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Having older friends is good. Neither Hoseok nor Yoongi are really much older than Taehyung, but they’re older alright, and they have their own apartment they share, and Yoongi is almost done with college, and they even have a little car down in the garage, so they’re practically grownups. Taehyung is pretty sure that’s how it works.
So it’s good to have them. Taehyung still lives with his family and that’s fine, but it’s good to have grownup friends with an apartment where he can crash. Taehyung never exactly announces himself, he just walks in through the door like he lives here, too, kicks his shoes off and throws his jacket over the vaguely chair-shaped clothes monster in the hallway, then he strolls right through to the living room and throws himself on the couch, and nobody here really questions it.
“Hi Tae,” Hoseok says from where he’s sitting on the carpet on the floor, eyes trained on the TV while he’s losing a video game. Taehyung thinks he can hear Yoongi do something in the kitchen. “How was your date?”
Taehyung groans. His date last night is precisely what he came here to talk about, but he can still complain and act like that’s the meanest question in the world. “Bad,” he says. “It was bad. I’m bad at this.”
“Bad at what?” Yoongi says. He’s standing in the kitchen doorway holding a steaming mug of something in both of his hands. Taehyung figures he made himself that disgusting Americano thing again, and sighs.
“Dating?” he says, even though that’s not initially what he meant. He’s not really good at dating either, though. He’s been going on dates with various people of various genders for a few months now, trying to get over a crush. A crush on his best friend’s roommate. A crush on Hoseok’s roommate. He’s been trying to get over his crush on Yoongi.
And it’s not like it hasn’t been working out because Taehyung is busy tending to his heartache and lying awake at night crying over Yoongi’s cute nose or amazing ass, that’s not it. Taehyung isn’t really in that deep, Yoongi’s not the love of his life, probably, but whenever he’s here, his presence is distracting. And Taehyung thought he might distract himself right back with other people, but it turns out he’s not really the best at dealing with other people. Like, romantically. He’s good with people in general, he makes friends quick and he entertains people easily and all that jazz, but he hasn’t been feeling attracted to any of them. So that’s starting to feel like a problem, but last night was something else.
“It was going fine, I guess?” he says, scrawled across the couch like he’s reenacting a Greek tragedy, mostly so he doesn’t have to look at Yoongi’s cute face or Hoseok’s embarrassingly bad video game antics. “I mean, no spark or anything, but the evening was still nice enough. Good food, hot guy, totally into me, just not so much the other way around. But he had nice hands, so, you know.” Taehyung waves his own hands around vaguely at that, and gets an affirmative grunt from both of his hosts. They all appreciate nice hands. “We had a good dinner and then he invited me up to his place and I actually had this great chance of getting laid? We were making out against his bedroom door already and everything, felt like he was surgically attaching himself to my neck, but then…” Taehyung sighs dramatically, but it gets drowned out by an agonizing scream from Hoseok’s video game character who is currently tumbling to their death. “I blew it.”
“Shit, me too,” Hoseok mutters. He finally puts the controller down then, and turns around on the carpet to eye Taehyung. “So what happened?”
Taehyung throws his forearm over his eyes. “He wanted me to talk dirty.”
Somewhere in the doorway, Yoongi chokes on his Americano. Even Hoseok doesn’t fight back the cackle.
“He what?” