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”How long will you be?”
“Yoongi, it's barely been a minute since you last asked. I said I don’t know. Thirty minutes max.”
“But I’m bored. Who the fuck does office work on Saturdays anyway?”
“Overworked people. I have to finish this, I'm not even joking. Chill out.”
This is impossible. Namjoon’s view of the computer screen is suddenly obstructed, by a pale neck and grinning, plush lips. Without permission, Yoongi has taken the liberty of simply straddling him. His suggestion is appealing, it's not that, and the fact he presses his body against Namjoon's crotch, gyrating softly, and making his blood involuntarily rush south.
“Would be easier if you chilled me out.”
Yoongi kisses his way up the long column of his neck, making him swallow hard. His hands automatically wander, under his shirt, up his spine, squeezing the soft skin, and down again over the curve of his ass, cupping his cheeks. He's so warm, so inviting, throbbing with need, but still. He can also wait thirty fucking minutes.
He's shoved out of Namjoon's lap without much consideration, instantly fuming like a thundercloud at the insolence. “Joon, I really need it,” he whines, following it up with his best trademark pout. Surely it will melt even the coldest of hearts. But Namjoon resumes his tapping, his gaze firmly on the computer screen, without wandering, this time.
“Please,” Yoongi adds, uncharacteristically softly. The tapping momentarily comes to a stop. He’s certain Namjoon is just trying to vex him at this point, when he turns to pinch his cheek with an adoring sparkle in his eyes.
“Shush. I'll get to you soon, but I have to finish this crap, I’m serious. My reputation is on the line, no joke.”
“Fuck your rep, I'm more important.”
“Min Yoongi. For real. Is being patient for thirty minutes really this hard for you? You won't go up in flames in thirty fucking minutes."
He grabs the cup of half-drunken coffee, finishing it in one swig, moderately irritated at this point.
"Maybe I will," Yoongi ponders, one boxy eyebrow arched in thought. "I heard about this one omega who got so disorientated during their pre-heat that they ran out in the middle of traffic in a moment of confusion. Like, they got completely smushed by a car. Splat."
The disgusting squelching noise he provides with the vivid description makes Namjoon cringe. He glowers at Yoongi, who ignores it and sighs melancholically.
"Guess that's what you want to happen to me, fucking sadist."
Sadist, really. Namjoon grabs his chin, letting him know he’s being a drama queen at the moment and that he needs to watch it.
"I'll lock the door, no danger of that happening. Or we can tie you to the bed to keep you safe, that works too."
Yoongi's button nose wrinkles in disapproval. Cute. Namjoon digs his thumb and index finger into his squishy cheeks, puckering his lips until he looks like a sad blobfish. That look almost breaks him, though. The ruffled post-sleep look, too. He's worn it all day, even though it's nowhere close to morning anymore. He loves drowsy-eyed and tousled-hair Yoongi, but he could do with a little less of smug-mouthed and no-chill Yoongi.
Months of neglect has left his hair reaching just below his ears, and he’s pulled it into a very short, very appealing-looking ponytail. It leaves his face exposed, every soft and sinful inch of it. Neither has he bothered changing out of the t-shirt he slept in, and a sliver of pretty, pale collar bone peeks out beneath the collar. Namjoon loves it all, but he can still wait thirty fucking minutes. He lets him go, straightens up, and successfully returns to the task at hand. Yoongi is visibly miffed, repeating his name a bunch of times - Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoooon - like a child. Christ.
“Later, okay. Now please let me finish this shit, unless you’re intending on blowing me under the desk. That’s fine by me if you make it quick. No fucking teeth, just nice and slow.”
“You’re a bitch, and your boss is the antichrist,” Yoongi announces. He slithers away from the taut fingers making for him, pushing his million dollar tongue out obscenely as he goes.
Namjoon’s crotch twitches. Of course it does when he wags his tongue all around the place like a panting dog. So rude, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.
He ignores him and shuts his crotch up by turning his attention to the screen again. The excel sheet of data doesn't look anywhere close to sexy, it just reminds him of stress, numbers, and deadlines. It works, and the beast in his pants goes back to hibernation, much to Yoongi's dismay. The end of the discussion is signaled by a flap of Namjoon’s hand.
“You’re the bitch. You’re acting like a little kid, hyung. Go play with your legos or something.”
Yoongi buzzes like a tiny bee, but stomps off, leaving nothing but a stream of grumbled, colorful nicknames behind. Potato face. That’s a new one. Namjoon wonders where he gets them all from. From the dusty caves of his eccentric mind, most likely.
