Work Text:
It’s nearing two in the morning when Yoongi finally heaves a sigh, removing the headphones from his ears and pushing away from his desk. He rolls his shoulders, wincing at the aches and pains in his body from being hunched in the same position for so long—so many hours of the night, so many nights of his life. Namjoon keeps trying to convince him to get a chair that’s better for his posture, but he can’t be fucked.
He works better like this, he thinks—like he’s desperate for it, when he has to feel every part of his work in his body. When he can feel the notes and the lyrics, when he can pinpoint exactly where it hurts when he made it. It’s not good for his back, maybe, but it’s good for business.
After he’s stretched out some of the kinks, he looks over his shoulder and, with a fond sort of grin, notes that Jeongguk is fast asleep on the sofa, like always. He’s fallen asleep in the middle of his own work, laptop still open on his lap and headphones hanging half off of his head where he’s slumped down. Mouth hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies. If Yoongi was feeling in a particularly teasing mood, he might leave Jeongguk like that and try to throw things in his mouth, but—he’s tired, eyes sore. Body sore. Jeongguk’s been putting in longer hours than he and they don’t have time for it in preparation for their new album.
So Yoongi is nice, turns off his desktop before heading over to the sofa and gently waking Jeongguk with a hand on his thigh. Sometimes he wants to suggest that Jeongguk just do his work at the dorm, since he always ends up falling asleep when Yoongi stays late in his studio, but—he doesn’t want to see the look on Jeongguk’s face, like a kicked puppy when he thinks that Yoongi doesn’t want him around. He does want Jeongguk around—always wants him around—but he doesn’t know how to get the point across that he just wants to look out for the younger boy’s health.
Instead, he just watches as Jeongguk wakes up, slowly like always. He blinks sleepily, mouth open and closing in vague confusion before he manages to focus on Yoongi.
“Hyung?” he asks groggily.
“C’mon, Guk-ah,” says Yoongi, gently taking the laptop and prying the headphones off of Jeongguk’s head so he can pack them away. Then he reaches out for Jeongguk’s hand, pulling him off of the sofa and leading him out of the studio as the younger boy clings to him, entire body pressed to Yoongi’s arm. He doesn’t do very well after he’s just woken up, like a baby deer just learning how to walk.
Yoongi doesn’t mind, especially as Jeongguk sort of falls asleep on his shoulder when he’s busy locking up the studio again, all those bells and whistles, and he can’t help dropping a kiss to the top of Jeongguk’s head for fear of his heart bursting right then and there.
It’s after they’ve stumbled their way back to the dorm, Jeongguk’s hand clasped tightly in his, that Yoongi remembers the piece of paper in his pocket. He stops outside of the front door, pulling Jeongguk to a halt, and deems him awake enough for it—Jeongguk’s eyes are wide and bright and questioning when Yoongi turns to him and then quickly fishes the paper out of his pocket, shoving it at Jeongguk and then just as quickly snatching both of his hands back, sinking them into his pockets. Suddenly, his shoes are very interesting. He examines them rather than examining Jeongguk’s expression as the other opens the little paper, and Yoongi doesn’t want to see the look on his face but he can practically hear it anyway—
“What’s this?” asks Jeongguk, both confusion and amusement colouring the words.
“It’s—nothing,” says Yoongi, shaking his head. He scuffs his shoe against the ground. “Just… the passcode.” He coughs. “To my studio.”
He keeps his eyes trained on the ground, resolutely—practically burning a hole through it. Doesn’t want to look, can’t look, because he’s blushing enough as it is and doesn’t need Jeongguk’s face to make it worse—Jeongguk, who always has this special way of looking at Yoongi when Yoongi does something nice for him, like Yoongi designed the whole fucking universe just so they could have this moment. Maybe he did. Doesn’t mean Jeongguk has to look at him like that.
He can feel it in the silence, anyway, but then the silence gets a little too long and he fears that maybe—Jeongguk isn’t looking at him like that, but rather with a certain amount of displeasure. Disgust. Maybe it was the wrong choice, maybe Jeongguk doesn’t actually care that much, and Yoongi looks up anyway, and—
Oh. Yeah. There it is.
“It’s just,” begins Yoongi hurriedly, looking down again when his cheeks flush again. “You’re always in there, anyway, and I know you like to work on your stuff when other people aren’t around and—I mean, like. It’s just easier if you don’t always have to wait for me to answer the door? Plus it’s—sometimes I’m just in it too much and knocking pulls me out, so.” He stops, rubbing at the back of his neck before he chances another glance upward, seeing that Jeongguk is still staring at him with that stupid grin on his face, and there’s a whole fucking galaxy in his eyes and that’s not fair.
“You don’t have to accept it,” Yoongi says, suddenly second-guessing himself. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? Sorry, I don’t—”
“Hyung.” says Jeongguk, finally, cutting off Yoongi’s stumbling apologies. He reaches out, hand sliding over Yoongi’s neck until he can thumb just under the elder’s ear. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy for you to give up your personal space like this, and I really appreciate it.”
Yoongi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, melting into the hand Jeongguk has on his neck. It’s not like Jeongguk hasn’t invaded every bit of his personal space already—they’re hopelessly wrapped up in each other, physically, figuratively. There are more of Jeongguk’s things than his own in his bedroom and studio. He’s pretty sure the hoodie he’s wearing right now is one of Jeongguk’s. But it’s—different, when it just happens or when he gives it explicit permission to happen. This is Yoongi telling Jeongguk that he’s always welcome in the most intimate parts of his life, that he trusts him. There’s more.
