Work Text:
“Sometimes you gotta close a door to open a window.” - Tyler the Creator
Standing outside the club, Seokjin wonders if he’s finally lost it.
It’s been a hard day, a hard week—in truth—a hard year. Spending Saturday night at a club isn’t going to make it any better.
If Seokjin were wise, he would turn around and go home. He would go to sleep early and be well-rested for yoga tomorrow. It would be the smart thing to do, and his body needs all the love it can get, as his chiropractor reminded him of last week.
And yet, he remains standing in front of the bar, taking it in.
There’s nothing particularly remarkable about the bar’s exterior. There’s a bouncer standing at the door, scrolling on his phone. The place's name, Violet Delights, is written above the door in both Hangul and English. A group of college-aged kids ambles down the sidewalk drunkenly, giggling as they pass Seokjin. They don’t give him a second glance while they walk by.
Maybe that’s the final push that Seokjin needs. In the heart of Itaewon, he’s basically anonymous. No one cares who he is or what he’s doing. In a clubbing district, he’s just another attractive forty-something who has yet to relinquish their right to party.
He walks up to the bouncer.
The bouncer doesn’t even look up from his phone. He’s probably hired to do that: act like he’s above the patrons and simultaneously not paying too close attention to who they are. With a bored voice, the bouncer asks, “ID?”
Seokjin passes it over. He remembers when he renewed it a year ago—how it felt to be turning forty—no longer a kid, by far. Of course, he hadn’t been a kid in a while, but there was something so final about forty. At twenty, he felt like he was a teenager; at thirty, he felt like he had a newer, sexier lease on life. At forty? He feels like he should have his shit together.
He really doesn’t have his shit together—that’s what he’s learned these past two years.
He pushes the doors open. Inside, the bar is dimly lit. Most of the light comes from several dim bulbs over the bar itself. However, there are a couple of blinking signs for exits and bathrooms, and one sign advertises a new soju brand with zero calories. Smoke fills the room, and Seokjin is violently reminded why he never liked clubbing in the first place.
Nevertheless, he breathes a sigh of relief. This bar looks like any other. There’s nothing about it that makes it feel any different. He’s not really sure what he was expecting. A disco ball? Shirtless twinks?
He walks to the bar, slides onto a stool quickly without making eye contact with anyone, and motions for the bartender, who is at the opposite end of the room, taking someone’s credit card.
“What’ll it be?” asks the man, sidling up to Seokjin after a minute. His hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and even though he’s not actually frowning, Seokjin feels like he wants to be.
Seokjin eyes land on the sign advertising Hite directly next to a tiny rainbow flag sticker. He swallows. “A Hite.”
The man nods and turns to grab it. When he returns and passes the beer over, Seokjin can feel his assessing gaze out of the corner of his eyes. “First time?”
Seokjin wonders what the man’s asking—first time at this bar, or first time at any gay bar? First time being gay? Seokjin swallows and taps his Amex against the proffered screen. He supposes the answer would be yes to all three. “I don’t live in the area.”
The man snorts as if he’s displeased with Seokjin’s answer. “No one lives in this area. It’s tourist central.”
Seokjin swallows; he’s unsure how to respond. Dumbly, he takes a sip of his beer.
The man makes a soft clicking noise with his tongue and shakes his head. Seokjin feels like he did something wrong, but he isn’t sure what. The man sighs. “Aish. Next time, get the beer shot combo. It’s only 2000 won more.”
Seokjin nods even though he doesn’t need the deal. He’s perfectly capable of affording all the Hites he wants, even after the divorce. The bartender must clearly be able to see this from his out-of-place designer suits. Out-of-place due to the suit's quality and the bar's temperature. Seokjin has already shrugged the outer jacket off. Now, he’s pulling at his neckline anxiously, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons, and placing the jacket before him on the hook that is helpfully placed beneath the bar.
Thankfully, someone on the other end of the counter calls the bartender away, leaving Seokjin alone to check out his surroundings covertly.
The bar’s fairly empty. It’s still too early for the average club-goer, especially for a Saturday night. The patrons are mainly men, but that doesn’t strike Seokjin as strange. It’s been a long time since his clubbing days, and he never had that many in the first place. He’s a self-proclaimed introvert.
(Sooyun never liked going out either. She met Seokjin on a dorm room balcony because they both wanted to escape a party. They were compatible because they were reserved and skittish, and for years afterward, Seokjin joked that Sooyun was his introverted soulmate. He even mentioned it during his vows.)
Seokjin sips his Hite anxiously.
He’s only at a club to get a lay of the land. If someone approaches him, he’ll talk briefly before excusing himself to the bathroom. Exchanging Ktalk IDs? That’s okay. Exchanging social media? He’ll say he doesn’t have any. It’s hardly a lie. He never posts.
He swallows another sip of beer from his glass, which is already almost empty. He’s usually a slow drinker, but he’s been taking quick sips ever since receiving his beer to calm his nerves.
He looks at his nearly empty glass and then over at the bartender. The man is on the other side of the room, talking to two other customers and blatantly ignoring Seokjin. Seokjin wants to get his attention but isn’t entirely sure how to without looking like a total asshole.
Seokjin feels awkward without a prop in his hands. Nerves flood his stomach again. What is he doing here? He stands up, unsure if it’s to escape to the bathroom or escape out the door.
“You’re leaving?”
Seokjin startles and looks up. He was just about to reach for his suit jacket.
The guy who’s sidled up next to him is tall, taller than Seokjin anyway, and Seokjin isn’t short. He’s mono-lidded and has a perfect mouth and jawline. His hair is buzzed short and dyed blond. He’s wearing baggy jeans with holes in them, a bomber, and a baseball cap indoors. He’s attractive if you find that sort of cock-sure look attractive.
Seokjin’s always thought only douche-bags wear hats indoors.
The man smiles at him, revealing two deep dimples. “I hope you aren’t.”
“I—” Seokjin stumbles over his words, “I was going to the bathroom.”
The man breaks into a smile, revealing two deep dimples. “Lucky me. I’ll get you a drink while you’re there. What do you want?”
Seokjin frowns. The guy must be young, even though it’s hard to tell in the bar's dim lighting. He’s probably in his twenties. A whole two decades younger than Seokjin. A kid, really. Seokjin doesn’t need some college student paying for his drinks.
Seokjin coughs. He’s unsure of the etiquette here. Perhaps he should excuse himself to go to the bathroom, and it will read as a polite rejection? As it should. Seokjin doesn’t need to accept drinks from jail bait. “No need to. I’ll get a drink when I’m out.”
However, when Seokjin returns from the bathroom, the guy waves wildly at him. He’s seated directly next to Seokjin’s abandoned suit jacket. The stranger removed his jacket, and it’s immediately clear that he regularly works out—if his thick torso and developed pecs are anything to go by. Seokjin keeps his eyes on the man's face.
Seokjin is tempted to look over his shoulder, even though no one is behind him. Slowly, he walks over.
The man gestures at three drinks in front of him: another Hite, brown liquor, and something pink with an umbrella in it. Oh, so this guy really wants to drink.
Seokjin glances at the pony-tailed bartender, but he’s still on the other side of the bar. How did this guy get served so fast?
The man flashes another dimpled grin at him. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything.”
Seokjin glances at the fruity umbrella drink. It looks tasty. “What’s that?”
“A daiquiri,” the man offers, almost proudly.
Seokjin’s mouth waters. He grabs it and takes a sip. His eyelids flutter shut. Much better than the Hite.
When Seokjin opens his eyes, he notices the man grins, and his eyes endearingly disappear behind his cheeks. Seokjin almost frowns reflexively at his own reaction. The man extends a large hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Namjoon.”
Unsure how else to respond, Seokjin shakes the outstretched hand. His own hand is immediately dwarfed by Namjoon’s. He swallows. “Seokjin.”
Namjoon cocks his head to the side. “First time here? I can’t believe Yoongi didn’t text me earlier…” The last words almost come out in a whine.
Okay, Seokjin will bite. “What do you mean?”
Namjoon smiles widely. “You’re beautiful. I’m surprised no one else has come up to you yet.”
Seokjin feels himself flush a deep red. No one in the bar approached him because he wasn’t making eye contact with anyone. This technique has been working up until now. Artfully, he deflects. “How’d you get this drink so fast?”
“I made it myself.” Namjoon shoots Seokjin another dimpled smile.
“What?”
“I work here. Not tonight, though. Luckily, obviously.”
Internally, Seokjin sighs. Great. Just his luck. The first gay bar he tries to go to, and he manages to attract someone who works there. Judging by Namjoon’s appearance, he’s probably a college student who works at this bar for extra money. “Pays well?”
Namjoon steeples his large hands in front of his chin. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Seokjin’s inclined not to believe, but for a college kid like Namjoon, any amount of money probably feels like a lot. Seokjin remembers renting his first apartment with Sooyun at the shiny age of twenty-four. After signing their lease, he’d been so proud even though his wallet was substantially lighter. The privilege weighed on him heavily at the time, even though it had been a shitty apartment—truly laughable compared to his current condo in Hannam Hill. He sighs. “And it helps pay for college, I suppose?”
“I’m not in school,” Namjoon states plainly. “I think college is overrated. You can make money and avoid debt by going straight to work.”
Is this what kids think these days? “And what kind of work would that be?”
Namjoon holds up a long-fingered hand and begins ticking things off. “Forex, bitcoin, and social media influence, for starters. After graduating high school, I decided to earn money before college.”
Seokjin resists the strong urge to roll his eyes. Bitcoin?! His banker father would be rolling in his grave. “Don’t tell me the kids are falling for schemes like day trading!”
“I’m not a kid, and I’m not day-trading—too much work. I’m in social media,” Namjoon says, frowning.
Seokjin opens his mouth to argue that you can’t be in social media—before reality suddenly crashes down on him. Namjoon is just a kid, even if his biceps say otherwise. There’s no point fighting his insane logic.
Seokjin slurps his drink angrily, but nothing comes up. He scowls at his empty glass.
Namjoon looks down at the glass. “Oh! You’re done!” he smiles back at Seokjin. “Another?”
Seokjin really shouldn’t be accepting drinks from a twenty-something-year-old—he really, really shouldn’t. He should stand up, call a cab, and go home to his new—empty—apartment. So new that he hasn’t even unpacked his MapleStory figurines. They’re still sitting in a sad cardboard box titled ‘Fragile!! Don’t break!!’
Right.
“One more,” he allows.
Hurriedly, Namjoon scooches behind the bar counter and begins mixing another drink. Seokjin can’t deny that he’s NOT impressed when Namjoon uses the cocktail shaker to mix it all together, biceps on obscene display.
Namjoon pushes the drink towards Seokjin, saying, “Tell me if I should add more sugar. I’m trying something new.”
“What is it?” Seokjin asks curiously.
Namjoon smiles. “A sweet drink for a sweet guy.”
Seokjin’s stomach does something interesting. He frowns to show Namjoon that he’s not okay with cheesy pickup lines.
Namjoon corrects himself immediately and says, “Whiskey and chocolate liquor. A house special.”
