Archive of Our Own

Namjoon stares at the wall of his studio and tries to ignore how it feels like his chest has a ten kilogram dumbbell sitting on it. 

There’s no actual weight on Namjoon’s chest; he’s long since removed his jacket, and only has a thin cotton long sleeve shirt covering his upper body. He’s already tried taking some deep, cleansing breaths. He’s tried going for a walk around the building. He’s tried clasping his hands behind his back and straightening his arms, pushing his chest outwards, trying to stretch the muscles and alleviate the tension. But nothing’s worked. That phantom tightness is still there, like a claw from one of those arcade machines has dug its mechanical fingers into Namjoon’s ribs and squeezed. 

It’s a very familiar feeling for Namjoon, who has spent probably half his life now struggling with anxiety which, when really bad, manifests itself as a physical feeling in his torso. 

He lets out a sigh. It’s a whoosh of air that emits from his lips and is loud in the silence of his studio. 

I’m really not okay, he thinks to himself. 

How long has he been here today? He checks the time on his computer. It’s nine p.m.; he arrived at eleven that morning. Ten hours in a studio isn’t really anything unusual for Namjoon, but it’s been ten hours of this anxiety, building from low-level jitters into something much bigger and more unavoidable. 

No matter what he tries, Namjoon hasn’t been able to escape this terrible feeling. It’s been fuelled by swirling, negative thoughts that have run through his mind for the past ten hours. Well, of course he can’t escape it—look where he is. Namjoon is surrounded by reminders of his worries, of everything that could go wrong. 

If he was younger, he’d push through it. That’s what he always did. There was a voice in the forefront of his mind for over a decade that told him you need to keep going, don’t be weak, push through, no pain no gain. Namjoon really believed that voice. He trusted it. He used it as inspiration to start working and held onto it like a life-force when he felt like he couldn’t go on any more. 

Yes you can, keep going, don’t be weak, don’t be weak. 

Namjoon really spent years of his life telling his friends and loved ones to care for their mental health, while in the next minute he would turn around and tell himself you’re weak, push through, keep going. 

He tries not to do that anymore. There’s a new voice in his head now. You need to take a break, it’s telling him. Namjoon’s worked so hard to create this new voice. He’s spent years talking to a psychologist and re-wiring the thoughts in his own brain to get to this point. Now he has to follow through and listen to it. He has to remember that he’s not alone. 

Namjoon pulls out his phone.  

You

Are you awake 

The reply comes instantly. 

Yoongi

Yes

What’s up 

You

Not doing well 

It’s their codeword. Or code-phrase, really, because it’s more than one word. (Namjoon’s brain is too tired for this.) 

Yoongi

Come over now

Yoongi won’t accept any arguments, and Namjoon doesn’t want to think of any. He sends back an affirmative, chucks his phone back onto his desk, and rubs his eyes. Namjoon allows himself one more moment to slump back into his chair. His chest rises and falls with each deep breath, but it still feels tight, constricted, not good. 

He sighs, and it’s so heavy that it feels like a gust of wind sweeping through his studio. 

Namjoon is quick to pack up his things. He spends so much time at his studio that he doesn’t really have much to take home anyway, aside from the usual suspects: phone, laptop, wallet. A company car drives him to Yoongi’s apartment, and Namjoon makes his way through the complex on autopilot. He has to be buzzed in—all their apartment passcodes are changed regularly, as per the directions of their security team. When he gets to the door of Yoongi’s apartment, Namjoon waits barely three seconds before it opens. He’s hit at once by the smell of cooking and the sight of his boyfriend dressed in one of his oldest and slouchiest hoodie-and-sweatpants combinations. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon says, before his throat suddenly closes up on itself and traps the rest of his words in his chest. His heavy, anxious chest. 

“Come on, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi says to him, opening the door even wider. 

Namjoon enters silently. The door shuts and locks behind him with some quiet and familiar clicks. He toes off his shoes and follows Yoongi into the kitchen. 

Yoongi’s apartment is really nice, and it’s one of Namjoon’s favourite places to be. He loves his own place, of course, because he’s decorated it with all his favourite things (and is continually updating it with new pieces of art—his collection has grown far bigger than his own apartment now, and he has a lot of it in storage). But Namjoon loves Yoongi’s place perhaps as equally as he loves his own, because it is so quintessentially him, and Namjoon loves him, and consequently Namjoon always feels the urge to metaphorically wrap up every single part of Yoongi’s apartment just so he can roll himself around in it like a pleased puppy. 

It’s so Yoongi in the colour scheme. It’s all deep greens and muted oranges, with random pops of other colours: blues and yellows and a lot of darker shades of grey. The focal point of the open-plan living and kitchen area is the huge television mounted on the wall, surrounded by an intense and incredibly expensive sound system. The couch looks comfy and inviting, linen-covered and clearly well-loved and used often; it’s far from being a piece of leather display furniture that must be kept spotless. There’s a homey sort of clutter around the place, too, because Yoongi keeps his space neat, but not spotless. There are storage cupboards and bookshelves, random trinkets and things which all have their place but aren’t shoved out of sight. Yoongi’s apartment looks lived-in in the way so many luxury apartments do not. 

Or, Namjoon supposes, maybe he doesn’t love this place for any of those reasons. Maybe he loves it just because it’s the space that Yoongi spends a lot of his time in, and Namjoon wants to spend lots of time with Yoongi in his every waking moment, so naturally he’s going to love any place that he gets to share with his boyfriend. 

“Namjoon-ah,” a voice breaks through his tired thoughts, “are you going to come in?” 