“Cool,” says Yoongi lamely, because he doesn’t know what else to say. His cheeks are still warm, and Jeongguk’s grin—his little giggle—don’t help, but then Jeongguk is shuffling forward until their toes are pressed together and he leans over and he doesn’t let go of Yoongi’s neck when he kisses him: soft, gentle. Home.
When Jeongguk presses a little too hard, tongue peeking out to swipe along Yoongi’s bottom lip—Yoongi pulls back, hand on the younger’s chest to keep him from chasing after. “Just don’t abuse it,” he says suddenly, now that the nervousness has dissipated. “There are reasons I gave that to you and I will not hesitate to revoke your privilege if you use my studio for things I didn’t give you the passcode for.”
The responding smirk Jeongguk gives him ought to be worrying. “Sure, hyung,” he says, and he’s clutching the paper so tightly that Yoongi is afraid he won’t be able to read the numbers anyway. He plants another kiss on Yoongi’s lips. “You won’t regret it.”
Yoongi regrets it.
things yoongi did not give jeongguk the passcode to his studio for
i. this.
“Hyung!” says Jeongguk as soon as he opens the door, stepping into the studio like he owns it, because—well.
Yoongi doesn’t look over from where he’s focused on the track he’s working on. He’s been stuck on it for days now, and he can’t figure out what’s wrong with it, but he swears he almost has it, it’s on the tip of his fingers—
“Hyung!”
Yoongi turns up the volume, playing the chorus of the track back again. There’s something missing. There’s something missing but he doesn’t know what, even though it’s been keeping him up since he started this mess. Maybe it’s the vocals, he thinks, as he plays the chorus again, shutting his eyes as he tries to imagine a different harmony—
“Yoongi-hyung!” This time the word is accompanied by hands on his shoulders, shaking him a little and Yoongi almost growls low in his throat, turning around and shoving the headphones off of his ears as he glares at Jeongguk.
“What do you want?” he snaps, and he expects—Jeongguk will at least be startled, cower back a little when he realizes that he’s just interrupted Yoongi in the middle of a very important piece of work. Yoongi likes to think he can be scary when he wants to be, even when he doesn’t want to be, but Jeongguk just—beams at him, only happy that he’s gotten Yoongi’s attention.
The boy hops backward, stopping the middle of the studio and just standing there, arms and legs spread wide. “Look!” he says happily, smiling at Yoongi expectantly, and Yoongi doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to be looking at for a moment. All he can think about is the goddamn song and how he’s now lost whatever it was he thought it might have needed.
But he stares at Jeongguk, blinks once, twice. It’s only then that he notices what Jeongguk is wearing. It’s…
“A bunny onesie!” Jeongguk helpfully supplies, flapping his arms a little to accentuate the massive sleeves of the yellow onesie. His eyes crinkle as he smiles, customary bunny smile on full display and for a second, it’s all Yoongi can look at before his eyes travel Jeongguk’s body, noting the big, floppy ears on the hood. It’s not cute, he tells himself. He’s angry at Jeongguk.
And then Jeongguk turns around and sticks his butt out, wiggling his hips so that Yoongi is forced to stare at the fluffy little tail attached to the back. Yoongi clenches his jaw as hard as he possibly can, because—it’s not cute.
“You came all the way here to show me this?” asks Yoongi, trying to stir up his prior feelings of irritation so he can force it into his voice.
Jeongguk peers over his shoulder, still smiling.
“You interrupted my work to show me this?”
“Hyung—”
“You abused your passcode privileges to show me this?”
For the first time—Jeongguk’s smile falters, like he just now realizes that Yoongi is serious about being upset. Everyone knows they’re not allowed to bother Yoongi when he’s working, knows that he’ll get into this rut of self-doubt and self-destruction if he can’t finish a song properly or can’t figure out what’s wrong with something he’s working on or doesn’t think something is good enough, and the surest way to get him into that headspace is to fuck with his concentration.
Everyone knows this. Jeongguk knows this.
Except—Jeongguk turns around again, no longer smiling. No longer showing off, hands already curled together in front of him and he looks so dejected, and—Yoongi panics.
“It’s cute,” he says suddenly, which is really the opposite of what he should be saying, but—he can’t stand when Jeongguk looks like that, can’t stand when he’s not happy. Can’t stand when he doesn’t think he’s loved, and Yoongi reasons, then, that maybe a distraction is actually a good thing, maybe he’s been staring at his desktop for too long and even a few moments of looking away will somehow help him figure out how to fix the song. Maybe it wasn’t a total stroke of genius that he was about to happen upon before Jeongguk interrupted him.
“Really?” asks Jeongguk, like he’s second-guessing himself, too, and—this isn’t what Yoongi gave him the passcode for, but. Fuck. He’s too weak.
“C’mere,” says Yoongi, crooking his finger in a gesture for Jeongguk to approach him. He does, pout on his lips and head hanging a little low. When he’s close but not close enough, like he’s suddenly afraid, Yoongi reaches out and fists his hand in the baggy material over Jeongguk’s stomach. Tugs forward until the younger boy has to stumble over, legs knocking into Yoongi’s knees.