Seokjin raises his eyebrow. “And you’re the house?”
“I am.” Namjoon winks.
This should not be attractive, but Seokjin is two drinks in. He takes a tentative sip.
“How is it?” Namjoon looks like he genuinely wants to know, but Seokjin isn’t a mixologist. He doesn’t have any pointers.
“It’s good.” He takes a long sip. Maybe too long. The alcohol goes straight to his head.
Namjoon puffs up (which has the unnecessary effect of emphasizing his chest and biceps). “Yoongi’s been teaching me some tricks. It’s really upping my game.”
“Yoongi’s the other bartender?” Seokjin asks, looking over to the skinny bartender with the ponytail.
“Yeah.” Namjoon sounds fond. “He’s a good hyung.”
There’s a beat of silence, wherein Seokjin slurps his drink, and Namjoon surveys him intently. Seokjin feels Namjoon’s eyes on his neck and considers asking Namjoon to take a picture because it’ll last longer.
“So, why have I never seen you here before?” Namjoon asks.
Seokjin feels a tad tipsy as he answers (Namjoon makes his drinks strong). “I’m not the clubbing type.”
“Good for me, then. If you were, you’d probably already be snatched up.”
Seokjin looks at Namjoon suspiciously for signs of sleaze or sarcasm, but Namjoon’s face is crinkled with a sweet smile.
Curiously, Seokjin asks, “How old do you think I am?”
Namjoon frowns. “Is that a trick question?”
Well, at least he’s well-trained. Seokjin takes another sip and sets the glass down. “I’ll answer, then: too old for you.”
Namjoon frowns petulantly. “You don’t look a day over thirty-five.”
Maybe not as well-trained as Seokjin thought. “Aish! My hairstylist says I look thirty-two!”
“I like older men!” Namjoon backtracks.
Older Men! Seokjin practically has a heart attack on his stool.
Namjoon’s voice is contrite as he continues, “I think you’re really attractive.”
Seokjin is still seething.
Namjoon crosses his well-muscled biceps over his chest and smiles. “Besides, even if you are thirty-five, I can tell this is your first time at a gay bar.”
Seokjin chokes. There’s no way! “Wha—how?”
“You keep looking around like you're at a circus and we’re all performing death-defying stunts.” Namjoon leans forward with a considering look on his face. “I can show you the ropes.”
Wha—?! Seokjin flounders, mouth agape.
Namjoon continues, seemingly oblivious to Seokjin’s crisis. “I’m a very good kisser, or so I’ve been told.”
“I’ve kissed plenty of people! I don’t need help!” Seokjin protests.
Namjoon looks curious. “Oh, you have? You give off this—” he motions at Seokjin vaguely. “—innocent vibe?”
What the fuck?!
“I do not?!”
Namjoon looks apologetic. “You’re still very sexy!”
“Of course I am!”
“The innocent thing is actually working in your favor.” Namjoon offers.
“I’m older than thirty! I’m not innocent.” (Seokjin is not about to admit his actual age to THIS child, who probably doesn’t know a single person born before the millennium!) He defends himself, “I’ve kissed people. I don’t need help!”
“But not men?” Namjoon checks.
Well, no, but—! Seokjin sniffs. “A mouth is a mouth.”
Namjoon frowns, a tiny line forming between his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, hyung, but that’s just not true.”
When did Seokjin give Namjoon permission to call him hyung? He squirms in his chair as his neck and face heat up. “Did I tell you to call me that?”
Namjoon corrects himself but perseveres: “I’m sorry, seonbae-nim. But I have to disagree. A mouth is not just a mouth.”
“Oh yeah? Is it not two lips and a tongue?” Seokjin challenges.
Suddenly, Namjoon slides off his bar stool. He’s much closer than he was a second ago. Seokjin’s are now level with Namjoon’s massive chest. Not fair! Seokjin looks up and Namjoon’s gaze instantly finds his.
“Seonbae-nim, it’s not just about the equipment; it’s also about how you use it.” Namjoon’s eyes are wide, guileless.
Seokjin purses his mouth. If Namjoon thinks he’ll fall for this, he has another thing coming.
*
A random Itaewon bathroom is not where Seokjin expected to lose his gay-kissing virginity.
—And yet.
Namjoon kisses like he has something to prove, and in the past ten minutes, Seokjin has realized several things.
- A mouth is NOT just a mouth.
- Kissing a man is vastly different than kissing his ex-wife
- Vastly better
- Or maybe kissing Namjoon is better? Specifically?
- He’s fucked
Namjoon has Seokjin crowded up against the wall of one of the bathroom stalls (ew) where anyone could hear them (hot). Seokjin files that fact away for later examination. His massive body is entirely covering Seokjin’s own, which is more of a turn-on than Seokjin cares to admit.
Namjoon pulls away from Seokjin and stares at him with a kind of dazed expression, as if he’s looking at the Mona Lisa. “God, you’re so fucking hot. I’m going to have to tell Taehyung.”
“Huh?” asks Seokjin. Is Namjoon going to tell the whole world they made out? Seokjin supposes he brought this on himself by making out with someone who doesn’t even know what a floppy-disk is.
“Just—ugh—” Namjoon’s eyes are dark—desire pools in Seokjin’s stomach. “Can't believe I’m hooking up with you. You’re a ten—an eleven. You’re fucking perfect.”
He kneads Seokjin’s ass as though to punctuate his point before slipping a knee in between Seokjin’s legs.
Seokjin’s ego inflates, along with other things—Namjoon nips at his neck, and Seokjin moans and clutches at Namjoon’s shirt.
Namjoon groans. “Goddamn. God, how is your neck so perfect?”