It’s at that moment when Namjoon realises he’s been spaced out for the past minute, standing at the entrance to Yoongi’s home. He obediently lets his feet take him into the kitchen, where Yoongi is finishing up cooking a meal. Ramyeon, by the looks of it, embellished with meat and egg and a random assortment of vegetables—whatever Yoongi must have had on hand in the fridge. Comfort food. Namjoon’s stomach grumbles. Yoongi must have started cooking as soon as Namjoon texted him so that it could all be ready when he arrived. 

They don’t speak as Yoongi dishes up their servings. Namjoon doesn’t feel like it yet; he’s exhausted and on-edge. But those feelings are beginning to recede just by virtue of being in Yoongi’s presence. Yoongi never forces him to speak, especially when he’s not having a good day. There’s never an air of expectation. Namjoon knows that he could refuse to speak another word for the next twelve hours and Yoongi wouldn’t make a fuss at all. He’s kind and accepting and understanding, and Namjoon loves him so much. 

Together they settle down at Yoongi’s dining table, accompanied by a plate of kimchi and tall glasses of water. Namjoon appreciates the beverage. He doesn’t want to drink alcohol tonight, not with everything that’s going on in his head and chest. 

The meal tastes delicious. Of course it does, it’s Yoongi’s cooking, anything tastes good when Yoongi makes it. Namjoon feels relieved that his tastebuds are actually still working, and that his stomach isn’t protesting against the food. Namjoon’s anxiety, while certainly affecting the feelings in his chest, has apparently left his appetite unharmed for the night. He’s able to eat most of his serving, and he catches Yoongi observing him with a pleased smile on his face. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon says, breaking his silence. “This was really good. Thank you.” 

“I like cooking for you,” Yoongi says. His voice is deep and steady. His hand reaches out across the table, and Namjoon’s own hand immediately jumps out to hold it. 

Up until this moment, Namjoon had only wanted to be silent and still and close to Yoongi, but not touching him. Suddenly, everything changes in a moment, and now all Namjoon wants is to touch him and be held by him. The desire hits Namjoon with such force that he blinks for a few seconds, overcome. He squeezes Yoongi’s hand, and Yoongi squeezes back. 

Namjoon clears his throat. “I’m going to clean up the dishes,” he tells Yoongi, “and then, can we—bed? I want hugs.” 

“Of course, baby,” Yoongi murmurs. 

Namjoon smiles. It’s an unstoppable reflex, even after he’s long become used to this term of endearment. Yoongi started calling him that a year ago, now. At that point their relationship had been fairly ‘official’ for almost two years, but it had been a slow process for the both of them. After their mutual nerve-wracking confessions, they had wanted to be careful in transitioning from their long-held status quo of best friends and coworkers who stifled their own emotions to… lovers. Partners. People who no longer had to hide their love behind the excuses of fear, or media exposure, or ‘the sake of the group’. 

After Yoongi had let the pet name slip for the first time and Namjoon had whipped his head around to stare at his boyfriend with wide eyes, Yoongi had confessed that he had wanted to say it for a long time, but didn’t know whether Namjoon would like it as a term of endearment. Namjoon, in turn, had been extremely eager to tell Yoongi just how much he liked hearing that he was Yoongi’s baby. 

It has been a long, delicate path that he and Yoongi have walked together for the past three years. But Namjoon is so grateful that they have been brave and taken chances together. Every day, he feels proud of both himself and Yoongi for putting in the effort and care towards their growing relationship. It feels stronger than ever, now, and Namjoon usually finds himself aching with excitement for the future he gets to create and share with Yoongi. 

Tonight, though, he aches for a different reason. There’s not much excitement to be found anywhere in him. There’s only fear. And he and Yoongi both know by now that they can’t bottle up and avoid their feelings anymore. Not if they want to be the best versions of themselves, for themselves, and for each other. 

Namjoon mulls this over as he clears the table and fills the sink with hot, soapy water. He is long-practiced at washing Yoongi’s dishes after cooking, and tonight he does so quickly and efficiently. He finds the familiar rhythms helpful; they ground him in the present moment. Namjoon likes doing things with his hands and the simple household task provides some much-welcome movement for him after a day spent nervously fidgeting at his own desk. 

With the dishes artfully stacked on the drying rack, Namjoon removes the gloves and washes his hands. The satisfaction of a job well done serves to lift his spirits even further. After drying his hands, Namjoon makes his way into Yoongi’s bedroom. 

The room is just as cozy and welcoming as the living areas of his apartment. Namjoon, however, only has eyes for Yoongi, who is sprawled on his back on the bed, one arm held out wide, waiting, inviting. 

“Come here,” Yoongi tells him. Namjoon can’t get on the bed fast enough. 

He settles himself down on his stomach laying half on the bed and half on the right side of Yoongi’s body. Namjoon rests his left cheek on Yoongi’s chest and presses his body as close to Yoongi as he can. He doesn’t want any space between them. With his right arm he hugs Yoongi’s waist and tucks his right hand half-beneath Yoongi’s lower back. Yoongi’s own right arm comes to rest across Namjoon’s shoulders and he holds Namjoon with a strength that belies those slender arms and indicates that Yoongi’s definitely been hitting the gym more lately. 

After wriggling around and rubbing his cheek into the soft material of Yoongi’s hoodie, Namjoon finally lets out the deepest, longest exhale he’s had all day. Tension seems to start melting out of his limbs at an even faster rate. 

They lie there for a while. Namjoon tries to sync his breaths with the rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest, and he thinks Yoongi is deliberately taking deeper, steadier breaths in order to help Namjoon relax. After a minute, Yoongi speaks. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, because the days of keeping things bottled up are over. It doesn’t do anyone any good. 

“What’s going on, Namjoonie,” Yoongi says. It sounds so careful and crooning that Namjoon wants to blush and cry and kiss him all at once. After all this time, Yoongi still absolutely has the power to make Namjoon feel dizzy with love, especially when he calls Namjoon so sweetly in his deep voice. 

