an extortionate amount of nonchalance already, but on top of that he had thrown one ankle over the other knee. Hands by the armrest on both sides, he is presenting his lap with such cockiness, it's almost infuriating. And he hasn't even said a word yet. Asleep and unknowing, he's free to be observed, and Namjoon does exactly that. He has very dark hair but his face is so squishy, so pale, so round and adorable.
Suddenly, the man wakes up. His eyes open without any warning and Namjoon gets caught in his glare. There is nothing adorable there. How can he have such chubby cheeks with a pair of eyes that are almost diabolical?
"Had a nice shower?"
The tone is accusatory. No expression on his face at all, just the continued relentless eye contact.
"What?"
Namjoon is caught off guard. He can feel himself blushing. "He can't know, there is no way" he thinks to himself.
"Your hair. It's wet." His tone is a little bit more casual this time, eyes a bit hooded. He tilts his head to the side, as to look at Namjoon's hair more intently.
Namjoon is completely flustered now. He runs a hand through his hair, absent-minded.
"Yeah, I guess." He finally says, just to acknowledge that it is in fact not completely dry. "Well, anyway... I don't wear any, uhm, the ring, it's not mine."
"I know" is all the black-haired man says.
Namjoon frowns. Vittoria was trying to help, this guy is just trying to be an asshole.
"That is a stupid joke."
The man bears the irritated stare Namjoon shoots him like it's nothing.
"Why?" He stands up now and steps closer. "Maybe you should wear some." He says, still looking into Namjoon's eyes, his face tilted up. He is quite a bit shorter than Namjoon. Eyebrows raised a little, he gives him an innocent expression and takes one of the many rings off of his hand.
Without looking away, the man takes Namjoon's hand and puts the ring on his finger. He's not smirking but somehow Namjoon feels that he is. Then, though only for a second, he looks away, turning his head, like he has something more important to look at. As the eye contact is broken, Namjoon wakes up from whatever spell he was under.
What the hell was that?
Namjoon has no time to collect his thoughts, the model is staring at him again.
"So, are you gonna buy me a drink or what?" His voice is impatient and bored at the same time. And offended for being kept waiting.
Namjoon has just about had enough. It's weird. He looks at his finger. The ring fits. He looks at the man again. He really is gorgeous. But there's something else, too.
"I... I guess. Do you want to go to the bar?"
-
It's been several drinks and only one hour that didn't seem more than ten minutes. Namjoon has found out exactly nothing about him apart from his very expensive taste in drinks and high tolerance for alcohol. All they were talking about is Namjoon and he himself didn't even notice. The guy is really good at asking questions. But just now when he asked him for his name, he went on a bathroom break.
Namjoon's elbow is propped up on the table, supporting his pouty face. He doesn't like riddles. At least not the ones he can't figure out. Staring in front of himself, he notices the ring that he still hasn't taken off. He feels stupid about that now.
"You seem glum."
The voice comes from the end of the table. It's him. Fingers run through the crown of Namjoon's head. It's tentative, undecided between being annoying or gentle. Namjoon turns towards him, protesting with a scandalized glare.
The man is much taller than him this way, standing while Namjoon is sitting. He's looking down at him without removing his hand. In fact, he has the audacity to take some of his hair between his fingers and flip his parting around. He moves his hand down along the length of the peachy colored strand he selected, barely holding onto it, more like using it as an excuse to stroke Namjoon's forehead and temple, and finally, brushing his knuckles against his cheek. The whole thing lasts no longer than two seconds but Namjoon is outraged. Outraged and extremely aroused.
The man keeps looking down. It seems like he's smiling but his lips don't move. Namjoon wants to kiss him. He wants it now. Instead, he watches him sit down and finish his drink. The guy rubs his button nose a bit; three over-the-top rings flash dimly.
"Min Yoongi." He says eventually. "That's my name".
Fuck. Namjoon vaguely remembers being interested in his whole backstory just moments ago but now he doesn't give a fuck about his name, he just wants him, all of him. Now, immediately. In an attempt to calm down, he suggests going outside.
"Why?"
"It's nice outside. We're in Venice." Namjoon makes a little "duh" face.
"Oh. That." Yoongi rolls his eyes as he gets up.
They walk down along the canal silently, Yoongi looking at his shoes, Namjoon at the water. And occasionally at Yoongi. He feels more comfortable talking to him this way. There's less of that stabbing eye contact.
"So...you're a model?"
"Yeah." Yoongi shrugs like he's admitting to working at McDonald's or the local gas station.
"You don't like it?" Namjoon looks at him.
"I don't care about it."
"Well, you seem really good at it." Namjoon tries to get away with a friendly smile.
Yoongi frowns at him in disgust. Namjoon is no longer smiling.
"Why do you have to be so rude and annoyed?"
The question just slips out. It has been trying to slip out for an hour now and finally made its way.
