Chapter Text
As much as Thanos still doesn’t trust anyone here, he’s starting to see Nam-gyu as his friend.
Watching people die right in front of him has fazed him much less than he was expecting, even with his drugs on-hand. There’s just something about having Nam-gyu glued to his hip that’s taken the edge off a bit.
His fan, a self-labelled second in command helping him get through the games. The idea made him laugh at first, and he was convinced it wouldn’t go well for either of them. It’s safe to say his expectations have been disproven.
They’ve been lost in conversation in the bathroom for about thirty minutes, darting back and forth between topics like a game of ping pong. Thanos would usually find himself bored by this point, but he’s somewhat invested in Nam-gyu’s sudden contact lens story.
See, when Nam-gyu had first rocked up out of the bathroom with specs on two days ago, Thanos was too high to notice. The change wasn’t distinct enough to him with everything else going on. He’d turned a blind eye.
But now, it’s undeniably different. His head is clear and there’s no longer a warped blur obscuring his vision, allowing him to examine Nam-gyu properly.
Examine. That’s so fucking dorky. Thanos pushes back the urge to blanch.
The point is, Nam-gyu’s glasses suit him, and Thanos admitting that to himself is the first step to losing his mind. He thinks so anyway, considering he’s lost track of the conversation purely because he can’t stop thinking about it.
The distraction is… more than distracting, and now Nam-gyu is observing him like he’s some artifact. Just something to look at, not talk to. That realization sends blood rushing to his face.
Their eyes are set on each other and it’s hard to even blink. Nam-gyu’s looking up at him so softly, and that combined with the blood splattered across his lenses creates such a stark contrast that makes Thanos just want to—
He clenches his fists, takes a deep breath, and allows himself some oxygen. His mind is reeling, thoughts racing faster than the dopamine from any drug as he prays that Nam-gyu’s eyes remain far above his waistline.
They’re alone together, and that is dangerous. Not for their safety, but rather for Thanos’ self control. His stupid brain is conjuring up all this nonsense about Nam-gyu while he’s standing right fucking there and it’s torture.
He considers taking up a religion before immediately reconsidering. Preaching the gospel won’t save him.
“Are you okay?” Nam-gyu shakes him. His hands are almost fully covered by his sleeves and Thanos draws in a shaky breath. He can’t stop his eyes from darting to Nam-gyu’s lips as he continues. “Withdrawal kicking in already?”
It’s a reach, sure, but Thanos will happily clutch onto it. “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “But I’m fine.” He reaches under his jacket for his necklace, opening the cross and popping a pill. “Problem solved, see?”
Nam-gyu takes his bottom lip between his teeth with a dumb little smirk and Thanos bites the inside of his cheek hard. He’s fucked.
When the lights out announcement finally plays, Nam-gyu looks at him with these eyes, and Thanos can’t resist. He passes a pill over begrudgingly, shrugging towards the door before they head back.
There’s nothing but radio silence when the lights actually turn off. Thanos is underwhelmed at the lameness of it.
He lays staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, his high beginning to dwindle and life starting to become boring again. It’s honestly kind of sad. He starts to count the screws holding the bunks together, eyes threatening to close as his eyelids hang heavy.
When he gives in to sleep, Thanos melts into the blanket, hung up on the fact that he’ll eventually have to move. The thought of that is disgraceful.
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When Thanos blinks into consciousness, it’s still completely dark, and the first thing he feels is hot breath over his neck. His skin is tingling, his body wrapped up in an unfamiliar warmth that he’s not sure he can attribute to the blanket.
He closes his eyes again to focus on the sensation, quickly noticing the additional pulse thrumming into his skin. A light thump. His suspicions are confirmed.
There’s a person on him, leaning half their body weight into his. Is it weird that he’s very much okay with that? Probably. He’s not high, but he can still feel the effects lingering.
He should, realistically, panic. It’s not everyday you wake up to someone spooning your waist in a room full of strangers. But Thanos hardly even stirs. If anything, he leans into the touch, snaking his hand around the person’s wrist to hold their arm closer against his chest. It feels incredible when their blunt nails dig in slightly.
Blunt nails. Thanos trails his fingers up a little further, brushing over the person’s hand before coming to a stark realization.
This is not a girl. This is fucking Nam-gyu.
He’s got those stupid sweater paws that are all too recognizable and he’s snuggling into Thanos like they’re, what? Boyfriends? God, that thought is so stupid it makes his face hot. With anger. Totally.
The true reality of it slaps him in the face when he opens his eyes, finding Nam-gyu sleeping peacefully with his head tucked into Thanos’ shoulder. The light from the X and O on the ground is just barely illuminating his face, his hair swept over his forehead as he rests.
Thanos’ stomach does a little flip and he tries to convince himself it’s to do with hunger.
He should do something. He should wake Nam-gyu up and tell him to fuck off back to his own bed. But for some reason he can’t put his finger on, Thanos can’t find it in himself to move at all.
While being stuck lying on his back isn’t the most comfortable thing, the soft rise and fall of Nam-gyu’s chest against his own is overwhelmingly pleasant.