“I don’t know where to start,” Namjoon admits. His thoughts swirl in his mind so quickly that it feels impossible to grasp even one. 

“Wherever you want,” Yoongi tells him. “Or at the beginning. Whatever’s easier.” 

There’s no pressure. Namjoon decides to start with the obvious. “I’m anxious. I’m… worried.” 

“Mmm. What about?” 

“Work,” Namjoon says, the answer popping into his head immediately. He loves it when Yoongi listens to him and asks these questions. It always helps to simplify his thoughts so that he can say what he wants to say. “I’m anxious about the new album.” 

Yoongi hums again, encouraging. 

“The past year…” Namjoon trails off and clears his throat. “I mean, hyung, you know. We’ve gone in a direction that we didn’t really expect, at first. And it’s worked out well. Extremely well. But it’s not… the English songs are good and we worked hard. But they’re also not our songs. Creatively. Artistically. Y’know?” 

Yoongi snorts, as if to say yes, he does know. 

In terms of business and strategy and breaking into the Western market, the songs they released in 2021 were great decisions. Namjoon is proud of how hard they worked during that year, even when it felt like the world was crumbling around them, even when they all felt like they would all crumble too, with just one stiff wind. But it wasn’t a direction they ever envisioned themselves going in until it was happening. And now— 

“Now it’s been more than a year since we released the last album,” Namjoon continues. “And we’ve all worked so hard on this new one. This album’s come together so well, we’re nearly there. I know how much time you and Hoseok have spent on it.” 

“I know how much time you’ve spent on it, too,” Yoongi cuts in. 

“Yeah, I know, hyung. I’m not trying to say I haven’t done a lot. I’ve been working hard.” Namjoon brings his right hand up to pat Yoongi’s stomach. “I really like this new music. I like where we’re going.” 

“I do too. I’m excited.” 

“I was excited,” Namjoon agrees. “But then today… I was just sitting in my studio and working on the list of final tweaks and I just felt… scared. This album is different, and new, and I’m scared of what people will think.” 

Yoongi shifts slightly beneath him, as though he’s about to say something, but now that Namjoon’s managed to stop the frantic whizzing of thoughts in his mind and put them into a semblance of order, he has to get them out before it all collapses into chaos again. 

“Every year we think we can’t get bigger than this, and every year we prove ourselves wrong and get bigger again,” Namjoon says. “We have so many fans. We earn so much money. We have so many people working for us, and with us, so many people rely on us, hyung. It feels like we have millions of eyes from all around the world staring at us and waiting for us to fail and—and everyone has opinions, too, and I try not to read them anymore but there’s still some—and—” 

Namjoon stops for a moment to clear his throat. “In the middle of all of this I’m constantly worrying about the six of you, and making sure you’re okay. Because… what are we gonna do? Where’s the end point? Where do we start losing support and fall from this high?” 

Namjoon breaks off from his spiel and finds that his breath is shorter, his heart beating faster. Yoongi’s hand rubs big, grounding circles on Namjoon’s upper back. 

“Breathe, Joon-ah,” Yoongi tells him. Namjoon tries matching his breaths to Yoongi’s again. 

After a minute, Yoongi speaks. “Everything you’ve just said—all of these are really valid worries. Okay? It’s okay to be anxious about this. It’s natural.”

Namjoon nods against Yoongi’s chest. 

“But you need to remember that all of these worries are about things which may or may not happen in the future,” Yoongi continues. 

“I know,” Namjoon sighs. 

“We can’t predict the future and we can’t control it. If you try to, it’s a waste of time and energy. What can you control instead, Namjoon-ah?” 

“Myself and my actions,” Namjoon answers immediately. He’s paid attention during his psychology sessions. He’s been here before. He just needs the reminder. 

“Exactly.” Yoongi raises his head from the pillow and drops a small kiss in Namjoon’s hair. “Try to direct your energy towards worrying about things you can control instead. That’s how you can help yourself feel better.” 

“I know, hyung.” Namjoon’s voice is very small. “It’s just… a lot. Everything is a lot.” 

At that, Yoongi rolls over onto his side. Namjoon is rolled backwards a bit too, but doesn’t fall directly onto his back because Yoongi wraps his arms tightly around Namjoon’s shoulders and holds him firmly to his chest. Namjoon’s left arm is folded up and crushed between them, while his right arm holds secure around Yoongi’s waist. Everything goes dark as Namjoon’s face is fully buried in Yoongi’s chest as they lie there on their sides, facing each other. He shuts his eyes and breathes in the wonderful smell of his boyfriend’s body, something completely indescribable but utterly remarkable. 

“No matter what happens,” Yoongi murmurs into his hair. “No matter how the album is received, no matter what the critics say, no matter what the sales numbers are, no matter what the label thinks. You know that you’ve worked hard and done your best on this album, and that is something to be proud of. You know that I love you, we all love you, and you love all of us. We are together. We have worked hard. We will all be okay.” 

Namjoon’s eyes sting with unshed tears and he sniffles into Yoongi’s chest. He lets Yoongi hold him like that for a few more moments, before Namjoon is rolling them both again, so that Yoongi is on his back and Namjoon rests on top of him once more. Namjoon’s forehead is still pressed to Yoongi’s chest, and he lies between Yoongi’s spread legs with his feet dangling off the end of the bed. Yoongi’s arms rest on Namjoon’s back, keeping him in place. 

Namjoon slides his hands up the bed and hooks them beneath Yoongi’s shoulders, holding tight. 

“I love you,” he says to Yoongi’s chest. They say it a lot, these days, but it’s still always easier when he doesn’t have to look Yoongi in the eyes. 

