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The first time Namjoon saw him was when he was in the corner, leaning against the wall so causally, it seemed he belonged there. He had colored hair, a leather jacket tugged on over his white shirt. Even from so far away, Namjoon could see the row of piercings lining the guy’s ear. Namjoon swallowed hard, pressing his own spine roughly against the closest doorjamb, staring at the guy as discreetly as he could manage.
Fuck, he was beautiful.
He saw the guy take a swig of his beer; Namjoon stared intently at the guy’s Adam’s apple, wetting his lower lip as he took in the sharp cut of this stranger’s jawline.
“Joonie!” A voice called, an arm looping tightly around Namjoon’s neck, caught roughly in a sloppy hug.
“Tae—“ Namjoon struggles to pull away, or at least just see around Taehyung’s hair. He can’t see the guy in the corner anymore, he doesn’t want to lose sight of him.
“How are ya, Joonie?” Taehyung says, finally letting go. Namjoon rubs at the back of his neck, eyes slipping back to the corner the man had stood in. He felt his shoulders droop; the man was gone.
“Joon? D’you hear me?”
“Yeah, Tae,” Namjoon mumbles, hardly hearing. “Sure, that sounds great.”
“I asked how you were, Joon.”
He’s searching the crowd, eyes wandering frantically, but there are multicolored lights set up all around the room, flashing to the beat of the music, and with everyone moving, bodies pressed together (in what could be loosely interpreted as dancing). He really was gone.
“Namjoon?” Taehyung tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you okay?”
Namjoon swallowed hard, brow furrowing . “Yeah,” He said slowly. “Sorry— Yeah, I’m good, I’m good.” He throws an arm over Taehyung’s shoulders, “How’re you? Had enough to drink?”
Tae waves his red cup in Namjoon’s direction as if to say, “No— I’m still drinking, see?”
“Who were you looking for?” Taehyung asks, taking a slow sip from his cup.
Namjoon chews at his lower lip, “No one.”
Taehyung smirks, “’s she cute?”
Namjoon shrugs, “He,” he corrects. “But, well. . . Yeah, pretty cute.”
He watches Taehyung tip his head back, chugging down the last gulps of his drink before tipping the cup upside down, shaking out the excess, wiping drips from his chin with the back of his hand.
He presses the cup to Namjoon’s chest, letting go when Joon instinctively grabs onto it. “I’m goin’ to play flipcup with Jimin— you in?”
“Nah, not right now.” Namjoon tosses him a smile. “Go have fun. Be safe.” He watches Tae go, waving at Namjoon over his shoulder.
Namjoon is feeling a little sick to his stomach.
And it’s not even from the alcohol, because he’s only had a cup or two, and he can usually knock out a solid five before he forgets how to walk straight.
Ten before he forgets how to walk.
He pushes his way up the stairs, shouldering past the people idling among the steps. Fuck, he just wants to sit down. His head is aching, eyes stinging, and he’s got this weird feeling in his chest, somewhere beneath his ribs. It’s just clenching. Tight, tighter, tightest— okay, take a breath.
He kind of wants to leave, but he’d promised the boys he’d stay late to this one. He kind of wants to leave, but he’s also drowning in the smell of it, in the smoke and the stale beer, and something that smells like freshly baked apple pie. Fuck, he just wants to sleep.
Some guy wraps his fingers around Namjoon’s elbow, tugging him close, leaning up to brush their noses together. He can smell the vodka on the guy’s tongue, and it makes his stomach churn.
“Sorry,” Namjoon grunts, pulling out of his grip, stumbling away. “Sorry.”
He hurries away, pushing at the first door he reaches. It’s locked, of course. He should’ve expected it, everyone fucks at these things.
He wants to go. But fuck, it smells so sweet up there. He’s taking deep breaths, inhaling until his lungs burn. He won’t let himself leave when it smells this good.
He trips over some empty cans tossed on the carpet, falling into the door he’d wanted to just walk through. It opens, thank god. And— oh, there he is again, the gorgeous one he’d seen hours before. He can tell it’s the same guy because of the minty hair. Except, this time it’s all mussed up, sticking up in odd directions.
Oh, because some guy is fucking him into the wall. Oh.
Namjoon is in shock, apparently, because his feet are cemented to the floor, eyes stuck open, staring at the fucking incredible face this guy is making— he tilts his head back against the wall, mouth locked open, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers are digging into the other guy’s shoulders, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Fuck, they look so good, too. Smooth, soft. . . It makes Namjoon’s chest tighten when he sees the other guy’s back interrupting his view of the silky porcelain skin.