“Hey,” says Yoongi softly, peering up at Jeongguk even though he won’t look at him. “Baby.” Jeongguk’s eyes skirt to his, the edges of his lips betraying the pout when they quirk upward at the pet name. “You’re the cutest baby bun in the whole world. And I love the onesie. It’s very you.”
It takes another few moments for Jeongguk’s lips to curl into a real grin, and then he’s knocking their knees together again. “You think so?”
“I know so,” says Yoongi. “I’m sorry for getting mad at you. You know I don’t like getting interrupted.”
“Sorry, hyung,” whispers Jeongguk. “I just got too excited and—I have the passcode.”
“It’s okay,” says Yoongi, even though it’s not, but—he doesn’t know how to say no, doesn’t know how to put up walls. Jeongguk’s so good at tearing them down again anyway, at filling in all the cracks until it doesn’t matter. He’s always there.
“I’ll go bother Namjoonie-hyung instead,” says Jeongguk, which means—you have to let go of me. Yoongi hums a little before tugging downward on the onesie instead, waiting for Jeongguk to come willingly before he presses a kiss to the boy’s nose.
“Good,” he says before letting go. “Don’t let him give you a kiss, though. That’s my job.”
ii. this.
It starts out innocently enough—Yoongi is taking a break, lounging on the sofa on his phone when he hears the noise from the hallway outside of his door. It’s not unusual to hear things, but there’s something aggressive about it this time—it’s shouting, he realizes, putting down his phone with furrowed brows as he tries to discern if it’s something he needs to step into the middle of.
There’s a shriek—distinctly Jimin’s—and another shout—definitely Taehyung’s—and then footsteps thundering down the hallway. Yoongi is halfway out of the sofa before someone physically slams into his door and the familiar beeping of his keypad alerts him that someone is trying to break in.
Or—the door swings open and Jeongguk stumbles inside, hurriedly shutting the door behind him and locking it with heavy breaths. The shouting continues from outside and Yoongi stares at Jeongguk with wide eyes, still frozen halfway out of his seat.
There’s icing on Jeongguk’s face, he notes.
“They’re trying to kill me,” huffs Jeongguk by way of explanation, only taking another moment to breathe before he makes a beeline for Yoongi and the sofa, not even bothering to sit on the thing itself but shoving Yoongi back down before he collapses on top of him, straddling Yoongi like a rag doll.
“Sorry, who?” asks Yoongi, sending furtive glances to the door as a particularly loud bang resounds—he’s slightly afraid that someone is going to break down his door, despite the security.
“Tae-hyung and Jiminie,” says Jeongguk, still panting, and he lets his forehead drop onto Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi is still—impossibly confused, although he finally relaxes into the sofa, winding an arm around Jeongguk’s waist so he can begin rubbing circles into the boy’s side.
“If they killed you, they’d be out of a job,” says Yoongi helpfully.
“Hyung,” whines Jeongguk. “They started a food fight. With cake. I just wanted to eat it.” It explains the icing on Jeongguk’s face, which is now likely smeared on Yoongi’s shoulder, but he cares less about that than the warmth of the boy in his lap, hands curling into Yoongi’s shirt.
“Are they going to try to break into my studio because you’re in here?” asks Yoongi. The shouting seems to have moved on down the hallway, thankfully, but he can never be sure with Taehyung and Jimin. They could just be trying to find reinforcements, likely in the form of Jung Hoseok, who is basically the only other person in the entire band whom Yoongi has willingly let into the studio. And that was only for food.
“They’ll forget about me,” says Jeongguk, finally catching his breath. “I don’t think they care that much about who their target is as long as they have a target. I was just the closest person at the time.” He straightens up finally, balancing on Yoongi’s thighs as he looks imploringly at the elder.
Yoongi can’t help but giggle—there’s icing smeared all over Jeongguk’s cheek, and some has gotten onto his nose and toward his forehead, although it looks funny because some has been wiped in a strange pattern due to Yoongi’s own shirt. He reaches up, wiping some of it off with his thumb before licking that off.
Jeongguk’s eyes follow the movement, hungry.
“I think they’re gone,” says Yoongi after a moment.
Sure enough, there’s—silence.
Jeongguk should be able to leave.
“Yeah,” replies Jeongguk, voice a little raspy. He’s staring at Yoongi’s mouth, doesn’t make any move to get off of him.
Vaguely, Yoongi thinks that he didn’t give Jeongguk the passcode to his studio for this, but he doesn’t care much about it as he hooks a finger through the necklace Jeongguk is wearing and tugs him downward until their lips meet in the middle.
It’s rougher than it needs to be, considering—considering, but Jeongguk’s hands immediately rise to cradle Yoongi’s face and Yoongi is still tugging on the necklace, keeping him in place as they kiss. Jeongguk opens his mouth almost immediately, doesn’t even wait to be asked—he knows already, tilting his head to give Yoongi better access as one of his hands tugs the beanie off of Yoongi’s head and slips into his hair instead.
And Yoongi—licks into Jeongguk’s mouth, humming in the back of his throat as he tastes and tastes. Jeongguk tastes like vanilla cake, like the icing that’s still smeared on his face—smeared on Yoongi’s face now, too, and Yoongi likes it, running his tongue over the top of Jeongguk’s mouth just to hear the delicious little sound he makes, needy and desperate already.