“I love you so much,” Yoongi says, and happiness bursts through Namjoon at the immediacy and vehemency of his response. “It’s okay to be worried. But it’s also okay to tell yourself to take a load off and let go. Let us carry the load, the burden.” 

“…I’m the leader, hyung. I’ve always been trying to carry the burden.” 

“I know, and you’re the best leader we could ever have asked for,” Yoongi murmurs. “But you don’t have to worry so much about us all anymore, okay? I know it’s easier said than done. It’s your instinct, at this point, you’ve been protecting everyone and working for everyone for over ten years. But we’re all older and wiser now, Joonie.” 

“Wiser?” 

Yoongi snorts. “Well, that might be up to interpretation. But you know what I mean.” 

“I know what you mean,” Namjoon smiles faintly. 

Yoongi’s arms squeeze him even tighter. “Don’t worry, okay? Hyung doesn’t like it when you worry.” 

Namjoon knows that they both wish it were that simple. He sighs into Yoongi’s chest. “Hyung, I know that you don’t need to worry. If all of this disappears tomorrow, you have a promising career as a psychologist ahead of you.” 

Yoongi barks out a laugh. Namjoon feels it in his chest, and muffles his own giggle into the fabric of Yoongi’s hoodie. Yoongi pushes at Namjoon’s shoulder. “Come on, you. Get up. You’re heavy.” 

Namjoon lifts his head and rests his chin on Yoongi’s chest, making eye contact. “You saying I’m fat, hyung?” 

“I’m saying you do too many reps at the gym and your muscle mass is ridiculous. Come on.” 

Namjoon allows Yoongi to manoeuvre him upright. At Yoongi’s gesturing, he obediently lifts his arms to let Yoongi peel off his shirt, too. After it’s been flung onto the floor, Namjoon raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Yoongi mutters, averting his gaze. “I’m not trying to get in your pants. C’mon, lie down.” 

Namjoon does as he’s told and settles on his stomach. He has two seconds to wonder what Yoongi is planning when suddenly he hears the flick of a cap opening. Not the sound of their lube bottle opening—no, this is the sound of their new oil bottle, instead. 

“You really don’t need to,” Namjoon protests, but Yoongi has already settled himself astride Namjoon’s ass. 

“Hush,” he dismisses. And then, softer, “I want to. I know this relaxes you.” 

Namjoon sighs. If Yoongi insists on giving him a massage, then he’s not going to argue against it any more. 

Yoongi drizzles oil into his palms and begins his slow massage of Namjoon’s back. First he starts up high, around Namjoon’s neck and shoulders. He spends a lot of time pressing his fingertips into the sore, hard muscles that lay beneath that skin. Sitting and staring at computers all day really fucks up your neck and back, and Namjoon’s always tense around that juncture where his neck meets his shoulders. The oil slicks the way, and after five minutes of steady massaging, Namjoon feels some of the tension fading away. 

It’s only after Yoongi has addressed the most serious problem of Namjoon’s shoulder tightness that he then moves on to the rest of Namjoon’s back. Adding a bit more oil to his hands, Yoongi places his palms on both of Namjoon’s shoulder blades and drags down, slowly, then back up again. He presses into Namjoon firmly, so that the skin of Namjoon’s back bunches up and moves with every languid, pressured swipe of Yoongi’s hands. The manipulation becomes repetitive in a good way, lulling Namjoon into a deeper state of relaxation. 

Namjoon simply shuts his eyes and lets himself fall into an almost meditative state. He stops worrying about feeling self-conscious, or what Yoongi is thinking, and he just tries to sink into the moment. Mentally he checks out, and he realises at some point that he’s losing time. He’s not sure how long he’s been lying on this bed, with his boyfriend’s hands all over him. 

“Okay hyung, you can stop now,” he croaks out eventually. He always worries, eventually, that Yoongi doesn’t want to do this, or that he’s had enough of it but is too polite to tell Namjoon. (These are dumb thoughts to have, and Namjoon recognises that, but they exist nonetheless.) 

Yoongi, reading his mind, just snorts. “I don’t want to stop yet. I’m not just doing this for you, you know. I get something out of it too.” He punctuates his words with a firm squeeze of Namjoon’s shoulders, and then his biceps. “Let hyung take care of you.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, but he feels warmly pleased, and he lets Yoongi continue his massage without any further interruptions. Yoongi enjoys making sure Namjoon knows just how much Yoongi likes him bulking up. After so many years spent trying to make himself as small as possible to fit a certain look and beauty standard, Namjoon had decided to say fuck it and finally embrace his naturally broader shoulders and chest. Not only that, but he decided to embellish them, to make them even bigger. He had been so nervous when he first started his new workout routine over two years ago, now. He had no idea if he was doing the right thing, or what his body would look like once it started changing and growing. Only after six months did his worries truly abate, and he started to really love how he looked and who he was growing into. 

Yoongi had supported Namjoon every step of the way. Told him fuck the idol standards, workout however you want, look however you want. You deserve it. His support had only boosted Namjoon’s resolve. These days, Namjoon still has to goad himself into doing his workouts—it’s never his favourite way to spend his time—but he loves their results and loves how he feels afterwards and loves the way his body looks and feels, now. He feels comfortable and confident and more him. 

Yoongi tells him, all the time, how pleased he is that Namjoon feels so much better about himself. He also tells Namjoon, quite regularly, how much he likes all the new muscles. So it feels good to have Yoongi’s strong, elegant hands smoothing across Namjoon’s skin, and it feels good to know that Yoongi likes doing this, too. 