He knows that he shouldn’t be watching these guys fucking, but Namjoon really can’t bring himself to look away, not when the beautiful one opens his eyes, not when he locks gazes with Namjoon, not when his eyes flutter, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he stares at Namjoon. He fucking tosses Namjoon a smirk as he digs his nails into the guy’s back and scratches, just before throwing his head back and moaning loudly.
He needs to look away, he needs to look away, he needs to—
Why is he so tense? Namjoon is gripping the doorknob with white knuckles, his jaw is set, teeth grinding. Why does he want to burst in and pull them apart? Separate them and then just fucking tear this random ass guy into shreds, even though the most he’s seen is the back of his head.
Namjoon quickly slams the door, arms tensing, heart pounding.
Fuck, he really needs to go.
“Namjoon, you absolute asshole,” Taehyung spits as he drops down into an empty chair. He sets his hands over the pages of Namjoon’s book, palms covering the words Namjoon wanted to highlight. “Hey, pay attention to me.” Namjoon reluctantly looks up, pulling one earphone out. “Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”
He’d hidden from Taehyung all day until now, sneaking away to the campus café to study for as long as his phone battery would last.
“Nice black eye,” Namjoon says, sidestepping Taehyung’s question. “What happened?” He reached his fingers out, brushing gently at the purpling skin.
“Some guy,” he mumbled pushing Namjoon’s hand away. “It’s no big deal.”
“What, he beat you up for winning in beer pong?”
Taehyung grins, but shakes his head, “The guy went after Jimin.”
“He beat the shit outta you for defending your mate?”
A smug smile settles on his lips, “More like I dragged his ass out onto the lawn and wailed on him after letting him get one good punch in.”
“Jesus, Tae,” Namjoon breathes. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes.” He quirks an eyebrow, “Lets just say Minnie was pretty impressed with my dedication.”
“Fuck, dude,” Namjoon cringes. “That’s gross, I don’t need to know about that.”
Taehyung just shrugs, “You asked.”
“Seriously, though, Joon,” he continues after a minute, letting Namjoon push his hands off the textbook, closing it with a pen still stuck between the pages. “Are you okay? You were weird as fuck last night, and you’re weird as fuck now.”
Namjoon idly tapped at the spine of his book. “Have you ever . . .” he takes a deep breath. “I mean, with Jimin, have you . . .” His eyes flicker up to Taehyung, who stares back at him with confusion etched into his face. “Ever gotten the urge to, like . . . Like, when you see someone and then see someone else and you just wanted to fucking tear one of them apart because they’re just,” he clears his throat, “too close?”
“You mean like last night when I kicked some guy’s ass for trying to dance with Jimin?” Taehyung deadpans.
Namjoon scratches at the back of his neck. “Kind of, but . . . I mean, you’re mates, you had reason to. Did it ever happen before you and Jimin were together?”
Taehyung purses his lips, resting his chin in his hand. “Yeah, I think so.” He glances at Namjoon, “Why?”
Namjoon just shrugs, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze.
“Did you fucking kill someone last night?” Taehyung suddenly hisses, voice low.
“No!” Namjoon exclaims, pushing back in his seat. “No, no— god, Tae, no. It’s just . . .” he shrugs again. “Remember the guy I told you about?”
“No,” Taehyung lets out a breathy laugh.
“Yes, you do. The hot as fuck one.”
“Oh!” Tae breathes. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.” His face goes grim, “You wanted to rip him apart?”
“No, Taehyung, just listen for a second, will you?”
He raises his hands in defense. “Fine, sorry.”
“It’s just that . . . I walked in on him later. Him and some guy,” Namjoon shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean— fuck, dude, I don’t even know him, but I really just wanted to fucking, like—“ he curls his fingers like they’re claws, hands shaking. “It was scary, dude. I’ve never felt like that before.”
“Maybe it’s an alpha thing?” Taehyung offers with a shrug.
Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Neither of them smelled like an alpha, and I think I’d know if it was. It’d feel like I was gonna be attacked, or something, but,” he sighs. “But this was different.”
Taehyung is a beta, Namjoon muses to himself. He doesn’t understand. Jimin could, maybe. Omegas must work similarly to Alphas— they have to feel something similar, what with them reacting so strongly to each other. Right?
Taehyung finally decides it’s because Namjoon was drunk.
Namjoon knows he wasn’t, but he agrees anyway.
“I mean, you don’t even know either of them,” Taehyung reasons.
Namjoon nods, “You’re definitely right.”
He’s not right.
“Jiminnie and I are gonna go grab some dinner, wanna come?” Taehyung asks, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He watches Namjoon pack up his bag.