“You’ll have to ask my mother,” Seokjin pants, half joking, half so turned on that his brain isn’t working properly.
“Maybe I will,” says Namjoon.
Before Seokjin can protest against this claim (his own mother!), Namjoon is kissing his way down Seokjin’s neck. Seokjin’s hands release Namjoon’s shirt and scrabble against the hard stall wall, uselessly seeking purchase. His blood moves south at the same time Namjoon does. Seokjin grows unbelievably hard—harder than he’s been in years.
Namjoon drops to his knees and hovers his nose in front of Seokjin’s crotch, and is he really about to—to—oh god—
Seokjin pushes at Namjoon’s shoulders, suddenly remembering who he is. He’s Kim Seokjin! He works in a corner office with massive windows! His divorce cost what some people make in a year! And he can afford it. He’s wearing a designer suit! Which is probably getting dirty right now. Shit. Now that he thinks of it, why is he letting Namjoon press him up against the bathroom stall door?
He sobers immediately at the thought. “Namjoon! Not here.”
Namjoon looks up at him pleadingly. “But Seonbae-nim. I want to suck you off. Bet you sound so good. Your voice keeps doing this whistling thing.”
Seokjin’s face grows hotter, and his dick grows harder. Namjoon can’t just say things like that!
“No, really. Not here.” Seokjin has standards, goddamnit. Forty is too old for bathroom-stall blowjobs. His dick twitches for a second at the thought, a reminder that he hadn’t been complaining at all thirty seconds ago.
“Where then?” Namjoon asks, widening his eyes. “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Anywhere.”
Seokjin throws his head back against the stall wall and tries to gain some clarity. He wills the blood to move away from his dick and toward his brain instead. God, what is he doing? Namjoon’s probably fifteen years his junior and a bartender for chrissakes, even if he claims he’s a ‘social media influencer.’
Seokjin has to put his foot down. Namjoon has a crush, that’s it. He doesn’t want to know about Seokjin’s back problems or his divorce—or the fact that he wakes up at 8 am to make it to 9 am yoga. These are all facts you learn when you’ve spent years building a life together—not ones you can learn during a bathroom stall hookup. Not problems that twenty-year-olds care about.
Seokjin’s heart twists bitterly. Suddenly, the night feels completely over.
He pushes gently at Namjoon’s head and puts on a serious, adult expression. “It’s okay. You don’t have to take me anywhere. I enjoyed myself regardless.”
“You did?” Namjoon breaks into a surprised, open smile. He looks so pleased that Seokjin’s heart clenches a little. With regret?
“Yeah. Look, I have an early day tomorrow, and I need to get going.”
Namjoon’s smile drops off his face, but he quickly pulls himself together and stands up. “Bet. Let me get your Snap so that I can hit you up.”
What Snap? Is it some sort of app like TikTok? “I don’t have one.”
“Woah. You really are older than thirty.” Namjoon’s eyes are wide, Seokjin bristles for a second, but Namjoon quickly steam-rolls ahead. “Okay, IG then.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes. He barely ever checks his IG, but that’s probably for the better in this case. He’ll forget to check it, which is great. Then, he won’t entertain any foolhardy propositions from Namjoon.
Namjoon hands Seokjin his phone with IG pulled up, but Seokjin can’t remember his username, so they do a quick trade-off. In a second, Namjoon typed his username into Seokjin’s phone and requested a follow. Seokjin eyes Namjoon’s username suspiciously: joonie_lifts_1999 👻
Oh god? What has he done?
Namjoon returns Seokjin’s phone to him. He smiles widely at Seokjin. “See you around.”
Seokjin shivers internally.
Absolutely not.
*
Unfortunately, Seokjin’s dick has other thoughts.
Seokjin wakes up the next morning horny as hell, with a raging morning wood the likes of which he hasn’t seen since his university days.
Shame-facedly, he snakes a hand down his pants. What IS he doing? Is it wrong to jack off to someone fifteen years your junior? Those thoughts quickly fade, though, and a vision of large hands, veiny forearms, and massive pecs replace them. All these attributes belong to Namjoon—and soon, Seokjin’s fantasy has morphed into an image of Namjoon fucking him in a gym locker room.
Why is Seokjin there? Who knows. What he does know is that, in the fantasy, Namjoon walks in on him in the shower. Immediately, he captures Seokjin’s lips before pressing him against the shower stall wall. Seokjin’s hair is still damp, and his skin is heated by arousal and the warm water.
Namjoon is only wearing a tiny towel, which does little to hide his, ah. Better attributes. His cock presses against Seokjin’s thighs, and Seokjin moans into the kiss, which causes Namjoon to pull away for a second.
“Shh, baby. We can’t let anyone hear us.”
Namjoon shushing him only has the effect of making Seokjin moan louder. Namjoon turns on the shower water. Although in real life, water makes sex more difficult and less lubricated, in Seokjin’s fantasy, it makes everything moist and wet and perfect.
Namjoon teases Seokjin’s neck before working his way down to Seokjn’s cock. Seokjin scrabbles at the slick shower wall while Namjoon circles Seokjin’s cock with his perfect lips, teasing and sucking at the head until Seokjin is fully hard. Finally, Namjoon presses a finger against Seokjin’s entrance and—
—And snap out of his fantasy. Is this realistic? Seokjin hasn’t had gay sex himself, unless countless hours of porn count. What credentials does he have?
He squeezes his eyes closed. Ignore that. Who cares! Porn isn’t about realism, and neither are his fantasies!
