Chapter Text
𝟒:𝟑𝟒 𝐚.𝐦.
Yoongi doesn’t regret his child, no, that’s not what he regrets. He regrets the one-night-stand with the insufferable bitch of a woman he impregnated years ago. (But, technically, doesn’t that mean he does regret his son? He circles back to this point occasionally.)
She is very the reason he’s on this red-eye flight to NYC at the ass crack of dawn, toting a drowsy, whiny five-year-old by the hand through security. It was part of their custody agreement: Summers and breaks with mom and the remainder with dad. With summer rolling in, it’s now her turn to care for the baby, which means less calls and less contact and subsequently less bickering. He will be glad to have her out of his hair for a couple months, but he will undoubtedly miss his big-eyed roly-poly. Hopefully summer passes quickly.
The plane is empty, albeit a few passengers randomly sprinkled about the rows. Yoongi gets his son buckled in securely before himself. Yoongi sits and performs one more good once over. Short chubby arms squeeze the pink bunny plush tighter and closer to his little form. There’s a tear on his ear, the same ear Yoongi’s painstakingly sewn over and over again and the very same ear his child keeps picking apart. Fuck it, he’ll just buy a new one.
The father tenderly brushes his neatly cut bangs—Papa went with an actual barber this time around—and grins lovingly upon his son until his own eyelids get heavy and close.
…
“Hyung?” a voice sounds from above.
Yoongi’s eyelids snap open. He cranes his head towards the sweet sound, a heart-shaped smile and two rows of white teeth shine like pearls upon him. It’s the person who’s sharing the row with them, the window seat specifically.
“I’m so sorry for interrupting your nap,” the boy points to the empty seat on Yoongi’s right, “25F. This is my seat.”
Yoongi noiselessly stands and walks into the aisle. The boy opens the carry-on compartment overhead and lifts his blush duffle bag to drop it in. Yoongi offers his assistance; he automatically takes the bag from his small hands and hoists the duffle up into the chamber with a single push.
“Thank you so much~” the boy says.
“Don’t mention it.”
Yoongi steps aside to give the other some room to slip by and sit in his seat. With all these empty seats, he could’ve sat anywhere, but Yoongi can’t complain. He’s a cutie with a little mullet goin’ on, wearing a black oversized dolman sweater that looks like it’s due to slip from his other shoulder with the slightest turbulence. Cream leg warmers cover his calves and rest on his chunky white sneakers. Everything looks too big on him, but it’s charming. His legs are long and healthy. He must be an athlete, something involving legs.
But he’s cute. (Did he already say that?)
Everyone’s boarded and seated. The captain gives some details about a high-pressure storm system and how they’ll end up having to fly a different route. Meanwhile, the unlikely pair exchange a few words. He—Hoseok—is a ballerina on his way to a final practice session for his solo dance recital in downtown NYC. A ballerina, huh. Yoongi’s never met one of those in real life. It all makes sense, the legs, the littleness… the legs. Yoongi divulges his reasoning for being on such a late flight—single father, custody situation, work-from-home architect.
“That’s your baby?” Hoseok asks, beaming at the little one slumped in the aisle seat.
“Yep, his name’s Jungkook. JK for short.”
“How old is he?”
“Five. He’ll be six in September.”
“How precious. He’s so cute!”
“Thanks.”
“Just like his father.”
Huh.
Yoongi turns his head to actually look the boy in the eyes.
Hoseok's half-lidded eyes are boring into his soul.
Then the lights cut off.
The darkness of the early morning floods the cabin. The captain is finally quiet. And Hoseok doesn’t utter anything more. He sits back, settles into his seat, and awaits takeoff. Yoongi mirrors him, head to headrest.
Well, that was… something. Was he just hit on? It’s been awhile, but it’s nice to know at damn near forty he can still pull ‘em.
Anyway, he’s looking forward to catching up on the Z’s he’s missed. Readying a five-year-old for a red-eye flight was like wrestling with a gator (he’s exaggerating). Anyone would be tired after that.
…
A sharp breath wakes him. Yoongi bursts into consciousness. He looks to the left of him, to his son. He’s still napping, dead to the world. But to his right, the ballerina with the mullet has his legs spread and sweater dress hem raised above his thighs. His pussy is out, pink panties clinging to his leg warmer on his right leg.
Their eyes cross in the darkness. Now Hoseok knows for sure that Yoongi sees him, sees what he’s doing, and this does not deter him from stopping at all. He seems… okay with someone watching. Hoseok feels around in the dark for Yoongi’s right hand, finds it, grips it tight, and lets out a quieter, needier mew of pleasure.
“H-Hyung.”
Yoongi is frozen.
This.