He considers the consequences of staying like this, only to find there are none. This is true comfort, as embarrassing as it may seem on the outside. Thanos will gladly keep his back planted on this uncomfortable mattress until the end of time.
The thought remains stagnant for a good two seconds before he’s interrupted.
There’s something poking into his leg, solid and radiating a concerning amount of heat through his tracksuit that makes Thanos pause much harder than he was expecting. He doesn’t appreciate the distraction.
As random and out of the blue as it was, it turns out he won’t need to investigate. All it takes is a small, muffled sound into the crook of his neck, and the answer’s laid itself out for him. Nam-gyu just fucking moaned.
Thanos freezes at first, and anyone would be convinced there’s a gun to his head. He cannot move, not an inch. He swallows and opens his eyes again, and what he’s met with runs his mouth dry.
Nam-gyu’s grinding against his leg and he’s moaning and it’s exactly what he thought holy fucking shit—
Thanos feels his heart in his throat, beating through his skull. This cannot be real. He takes a deep breath and pinches himself before realizing it is in fact real. Okay. Nam-gyu’s clothed cock is in fact dragging against his thigh, and he’s making these unfairly sweet noises that Thanos wants to ignore but can’t.
He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that they’re both enjoying it. Hell, Nam-gyu doesn’t even know it’s happening to begin with. He only knows as much as whatever’s going on in his dream.
Does that make it wrong? Thanos has never been one to ponder on philosophy.
He rolls his eyes. “Nam-su,” he mumbles, shaking Nam-gyu’s wrist and covering his mouth to prevent any more of those noises from slipping. As much as Thanos would like to hear them, he wouldn’t like to die tonight.
After no response, Thanos considers leaving it. Perhaps it’ll stop and he can go back to sleep and forget this ever happened. That’s the optimal outcome, he should realistically try that. But Nam-gyu isn’t stopping.
If anything, he’s started moving more ever since Thanos noticed. Or maybe that’s just Thanos making shit up; he doesn’t know at this point. He nudges Nam-gyu again, harder this time, far from ready to face the consequences.
Nam-gyu’s eyes shoot open and he goes totally silent. His lips quiver against Thanos’ palm, burning hot with a pulse. Thanos holds his breath for one beat, then two.
“Oh my god,” Nam-gyu finally says, his voice muffled and almost small. He sits up, freeing himself and untangling their bodies. The sudden cold air on Thanos’ skin makes him wince, and he looks up at Nam-gyu stone-faced like this is a regular occurrence. Like it’s something he’s dealt with before and is tired of.
Nam-gyu doesn’t return the sentiment. In fact, he avoids eye contact with Thanos like it’s the fucking plague, and Thanos struggles not to burst out laughing.
“Nice dream?” he asks, pulling the blanket back over himself. Nam-gyu is still hard against his thigh, silent and unmoving, and it makes Thanos chuckle. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
He wants to feel bad, he really does, but there’s some stupid voice in his head telling him that taunting is the best way forward. Thanos always listens to it, so why would he stop now?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nam-gyu snaps. He shifts uncomfortably so their bodies are no longer making contact, and Thanos is kind of disappointed. “Nothing happened.”
That’s cute, Thanos decides. It’s fucking adorable actually.
As Nam-gyu starts to get up, Thanos holds onto him tightly. “Where are you going?”
Nam-gyu’s eyes burn into him, then dart to the grip on his arm. He seems panicked for a second, but he doesn’t flinch. “My bed,” he replies, like it’s so simple.
It is — Thanos is just a prick, without shame.
“Why? You seemed comfortable here,” he mumbles. “More than comfortable, actually.” He can’t wipe the smirk off his own face and he already knows it’s giving him away.
Nam-gyu’s attitude just proves it.
“Fuck off. I’m going.” He attempts to shake Thanos’ arm off, a pathetically unsuccessful effort, and his eyebrows furrow in frustration. Thanos wants to exploit his weakness a little more, push his buttons, so he starts to brainstorm.
He knows he’s stalling when he opens his mouth to sigh dramatically, coaxing Nam-gyu to look down at him again. He also knows he’s stalling when he starts tracing invisible lines and shapes over Nam-gyu’s arm. He knows and won’t stop.
“But Nam-su,” he tries, drawing out the last syllable and strengthening his hold. He refuses to let up. Anything to rekindle the contact between his thigh and Nam-gyu’s cock; that shit is still seething through his skin like a burning rod. “Where are your glasses? You’ll fall if you can’t see.”
“I’m not that blind,” Nam-gyu dismisses him. But he doesn’t move this time. Instead, it seems he’s leaning forward a bit, like his arms are about to give out.
Thanos pouts and pulls his hand away. “You poor thing,” he whispers with an undertone that’s almost sadistic. He’s enjoying the one-sided game they’re playing. “C’mon, back to bed.”
Nam-gyu blinks, his eyes travelling from Thanos’ open arms to his lax posture. Confusion frames his face perfectly, suits him just as well as those dumb glasses. “Are you fucking with me?”
Thanos considers it for a moment. “Do you want me to be?”