Just a little bit longer, and then he can go paint the town red, or rather, paint Yoongi’s cheeks all red. But he doesn't get very far until there's disturbance again. This time, he nearly falls off the chair when a high-pitched noise shakes his eardrums. At first he thinks it’s an earthquake, but can't be. Earthquakes don’t sound like three seconds of mayhem followed by an eerie silence, and every item in his office remains neatly vertical.
“What..."
Muttering and close to blowing a fuse, he slides into the living room, socked feet scurrying over the hardwood floor. Yoongi is standing in the middle of the living room on the persian rug, seemingly motionless. His head snaps to Namjoon as he comes to a stop on the rug, his face wooden and impassive.
"What the fuck—"
The culprit of noise the lays discarded on the floor in front of him. Well, the remains of it. A vase, now an ex-vase, a housewarming gift from Yoongi's mother. To be honest, it was pretty ugly, but still. It didn’t deserve this kind of unfortunate fate. And Yoongi is standing very suspiciously close to the heap of shards and the shelf it used to inhabit.
“What happened here? Did you drop it?”
“Oh dear. It appears to have slipped out of my grasp.”
Namjoon doesn't have time to dig out an answer, or catch him before he's slithered to the couch. Next, the remote rests in his hand, and then, everything moves in slow motion. He swings his arm for momentum, and the device crashes against the wall, resulting in another ear-splitting crack and flying batteries. Namjoon removes the palms he's pressed to his ears just before yelling stop, and blinks at Yoongi, who looks like a murderous vulture. What the hell. He closes the gap between them, latching onto his volatile hands just in case they’re about to go berserk again.
“Are you out of your mind?!“
“Yes, because I'm about to pass out from how horny I am, and you’re acting like a fucking clueless monkey and paying me no attention!”
Yoongi's hoarse scream (how the fuck is he that loud) rattles the walls again. He looks on the verge of bawling his eyes out, but also dangerously close to sink his teeth into Namjoon. He can't really tell.
“Sure, fuck, go ahead and announce it to the whole street,” Namjoon mutters, ready to slap a palm on Yoongi's dumb mouth. For sure the neighbors heard all that, because it’s very quiet upstairs suddenly. He rubs a hand over his chin, turning his attention back to the ball of anger, still maintaining a loose grip on his wrists.
“So let me get this straight. You’re horny and that’s why you’re breaking our stuff?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, yeah, sure…that sounds...completely reasonable.”
“Well you’re an ass, and you don’t get that I’m dying over here-“
“Dying? You’re not dying, if you were dying you wouldn’t have the energy to throw shit around.”
A tear actually squeezes out of Yoongi's eye then. Namjoon softens, just a little. He’s always been a bit of a drama queen when he's in heat, but still. This takes the cake.
“Baby. You’re frustrated and needy and it’s torture, I understand, but you can’t break our stuff just because of that. Okay? You have to apply a little bit of self-control. I get that it makes you cranky but I'm literally done soon, so calm down. Fifteen more minutes and then I'll fuck your ass all the way to Daegu if you want."
"You said thirty minutes," Yoongi wails, sulking like an overgrown baby. Namjoon wonders how he doesn't have a career as a child actor yet. He's basically the right size, and this beats any temper tantrum ever witnessed on the silver screen.
"Oh my god. Fifteen to thirty minutes, and I'd be done already if you didn't interrupt me every five seconds. Ever heard of a dildo? Go impale yourself on that and I'll be with you shortly, drama llama."
"Yeah, cause a cold rubber sausage is the same as the real thing. You're so insensitive sometimes. It's actually offensive."
"For fucks sake, I just meant until I'm done — nevermind, just, go wait in the bedroom and meditate, then. Or have a cold shower, jesus. Or both. Okay?”
Yoongi suddenly looks a little too sly for his own good. The impudent tilt of his head, coupled with that sassy grin, is familiar.
“Okay, Mr Big bad alpha. Or I’ll just go ahead and break your laptop next.”
“You better not,” Namjoon says with emphasis, but the grin just widens as a result, revealing his teeth, glimmering canines dangerously pointy. They're perfectly capable of biting him, a fact he showcases quite often. Namjoon winds fingers into his ponytail, tugging him back in warning. He still manages a retort, not faltering on a single syllable.