Namjoon has become a puddle of warmth and relaxation by this point. He feels like he’s perpetually sinking into the mattress. His eyes are closed and lips parted. He’s also a bit hard—how could he not be? Yoongi’s crotch is still planted firmly on Namjoon’s ass, he’s had his hands all over Namjoon’s skin for ages now, and Namjoon’s cock has been pressed against the mattress the entire time. He’s not sure whether anything will happen tonight, but as Yoongi carries on, Namjoon finds himself feeling more on board with the idea. 

Yoongi’s strong hands massage further and further down Namjoon’s lower back, until he brushes his fingertips against the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans. Namjoon tenses in anticipation—is this—? But Yoongi pulls away. 

He doesn’t go too far; within two seconds Namjoon feels Yoongi press a kiss to his hair, feels Yoongi’s hot breath caressing his ear as Yoongi asks, “Do you want to, Namjoon-ah? It’s okay either way.” 

Namjoon’s so warm. Yoongi is taking care of him so well. He feels so loved. And he really does want Yoongi to touch his ass. 

“Please, hyung,” Namjoon breathes. 

“Of course, baby.” Yoongi drops another kiss, this time on Namjoon’s cheek, and then he pulls away. 

Yoongi shuffles down the bed. Together with Namjoon’s help, he unbuttons Namjoon’s jeans and pulls them off his legs, followed by Namjoon’s underwear. Yoongi spreads Namjoon’s legs wide with his hands on Namjoon’s thighs, and Namjoon immediately squirms. 

“You love it when I spread you open, don’t you,” Yoongi murmurs. 

Namjoon buries his face in the mattress. “Hyung.” 

Yoongi chuckles and gets down to business. 

He briefly gets off the bed and grabs a towel he keeps in the left bedside table. (Yoongi has two bedside tables. The right one, next to the side he usually sleeps on, is for his phone, chargers and books, with random other things stored in the drawers. The left one is filled with sex stuff, but he keeps the top surface free for when Namjoon sleeps over and needs somewhere to put his own phone, charger and book.) Yoongi also grabs a bottle of lube—the one he bought specifically for this purpose, three months ago after the first time Yoongi asked if he could lay Namjoon down and massage him. It’s a silicone-based lube that works well for massage and is also safe to stick up someone’s ass, whereas the light massage oil Yoongi had just used on Namjoon’s back was definitely not safe for that purpose. 

With his supplies in hand, Yoongi returns to his rightful place between Namjoon’s spread legs. While certainly Namjoon still feels relaxed and boneless, there’s now a shiver of anticipation running repeatedly up his spine. 

Yoongi gets some of the lube on his hands and places them firmly on Namjoon’s asscheeks. For a moment he just keeps them there, still, and Namjoon wouldn’t be at all surprised if Yoongi was simply admiring how good his hands looked on Namjoon’s ass. But then, Yoongi begins. 

He massages Namjoon’s asscheeks in slow, circular motions. He moves his hands all over, from the sides of his hips, up to Namjoon’s lower back, and down to where the globes of his ass meet his thighs. Yoongi also swipes the occasional thumb between Namjoon’s crack as well, teasing him before resuming his proprietary touches all over Namjoon’s skin. Yoongi places his palm on each cheek and pushes all the way up, plumping up Namjoon’s ass, and then slides his hands down with pressure, massaging the fat low again. He digs in his fingertips and squeezes—it’s not painful at all, but Namjoon can feel the concentrated points of pressure, so different to the more general pressure of Yoongi’s palms. 

Namjoon’s ass feels like a toy for Yoongi to play with, and that’s exactly how Namjoon likes it. Yoongi simply does as he pleases with Namjoon’s two firm, muscular cheeks. Namjoon’s ass is of a considerable size, as well—he’s always grateful that his trainer never lets him skip leg day—so there’s a fair bit of it for Yoongi to play with. 

Eventually, finally, Yoongi’s fingers slide down Namjoon’s crack properly. He pulls Namjoon’s cheeks open the way Namjoon has been eagerly anticipating for this entire time, and Namjoon can feel Yoongi’s eyes on him. Namjoon is so relaxed and turned on that he doesn’t feel any of the usual embarrassment to be exposed and viewed so plainly. He’s been so emotionally vulnerable with Yoongi tonight, that being physically vulnerable now doesn’t faze him as much as it usually does. 

Namjoon knows what he looks like down there, because he once asked Yoongi to take a photo with good lighting and show him. A dusky brown, puckered hole that Yoongi calls “cute” at every opportunity, even though Namjoon thinks that between the two of them, Yoongi’s hole is the cuter one. 

With extra lube added, Yoongi slips one finger inside. It’s an easy slide in—he doesn’t meet any resistance. Namjoon likes getting fucked, okay, and with Yoongi in his life he gets something up his ass very regularly. He grows impatient very quickly, however. One finger is nothing. 

“Another,” he demands, and Yoongi obediently adds a second. 

Ahh, that’s what Namjoon was looking for. Two of Yoongi’s fingers slip inside Namjoon easily, but he feels them much more this time, the wider circumference stretching his rim nicely. Yoongi pumps his fingers in and out at a slow pace, which Namjoon likes. He’s not looking to get fucked yet, he just wants to be stretched, and the gradual drag of Yoongi’s fingers inside him is exactly what gets him opening up easy. 

Yoongi’s expert fingers find Namjoon’s prostate and start to gently rub against it for one, two seconds before dragging out and pushing back in again to repeat the motion. 

“Ohhh,” Namjoon sighs out. It’s mostly muffled into the pillow he’s clutching to his face, so it’s not too embarrassing. 

(Not that he really finds himself feeling too embarrassed around Yoongi these days. Not after how long they’ve known and loved each other.) 

“Is that good, Namjoon-ah?” Yoongi asks him. 