“Hyung,” breathes Jeongguk against his lips and Yoongi pulls back just a little, noting the redness of Jeongguk lips before he presses in again, one kiss to his top lip, one to his bottom. He hums again, indicating that he’s listening even though he’s too busy kissing Jeongguk, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. They’re already spit-slick and wanting, too fast—
By the time Yoongi realizes Jeongguk is grinding into his lap, it’s a little too late to stop it. He curls his hands into Jeongguk’s waist anyway, tiny in his grasp, and tilts his head back, letting Jeongguk begin panting into his mouth. Hand in his hair, another thumbing over his cheeks, and Yoongi takes the opportunity to kiss him more gently, not just his lips but his chin, cheeks, nose.
“You’re so—” begins Jeongguk, cutting himself off with a moan when Yoongi attaches his lips to Jeongguk’s neck, sucking a mark into the side of his throat. Jeongguk grinds down harder, breathing becoming more erratic, and—Yoongi realizes it’s not what he wants. Doesn’t want something desperate and quick on the sofa, even if Jeongguk is so close to getting off.
So he pulls back, pressing himself against the sofa. So he tightens his grip on Jeongguk’s hips, but only to push him away, trying to stop the needy movements. And Jeongguk whines, hands coming to rest on Yoongi’s chest as he tries to wiggle closer.
“What,” he begins, “what are you doing?”
“Slow down, baby,” breathes Yoongi. “We can slow down. We have time.” It’s a strange sentiment, because they never have time. There’s always something else to do, another slot in their schedule to fill. So much of their relationship has been quick and dirty and desperate, so he gets it—gets the proclivity to need to get it over with, as though someone is going to walk through the door and catch them.
But that’s not going to happen. The hallway is silent. No one else knows the passcode.
Jeongguk huffs. “Don’t wanna slow down,” he says, and Yoongi giggles again, leaning up to press a kiss to the younger boy’s lips. It appeases him somewhat, and when Yoongi settles back down, Jeongguk goes with him, kissing him more slowly this time—with less heat, less raw hurriedness.
“If you come, you’re gonna fall asleep on me,” says Yoongi by way of explanation. “And I don’t want you to fall asleep. Wanna kiss you just like this.”
He can feel the grin on Jeongguk’s lips against his own, but Jeongguk doesn’t complain about that—just does as Yoongi asks, keeping his hips still as he meets Yoongi’s lips in lazy kisses this time. They have time, they have time. The warmth blooms in the pit of Yoongi’s stomach anyway, but it’s a different kind—it’s one of fondness and desire and love. This is what he wants. Not just now, he thinks—never just now.
Yoongi nips at Jeongguk’s bottom lip just to hear him gasp, hips stuttering forward again. “S’cheating,” mutters Jeongguk, his next kiss a little more bruising than the last—“M’gonna stop coming here to make out with you.”
“You’re not supposed to come here to make out with me anyway,” murmurs Yoongi, but neither of them seem to have many complaints—not when Jeongguk kisses him deep and slow, making noises of contentment every time Yoongi strokes his waist or bumps their noses together or tells him that he’s pretty.
He has to work to do, but—it can wait. Everything can always wait when it comes to Jeongguk.
iii. this.
For once, Yoongi isn’t stuck on a track. In fact, he’s the exact opposite—feels like he’s making real headway for the first time in a long time, burning through lyrics and beats and notes like never before. Somehow, he’s been hit with enough inspiration to finish not only the track he’s been working on for what feels like months, but get through almost the entirety of another.
It’s not perfect—his work is never perfect and he has to live with it, has to live with putting out work that he’s not always happy with, but he has to trust. Has to trust that it’ll sound better in the hands of someone who can add finishing touches or sing the right words. Has to trust that it’ll work out there, where people are always hungry for more, always quick to judge anything that he wants to be proud of.
And he is proud of his work—he’s proud of what he’s done, proud of what the band has done together. But there are always improvements to be made, always more things to be said, always better music to be produced.
It’s why he doesn’t rest a lot—there’s always more, always something rattling around in his head that he needs to get out. He never knows when he’ll be hit with the right inspiration, and it’s all too easy to lose himself in his work only to look up and find that hours have gone by. He likes to think it’s a sign that he’s doing something right, knowing that he can immerse himself so fully in what he’s doing that he doesn’t even notice the passage of time.
Others would argue otherwise.
There’s a knock at the door. Yoongi ignores it, figuring that whoever it is can wait—it’s probably Namjoon wanting to give him some food like he did earlier in the day. Or maybe Seokjin. Not that it matters, because they’ll go away once they realize Yoongi isn’t coming to the door—or once they assume that there’s no one inside if they don’t get an answer.
After thirty seconds, though, there’s another knock. Yoongi glances toward the door, slight irritation in his expression. He’s still trying to hammer out one last part to this song before he takes a break, and he doesn’t want to lose his inspiration, but no one ever knocks three times—
And then the familiar beeping of the keypad sounds and Yoongi’s eyebrows rise as he looks over to see Jeongguk open the door, standing almost awkwardly in the doorway. They stare at each other, the light from the hallway pouring over Jeongguk’s frame and into the dim studio, and he notes, with some confusion, that Jeongguk is wearing… pajamas.
It’s only then that Yoongi thinks to check the time, and he blanches when he reads 3:46 AM.
“Yoongi-hyung,” says Jeongguk, and it doesn’t sound upset or even questioning, just—kind of tired. “Are you coming to bed?”
It’s as though Jeongguk hasn’t walked all the way from the dorms in his pajamas and a coat, but rather as though Yoongi is just in the kitchen reading a bloody book. He has to wonder if Jeongguk is even fully awake or if he decided to walk around in the middle of the night like that without fully thinking about it, and—fuck, he could have gotten hit by a car. Or gotten a cold. Or fallen into a drain pipe.