"I think you should drop those sweaty jeans and bring out that crumpled raisin you call a dick. Or do I have to chop off my own so I can fuck myself with it?"
Namjoon wonders if he should laugh or cry. Maybe both? Luckily their walls are thick, because their modest, elderly neighbors would call their landlord if they caught a single earful of this outrageous exchange.
"I swear Yoongi. Say one more word and you'll regret it."
"One more word."
Yoongi's squeals with laughter, finding this all incredibly funny. The grip on his ponytail tightens, transforming his giggles into terribly needy moans. Namjoon studies the taut pillars of his throat, and that cheeky grin that he just can't seem to wipe off his face.
"When will you stop behaving like a five-year old?"
“When you make me, bitch.”
He squeals like a pig when Namjoon demonstrates just how easy that actually is. He picks Yoongi up like a sack of potatoes, transporting wherever he decides they should go. That turns out to be quite close. Yoongi snickers as he’s manhandled into position on the couch, bent over Namjoon's lap. His t-shirt comes off, but the fun ends abruptly there. His arms are pinned behind him, and next he hears the unmistakable sound of a belt being pulled out of its loops.
“No, asshole...”
“Who's the asshole? You’re not really helping your own case right now, you know. Stay still.”
Yoongi's disappointed whimpers are ignored, his wrists swiftly tied behind his back. He can't help but wiggle optimistically once he's restrained, but what's the use. He's pretty much stuck there. His body tingles, breaths coming out harsh as Namjoon works a thumb under the lining of his boxers, dragging them down with his sweatpants in one go. The same fingers move over the small of his back and down the cleft of his ass, agonizingly slowly and teasingly, prickling the surrounding skin with goosebumps.
“Just stick it in me already, Joonie…”
“I’ll stick something in you,” Namjoon promises, his tone sweet like caramel. “You don’t deserve my dick, though. I should beat your ass and then leave you tied up till tomorrow.”
He keeps running tantalizing fingers up and down the curve of Yoongi's ass, teasing relentlessly. But he pays zero attention to the erection rubbing against his thigh.
Yoongi tries his best to create some friction, but Namjoon parries it. To his horror, he’s hiked back just slightly, leaving his dick flopping in the air. So this is how it's gonna be, next level cruel. Yoongi might actually burst into tiny pieces just like that vase, right here on the spot.
“You’re an ass," he grits. "An actual fucking baboon with stupid dimples.”
“Oh, funny. I have a recollection of you saying you love my dimples just yesterday.”
“In your dreams, they look like gigantic craters. And you’re not as tall as you think. Only by Korean standards, but by Dutch standards you’re a dwarf. A dwarf with stupid dimples.”
“Good thing we don’t live there then. Oh, look at this. You're drenched.”
"Joon —"
Yoongi lets out a desperate whimper as Namjoon pushes two fingers past his rim without warning. Fuck that feels good. One more is added, his walls flutter and flex around Namjoon's hanf, and Yoongi's speech turns fragmented
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you."
“Shut your face. Be happy I’ll even finger-fuck you.”
Namjoon's own cock rouses inside his pants, because Yoongi feels so, so slippery and warm when he rolls his hips back to fuck his hand. He bounces impatiently in his lap, the pads of his feet straining against the floor, shoulder blades twitching in agony. Nothing but profanity exits his mouth, but Namjoon wraps a hand around his throat, with just enough pressure on his windpipe to render him a little more pliant. Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, on the brink of exploding. The fingers keep slipping in and out of him, and it feels good, but Namjoon is intentionally, avoiding his prostate like it’s the plague.
What a bastard.
“I swear if you don’t put it in me soon, I'll wring your goofy neck when I get free.”
“I’m so scared," Namjoon tuts. "You can’t even reach my neck, you’re like five inches tall.”
“I told you I’m horny…so just go ahead and put your ugly, good-for-nothing cock to some use, and — "
A hard slap to his ass interrupts him. Heat spreads across his skin in the aftermath. He grimaces in pain and flings his head sideways, only to find Namjoon eyeing him nonchalantly.
“My good-for-nothing what?”
“Your good-for-nothing, ugly ass dick — ow, fuck you.”
Namjoon slaps his ass again, and a third time, until multiple red hanprints mark his cheeks. The sounds are sharp, but hopefully not loud enough to carry all the way upstairs. Namjoon is somewhat of an expert by now, after all, aware of how much force to apply. His palm hangs mid-air, ready to deliver more if needed. The other one rests on Yoongi’s spine, keeping him immobile.