“Nah, I’m gonna go study some more,” Namjoon says, shrugging on his backpack.
Taehyung eyes him as they walk to the door, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, Tae,” Namjoon smiles, clapping him on the back. “I’m fine, I promise.”
“Where’re you going, the library?” Tae asks, looking over at him.
Namjoon nods, “I think so.”
They stop at the corner.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with?” Taehyung frowns, hands shoved in his front pockets.
“I’m sure, Tae,” Namjoon says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Have fun with Jiminnie, tell him I said hi.”
“Sure,” Taehyung smiles.
They wave as they separate, Namjoon watches Taehyung round the corner, letting out a slow breath, feeling oddly envious.
It wasn’t a long walk to the library, per se, but Namjoon was trudging along with a cluttered mind, hands in his pockets, lost in thought. He couldn’t help wonder about that guy, couldn’t help but wonder who he was and what about him made Namjoon’s brain short circuit.
He turned the corner, gnawing on his lower lip as he neared the steps to the library. He let out a slow sigh, preparing himself for a night of staring blankly at his textbooks.
“Well, well,” he heard a low voice breeze through the evening air. “Look who it is.” He caught the words through a cloud of smoke, inhaling the sound.
Namjoon blinked, staring at the green hair in front of him, the pale face staring back at him with rosy cheeks and shadows beneath his eyes.
“You,” Namjoon says, breathless, eyes wide.
He’s sitting on the library’s garden wall, just high enough off the ground to keep him face to face with Namjoon. There’s a leather jacket over his shoulders, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
He smirks, “Me.”
“W-what are you doing here?” Namjoon says, clearing his throat.
The guy looks up at him as he takes another drag of his cigarette, “Smoking.”
“Smoking is bad for you,” Namjoon says instinctively. The words have tumbled out of his mouth before he can stop them.
He watches the man laugh, “So are a lot of things.”
Namjoon is trying to stay composed, he’s gripping the straps of his backpack tightly, toes curled inside his shoes. He’s trying not to, but all he can think of is the face the guy made while he was pushed up against the wall, moans dribbling from his tongue.
Namjoon wonders if he has any marks from that night. The collar of his leather jacket is blocking his neck from Namjoon’s view.
He must have marks, Namjoon reasons. If it were him holding his body up against that wall, feeling his warmth around his hard cock, this guy breathing hard against his neck— Namjoon wouldn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into this guy’s perfect skin. He’d suck bruise upon noticeable bruise; he’d drag his tongue all the way up the side of his face, just to taste him—
“Huh?” Namjoon chokes out.
He watches the guy smirk as he stubs out his cigarette next to his leg. “I asked what you were doing here.”
“Oh,” Namjoon breathes. “Um. I’m just,” he nods at the library. “You know, the, um. . . Well, for . . .” The guy is looking at him inquisitively, listening intently to the babble pouring from Namjoon’s mouth. “For, um . . . For . . . Books?”
“Are you sure?” The guy laughs, hopping down off the wall, and— oh.
Oh, he’s short.
Namjoon is probably a whole head above him. He’s staring up at Namjoon with wide eyes, tucking his fingers into the pockets of his jacket, and Namjoon can barely fucking breathe.
This is different. This changes everything.
Namjoon can feel his muscles tensing up again, jaw locking as he stares down at this gorgeous guy. He can’t stop himself: Namjoon pushes him backwards, roughly pressing his back against the wall he’d just been sitting on. Namjoon towers over him, cages him in. He leans down to press his nose behind the guy’s ear.
And there it is again, the same sweet smell that’d kept him at the party.
Namjoon is so caught up in the scent that he doesn’t even notice this guy curling his fingers into Namjoon’s shirt and tugging him closer so he can nose at the soft skin of Namjoon’s jawline.
Fuck, he smells so good.
“Yoongi,” the guy says after a minute. Namjoon can barely hear him over the sound of his own breath.
“Huh?”
“Yoongi,” the guy says again, stealing a glance up at Namjoon’s flushed face. “That’s my name.”
Namjoon grins, leaning back down to surround himself in Yoongi’s incredible scent again. Yoongi.
“Namjoon,” he breathes against Yoongi’s neck. He traces his lips over the curve of his shoulder, “Nice to meet you.”
He pulls back, just enough to stare slowly at Yoongi’s soft face. He slips a tentative hand behind Yoongi’s ear, curling his fingers into the soft green hair. His eyes flicker to meet Yoongi’s gaze, and Namjoon can feel his knees going weak. He leans harder against the wall, nuzzling into Yoongi’s neck.
“All right, babe,” Yoongi says, voice gravelly. His words curl around Namjoon’s neck, they squeeze the air out of him. “Time to go.”
Reluctant, Namjoon pulls back, staring down at Yoongi’s face. “Time to go?” He sounds oddly hopeful, like Yoongi is inviting him somewhere.
“We’ve both got places to be,” he’s got a smirk resting on his lips. “I’m sure your . . . books are waiting for you.”
Namjoon feels his shoulders slump, but he just cleared his throat and took a step back. There was an idiotic part of him that wanted to ask this stranger to stay— stay, they’ll get dinner, go spread a blanket down in the grass and stare at the stars. Stay, they’ll kiss until their lips are bruised and swollen. Stay.
He almost opens his mouth to say it.
But before he can, Yoongi is reaching for his collar and pulling him face-level. He leans just close enough to press his lips against Namjoon’s. It’s fleeting, unsatisfying, but Namjoon can feel his chest tighten, his lungs filled with Yoongi. He tries to hold him, keep them together, but Yoongi is pulling away.
“See you around,” he whispers, breath wafting against Namjoon’s mouth.
When Namjoon gathers enough courage to turn and watch him leave, Yoongi is already gone.
Damn.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Joon?” Jimin rests his hand against Namjoon’s forehead, checking for a fever.
Namjoon swallows, leaning away from Jimin’s touch. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”
He catches Jimin and Taehyung sharing questioning glances.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to go to the party,” Taehyung says after a minute, mindlessly tracing his fingers along Jimin’s leg. “You went to the last one, you can skip out this time, Joon, no one will be mad.”
Namjoon shakes his head, “No, I’m all right, guys. Really.”
He wants to go.
He hasn’t seen Yoongi since they felt each other up near the library, and this party is his only good chance of finding him again.
He needs to see him again.
Two drinks down and Namjoon still hasn’t seen even a sliver of Yoongi’s green hair. He’s starting to regret coming. He’s starting to regret hoping to see Yoongi. Fuck, he needs another drink.
He has to push his way past too many people for his liking, and he’s seeing too many people that he knows; why do they all want to talk to him?
When he finally gets into the kitchen, he almost trips over his own feet hurrying to the figure against the counter, back facing him.
He found him.
Namjoon strides over, leaning close to the mint hair that had practically screamed his name.
“Oh, Jesus, would you just fuck off?” Yoongi spits, just as Namjoon opens his mouth. He whips around, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. But as soon as he sees Namjoon’s surprised countenance, his own face softens. “Oh, shit, fuck, sorry,” Yoongi quickly sputters out, grabbing for Namjoon’s wrist. “Sorry, sorry,” he has to shout over the baseline of the music. “I thought you were someone else.” He flashes him a smile, “You don’t have to fuck off.”
Namjoon’s muscles loosen, a soft grin spreading over his face. “Good to hear.”
Yoongi glances around him, “There was some asshole trying to get me to dance, but . . .” he has to tilt his head back to look at Namjoon’s face. “You know, I’m not into that.”
Watching Yoongi struggle to look at him, his fingers still wrapped loosely around Namjoon’s wrist, Namjoon can feel his chest tighten.
“I’m pretty over this whole party, actually,” Yoongi says after a minute, leaning back against the counter. He shrugs, glancing up at Namjoon.
“Yeah?”
Yoongi laughs, “Yeah.”
Namjoon clears his throat, “Well, then . . . Do you think you’d . . . Do you wanna get outta here?” He chews on his lower lip, “You know . . . W-with me?”
Yoongi tries his best, but he can’t help the smile that breaks out over his face. Namjoon is so nervous, Yoongi notes. It just makes him that much more enticing.
“Yeah,” Yoongi nods. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
Namjoon pulls his wrist from Yoongi’s grip, lacing their fingers together, instead.
They barely make it two blocks before Yoongi is pulling Namjoon off the sidewalk. They’re sandwiched between two buildings, Namjoon bracing himself against the wall of the one Yoongi is leaning against. Yoongi is holding onto both of Namjoon’s sleeves, keeping himself caged in. He’s surrounded by Namjoon, and he loves it.
“How can I thank you for rescuing me from that monstrosity of a party?” Yoongi says slowly, gradually pulling Namjoon closer.
Namjoon wets his lips, staring at Yoongi’s mouth, glancing at his flushed cheeks.
“I have a few ideas.”
Namjoon isn’t entirely sure who it is that initiates their kiss. He kind of thinks it was him, because he remembers leaning in. But he also thinks he remembers Yoongi pulling him closer, meeting him halfway.