“Baby, what are you doing?” asks Yoongi, taking off his headphones so he can stand from his chair, heading over to the doorway and pulling Jeongguk inside with a hand on his wrist. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Couldn’t,” pouts Jeongguk, looking down at him with his big eyes and his wobbly bottom lip. He always gets like this in the middle of the night, when he just wants someone to cuddle him. For the first time, Yoongi feels a little guilty about forgetting the time.
“Why didn’t you go sleep with one of your other hyungs?” he asks, because even if he is Jeongguk’s boyfriend, that’s never stopped him from cuddling with everyone else, particularly when Yoongi is busy.
Jeongguk makes a noise of protest, leaning down enough to press his face into Yoongi’s chest. “Wanted you,” he mumbles, circling his arms around Yoongi’s waist and Yoongi can feel something snap within him. He glances back at his desktop, the song that still needs so much more—there are ideas bouncing around his head, ideas that need to be put down on paper at last. But Jeongguk is sniffling into his chest, and he’s warm and sleepy and wants Yoongi. He wants Yoongi.
“Can you give me ten minutes?” he tries.
“No,” mumbles Jeongguk. “You have to sleep now. Gonna—” he cuts himself off with a little yawn. “Gonna be tired tomorrow and then you won’t wanna kiss me.”
Yoongi can’t help but chuckle, carding his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair. “I always wanna kiss you, baby,” he says. “Even when I’m tired.”
“M’tired, hyung.”
“You’re the one that walked all the way here in the middle of the night.”
“You’re the one who didn’t come home.”
It hits him harder—he thinks about Jeongguk waiting up for him, not wanting to fall asleep without Yoongi. Thinks about Jeongguk trying to sleep without him anyway and feeling lonely, lonely in his bed without someone to curl up against. His work is important, Yoongi knows, but maybe not as important as making sure Jeongguk knows just how precious and loved and beautiful he is.
“Two minutes,” says Yoongi, grasping Jeongguk’s face and pulling it up to eye level. “And then we can leave. Okay?”
Jeongguk is still pouting, but his eyes are drooping anyway and Yoongi isn’t sure he’s in a place to argue. The younger boy just nods, and trails after Yoongi back to his chair. Yoongi sits in it first and then Jeongguk just—climbs on top of him, trying to fit himself sideways on Yoongi’s lap, which doesn’t really help with Yoongi trying to type or do anything, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Jeongguk to move, not when the younger boy curls up on top of his lap and his head falls against Yoongi’s shoulder.
He falls asleep by the time Yoongi is ready to leave, anyway. Yoongi kisses his forehead and he’s so fucking in love.
iv. this.
It’s only once Jeongguk is sitting on his cock that Yoongi thinks to say, “This isn’t why I gave you the passcode to my studio, you know.”
“Sure, hyung,” breathes Jeongguk, grinding down to make Yoongi groan. Yoongi throws his head back against the back of his chair, hands gripping Jeongguk’s waist impossibly tight, like it’ll change anything—Jeongguk just chuckles, breathy, and shifts to get into a better position.
He’s not sure how they both fit on the chair, anyway—it’s not particularly large to begin with, but Jeongguk has somehow managed to wedge both of his knees on either side of Yoongi’s hips so he can ride the elder properly, and Yoongi offered to just get on the sofa instead, but Jeongguk likes a challenge—always likes a challenge, like when he has to work for it, which is why he told Yoongi to let him do it. Yoongi knows Jeongguk will give up after a few minutes anyway, and then he’ll start whining that he needs Yoongi fuck him, so he’ll give him what he wants for now.
Once Jeongguk is settled, wiggling here and there and making Yoongi hiss every time it makes his cock jostle within him—it’s so fucking tight—he lets out a little sigh and hooks his hands around the back of Yoongi’s neck. He looks Yoongi in the eye—and there’s a sort of fire there, something that almost scares Yoongi.
The thing is, Jeongguk had just… slammed the door open ten minutes ago and announced he was horny. Yoongi had been in the middle of something, of course, but he wasn’t about to miss that sort of opportunity—not when he’s been thinking about fucking Jeongguk in his studio for a long time, thinking about how hot it would be, thinking about how he could record Jeongguk’s moans and subtly slip them into some of his future songs.
“Okay?” asks Yoongi, just in case. Jeongguk huffs, nodding his head, and then starts moving.
The thing Yoongi has always liked about Jeongguk riding him is that Jeongguk is extremely determined. Determined to get everything right, to be perfect, to make things good not only for himself but for Yoongi, too, and as he lifts himself back up, drawing Yoongi’s cock out of him, he has this aggressive little look on his face, like he’s concentrating hard enough to pop a blood vessel. It shouldn’t be cute but it is, at least until he sits back down on Yoongi’s cock and both of them let out a breathless moan at the feel.
He doesn’t go slow; Jeongguk works up a quick rhythm instantly, bouncing on Yoongi’s cock as he lets out a little ah ah ahs as he goes. Yoongi’s hands move to his waist, helping him bounce up and down although he doesn’t need it—Jeongguk’s athletic, has all sorts of fantastic stamina, and his thighs aren’t as muscular as they are for nothing. Yoongi lets out a groan as he tips his head back and focuses on the feeling alone for a moment—the drag of Jeongguk’s tight, hot walls against his cock, the rim catching on the head of his cock when he bounces high enough.