“How about now?”
The cogs in Yoongi's brain twist. It's not that bad yet, maybe a rough seven out of ten on the pain scale. He smiles wryly, hiding a whole fat book's worth of nice remarks up his sleeve, still. Don't even get him started.
“In a hundred years time, archeologists will make a rare find, but they'll be puzzled that the creature seems to have such big, fat bones in comparison to their tiny pelvis. They'll think they discovered a new species, but it turns out they just dug up your skeleton."
It's the wrong call. Yoongi receives another smattering of slaps, and ends up digging his teeth into Namjoon’s pant-clad thigh to cope. Namjoon stifles a laugh and forces himself to sound authoritative.
“Wrong fucking answer."
“God..."
Yoongi's ass is crimson red and covered in welts, his skin scorching hot, and Namjoon's palm is aching. Somehow, Yoongi still dares stutter half-hearted obscenities, but a few more hard smacks leaves his cheeks sensitive and his mind vacated of all snide remarks. He adjusts on Namjoon's lap, knitting his hands together as well as the restraints allow, and forces himself to lay still.
“Please Joon, can I please have it,” he begs finally, very politely. It’s a plea he dug out from some untarnished corner of his soul. Namjoon strokes a hand over the knobs of his spine, nudging at his fluttering hole and pushing his way inside again. This time he curls fingers over the right spot, massaging gently, and Yoongi drops his neck so violently he almost gets whiplash. He lets out a low, appreciative noises, grinding against Namjoon's fingers and feeling the slick as it drips down his inner thigh and onto the floor.
“Maybe. Depends. That feels good, huh?”
“Uhuh…yeah. Fuck— right there…”
Yoongi's dick comes to life again, raging at him to acknowledge it. He’s so damn close. The coil of heat builds in his abdomen, and he quickly realizes he’s about to beat one out without even laying a finger on it. But so does Namjoon. He registers hips tightening around his knee, hears Yoongi’s breath dense in his throat, and wastes no time with saving the situation.
“Woah, no, no, pal. You don’t get to come yet, what reality are you living in?”
With three fingers still inside Yoongi, he reaches for the ponytail. Hair tie yanked off, and Yoongi feels his hair drape around his face, and doesn't realize what's happening. Not until it does, and he curses and tries to kick Namjoon in the shins, but that doesn't work. And it's happening; Namjoon reaches for his crotch with a devilish smirk.
“No, you motherfucker. “
Yoongi hangs his head in dejection, feeling his orgasm fading. Namjoon has wrapped the tie wrapped around his balls. What an asshole, this is just the epitome of despicable behavior, shortly put. Absolutely vile. Yoongi done, ready to go up in flames, his bones ready to tear his skin open and crawl out to slamdunk Namjoon in the face.
“Don’t bring my mother into this, she’s a nice lady, unlike you," Namjoon comments, unbothered. "Coming dry, that’s not allowed. Are you ready to be a good, patient boy?”
“Fuck off."
“That’s not how you spell “yes.”
Yoongi closes his eyes, focusing on inhaling and exhaling. One of the pan flute classics playing inside his mind, to help soothe his soul. Inhale, exhale. One, two, three. Once he gets loose, he'l execute Namjoon in every way known to man.
“Okay, okay...yes. Yes, yes, yes. I’ll be good. The best.”
"Not sure I trust you at this point," Namjoon ponders.
“I swear by everything that’s holy," Yoongi rambles, very discreetly crossing his fingers the moment after. They're already behind his back, and he's not about to commit a heinous crime by lying through his teeth. He's very delighted to notice Namjoon remains fully unaware of his treachery.
"Well, that's a commitment if I ever heard one. Now we just have to work a little bit on wording."
“I'll be good, sir, please,” Yoongi corrects himself, hiding an eye roll and curling a shoulder back so he can peer up at him. His bangs fall into his eyes, casting shadows over his cheekbones, and Namjoon is sold.
“That's a bit better,” he praises, and Yoongi’s lips part to accommodate a few of his fingers. He sucks on them earnestly like they're a lollipop and he's a starved kid in a candy store, but Namjoon knows he’s going to have another meltdown if he doesn’t get to come soon. Well, both of them actually.
"So...do you want my ugly ass cock or nah?"
Yoongi only groans in response, but it's too jumbled to make any sense. Namjoon settles for that, it's what he's been causing a whole scene for anyway. He catches his waist and help onto his hands and knees, before he shimmies out of his own pants.