Okay—so—in his fantasy, Namjoon will gradually work Seokjin open before thrusting in right when it’s still a tiny bit rough. Finally, he’ll press into Seokjin with his (massive!) cock, and hoist him up so that he’s pressed between Namjoon’s body and the shower stall.
Seokjin shivers and strokes himself faster in real life. God, what an image! Namjoon, with his huge muscles, holding Seokjin up like he weighs nothing.
In the fantasy, Seokjin moans loudly.
Namjoon slaps a hand over his mouth. “You want everyone to hear you? Getting fucked by jail bait? Bet you do. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me.”
Seokjin cums: in the dream, in real life. Harder than he has in months. In years, truthfully.
He opens his eyes. Shit.
*
Seokjin misses his 9 am yoga class, understandably, because he was knocked out for an extra hour after his extremely intense orgasm.
He reschedules for 5 pm. It’s not good for him to miss yoga sessions, or so says his chiropractor. A nice younger man, who Seokjin has seen every month since he slipped a disc in his back last year while moving out of his apartment.
Worse things have happened.
Seokjin doesn’t usually go to the gym so late, so understandably, he doesn’t recognize most of the people there. Even the desk workers are different.
The gym is located in a hotel. It might be a bit strange to use a hotel gym, but Seokjin enjoys the instructors there, and it’s near his apartment in Hannam Hill, so he’s kept his membership. It’s pricey, but Seokjin can afford it, and the amenities are amazing (steam rooms, showers, portable phone chargers, an outdoor pool, and a bar next to it that serves 20,000 won poke bowls and cocktails). Not that he uses these features much. But still, it’s nice to know he can.
Seokjin is filling his water bottle at the fountain when someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns to stare at a pair of familiar, massive pec muscles.
Namjoon smiles. “Thought that was you!”
Seokjin yelps and drops his water bottle. “Aish!”
“Seonbae-nim!”
He and Namjoon both reach down to grab his water bottle and practically bump heads. Seokjin’s face is aflame as he stands up, carefully clutching the bottle to his chest. “You can call me Seokjin at the gym, really. Seonbae-nim is too much.”
“Seokjin-ssi,” Namjoon says easily. Now that Namjoon’s no longer panicking, he’s giving Seokjin the same charming, dimpled grin as last night.
Seokjin’s face burns.
“What’re you doing here!?” Seokjin asks because, honestly, what the hell?
“I work here as a personal trainer. What’re you doing here?” Namjoon asks, cocking his head to the side and running a hand across his blond buzz cut.
What the hell? How has Seokjin never seen him before? Is this what his therapist refers to as ‘cognitive bias?!’ Maybe he should listen to that guy more.
“This is my gym. I’m here all the time.” Seokjin puts his hands on his hips. Why is Namjoon here? “How many jobs do you have?”
Namjoon scratches his head. “Like three…? They’re all part-time, though. I make my own hours doing my social media anyway. It’s a great gig.”
Right, right, of course. Of course, Namjoon has whatever schedule he wants, it makes total sense with his entrepreneurial vibe. Seokjin feels a headache coming on. “Okay, well, I have class, so…?”
Namjoon smiles, exposing his dimples. He lifts a glistening arm and stretches it across his body like he’s warming up for a run. It’s huge, and Seokjin can’t help but stare as Namjoon’s muscles ripple. Namjoon coughs. “So I’ll catch you after?”
God help him.
*
Unfortunately, the yoga studio is in a room with glass walls, which look out onto the room with the free weights and benches. This means that Seokjin is left to stare as Namjoon performs a series of intense lifting workouts while Seokjin grunts and huffs through King Pigeon.
In fact, Seokjin’s just coming out of his sixth downward dog when Namjoon decides to remove his tank top, which honestly hadn’t been leaving much to the imagination anyway.
Now, Seokjin’s subjected to Namjoon’s torso, which is thick naturally but narrows into a cut-vee. It’s the type of waistline that exists because Namjoon has massive oblique muscles, not just because he’s skinny. It’s mouth-watering.
When Namjoon removes the shirt, he grabs a water bottle and tilts it upward, exposing the obscene length of his neck and allowing Seokjin’s eyes to linger on the trail of sweat running from his temple down to his thick neck and then thicker pecs.
Namjoon runs a hand through his hair and makes accidental eye contact with Seokjin in the mirror.
Seokjin squawks as he falls out of chair pose and onto the floor. When he looks back up, Namjoon grins at him and sends him a little wave as though he’s entirely oblivious to Seokjin’s plight.
Seokjin avoids looking at the weightlifting room for the rest of his class.
Seokjin exits the yoga studio after an hour of sweating and huffing through a series of stretches. He has his phone out to avoid making eye contact with Namjoon, but there’s nothing for it. Namjoon told him he would find him, so he does.
“Seokjin-ssi!” Namjoon is several yards away from Seokjin, his shirt still conspicuously off. He’s waving frantically to get Seokjin’s attention.
God, he’s huge—Seokjin’s mouth waters.
Of course, Seokjin’s no slouch either; he knows people appreciate his face, but Namjoon is—well. He’s a professional trainer, and it shows. Even his muscles have muscles.
“I messaged you,” Namjoon says.
“Huh?”
Namjoon cocks his head to the side. “On IG? You didn’t get it?”
Seokjin pulls out his phone and opens Instagram. Indeed, there’s one new, unread message from joonie_lifts_1999 👻.
Dinner tonight?
Seokjin swallows and glances back at Namjoon, whose eyes are hopeful. Seokjin shifts from side to side. He almost feels bad about turning Namjoon down. Almost. Obviously, he has to. Namjoon is way too young for him. His eyes trail from Namjoon’s sweet, dimpled grin to his large hands.