“So good,” he groans as Jeongguk lets out another moan, hands holding onto Yoongi’s shoulders instead. He looks back at the younger boy in time to see him throw his own head back, hair already sticking to his sweaty forehead as he rides Yoongi with new enthusiasm. “Look so pretty, baby.”
Jeongguk keens, but his lips curl into a breathless sort of grin, eyes opening as he looks down at Yoongi. “Yeah?” he asks, bouncing slower now. “Do I look—ah, fuck—look pretty on your cock? Like how I look when I’m—shit—”
He doesn’t finish the question, but Yoongi answers it anyway, snaking his hand around Jeongguk’s neck and tugging him down to kiss him hard, kiss him bruising. Jeongguk stops bouncing, moaning into the kiss as he grinds down on Yoongi instead, desperately moving his hips back and forth.
“Always look good on my cock, Gukkie,” murmurs Yoongi. “Look better in my studio, though, like my own special little trophy.” He nips at Jeongguk’s bottom lip, making the younger boy whine again, and Jeongguk grinds harder, faster—“My pretty little baby.”
“M’not little,” huffs Jeongguk, squeezing his thighs around Yoongi’s hips that it’ll prove a point, and Yoongi just laughs into his mouth, taking the opportunity to wrap his hand around Jeongguk’s cock, red and hard and neglected against his stomach.
As Jeongguk gasps, he says, “Not little, hm?” And he knows—Jeongguk gets self-conscious about it any other time, but now he just flushes all the way down his chest, hips stuttering to a stop as Yoongi fists his cock. The change is easy—Jeongguk likes to be a brat when he can, but the moment Yoongi teases him, he can’t keep up, all too easily falling back into the whiny baby Yoongi knows he is.
“N-No,” he stammers as Yoongi kisses him again, playing with the head of his cock. “Hyung.”
“What’s wrong?” asks Yoongi, can’t help the teasing lilt to his voice. “Baby’s gotten shy? I thought you wanted to fuck yourself on my cock like a good boy.”
Jeongguk whines again, grinding just barely on Yoongi’s cock, like he’s experimenting with it, but Yoongi twists his wrist on Jeongguk’s own cock and he gasps, unable to focus on both things at once—“Please.”
“Please, what?”
“I—I—”
“Use your words, bunny.”
“Nng, please, hyung,” and Jeongguk leans back, and there are tears in his eyes, and Yoongi does feel bad, just a little—Jeongguk came here with a mission and Yoongi isn’t making it easy for him, but he likes teasing too much. Likes it because Jeongguk gets extra cuddly after, just wants Yoongi to take care of him after fucking him mercilessly or mocking him just a little.
Yoongi lets go of Jeongguk’s cock—much to the younger boy’s dismay—to lightly trace his fingers over Jeongguk’s sides, flicking at one of his nipples before his hands come to rest on his waist. “Need some help?” he asks, and his tone is less mocking this time. Jeongguk sniffs, nods his head.
Yoongi takes pity on him—likes taking control too much, anyway—and shifts down until he’s in a better position, feet flat on the ground and ass half off of the chair with Jeongguk still balanced carefully on top of him. And Jeongguk leans forward until they’re pressed chest to chest, sniffling into Yoongi’s skin as Yoongi plants a delicate kiss to his temple.
It’s the last soft thing about it all before Yoongi clamps his hands down on Jeongguk’s waist, harsh and tight, and starts fucking up into him. Jeongguk lets out a muffled moan into his shoulder and Yoongi wraps one of his arms around the younger boy’s waist instead, letting out a harsh breath as he starts up a quick rhythm. He’s in it less for himself than for Jeongguk, considering the origin of all this, no matter his teasing—he knows Jeongguk likes it, even if it might not seem like it during all of this.
He knows he hits Jeongguk’s prostate when the other lets out a wail into his skin, back arching as he tries to chase the pleasure. Yoongi aims for it again, trying to hit the spot to drive Jeongguk closer and closer to the edge. “Doing so good, baby,” he breathes, unsure if Jeongguk is even paying attention. “So tight for hyung, always so good. Love you so much.”
Jeongguk makes a noise, pushing weakly against Yoongi’s chest, and he lets him go, keeping a grip on the boy’s waist so that he doesn’t have to slow down his thrusts. The sounds of his hips slapping against Jeongguk’s reverberate through the room, Jeongguk letting out little hiccups and moans as he sits up just barely. Yoongi thinks, briefly, that it might fit well in the song he’s been trying to work on for the past few weeks, but then he thinks better of it—thinks he likes having Jeongguk’s whiny, needy sounds all to himself. Doesn’t want to share that with anyone, let alone all of their fans.
“Hyung,” breathes Jeongguk, brushing their noses together. Yoongi slows his thrusts just slightly, grinding in harder and deeper to make up for the lack of speed. “Hyung, wanna—ah, wanna come.”
It’s cute, he thinks, that Jeongguk came in here all sorts of ready to take charge and has ended up asking him for permission to come anyway, and Yoongi tries not to coo at it, leaning up to press a kiss to the other’s lips. “Wait for hyung, okay?” he asks, and it’s not a command but Jeongguk nods anyway, whines a little like he would argue otherwise, even though Yoongi knows he won’t. He always listens to Yoongi, like the good boy he is.