But, regardless of how it started, Namjoon could— and would— easily admit that it was definitely the best kiss he’d ever had the pleasure of being a part of.
Yoongi was surprisingly gentle, looping his arm around the back of Namjoon’s neck, playing with the short hairs that curled behind Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon nipped carefully at Yoongi’s lower lip, swallowing the hum that he let drip off his tongue.
Namjoon was sucking on his tongue, licking his way into Yoongi’s mouth, pushing Yoongi’s perfect hair away from his milky forehead, cradling his head in his palm.
Somehow, they progress to Yoongi pulling at Namjoon’s belt, struggling to blindly undo the buckle. Namjoon doesn’t want to stop him, but he knows he should.
Fuck, he really doesn’t want to stop him.
He wants to fuck Yoongi into next week, wants to make him cry, to have him screaming, wants to write his name out on Yoongi’s perfect skin. He wants to grab at Yoongi’s thighs, wants them wrapped around his waist as he rocks into what he can only imagine is a perfect, perfect hole.
But he’s got enough common sense to reach down and grab ahold of Yoongi’s hand, brushing his thumb over Yoongi’s knuckles.
“Not now,” Namjoon breathes against his skin. “Not like this.”
He can hear Yoongi humming. “Namjoon,” he breathes out, and Namjoon shivers. His name sounds so fucking good coming from Yoongi’s mouth, “Please.”
“You’re drunk,” Namjoon says as Yoongi leans closer to him. He’s thrown his arms around Namjoon’s shoulders, they’re leaning together, holding each other up. “I’m drunk,” Namjoon continues. “We can’t do this, not when we’re both wasted.”
Yoongi presses slow kisses along Namjoon’s jawline, “Not even if I tell you that I want this?” A shuddering breath wafts against Namjoon’s face. “So badly?”
Namjoon smiles, leaning their foreheads together. “I know. So do I.”
Yoongi groans. “So just give in,” he breathes, brushing his lips against Namjoon’s.
But he leans away from Yoongi’s touch. “We’re drunk,” he repeats.
Yoongi pulls them back together, “I’ve been wanting this since you first walked in on me at that party.”
Namjoon tenses, his face hot. “You remember that?”
“Fuck,” Yoongi groans. “Of course I do, I thought about you the whole time.”
Namjoon lets a low moan slip through his lips at the thought: Yoongi getting off while picturing him. That he’s with another guy, but pretending it’s Namjoon fucking into him. Fuck.
Yoongi drags their lips together, and Namjoon is happy to comply. Yoongi licks at Namjoon’s lower lip, swallowing up the noises that threaten to spill out. Namjoon slides his fingers into Yoongi’s soft hair, tugging at the strands, but holding him close.
He can’t feel anything but Yoongi.
Namjoon is inhaling his scent, tasting him on his tongue; Yoongi’s hair is threaded through Namjoon’s fingers, his arms around Namjoon’s neck, their chests pressed together, Yoongi’s back rubbing painfully against the wall, but Namjoon is reaching up to pop the first couple buttons on his shirt, so Yoongi couldn’t care less.
“Fuck,” Namjoon hisses against Yoongi’s lips, roughly pulling at the hem of Yoongi’s shirt, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, gently stroking the soft skin underneath. “Fuck,” he repeats. “Why do you smell so fucking good?”
Yoongi laughs, “I should ask you the same thing.”
And it’s true, Yoongi is drowning in Namjoon’s scent. He’s licking at as much alpha skin as he can reach, tonguing his way across Namjoon’s neck. And he can taste it, the pheromones, the chemicals seeping from his skin that tell Yoongi to “just submit”. He wants to drop to his knees, beg Namjoon to push him against the ground and just fuck him already.
He wants to crawl forward on hands and knees, to swallow up Namjoon’s cock and have him sputtering Yoongi’s name. He wants to taste Namjoon’s hot cum, wants to feel it against his tongue, sliding down his throat— he wants to paint himself with it, to just fucking bathe in it.
Fuck, he just wants Namjoon to touch him some more.
Namjoon slips closer, sliding his leg between Yoongi’s, thigh brushing hotly against Yoongi’s aching length; he yelps, tossing his head back as he bites down a submissive moan. Fuck.
His head is aching, thoughts cloudy, vision swimming. And Yoongi can’t tell if this is because he’s so turned on, or because he’s downed more than his fair share of alcohol even before he’d run into Namjoon.
He kisses Namjoon fiercely, dragging his tongue over the edges of Namjoon’s sharp teeth, licking along the roof of his mouth. Namjoon curls their tongues together, and Yoongi feels lightheaded.