“Mmm, very good, you’re hitting it perfectly,” Namjoon replies. His eyes are shut; he’s just anticipating every sweet drag of Yoongi’s fingers on his prostate, now. It feels so good, like a firm pressure building in his stomach and up his spine. Namjoon’s cock is rock hard beneath his stomach, and Namjoon has started lazily thrusting downwards to try and get some more friction against it. 

For the entire time he’s fingering Namjoon—and it’s carrying on for a while, now, and Namjoon is really feeling hot and bothered by it—Yoongi’s other hand has been massaging his asscheek, prying it open so that Yoongi can get a good view of his fingers fucking into Namjoon’s hole. Namjoon loves it, loves the feeling of being exposed for Yoongi, even when it makes him squirm. 

“Do I,” Namjoon swallows, nervous. “Do I feel good, hyung?” 

“So good,” Yoongi says instantly. “So nice a warm inside for me. So wet with all this lube. Feels amazing, baby.” 

Namjoon actually whines high in the back of his throat, a noise he rarely hears from himself. Yoongi rubs a soothing hand up Namjoon’s back before bringing it back to his ass. 

“Do you… do you wanna fuck me?” Namjoon asks, even more tentative. 

Yoongi jerks his fingers in a bit harder, before leaning down to press a kiss to Namjoon’s lower back. 

“…I do,” he says lowly. “But I wasn’t planning on it. I just want to make you feel good.” 

“No, hyung, I want it, I wanna feel good with you in me,” Namjoon says. He sounds shameless, but he reckons—so what? He deserves it, he’s had a hard day, he deserves to have his boyfriend’s cock in his ass making everything feel better. 

Yoongi swears and removes his fingers. He moves to the left of Namjoon, leaning up on the bed towards the bedside table again. Namjoon knows he’s going to get a condom. 

“No,” Namjoon interrupts him. “Want you to come in me.” 

Yoongi turns his head and stares at Namjoon, where Namjoon’s head is turned to the side with his cheek pressed against the mattress. 

“Come on,” Namjoon continues, because Yoongi looks torn. “I have to shower after this anyway. I want it.” Quite frankly, he can’t think of anything he wants more than this, at this moment. There’s something thrillingly comforting about wanting Yoongi’s come inside of him, keeping him warm. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters. He runs a quick hand through his hair and blinks. “This was not in the plans.” 

“Oh?” Namjoon smirks, watching Yoongi knee-walk back between his legs. “You had plans for me tonight?” 

“Of course,” Yoongi says. He tears off his clothes and makes himself comfortable once more. Namjoon hears the click of the lube bottle opening and the slick sound of Yoongi pumping his dick with it. “Want to make you feel better. Whatever you need. You’re always taking care of me, I like taking care of you.” 

Namjoon’s cheeks feel hot. “Ah, hyung.” 

“I know,” Yoongi admits, “that was a bit much of me, wasn’t it?” 

And then Namjoon feels the blunt, mushroom head of Yoongi’s cock against his hole. 

“Uhhhhh,” Namjoon groans out, as Yoongi’s length slides inside of him in one steady, smooth stroke. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully buried inside of Namjoon, until his chest comes to rest completely on Namjoon’s back. Namjoon notices that Yoongi’s resting all of his weight on Namjoon, and he wonders why for a moment, but then Yoongi quickly answers his question. 

It’s so that Yoongi doesn’t have to hold himself up. So that the thumbs of both of his hands can wiggle between where their hips are pressed together, grip the flesh of Namjoon’s ass, and pull his cheeks apart. 

Namjoon tenses. Pulled apart and exposed like this, it feels like Yoongi’s cock slides in even deeper. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon says. His eyes are squeezed tight. It feels so dirty, in such a good way. Like Yoongi’s doing everything he can to really stuff himself inside of Namjoon. 

“Fuck, you feel so nice,” Yoongi exhales harshly. He’s not quite tall enough to be able to speak into Namjoon’s ear, so his head is pillowed on Namjoon’s upper back and shoulder instead. He humps his hips into Namjoon a couple of times, barely able to pull out in this position with his weight all balanced on Namjoon. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon complains, partly because it feels so good and forbidden, partly because he aches for more than just this. 

Soft lips press against his sweaty, well-moisturised shoulder. “Okay, Joon-ah,” Yoongi soothes. 

Behind him, Yoongi shuffles. His cock draws out of Namjoon slightly as he raises himself up, no longer laying down on Namjoon but now propped up over him with his hands planted on either side of Namjoon’s body. Namjoon feels the mattress shift as Yoongi gets up onto his knees. He’s finding the leverage he needs to fuck Namjoon like he’s asked for. 

Yoongi drags his cock out all the way, until only the tip remains inside Namjoon. It feels so precarious, like it might slip out at any moment, and Namjoon freezes up. He doesn’t want it to accidentally slip out. He wants it in. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon complains, when Yoongi doesn’t move. 

Apparently that’s what Yoongi was looking for, because after that he fucks his cock steadily back into Namjoon. He draws it out, fucks back in again, and repeats this in a slow but regular rhythm. When he spears inside of Namjoon it feels like—like heaven, or something equally as amazing. Namjoon can feel how Yoongi’s cock physically carves a hole for itself inside Namjoon, pushing through his walls and burying deep. And he’s bare, too. Namjoon loves the warmth and intimacy of fucking without condoms. 

He knows his eyelids are fluttering with pleasure. His own mouth has gone slack and it’s only a matter of time until he’s drooling on the pillow. Namjoon realises that after the sensuous build-up of the massage, he isn’t going to last very long. 

“Hyung, faster, please,” he asks. Yoongi complies. He still draws out a bit, maybe half of his cock or more pulling out of Namjoon’s ass before pushing back in, but it’s faster than the languid thrusts of before. Yoongi puts his back into it and fucks him hard, so that the loud, wet slaps of Yoongi’s balls hitting Namjoon’s ass echo round the room. It sounds so dirty and feels so thrilling that Namjoon moans. 