With that, Yoongi slumps back again, renewing his thrusts into Jeongguk’s hole, trying to focus on everything that will bring him to the edge. Jeongguk’s hot and tight around him, making needy and desperate noises in his lap, It’s not overly comfortable in the chair, but he doesn’t mind that, panting as the heat coils tighter and tighter in his stomach.
There’s the sound of a door closing somewhere down the hallway and—Yoongi remembers where they are, remembers anyone could hear them, remembers the risk of it, and Jeongguk whines especially loud in his ear. Yoongi thrusts in one final time, groaning as his orgasm hits and he comes, hot and fast, moaning too loud to be in public but—
He hears Jeongguk come a moment later, shoving his face in Yoongi’s neck as his come lands between the two of them. And then Jeongguk’s sagging on top of him, breathing hard, and Yoongi closes his eyes against the stars he sees, one hand already smoothing over Jeongguk’s back in comforting circles.
And then—“You don’t actually think my cock is little, right?” asks Jeongguk quietly.
Yoongi can’t help but giggle, turning his head to kiss Jeongguk’s temple. “I think you’re perfect,” he replies. “Other than that you’re a fucking brat who needs to stop coming in here for the wrong reasons.”
This time, Jeongguk is the one who giggles, pulling his face back so he can kiss the side of Yoongi’s mouth. “I just don’t want you to miss me too much, hyung.”
“Bold of you to assume I miss you at all.”
“You can’t say that with your cock still up my ass.”
“Again, not my fault—”
things yoongi did give jeongguk the passcode to his studio for
i. maybe—this.
It’s still early when Yoongi grabs a coffee and heads to his studio, new ideas rattling around in his head. They never stop, is the thing—and he supposes if they ever did, he might be out of a job. He’s been itching to get his fingers on the keys for some time, but there are always other things to do—other preparations, other promotions. The end of summer always marks the beginning of something else, something scarier. It won’t be long before they drop their next album, which is a whole new whirlwind to worry about.
Still, they have the day free of schedules, which means Yoongi wants to get out some of the melodies in his head, wants to put some lyrics down on paper. Sometimes it feels like he’s choking with them, suffocating with all of these things he needs to get out of his body, and the peace and quiet of his studio is always better than anything back at the dorm.
He finishes the coffee before he even gets to the studio, tossing the empty cup in the trash can outside before he gets into the building. He tugs the mask up over his face, ruffling his hair a little as he heads up the stairs. The building is quiet, too early for most people to be thinking about real work, but he imagines that the other studios will soon fill, particularly Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s.
Yoongi punches in the code to his door, sighing as it unlocks and he opens the door, stepping inside only to find himself tripping over a pair of shoes already haphazardly placed there. He curses under his breath, trying to decide if he accidentally left a pair of shoes overnight, when he realizes—they’re not his shoes.
Head rising, his gaze lands on the sofa. There, curled into a ball and fast asleep, is Jeongguk.
It’s not the first time he’s walked into his studio to find Jeongguk already there, but it’s the first time he’s come this early and found the boy already asleep. He can’t decide if Jeongguk has been waiting for him, even at this hour, or if he came here to sleep, which wouldn’t make sense because Yoongi remembers Jeongguk falling asleep with him the previous night.
No matter. He never wants to disturb the boy’s sleep, so Yoongi just toes off his own shoes, setting down his bag near his desk before padding over to the sofa. Leaning over, he presses a gentle kiss to Jeongguk’s forehead, smoothing down his hair for a few seconds as he just—admires Jeongguk. He’s cute when he sleeps, curled into himself and using one of Yoongi’s spare sweaters as a pillow. He doesn’t look troubled, which has to be a good sign.
Yoongi leaves him to sleep, silently slipping over to the piano. He makes sure to plug in his headphones so that his playing won’t disturb Jeongguk, and he gets to work.
Some time later, Yoongi feels hands slowly sliding over his shoulders. He keeps playing, though, grinning to himself as Jeongguk clasps his arms around Yoongi’s front and rests his chin on top of Yoongi’s head, just standing there as the elder plays—he takes a moment to unplug the headphones so Jeongguk can hear, too, seamlessly transitioning into the melody he’s been working on for the better part of the morning.
Jeongguk doesn’t do anything but stand there, holding onto Yoongi—it’s unlike most of the other times he invades Yoongi’s space in his studio, which Yoongi is grateful for, but finds worrisome too. He plays, though, until the end of the melody he’s come up with, and then the studio slowly falls silent as his fingers fall from the keys.
After a moment, he takes hold of Jeongguk’s hands, bringing them up to his mouth so he can press a kiss into the younger’s knuckles. Jeongguk moves, lifting his head and Yoongi turns, swivelling on the piano bench so he can look up with a soft grin.
“Hi,” he greets.
“Hi,” Jeongguk greets back.
“What are you doing here?” asks Yoongi, unable to help the curiosity.
Jeongguk blushes, just a little. “I’m hiding,” he admits.
“This early in the morning?”
“I heard everyone making plans to kidnap me really early and I just—I didn’t want that,” Jeongguk’s blush deepens. “Is that a bad thing? That I just wanted some peace and quiet this morning?”
“Of course not, baby,” says Yoongi, pressing another kiss to Jeongguk’s knuckles. “I’m glad you find this place to be a safe haven.”
“It is,” says Jeongguk. “It’s better when you’re here, though. Sorry for—breaking in when you weren’t here.”