“Sorry, didn't quite catch that?”
"Yeah, I mean…yes. I want your god tier cock inside my peasant ass, if you wouldn’t mind." Yoongi cranes his neck backward, eyes gleaming with hope and (feigned) adoration.
"Now you want to kiss my butt, okay.” Namjoon sighs cruelly, but he actually wants to shove it up his ass now. He positions himself with one knee on the couch and the other leg on the floor, rubbing the head of his cock teasingly against Yoongi's rim. Once his length is slick and wet, he presses into him, agonizingly slowly. Yoongi makes a fist and bites the inside of his cheek, unable to quite process the feeling of relief that washes over him. It doesn't take long until he's a slobbering, keening mess, but he still remebers to fuck with Namjoon.
"Oh, god, oh fuck, you're so fucking...big...feels so good right there, uhuh...my puny ass doesn't deserve you, I swear."
"Interesting, I thought my dick was tiny. Hold on."
Namjoon's hand fumbles towards his crotch, to release his suffering balls from their misery. He does the same to his arms, chucking the belt to the side and lowers them to his sides, carefully, so as not to pull any of his muscles.
“Easy, you'll be stiff. Now keep the volume down,” he says, giving his ass a quick squeeze to remind him that he can still slap him sideways if he doesn't. Yoongi makes appreciative sound and mumbles that he'll good, if Namjoon will just fuck him already. The slide is so soft, sticky and warm, and Yoongi is as open as they come. There's no need to go slow, so Namjoon sets a vigorous pace, beginning to fuck him in earnest, his fingers curled around his hips for support. Yoongi contorts and flexes around him, whimpering along with every shallow slap of skin. He's coming undone, turning into mush, the sensitive nerve endings inside him tingling and the pressure building until it's unbearable. He swings his head around, pleading eyes plastered on Namjoon.
“Have to let me touch myself, Joon -"
“No. Hands off.”
“God, you piece of trash.” Yoongi bites the couch cushion in frustration, fingernails digging into the fabric until it nearly rips. Namjoo gives a disappointed tut.
"Being good lasted like...five minutes, huh. New record I guess."
"Fuck. Sorry."
“Ask nicely,” Namjoon suggests, watching Yoongi’s back arch into oblivion when he picks up the pace, hips snapping forward hard and fast. “Come on, I know you can.”
“Okay, okay, ah — please let me touch my dick, I need to come.”
“Almost got it. Just a little rough around the edges.”
“Please let me touch myself,” he whines, as sincerely as he can muster, and Namjoon decides to cut him some slack, well, more like he's forced to. His eyeballs look like they're about to pop out of their sockets if he keeps him on his toes much longer. There's definitely a hint of arrogance underneath that artificially sweet tone, but then again, who's he kidding. He’s never getting rid of it, he knows that much by now.
“Go ahead, baby — or actually, wait,” Namjoon interrupts, pulling out of him and flipping him around to lay on his back. He hunches down to kiss him, quick and sloppy, before he volunteers to do the job for him. Yoongi nearly doubles over as he closes slick-coated fingers around his cock, his muscles cringing to heavily that Namjoon is sure he’s about to snap in half and spill his intestines over their expensive cream couch.
“Fuck yes, fuck yes, oh sweet jesus, holy fucking shit, keep going, keep going —"
"You're kind of scary like this you know," Namjoon comments, wondering if it's normal for omegas to sound like that girl from the Exorcist. It sounds like there's multiple Yoongi's as opposed to just one Yoongi.
“Shit…feels…so…fucking good…come on, don’t pussy out now, harder —"
“Shut up,” Namjoon reminds him nicely. But sure, he'll give him what he wants. Using his free hand, he slings his legs over his shoulders before aligning himself again and thrusting deep into him. Yoongi writhes, his limbs unable to move on their own accord. The next staccato of moans earns him the death stare, so he just forces his knuckle into his mouth to silence himself.
He watches feverishly as Namjoon's fingers slide up and down his cock, his hips flush against his ass. He's doing all the work now, while Yoongi just lays there, his knuckle still in his mouth and the orgasm building quickly. The angle is insane like this; he can't even comprehend where one of them starts and the other one ends, just that there's nothing but waves of heat and a world that turns blurrier and blurrier by the second. Namjoon pulls back and bottoms out again, and Yoongi comes hard with a grimace, spilling all over his heaving stomach, only catching Namjoon's smirk before he lets his head fall back, eyes staring at the ceiling.