He shifts his gaze to just past Namjoon’s ear. “Look. You’re probably a nice guy, Namjoon, but—I’m uh—I’m forty.”
“I know,” Namjoon says, scrunching his brow cutely as though confused.
“You knew?” asks Seokjin.
Namjoon looks abashed. He shifts his weight from side to side. “I looked you up last night, Seonbae—Seokjin-ssi. I found your Facebook and your name listed in your college registry. You were on the ski team? And won medals? Impressive.”
Seokjin blinks. All that was available for Namjoon to find? He didn’t even remember that he had a Facebook. The last time he logged on was years ago. “You found all that?”
Namjoon shrugs, but his cheeks are dusted pink. “It wasn’t exactly hard to find. Anyway, I know you’re forty.”
“Great. So you understand why we can’t date.” Thank god. That will be that. Seokjin is simply too old for Namjoon. He doesn’t need any further justification.
“No…?” Namjoon looks genuinely confused.
Seokjin frowns. He needs to clarify things for Namjoon. “I got a divorce last year.”
It just slips out. He usually doesn’t tell new people, but he feels like Namjoon needs to know why they can’t go on a date, and—he finds his mouth loosening, preparing to tell Namjoon more.
“Okay?” Namjoon shrugs.
Seokjin’s just revving up. “I was married to her for fifteen years.”
“Wow, that’s a long time, hyun—Seokjin-ssi. I’m impressed.”
“Most people don’t think divorce is impressive.”
Namjoon shrugs. “It means you’ve lived life. I don’t see what’s so wrong with that.”
Seokjin blinks rapidly. Everything feels hot. He glances down at the ground as his ears heat up. How does Namjoon not understand yet? Seokjin is not eligible. For anyone, honestly, but especially a kid. Seokjin is broken. It’s time for drastic measures. Seokjin glances around quickly to ensure no one is listening. “And I’ve never hooked up with a man.”
He hisses the last part so quietly that Namjoon has to lean down to hear him.
Namjoon looks even more deeply confused. “Seokjin-ssi, with all due respect, I knew that last night.”
“So! Then. That settles it.”
“What does that settle?”
“I’m not a match. I’m not desirable.” For a young, extremely-built fuck boy in his prime? Certainly not a dried-up, forty-year-old gay virgin.
Namjoon stares at Seokjin. His eyes trail down to Seokjin’s lips, then his torso, and finally back up. His gaze darkens. “That’s not exactly the turn-off you think it is.”
Seokjin colors. “Um.”
Namjoon leans closer to Seokjin. Seokjin steps backward. His shoulders hit the wall behind him, but Namjoon only steps forward again, following him. He leans down to whisper in Seokjin’s ear. “You’ve never heard of gay men being into ‘turning’ straight men?”
Seokjin practically chokes. “No.”
“Well, it’s a thing. It’s actually hot that you’re a gay virgin. Like, really hot.”
“Oh.” Seokjin’s pretty sure his brain is short-circuiting. Finally, he manages. “So you wanted to get dinner?
“Unless you like to eat dessert first,” Namjoon says with a grin.
And then he winks.
*
Namjoon’s apartment is not at all what Seokjin expected—it’s an expensive luxury building on the border of Hannam and Itaewon. All of Namjoon’s furniture is color-coordinated. He has a large balcony and an even larger TV. He even has a large bookcase stuffed to the brim with all manner of books: novels, non-fiction, and coffee table books. There’s time, money, and an aesthetic sensibility to Namjoon’s apartment that Seokjin hadn’t anticipated for someone in their twenties.
Not that Seokjin’s paying much attention to Namjoon’s apartment now. He’s splayed out on the king-sized bed while Namjoon kisses him slowly, much slower than Seokjin was anticipating. Namjoon is taking his time with Seokjin’s mouth, and every time Seokjin tries to speed up, Namjoon slows them down again. Languidly, he licks into Seokjin’s mouth like he has all the time in the world.
Seokjin shivers with a heady mixture of anticipation and frustration. Namjoon cups his jaw and tilts it just so—as if to open Seokjin up.
Seokjin opens.
He’s amazed by Namjoon’s approach to sex. There’s so much ritual to it—more than he expected, not just because Namjoon’s young, but because Seokjin hasn’t experienced this type of sex with anyone.
(Sex with Sooyun wasn’t always perfunctory. Not at first. But Sooyun always expected Seokjin to take charge. That’s just the way things were. Women were chased, and men did the chasing. When Seokjin finally caught Sooyun two decades ago, they were both virgins. Seokjin started with first base, and things progressed steadily from there. Sex with Sooyun was sweet. They were both finding out how to be intimate with another person, and so even if it wasn’t exciting, it was emotionally fulfilling. At first. And then—as with so many long relationships—it wasn’t.)
“Focus on me, hyung,” Namjoon whispers.
Seokjin shivers but at least snaps to attention.
“I’m going to be so good to you, I promise, like so good,” Namjoon says. He hasn’t stopped saying that since they first returned to his apartment.
“You’re massive.” Seokjin blurts out of nowhere. His mind’s not really functioning right now. It’s awash in a haze of arousal and surprise.
“Yeah?” Namjoon seems to puff up with pride. “You like that?”
Seokjin should tease Namjoon, but the pride looks good on him. His throat is dry as he says, “Yeah, I do.”
Namjoon groans and snakes the hand that was cupping Seokjin’s jaw down to the vee of his waist. Thankfully, they both lost their shirts a long time ago because Seokjin could stare at Namjoon’s chest for hours. He wonders if one day he’ll get the opportunity to.