“We gotta fuck with this lube all the time now,” Yoongi pants above him. “It makes the best noises.” 

Fuck, Yoongi is thinking about it too. Namjoon’s face burns with pleased embarrassment. 

“It sounds…” Namjoon trails off and gathers his confidence. “It sounds really good.” 

“It sounds obscene,” Yoongi says frankly. “I wanna record it.” 

Namjoon gasps. His hole tightens around Yoongi’s cock. 

“I could put it in a song, hide it in the background and loop it,” Yoongi continues. “No one would know.” 

“But we would.” 

“It’s very rhythmic. It would sound like a drumbeat.” 

“Faster,” the demand bursts out of Namjoon’s throat. 

He hears the huff of Yoongi’s chuckle, before Yoongi complies. He leans even further over Namjoon and really starts giving it to him—sacrificing precision for speed. It’s exactly what Namjoon wants. He wants to be fucked fast and messy. 

“Look at your ass,” Yoongi moans. “I wish you could see, Namjoon-ah, it just won’t stop jiggling.” 

“Hyung!” 

“I’m not gonna last,” Yoongi keeps going. His words are punctuated by his breaths, growing harsher with the exertion of fucking Namjoon. “Not with this wet hole sucking me in. I think the massage made you more relaxed than ever, you’ve never been so sloppy and open for me before.” 

Namjoon nearly tears the pillow in half, that’s how hard his hands are gripping into it. He shoves his face into it and moans, long and very loud. He thinks he hears Yoongi chuckle again. 

“You’re—” Namjoon croaks out. He moves his head to the side so that his mouth is free. “You’re—uhhh, uh, uh,” little moans are fucked out of him with every thrust of Yoongi’s hips. “You’re—enjoying this.” 

“So are you,” Yoongi says, “that’s why I’m doing it in the first place. I want you to—fuck—I want you to let go, baby.” 

Namjoon will be able to grant Yoongi’s wish very soon. He’s close. He can feel the orgasm building from the depths of his stomach, a telltale sign that his prostate is being hammered in a very good way. Yoongi’s cock stimulates it with every thrust, the perfect thickness and length for Namjoon’s hole, and his thrusts are so relentless that Namjoon feels himself crumbling under the pleasure. If Namjoon felt relaxed after Yoongi’s massage, now he feels liquefied. He is no longer a person with worries and stress; he is a pleasured, happy hole for Yoongi to fuck into. 

The thought surprises him and turns him on so much that he tenses up again. 

Yoongi grunts, a guttural noise deep in his throat, at the feeling of Namjoon’s asshole tightening around him. “Fuck.” 

“Yoongi,” Namjoon whines again. He’s so close to the edge. He could squish his hand beneath his stomach and palm himself, but he thinks he can get there another way—the stimulation of his cock against the sheets might be enough if Yoongi would just— “Say it, tell me.” 

“Say what, baby?” Yoongi’s words are forced out, his breaths laboured now from continuously pounding his cock into Namjoon’s hole, fast and deep. He’s barely pulling out before he fucks back in. It feels incredible. 

The embarrassment crashes over Namjoon, suddenly too self-conscious about asking for what he wants. He’s never been good at speaking in bed the way Yoongi is. He scrunches up his face and brings up one hand to cover it, hiding from Yoongi. 

Of course, Yoongi sees. Yoongi knows what Namjoon wants, because it’s the number one thing that currently gets Namjoon off faster than anything in bed. Yoongi reaches up one hand and uses it to pull Namjoon’s away from his face. He laces their fingers together and presses their conjoined palms down onto the mattress, and then he says, “Baby, you want me to come inside you?” 

Namjoon groans. He’s building up, up, up, Yoongi’s words light a fire in his mind. “I want… uhhh… hyung, I want you in me…” 

“You want me to fill you up, don’t you? You want me to fuck this sloppy hole full of come, get you nice and wet around my cock.” 

That’s it. Namjoon’s gone. 

His arms draw in tight towards his body and his legs try to squeeze together, although with Yoongi between them they don’t get very far. It feels like every muscle in his body seizes up as Yoongi literally fucks the come out of Namjoon. With every fast, harsh thrust of Yoongi’s hips Namjoon feels his prostate stimulated and the pleasure mounting inside of him. Yoongi’s words send him over the edge—head overloaded with the way Yoongi talks about his hole, the words he uses, and the sheer overwhelming knowledge that Yoongi really is about to blow his load deep inside Namjoon. His cockhead rubs rhythmically against the bed with every deep fuck of Yoongi’s hips and combined with everything, it’s more than enough for the come to spurt out of him and dampen the sheets below. 

Namjoon’s orgasm lasts longer than usual. The pleasure crashes over him and he feels spaced out on it, like it’s never going to end. It must be more than fifteen seconds, and Yoongi, that absolute machine, doesn’t stop ramming himself into Namjoon’s hole, no matter how tight Namjoon gets around him. It ensures that Namjoon’s orgasm is stretched out to its limits, until the intense pleasure starts to fade back into reality. 

Namjoon’s throat feels hoarse. He must have shouted the house down—he didn’t even realise. All he knows is pleasure and happiness and Yoongi, and also a bit of overstimulation, so he wants Yoongi to finish in him as soon as possible. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon croaks. “In me. Now.” 

Yoongi’s plastered to Namjoon’s back, face buried in Namjoon’s skin. “You’re fucking hot,” he tells Namjoon. The movements of his hips grow erratic because he no longer has to maintain a steady rhythm for Namjoon, and instead just seeks his own pleasure by humping into Namjoon’s thick ass again and again. “So fucking—fuck—ohhhh,” and Namjoon feels it when Yoongi slams his hips in one final time and comes. 