“Are you all right?” Namjoon breaks their kiss, pulling away from Yoongi. He wants to groan at the loss, both the support and the friction, but he’s squeezing his eyes shut, swallowing hard.
Namjoon presses his hand against Yoongi’s forehead, then his cheeks. He’s too warm. Not arousal-warm, either; Clammy, sticky.
“Yoongi?” His voice wavers. “Hey, you’re scaring me. Are you okay? Tell me what you need.”
Yoongi starts to open his eyes, staring at the sweet face that’s leaning so close to his. He wants to laugh at Namjoon’s worried expression. But just as he opens his mouth, he leans over to the side, hurling up the contents of his stomach.
Talk about a little too much alcohol.
Namjoon waits a second, gently rubbing Yoongi’s back as he’s keeled over, coughing, spitting the sour taste from his mouth.
He can’t help himself— Namjoon laughs. His eyes are watering as he rubs along Yoongi’s spine, letting out a sigh as Yoongi starts to catch his breath.
“C’mon, baby,” Namjoon laughs, gently stroking Yoongi’s hair. “Let’s get you home.”
Yoongi stands up, closing his eyes as he leans back against the wall. He swallows hard, wiping at his damp eyes with the back of his hand.
“Fuck,” he sighs. “That fucking sucked.”
Namjoon smiles, eyes wandering across Yoongi’s face. Who looks so good after just puking their guts out?
“Here,” Namjoon says after a minute, crouching down in front of Yoongi. “Get on, I’ll carry you.”
Yoongi doesn’t even have the energy to protest, he just slips right on, holding on tightly, tucking his face into the crook of Namjoon’s neck.
Yeah, he’s too warm against Namjoon’s back, and yeah, he smells a little bit like alcohol and sick, but Namjoon can feel Yoongi’s breath against his skin, and his heart is beating steadily against Namjoon’s spine, so he doesn’t even mind that he has to walk two miles to get Yoongi back home.
Namjoon is half asleep when his phone chimes.
He wants to ignore it, because his head is aching and his eyes burn when he opens them. But he sees Yoongi’s name flashing across the screen, so he forces himself to grab for it.
Damn, he can only barely remember forcing Yoongi to put his number in Namjoon’s contacts in case he wakes up in the middle of the night and needs help.
11:54am
thanks for getting me hjome
11:54am
sry ik thats prob not how yoiu wanted to spend the rest of your night
11:56am
you cldve stayed
11:57am
it was late u didnt have to leave
Namjoon smiles. What has he gotten himself into?
12:02pm
youre only saying that bc we practicall y fucked in the alleyway
12:05pm
i specifically remember there not being any fucking
12:07pm
despite my many requests
12:09pm
you were pretty persuasive ill give you that
12:13pm
persuasive enough that you woulfnt mind a call later on this week
12:15pm
id love a call later on this week
12:16pm
or anytime actually
Namjoon really doesn’t expect Yoongi to text him later that day, just to tell him that he went to go buy more cigarettes and the lady tried to call the police when she saw his ID. He definitely doesn’t expect Yoongi to tell him that she’d thought it was a fake, and that he was only in junior high.
Namjoon is surprised to find himself awake at one in the morning, still talking to Yoongi.
He’s even more surprised to when the next day, he doesn’t hesitate waking up when Yoongi texts and asks if he wants to grab coffee.
It’s barely six in the morning when Namjoon is startled awake, phone buzzing wildly on the bedside table, ringtone playing far too loudly. He doesn’t want to answer, because he’d only just gone to sleep a few hours ago.
He picks up anyway.
“Hello?” He says groggily, rubbing at his eyes.
There’s heavy panting on the other line. “Namjoon,” he finally hears Yoongi breathe out. “Joon, I need you. Please,” he begs. “Please, Joon.”
He vaults out of bed. “Yoongi? What’s wrong?” He’s grabbing a pair of jeans off the floor, struggling to get them on with one hand, hopping around his room with the phone pressed to his ear.
“Fuck,” he hears Yoongi say through gritted teeth. “Fuck— I’m— god, I didn’t want to tell you this— I’m an omega, a-and,” he can hear Yoongi whimpering over the line. “Fuck, I can’t even think straight,” he sobs. “Namjoon, please.”
“Five minutes,” Namjoon breathes into the microphone. “Give me five minutes, baby.”
They both know that it takes longer than five minutes to walk from Namjoon’s place to Yoongi’s, but that doesn’t matter, because Namjoon doesn’t walk. He runs.