This… show or whatever this is supposed to be, this is for him. Yoongi has never been stuck in the middle of something like this before, and he’s been part of some freaky shit in his hay days. From what little the internal lighting of the airplane grants, Hoseok’s right leg is hiked up, bent at the knee with his foot resting on the edge of the seat. His other milky leg is widened, knocking knees with Yoongi’s. But suddenly, that leg lifts, and Hoseok folds his thigh right on top of Yoongi’s, allowing the boy to spread his legs further apart.
Allowing Yoongi to see more.
The ballerina’s little fingers stroke and tease along his wet lips, imagining the father’s longer, thicker set. He saw his fingers, the jumping veins, the grip he had when he stuffed his duffle bag in the overhead compartment. But now that he’s got this handsome daddy’s attention, his fingers are not enough on their own.
“More,” Hoseok squeaks over the mechanical whirring of the plane.
Yoongi quickly peers over his shoulder to check on his son. He’s asleep, totally unaware of the situation his father has been thrust into. Yoongi’s black eyes focus back to the boy on his right. Hoseok squeezes his hand, picking it up as if it were a toy in a claw machine and dropping it on the inside of his sweaty thigh. Yoongi can smell his heat. He’s ripe and ready and Yoongi’s getting hard in his sweats. Hoseok’s smell is making him woozy, and the moans and gasps of breath are adding to the experience.
Thin fingers clasp around Yoongi’s wrist to guide his hand closer to his open cunt. Yoongi can’t break his hand off even if he wanted to.
“W-Want fingers, please hyung.”
“Hyung’s fingers?” Yoongi rasps to the ballerina, hovering over him.
“Mm, mhm, please?” Oh, he pleads so sweetly, with his voice and his brown marbles for eyes.
It melts Papa’s heart.
Yoongi looks up and down the aisle for the lone flight attendant. They’re near the front of the cabin tinkering with a tablet.
Well? What’s he to do? The ballerina did ask nicely. And it’s free pussy. Pretty pussy, too.
He should make the most of it, yeah?
The very tips of Yoongi’s fingers tentatively brush over his folds. His lips are so soft and wet . He eases his middle finger, just the tip, into Hoseok’s moist heat. It’s even softer and deliciously tight inside, the walls firmly hugging his digit. Yoongi bites his lip to stop his moan from slipping out of their private bubble.
The ballerina throws his head back with a gasp, arching off the seat. Hyung’s finger is thick and filling in all the ways he fantasized. Hoseok wills his pussy to open up to the intrusion, but he’s so excited, it’s impossible to relax his walls. There is the present burn of the warm finger inching further inside his core.
Yoongi’s got a sweet, tight pussy on his hands—literally. He sees what he’s working with and does his best to loosen him up without hurting him. He pumps his finger in and out, bit by bit, in short ginger strokes. Warm slick clings to his first knuckle and just about any bit of skin. Hoseok’s hips follow in time with his rhythm, huffing into Yoongi’s neck while he’s slowly being opened up. But Hoseok is anything but patient.
“Mm… More.”
“More what? Another finger?”
“Y-Yes,” Hoseok hiccups, grinding on his digit.
“I don’t know, sweet thing,” Yoongi wiggles his finger, “this finger barely fits.”
“Nnnn, more hyuuung, please.”
Yoongi listens to his whiny request, slipping his ring finger beside the middle, but he’s barely able to get his nail bed past the tight ring. Yet the ballerina pines and begs for him to dig deeper, finger him deeper. Yoongi’s taken with the whole scene: His juices freely gush down his hyung’s open palm and onto the plastic seat. Hoseok is barely holding this cramped, spread eagle position in their tiny space. But Yoongi’s turned on by his flexibility, makes him ponder about other possible contortions.
“My cock would tear your little pussy apart,” Yoongi gravely muses, but he gets the vibe that maybe that’s precisely what he wants, “I’ll have you coming all over me just like this with only my tip. Again and again and again and again.”
Visualizing himself trying to take all of Yoongi’s alleged huge cock in his black hole of a pussy just makes Hoseok wetter and tighter and more desperate to be full, to feel him in the bottom of his belly.
“Look at the mess you’re making. Hyung hasn’t even touched your little clit and you’re already so close. But you can’t help how easy you are. Can you, sweet thing?” Yoongi’s fingers slip out of him and swirl along his slit, picking up the nectar to rub down the raised clit before dipping back in, “I bet you’d look so cute trying to ride me, struggling to take me in. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My pretty little ballerina who can't take dick.”
Hoseok’s had it. He unceremoniously claws at Yoongi’s back as if he’s about to fall through the plane, finding leverage to yank and bring him closer. He gives a raucous shout when he comes, wrought with a succession of tremors in his seat. Yoongi relishes at the abrupt sensation of his cunt trying to rip his fingers right off his hand as the ballerina rides out euphoric wave after euphoric wave. It’s so satisfying to hear him experience his climax; it’s a treat. Yoongi murmurs sweet, breathy things between them until those small hips stutter to a stop.