Warmth spreads through Namjoon’s hole. He feels suddenly much wetter before, and combined with Yoongi’s sex-drunk groans echoing in his ears, it would have been enough for him to come a second time if he hadn’t literally exploded thirty seconds before. He settles on letting out a low, guttural groan of contentment. Aside from how horny Namjoon is about it, it also just feels so intimate to have Yoongi’s come inside of him, and it serves to settle something within him. 

Yoongi collapses fully against Namjoon’s back, no longer holding himself up. Their skin sticks together pleasantly, while Yoongi pants against Namjoon as his lungs fight to regain their breath. Both of them luxuriate in their shared post-orgasm haze of pleasure. 

Eventually, Yoongi begins dotting small kisses along Namjoon’s back. 

“Are you okay, Namjoonie?” he asks softly. 

“I’m great,” Namjoon answers. He sounds dazed and fucked stupid even to his own ears. (He likes it.) 

Yoongi huffs out a laugh and presses more kisses to any part of Namjoon that he can reach. “I’m glad. I’m just checking. I wasn’t sure if you’d want sex tonight, and I definitely wasn’t planning on it being so intense. You’re feeling alright?” 

Namjoon is touched by Yoongi’s consideration. He’s always so careful and thoughtful. “I’m feeling really good, hyung. It’s okay. I didn’t even know I wanted it either until you had your fingers in me. And then it was just really, really good. Don’t worry, okay? I was the one asking you to fuck me faster.” 

Yoongi gives a pleased little hum. “And you asked me to talk dirty to you, too.” 

Namjoon bites his lower lip. 

“You like the dirty talk a lot, don’t you?” Yoongi asks. “Even though you feel a bit self-conscious about liking it. By the way, having you squirm on my dick while I talk to dirty you is like, the best feeling.” 

Namjoon bursts out laughing. “Jeez, now I’m really embarrassed.” 

“Don’t be.” Yoongi places another smooch on Namjoon’s shoulder. “I like saying dirty stuff to you. It’s a creative outlet.” 

“Okay, it’s time for you to get off me,” Namjoon tries to push Yoongi away. 

Yoongi laughs. “Kidding, I’m kidding. Mostly. I do have to pull out though.” 

“Good, I want you to come here and kiss me. We barely kissed through all of that, it feels weird.” 

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologises. “The sacrifice of having sex in that position.” 

“It was worth it,” Namjoon acknowledges. “But I want my kisses now. But please—don’t let it all spill out of me.” 

“It won’t, here, let me.” 

Yoongi pulls out—even though he was softening rapidly, Namjoon still misses him—and rearranges their bodies so that both of them are lying on their sides facing each other. Yoongi tugs Namjoon’s upper thigh up and over Yoongi’s hip, and with his right hand on Namjoon’s lower back, he pushes them both together until their chests are flush and their lips are brushing together. 

They make out like that for… a while. Namjoon doesn’t keep track. He’s too busy being kissed thoroughly by Yoongi, while Yoongi’s fingers trail down to Namjoon’s dripping hole. He plays with the rim—it’s very wet with Yoongi’s come—and plugs it up with two fingers. He dips his fingertips inside Namjoon, teasing the edges of his rim, but he doesn’t go inside, knowing that Namjoon can sometimes be sensitive after sex. 

It feels so good to have Yoongi’s fingers back on his hole, trying and failing to keep the come inside of Namjoon. Their lips press together in slow, wet kisses, and Namjoon finally gets the chance to touch Yoongi properly. He runs his hands through Yoongi’s hair, down his cheeks and neck and chest. Yoongi’s skin is still heated with the energy of having fucked Namjoon so well. 

“Mmmh,” Namjoon sighs into their next kiss. He feels Yoongi’s lips curve up into a smile against his own. 

Namjoon feels amazing. After such a long and terrible day stuck inside his head, Yoongi has successfully dragged him completely out of his anxious thoughts. He’s been fed well, he’s hydrated, he’s been massaged into total relaxation, and now he’s riding the wave of orgasmic bliss. Every part of Namjoon feels satisfied and content. He has the best boyfriend ever. 

“You’re the best boyfriend ever,” Namjoon tells Yoongi, because it suddenly feels very important that Yoongi knows this. 

Yoongi pulls back to look Namjoon in the eyes, and smiles. 

“Seriously, I feel so much better,” Namjoon says. “It’s just… it’s so easy to get stuck inside my head, you know? But being with you pulls me out of it and makes me realise that I’m not alone. Suddenly all my worries seem so much less scary.” 

“Ah, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi says softly. He reels Namjoon back in for another kiss. “I’m so glad I can help. Thank you for texting me. Thank you for coming here tonight.” 

“Always,” Namjoon murmurs against Yoongi’s lips. “Whenever you want me, I’m here.” 

Yoongi just has to kiss him a few more times, after that. 

It gets to the point, after a few more minutes of kissing pass, that they both know they need to move. Namjoon’s growing uncomfortable, and they both need to clean up. 

“Shower?” Namjoon asks. 

“Mm, yes. Shower time.” 

Yoongi presses a final kiss to Namjoon’s lips and pulls away. 

As Yoongi gets started on heaving them both upright and shuffling them into the bathroom, Namjoon feels like the last tiny dredges of worry melt away. It’s true that he doesn’t know what the future holds for them, and that can be scary. But he feels a lot less frightened when he’s with Yoongi. With a bone-deep and unshakeable surety, he knows that no matter what, they both will be together and supporting each other for the rest of their days. Namjoon has all that he needs right here. Anything else is just a bonus.