He’s out of breath when he reaches Yoongi’s door. But he’s pounding on it, calling Yoongi’s name, trying the doorknob again and again, even when he already knows it’s locked.
The door finally swings open, and Namjoon is dragged inside.
And oh jesus fucking christ, it smells so fucking good.
Namjoon claps a hand over his mouth and nose, staring at Yoongi with watering eyes.
“Joon,” Yoongi whimpers, gripping Namjoon’s sleeve with white knuckles. He’s so flushed, sweat beading along his hairline, cheeks streaked with dry tears, more ready to fall from his wide eyes. “Joon.”
“Y-Yoongi, you’re,” Namjoon swallows hard, trying to stay away from Yoongi’s sweet skin. He’s trying to fight it, but every cell in his body is pulling him closer. How can he fight instinct? “You’re in heat, Yoongi—“
“I know,” Yoongi is crying again. “I know, I know,” he leans his forehead against Namjoon’s chest. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have called, but—“ he’s fucking sobbing, Namjoon can feel the tears seeping into the fabric of his shirt. “It hurts, Joon.”
Namjoon is breathing stale air he’d cupped around his nose, but he knows that if he lets go and inhales Yoongi’s scent, it’s no use, there’ll be no stopping it.
“Yoongi,” Namjoon says slowly. “I-if you want this, if you want my help, I’ll help.” Yoongi looks up at him, all teary and red, but still so fucking gorgeous. “But,” he swallows hard, it pains him to have to say it. “But if you don’t want this— if you, not the omega part of you— if you don’t want this, you have to tell me and I’ll go right now.”
Yoongi just stares at him, tears pouring down his cheeks. They’re dripping from his chin, and Namjoon shudders. Why does he love it? Why does the sight of Yoongi crying make him shiver with arousal?
“Yoongi, you have to tell me right now.”
Yoongi cries, “I need you, Joon— fuck, I need you so badly, please just help me.”
Namjoon hesitates, “A-are you sure?” He doesn’t respond. “Yoongi. Yoongi, are you sure?”
“Yes!”
Namjoon pulls his hand away from his face.
He’s never breathed so deeply in his life; it was all sweet smelling and curling around him. A mist of honeysuckle and roses, but it smells just like Yoongi, and Namjoon is leaning forward to just touch him.
He’s running his palms over electric skin, sweet softness that’s burning at a million degrees too hot; it’s slick with sweat and Namjoon wants to just kneel down and lick every inch of Yoongi’s body, just clean the scent off of him until he doesn’t smell of anything but Namjoon. So that anyone that tries to get near him won’t get even an inhale of Yoongi’s addictive scent, all they’ll smell is the alpha that owns him.
Namjoon growls at the thought of someone else touching Yoongi.
He shivers at the thought of owning Yoongi.
“Joon,” Yoongi breathes out, voice calming as Namjoon’s palms glide over his skin.
Namjoon lets out a shuddering breath, leaning into Yoongi. He dips his face down, nipping at the skin of his neck, licking a long stripe right over Yoongi’s pulse point. God, he tastes so good.
Yoongi’s legs are giving way; he’s going weak in the knees at the feeling of Namjoon’s tongue on him. He wants it in his mouth, down his stomach— he wants it inside of him, licking his slick from his walls. He wants to see Namjoon flushed and insane with arousal. He wants Namjoon.
Yoongi is pulling him backwards, dragging him into the bedroom as Namjoon grips the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head. He grabs Yoongi’s shirt by the neckline and tears it in two. He needs full access to Yoongi’s skin. And, oh, is he glad to have it.
Yoongi is panting, his small fingers slipping beneath the band of Namjoon’s joggers, tugging them down as swiftly as he can. Namjoon is just ripping Yoongi’s clothes off of him. Fuck those shorts— whoever let Yoongi buy those shorts, knowing they’d cover up his perfect ass, well, fuck them, too.
Yoongi tries to reach up, to curl his fingers into Namjoon’s hair, to kiss him, but Namjoon is lifting him up, throwing him facedown on his bed. He’s roughly grabbing at Yoongi’s hips, pulling them up until his knees are supporting his weight. Namjoon is pulling his cheeks apart, licking at the plug Yoongi had shoved in earlier.
Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to pull it past the ridge of Yoongi’s hole, tonguing frantically at the slick that’s spilling out, dripping down the length of Yoongi’s creamy thighs, seeping into the mattress. He can feel Namjoon’s tongue all over his skin, and it has him pressing his face into the sheets. He’s grabbing at the fabric with white knuckles, teeth ground together.
Namjoon kisses Yoongi’s hole gently before he’s dipping his fingers into the slick along his thigh, and plunging them into Yoongi’s tight heat.