Namjoon trails his fingers over Seokjin’s waistband and then covers Seokjin’s half-chub with his palm. Fuck. Even over Seokjin’s gym shorts, his hand feels amazing.
“Can you take these off? I really wanna see you. Bet you look so good baby.” Namjoon pulls away so that Seokjin can remove his pants.
Seokjin shucks off his shorts, heart in his throat. The sound of a drawer opening comes from the other side of the room. When Namjoon returns, he’s holding lube and a condom. His pants are still on, but Seokjin is now totally naked, and Namjoon stops for a second. His eyes drink Seokjin in.
“Is this presumptuous? Having sex?” Namjoon asks.
Presumptuous. Seokjin wasn’t aware that Namjoon knew that word. He thinks of the bookshelf in the other room. Maybe he shouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly.
Seokjin swallows. He feels squirmy, excited, and inexperienced. “I—I want you to.”
Namjoon grins. “Thank you, baby. God. You don’t have to worry, I’m going to make this so good for you. Promise.”
Baby. Seokjin melts. Not that he would ever admit it.
Namjoon climbs back down to between Seokjin’s legs and presses shivery kisses against the soft skin between his upper thigh and dick. Seokjin squirms again and slides his legs up until he’s bracketing Namjoon’s wild shoulders with his knees.
It’s only once Namjoon’s mouth is on Seokjin’s dick again that he feels a twinge of embarrassment again. Namjoon keeps trying to switch between focusing on Seokjin’s cock to focusing on his eyes, and it’s—it’s too much.
Seokjin presses a sweat-slick forearm against his face to hide from Namjoon’s gaze. Or to hide Namjoon from his own. He’s not exactly sure.
It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to voice his displeasure. “Nu-uh.”
Namjoon crawls up Seokjin’s still-heaving chest and pushes his arm away from his face. “I wanna see you, don’t you want to see me?”
And Seokjin must be forty going on 3 years old because he responds by shaking his head. “I… yeah, but it’s embarrassing.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re going to be so beautiful, I know it.” And Namjoon says it so sincerely that Seokjin almost believes it, too. Namjoon’s hand snakes back down, between Seokjin’s legs to circle his hole. His voice is soft. “Is this okay?”
Seokjin’s initial reaction is to rear away from Namjoon’s fingers, but when he scans his body for what he’s feeling underneath the layers of newness and embarrassment, he feels fiery want. He needs Namjoon; he wants to feel what it is for their bodies to move together, in sync. He sighs. “Yeah, just. I might need you to go slow.”
“Whatever you want.”
But despite saying that, the minute Namjoon’s finger, dripping in the lube that he applied moments ago, crooks just so, setting the bundle of nerves Seokjin on fire, he’s asking for more and faster. “Please.”
Namjoon groans and instantly complies.
So this is what those long fingers are good for, Seokjin thinks distantly.
“C’mon, please.”
“Huh, baby?” Namjoon sounds dazed. “More lube?”
“No, I want— I want you in me.”
Seokjin has rarely seen a grown man move faster. Namjoon pulls his grey joggers down in mere seconds and kicks them to the side. Seokjin stares unabashedly as Namjoon rolls a condom over his hard cock. It’s bright red and weeping precum across his chest. Seokjin imagines the restraint Namjoon must have because there’s no way that isn’t painful.
He wonders how long Namjoon will last inside him. “Do you want me to get you first to take the edge off?”
Namjoon smiles, both dimples popping. “No worries. I have great stamina. I’ll take care of you.”
Fuck. That should be so cocky that’s a turn-off—and yet.
Seokjin shivers in anticipation and grows unbelievably harder.
“Let me know if anything hurts,” Namjoon says once he is situated and lined up at Seokjin’s entrance.
Seokjin nods because he can do little else. He certainly can’t bring himself to talk. He thinks if he does, he’ll either crack a terrible joke or start crying, and he doesn’t want to do either. He can’t be a total embarrassment his first time.
Once Namjoon is is fully inside, he stills for a second, giving them a second to breathe. Seokjin pants. “Just a second.”
(He feels entirely hollowed out.
There’s someone inside him. Another man, although it’s not like he hasn’t spent time prepping himself for this moment, especially with all the porn he’s been enjoying since moving out of his old apartment. He’d dreamed about this—of course he had. It’s one of the main reasons he and Sooyun broke up after all these years. Not because he was exclusively gay. Far from it. It was because she couldn’t get over the fact that there was a new part of him, a part of him she couldn’t understand, and that was different from the kid who married her all those years ago.
In the months preceding the divorce, he tried to convince himself that it was okay. Sometimes, people grow past each other. Movies paint a certain picture of divorce, but the reality is both more banal and depressing. Sometimes love dies—and it’s no one’s fault, not even your own.)
Namjoon heaves on top of him. “Anything.”
Maybe it’s the way Namjoon is simply allowing him to be that lets Seokjin release the tension holding him back. He swallows. “Okay, okay. Please, you can move.”
Namjoon groans but doesn’t take his eyes off Seokjin as he begins to move, at first slowly but gradually picking up speed.
Seokjin chokes on a whine when Namjoon adjusts his angle and hits his prostate. “God, what if I cum?”
“Then that’s good?”
“But I don’t want to yet.” He’s learning quickly that his fingers are a pale imitation of Namjoon’s dick.
“Baby,” says Namjoon. “Don’t worry, I can wake you up for morning sex. I love morning sex.” And then, extremely unfairly, he angles his hips upwards and hits Seokjin’s prostate again, just as he says, “I’ll do anything you want me to.”