Yoongi settles back into his seat and licks Hoseok’s sharp taste from his fingers, but no, Hoseok’s not done with him. He yanks the waistbands of Yoongi’s sweats and boxers down to his mid-thigh and literally snatches his cock out. Hoseok violently gobbles it down to the hilt without any sort of preamble, gagging, slurping, swirling his pink tongue around the tip in a spongy twister. His small hand alternates fisting his cock to palming and tugging on his balls. Needy sounds whistle through his nostrils.
Yoongi’s jaw falls, the crown of his head tossed back in his seat. His vocabulary is limited to a breathy mantra of, “Oh shit, oh shit.” He’s in the middle of a crisis, panicking, but on the receiving end of the best head he’s had in the last five months. If the flight attendant doesn’t know what’s going down in row 25, they definitely know now, but there isn’t much they can do about it. And what the fuck does he say to his son if he wakes up? “Hyung’s taking a little nap on my lap, you know, like you do sometimes.” Nah, that wouldn’t fly with Jungkook. The boy’s insanely intuitive already.
While he’s scrambling to figure it out, Hoseok tilts his head, sucking his shaft from the side to peer up at him. It’s still dark, but Yoongi’s eyes have since adjusted. Wide glassy peepers reflect the lights in the plane; the gloss and spit and precome smeared on his smiling lips shine like the stars. Yoongi swoons. This is the prettiest mouth he’s had on his dick, hands down.
Yoongi tries to warn him that he’s close, tries to pull him off, but Hoseok must be sucking the air out of his lungs through his dick, too. Nothing is going to interfere with the ballerina getting his nut. His wrist blurs as he pumps furiously up and down Yoongi’s girthy length. His tongue wags at the underside of the head, “Come, daddy, come for me, give it.”
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲?
Yoongi explodes in his mouth with a guttural groan and a brief full-body spasm. Hoseok chugs down his hyung’s milky seed, massaging the tightened balls to ensure he’s milked every heady drop out of them. He smacks his puffed, pink lips on the way up. His lids are heavy, and he’s a little dizzy from bobbing his head up and down repeatedly, but he’s satiated and thankful for the helping.
Yoongi wheezes and pets his fluffy mane. Hoseok’s lips hover just mere inches from his. The ballerina appears apprehensive, but Yoongi answers his unspoken request and uses the grip on his head to lock lips onto his. Hoseok moans softly into the kiss, rewarded with three additional smooches.
Yoongi smiles. Hoseok smiles. Sparkles that only they can see dance around them in the dark.
Hoseok fixes his clothes and rests his swirling head on Yoongi’s shoulder. The couple sleeps like babies the rest of the way.
𝟔:𝟎𝟗 𝐚.𝐦.
The captain’s overhead announcements jerks the pair out of their snooze. Yoongi wakes first. His fatherly instincts turn on, whipping his head to the left to check on his baby. Jungkook is still asleep, but his poor bunny has somehow fallen face-first onto the floor. Yoongi looks to the right, to Hoseok, who’s sluggishly coming to. He and Yoongi exchange looks, then soft smiles before Hoseok averts his eyes to his knees…
The plane makes a gentle landing. Clinks and clanks rings throughout the cabin as all twenty passengers unbuckle their seatbelts and begin to gather their belongings from the overhead bins. Yoongi rescues the bunny first. He steps into the aisle, letting Hoseok ease out of the row, and opens the overhead compartment. He grabs his own carry-on, Jungkook’s little suitcase, and Hoseok’s blush duffle bag.
“Thank you again, hyung~” Hoseok receives his bag and slings it over his naked shoulder.
“Y’welcome.”
They ogle each other, having a full conversation with their eyes, but not a note of sound through their mouths. But… what is there to be said? A little fun on the plane makes for a great story to tell his group of friends at a get-together. But, is that all this will be?
A story?
Hoseok takes one step towards the exit, and then stops. He fumbles around in the heart-shaped pocket of his duffle bag and pulls out a brochure. The boy spins around, face to face with Yoongi once again, and hands off the pamphlet. He inspects it carefully. It’s from the dance hall he must be performing at, detailed with dates and times.
“Come see me tomorrow night?” Hoseok whispers with a hopeful brown gleam in eyes. His visage glows in the pink morning dawn. This boy is a true natural beauty. He’s even more beautiful in the light. Yoongi feels like he’s been blinded with fairy dust; his chest kind of aches.
“Yeah, I’ll come, I’ll come see you.”
A big, big smile, and a last-minute peck on the cheek for the father, Hoseok bounces for the exit door. Yoongi is stuck in place, watching him strut down the aisle. Before he exits, Hoseok takes one last gander at Yoongi, smiles with a bashful cuteness, and disappears into the tunnel bridge connected to the gate. Oh yeah, he’ll be at that dance recital for sure, with bells on his toes.
Yoongi feels little taps along the back of his thigh. He peers down, and a round set of sleepy, brown saucers greet him. Jungkook’s awake.
“Papa. Hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.”