He cries out at the feeling of Namjoon inside of him.
Finally.
Yeah, it’s not the part of Namjoon that he actually wants, but Namjoon’s fingers are pumping into him, curling up on every pull out, stroking Yoongi’s walls as he works him open— not that he really needs it. He’s gone so elastic-y that he’s already swallowing up three of Namjoon’s fingers and he’s only just started.
Yoongi cums when he adds a fourth. And he cums again when he glances back in time to see Namjoon reaching onto the comforter, gathering some of the sticky white on his finger, and sucking it off.
Fuck.
“Just fuck me, Joon,” Yoongi begs, locking eyes with him. “Please, just fuck me.”
Who could say no to that?
Namjoon’s not as gentle as he’d like to be, turning Yoongi over so quickly it makes him yelp. He wants to treat Yoongi tenderly, show him that he actually, really cares— he’s not here just because Yoongi smells like a fucking freshly baked cake iced all perfectly just for him.
He wants to pepper kisses all along Yoongi’s face, to thrust into him gently and show him just how much he likes him. But all he can do is lean down to capture Yoongi’s lips in a slow kiss.
Namjoon is lining himself up as their mouths work together; he’s sliding the head up against the skin of Yoongi’s smooth balls, rubbing up against the puckering skin that makes Yoongi’s back arch.
Sinking into him makes Namjoon’s breath hitch.
It makes Yoongi cum.
He’s too warm, wrapping around Namjoon, squeezing him so deliciously. Fuck, he can’t hold back— his hips work on their own, canting forward, chasing the warmth that Yoongi provides. Yoongi digs his fingers into Namjoon’s bicep, body tensing as Namjoon grabs his ankle and rests it on his shoulder.
“Fuck, yes, yes, yes,” Yoongi whimpers out, eyes squeezing shut. When Namjoon slides his fingers into Yoongi’s hair, grabbing a small fistful and tugging gently, Yoongi cums again. It paints his chest, pooling in his belly button, decorating his smooth skin.
He rocks his hips back, meeting Namjoon’s thrusts with fervor. He wraps his fingers around Namjoon’s wrist, holding him. He wants to touch every inch of Namjoon’s skin, but he can barely even bring himself to open his eyes.
He cums again when they make eye contact.
Namjoon’s never had heat sex before, but he can say that watching Yoongi cum from the slightest of things has him fucking into him even faster. It has him tilting their foreheads together, squeezing at Yoongi’s thigh with the pads of his fingers.
He brushes his nose over the skin of Yoongi’s neck, kissing along the juncture of his shoulder. Namjoon is careful when he bares his teeth, biting gently at Yoongi’s flesh. And it seems like the more he cums, the more clear-headed Yoongi becomes, because as Namjoon is dragging his teeth over his skin, Yoongi cups his cheek with a free hand and whispers, “Careful.” Because he’s only one clenched jaw away from marking Yoongi.
But maybe he wants to.
Yoongi is chanting out Namjoon’s name, he’s scratching his fingers down Namjoon’s chest— they won’t notice until later, but he draws blood.
Namjoon can feel his knot starting. He can feel it in the way that it’s impossible to fully pull out, and the way Yoongi absolutely screams when he paints their chests white, the stretching of his hole so good that it has him crying again. He’s rolling his hips along with Namjoon’s, tears dripping down to his ears as he feels his rim expand.
He grabs Namjoon’s neck, pulling him into a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue and too much spit, and it tastes like sweat and Yoongi is positive he’s also tasting his own lubricant, but when he sucks on Namjoon’s tongue, he hears the latter let out a low groan, and Yoongi’s back is arching as Namjoon empties himself inside.
Yoongi is a mess, and he and Namjoon are stuck together until the knot deflates, but Namjoon’s weight on top of him is comforting, and so, so good.
He wraps his arms around Namjoon, petting his hair slowly, curling the short strands around his knuckles.
They’re both exhausted, chests heaving, skin stuck together. Namjoon is pressing slow kisses to Yoongi’s neck; Yoongi’s eyes are fluttering shut, breath evening out as he slips into sleep.
He’s still too hot, skin scorching, and Namjoon is silently worrying about burning himself against Yoongi. But he’s so soft.
He’s soft, and Namjoon can smell the sweet pheromones dribbling from his skin.
God, it’s just too good.
He’s awakened by Yoongi’s finger against his cheek, tapping a gentle rhythm.
“Joon,” Yoongi says quietly. “Joon, I wanna go again.”
Namjoon has never been so happy to be woken up before.