“It’s okay,” says Yoongi, chuckling. “I did give you the passcode, didn’t I? You’re allowed here whenever you want.” As many complaints as he might have about the times Jeongguk does choose to visit the studio, he’s right—he gave Jeongguk the passcode for this, so that Jeongguk didn’t have to worry about knocking or waiting or wondering. This place is as much Jeongguk’s as it is Yoongi’s now. It’s a small sort of victory in a relationship where they can’t have much, not enough the freedom of telling the truth to everyone else.
Jeongguk hums again, tugging on Yoongi’s hands. “I’m still kind of tired,” he says, teeth catching on his lower lip.
Yoongi laughs. “Alright, I’m coming,” he says, letting Jeongguk go so that he can turn and place his headphones away, making sure everything is safe before he heads for the sofa, where Jeongguk is already curled up and waiting.
He slips into the space between Jeongguk and the back of the sofa easily, wrapping his arms around the younger’s middle and pulling him flush against his own chest as he nuzzles against the back of Jeongguk’s neck. Their legs tangle together automatically, and Jeongguk threads their fingers together over his stomach as he snuggles back; they don’t really fit here either, but it doesn’t matter. It’s warm and safe and Yoongi kisses the back of Jeongguk’s neck as he holds him tightly. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“What are you working on?” Jeongguk asks after a moment, voice low in the silence of the room.
“Nothing in particular,” answers Yoongi. “Just something I was thinking of a few days ago. Couldn’t get it out of my head so I thought I’d try to get it down so maybe it’ll turn into something. Do you like it?”
He feels Jeongguk nod. “It’s pretty,” he says. “Everything you make it pretty.”
“I’m already cuddling you,” says Yoongi. “You don’t need to flatter me.”
“Hyung,” whines Jeongguk, squeezing his hand. “I’m being serious. I’m really happy that you make songs for us and not other people. And if you decide to keep that song to yourself, it’ll still be really pretty. I just wanna hear it if you do, okay?”
Yoongi presses another kiss into Jeongguk’s neck, thumb rubbing circles on his stomach. It slips under the hem of his shirt, pressing into warm, soft skin. “Of course,” he says. He’s about to say something else, something about music and singing and pretty things, pretty things like Jeongguk, when he hears noise in the hallway.
Jeongguk tenses beside him, visibly stiffening, and Yoongi remembers what he said about hiding—without a word, he extracts one of his hands from around Jeongguk and leans up and over until he can reach the lamp beside the sofa, switching it off and dousing the room in darkness as he returns to his previous position. The only sound between them is their breathing—Jeongguk’s more laboured, almost fearful, as the sounds from outside of the studio become footsteps approaching the door.
He can hear voices, too, ones he recognizes easily as their band members’. He can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but he can understand Jeongguk’s name, his own thrown in once or twice. The footsteps, along with a few shadowy figures, come to a stop outside of Yoongi’s studio and Yoongi holds his breath, staring at the door.
He knows they can’t get in, but—his heart still beats at a rabbit pace, waiting, waiting. Then he hears, “Guess not,” and the figures retreat, footsteps and voices retreating back down the hallway.
Yoongi waits until there’s nothing but silence again before he lets out a giggle into Jeongguk’s neck. “They’re gonna be pissed when they find out we were here the whole time,” he says.
“Let them be,” says Jeongguk. “They’re the ones who want to kidnap me and do who knows what. I don’t trust any of those assholes.”
“They just want to have a good time, baby.”
“Do you remember last year?” protests Jeongguk. “It almost turned into The Hangover Part V: Bangtan Boys.”
Yoongi giggles again, can’t help it. “I’m pretty sure there were only three Hangover movies.”
“That’s really beside the point, hyung.”
“Sorry,” he pecks the side of Jeongguk’s neck in apology, rubbing at his stomach again. “How long were you planning on hiding here anyway?”
“Until you get bored of me,” says Jeongguk, turning a little so he can look over his shoulder at Yoongi.
“We’ll be in here for a very long time, then,” muses Yoongi.
“I don’t mind.”
Yoongi grins—he can’t help feeling overwhelmingly lucky at a time like this, with the most beautiful boy in the world on his sofa, cuddling with him. Wanting to know about his music, wanting to spend every second of his time together. It’s the sort of thing he could only have dreamt of, the kind of thing he’s still not sure is actually a reality. He tries not to get sappy at the best of times, but he lets it happen for once, as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to Jeongguk’s lips.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the side of Jeongguk’s mouth, his cupid’s bow, his nose. “I love you.”
Jeongguk hums. “I love you too, hyung,” he says. “I’m really glad you gave me your passcode.”
“Me too,” Yoongi muses, giving him one last kiss before he settles down behind Jeongguk again, tightening his hold just a little. “Even if you abuse it all the time. I guess I like having you around.”
“And they say romance is dead.”
“I think they say hip-hop is dead…”
“Stop talking, you’re ruining the moment.”
ii. this.
When Jeongguk falls asleep again, snuggled against Yoongi’s chest with eyelashes fanning his cheeks and lips gently parted, Yoongi hears—melodies, symphonies. Sees lyrics like novels spread out before him, words and promises and love letters, sees love and love and love and Jeongguk, and—
Yoongi doesn’t get up, can’t bear to part from this sweet, lovely dream. He commits Jeongguk’s sleeping face to memory instead, gently tracing the younger boy’s features and counting his breaths and thinking of nothing but love songs.