"God, fuck," he whines, still high and trembling, his body overstimulated. Namjoon coos at him, promising to finish fast, or more like he has to, because Yoongi looks ready to fall asleep in the aftermath of his shattering orgasm. So he wraps both his arms around Yoongi's legs for support, and pushes into him, making him nearly slide off the couch. It's a tight, slippery fit, and it doesn't take long until he before he comes with a groan, lazily thrusting into him a few more times to ride out his own orgasm. They stay like that for a while, Yoongi still twitching around his cock, until he withdraws, slipping out of him carefully and leaving a trail of cum behind.
At that point, Yoongi is already sinking into a murky post-sex void, fast. What day is it, what year? He has no fucking clue.
"Are you good?" Namjoon taps his neck, to make sure his pulse is nice and even again. It is, leveling out beneath his fingers, and after receiving some slurring in response, he rushes to the bathroom. A box of tissues is dumped on the couch next to Yoongi, and Namjoon rushes back to his office from there, all but throwing himself into the chair, fingers working the keys at furious speed to finish what he started. He glances at the clock on the far wall; 3:50 PM. It's totally doable, now that he doesn't have a degenerate horny koala clambering all over him anymore.
it's down to the last second, but thank heavens above, he manages. The laptop is slammed shut with impact, and Namjoon leans back in the chair, knitting hands behind his head in relief. Not a single peep emerges from the living room, no sharp objects ricocheting off the walls, no with the impure noises made by an omega in almost-heat. it sounds almost a little too quiet.
Yoongi remains as he left him, looking like a drooling zombie with his arms hanging limply off the edge of the couch, his body sprawled out in the exact same position as before. Namjoon squints down at the sticky white mess he left behind. It's already dried into a spiderweb pattern on his stomach, since it apparently didn't occur to him to wipe it off.
“You were supposed to clean yourself up. You got slick and cum all over the couch.”
He catches his hand, rubs a thumb over the crescent moons indented into his pale knuckles, faint leftovers of sharp teeth. But Yoongi wrenches himself free. Soon he's rolled onto his side, away from Namjoon, his speech turning muffled as he presses his face into the crevice between the cushions.
“I'm supposed to clean it up? It’s your fucking cum."
"Well, okay, but I didn't mean it like that...I was coming back to help you, but I meant just literally shoving a napkin under your ass meanwhile. Too hard?"
Yoongi shoots him a lethal glance over his shoulder. Namjoon looks at him, wide-eyed and concerned. He looks so wounded, the tangles of black hair falling into his eyes, his lips pouting when they should be smiling.
"Yeah, because I'm sore. And you just fucking left. ”
“I did because I had to, I had ten crapping minutes to make deadline.”
“Shove your deadlines up your ass. You were so mean to me, I can’t believe it. Just left me here like a bag of trash after giving me blue balls and fucking me into a can of chicken soup.”
He swings around again, knees drawn to his chest and shoulders curled up, until he resembles a little defensive ball. Namjoon scratches his head. He’d only been gone ten minutes, intending on returning right away to pick him up and dump him into a hot shower to ease his aching joints. But his worry peaks when he hears a heart-wrenching sob from within the Yoongi-bundle.
“Baby, I only left you for like ten minutes. Are you okay? Don’t cry, jesus…I’m really sorry, bub. I was just messing with you, you know you can tell me if you want to stop, I thought you were playing along...I didn't mean to hurt you. Look at me, please.” He latches onto his shoulder, and after a few fruitless attempts, he coaxes him into turning around. The guilt has already blown into astronomical proportions by this point, and he’s ready to be met with a swollen, tear-streaked face, but no. It's completely dry when it appears. Yoongi wears his best smile, and smug is only his first name.
“Got you, dickface. You’re so easy to trick.”
“…you fucking —"
Yoongi chuckles openly as Namjoon hauls him up into his arms. This is what he calls a fun afternoon. He laces fingers around his neck tightly, whimpering softly as fingers squeeze his tender backside.
“You’re the absolute worst. The worst. Need a way more thorough spanking than what I gave you.”
“You’re the worst. Ugly, dimpled bitch.”
“Short ass shrimp bitch.”
Yoongi’s grin grows wider as he nuzzles into the crook of Namjoon's neck, pressing tiny, fluttering kisses to his skin.
“Yeah. Your short ass shrimp bitch though.”
“Mine.”