Yoongi stops walking and looks up to him. Namjoon succeeded in getting Yoongi’s full attention for the first time. And it isn't even piercing. Just dark and shimmering like the water he was looking at before. Namjoon must be drunk. Why would he think that? But Yoongi's face does have a certain glow, especially right now. In front of him. So close.
“What I meant was... You never smile. You’re always so, uhm, disgruntled…? Unnecessarily so.”
“Always?” Yoongi’s wry tone is almost degrading. “We’ve only met today.”
And I already kind of hate you.
But then, what is he doing here? It makes no sense. Mostly because Namjoon doesn't hate people, definitely not when he doesn't even know them. And yet, the guy got him riled up with just the faces he makes. And the way he talks. And his whole body and the way he touched him and...
"Whatever." Namjoon dismisses his own thoughts. "It was just an honest compliment. You didn't take it too well."
Yoongi shrugs again.
"I know I'm pretty. Compliments are useless". He continues before Namjoon has enough time to scoff. "And I know I'm good."
"Then, you really don't have a reason to be annoyed."
It's Yoongi who ends up scoffing.
"No, I guess not." His words have some venom in them." You really don't know anything."
He puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket and looks over to the canal for a bit, then continues in a slightly less agitated tone.
"I have to be good, otherwise I wouldn't be employed. I'm twenty-five. My career has been basically over for two years. Career, huh... Modeling. What does it even matter anyway? Faces."
His own face twitches. Yoongi is smiling. Namjoon wishes he wasn't.
Then, still staring away from Namjoon, he shakes his head, his expression blank once again, voice monotone and dazed.
"And actually, my nose is my only redeeming feature. I know when I look good, and I don't get paid to smile for a reason. My eyes get half their original miniature size and my mouth is basically all gums. Nobody wants to see that. I have stupid eyebrows. And from certain angles, I look like a bat.”
Namjoon feels something twist in his stomach. His arms move before he knows it.
Yoongi was looking away so he couldn’t have anticipated it. Out of nowhere, Namjoon’s hands cup his face from both sides. His thumbs are now resting on Yoongi’s cheeks, his pointer fingers by his temple, while the rest are pressing into the boy’s neck behind his ears, to force him to look straight at him.
“Everything you say is stupid.” Namjoon says, frustrated and serious.
Yoongi’s hair feels very soft between his fingers. His face looks so round, it's angelic. Without any hesitation, Namjoon ducks his head and holds Yoongi's face close to his. It's a dramatic first kiss, even with their mouths completely closed. Their lips pressed together, eyes shut, Namjoon wants to feel alone with Yoongi for a second, be as close as possible. He just wanted to shut up him up and those thoughts gone from his head, somehow magically just by holding him tight enough.
Then, his fingers ease up from their grip a little bit. Yoongi’s head lulls back into his hands, compliant and heavy. Instead of breaking the liplock, Yoongi is waiting for more. His tongue is licking Namjoon’s lips, trying to get through. Soon, his hands are on Namjoon’s chest, holding onto his t-shirt, and pulling him into a needy and drawn-out kiss.
Too lost in whatever Yoongi’s tongue is doing to his, Namjoon can't help but start moaning almost instantly. He wants more of Yoongi, desperately. The world is spinning, the city lights and the navy blue sky blur together. There’s nothing but darkness full of endlessly sweet, velvety kisses and the choking heat of the summer evening. Namjoon doesn’t even notice that Yoongi’s hands are trying to link behind his neck, until his own arms are around Yoongi’s waist, holding tight and giving the smaller enough leverage to pull himself up and deepen the kiss even more.
It is no longer chaste, not even close. Hot and wet and more desperate with every passing second. Yoongi whines and moans, demanding more of Namjoon’s tongue in his mouth. He sucks down on his lips, never letting the kiss break or slow down. Obviously expecting Namjoon to support him by the waist while he is doing all this, Yoongi is not on his tip toes, he’s no longer standing at all but hanging with his feet in the air. Namjoon sneaks one hand onto his ass, just to make sure he's steady. He doesn't bother coming up with an excuse for grabbing it hard and making Yoongi grind up against his crotch.
Yoongi, now high up and in full control of the pace, pushes his fingers into Namjoon’s neck, occasionally grabbing his hair gently and not so gently. His kissing is even less cautious. Actually biting Namjoon's lips at one point, he's rolling his tongue around his, faster and harder each time. Although it feels sweeter than any kisses Namjoon’s ever had, it’s a relentless push against his whole body. Like Yoongi really wouldn’t care if either of them suffocated right then and there.
But eventually they do start huffing for air. The kiss breaks and Namjoon opens his eyes.
Yoongi has let go of his shoulders and hopped back onto his feet. His lips are a much darker shade of pink now, almost red. He stares at Namjoon hazily and raises a hand to touch them. Three over-the-top rings glimmer in the dark.