Seokjin cums, too fast, like he said, and extremely hard. Lights dance behind his eyes, and wave after wave of orgasm crashes over him. He’s squeezed his eyes shut, and when he finally opens them, he realizes he’s cum all over Namjoon’s chest.
Namjoon stills his motions.
Seokjin’s ears grow hot. “Oh shit. I—sorry. It’s a mess.”
“God, you’re fucking hot. You cum so much, baby.” Namjoon leaps up. “One second, let me go wash this off for you.”
When he comes back to the room, Seokjin leans forward, intent on helping Namjoon with his still very present hard-on. He reaches out to touch Namjoon’s dick.
Namjoon shifts away from him. “I’m good.”
Seokjin frowns. “You don’t think I can give you an okay blowjob?”
Namjoon groans and presses his hands into his face. When he looks back at Seokjin, he appears truly tortured. “Oh, I know you can. But, you can get me another time. I want this to be about you.”
And who is Namjoon to make that decision for Seokjin? Seokjin puts his hands on his hips. “And what if I want to.”
“Aren’t you tired…?”
“It’s only—” Seokjin checks his watch. “—8 pm, we were at the gym at 4!”
Namjoon pulls a face. “If you want to.”
Seokjin’s face floods with color. “Not with that attitude!”
Namjoon’s face twists again. “Baby, I just want to make this about you, not me. Considering it’s your first time.”
That’s nice and all, but frankly, Namjoon’s being an idiot. “Sit back,” Seokjin demands. He’s about to suck Namjoon to an inch of his life.
Namjoon is massive, Seokjin already knew that, but that’s even more apparent as he considers wrapping his mouth around the cock in front of him.
“You’re absolutely sure?” asks Namjoon for the nth time.
Instead of answering, Seokjin closes his eyes and opens his mouth. If there’s one way to guarantee that he’ll try something, it’s doubting his ability to do so.
Namjoon shivers, and the moment Seokjin licks a stripe from the base of Namjoon’s dick to the tip, he groans.
“Fuck, Seokjin,” he says.
That’s right, thinks Seokjin. Just because he’s new to this doesn’t mean he isn’t a fast learner or that he hasn’t watched porn. Feeling confident, Seokjin opens his jaw wider. The spongy head of Namjoon’s dick moves past his lips and into his mouth. It’s a strange sensation, but not bad. Namjoon’s dick has a certain salty taste to it, and Seokjin quickly realizes it’s precum.
Heat floods Seokjin’s body. Slowly, he moves his head back and forth, allowing his tongue and jaw to relax as much as possible. With each stroke, he feels himself grow more lax, until Namjoon’s cock is practically touching the first ring of muscles in his throat.
“Fu—what the hell,” mutters Namjoon.
Seokjin hums on the slide out and continues, sliding Namjoon’s dick further back until the tip brushes the muscles in the back of his throat.
Namjoon makes a noise like he’s the one choking and pushes Seokjin’s back off his dick.
“What?” Seokjin asks, fairly insulted.
Namjoon heaves. His eyes look hazy. “Seokjin, you, ah, I appreciate it. But you don’t need to push yourself for me.”
“I’m not,” Seokjin says, raising an eyebrow.
“You—ah—you can’t tell me you have that much experience deep-throating.”
Seokjin feels the tips of his ears heat up. He stares at the bedspread. “I don’t really have a gag reflex.”
A muffled curse comes from where Namjoon is sitting, followed by some coughing.
Seokjin looks up, and Namjoon holds a large palm to his chest. His face looks pained. “I think god is trying to kill me.”
Seokjin looks away and bites down a smile. “And I kind of have a choking kink.”
“Fuccccckkkkkkkkkk. I’m cooked. Cooked.”
“Huh?” Is Namjoon’s brain totally offline now?
“Can we get back to what we were doing before?” Namjoons says, running a hand through his peach-like buzzcut.
“Before you interrupted me?” Seokjin raises an eyebrow.
Namjoon widens his eyes pleadingly. “Yes?”
So, Seokjin is a very nice hyung and does just that. When Namjoon begins pulling on his hair, instead of fighting it, Seokjin opens his mouth, allowing Namjoon to fuck himself further on his throat. He begins to grow hard again at the idea of being used, but before he can come to full mast, Namjoon is swearing.
“I’m gonna—if you wanna get off—”
But Seokjin doesn’t. Instead, he suctions his lips more tightly around Namjoon’s cock, and presses his palm onto Namjoon’s tight stomach until finally—finally—Namjoon’s coming down Seokjin’s throat.
Seokjin swallows and then rolls off to the side of Namjoon.
“Shit,” says Namjoon eloquently.
Seokjin laughs. “Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”
Namjoon rolls over and covers Seokjin’s sweaty body with his own. Disgusting. Seokjin presses against Namjoon’s chest to push him away, but Namjoon simply laughs and pokes Seokjin’s cheek. Namjoon’s weight feels like a pile of bricks pressing Seokjin into the mattress. “That was quite the trick.”
“Umph, Namjoon! Move.”
After some kicking and prodding, Seokjin finally manages to push Namjoon off of himself. God! He’s obnoxious. It’s adorable. Seokjin tries to bite down the smile, threatening to overtake his face.
Namjoon rolls onto his side and stares at Seokjin, eyes wide and filled with something unnameable. “You’re all gross and sweaty.”
“Because of you!”
Namjoon reaches out a long finger and traces the curve of Seokjin’s cheek. Seokjin’s eyes flutter closed for a second, but Namjoon is still staring at him when he opens them. “I know we had dessert already, but do you still have room for dinner?”
Seokjin’s heart squeezes. It’s been a long day, a long week, and yes, a long year—and yet—
“Yeah, I think I do.”
*
The End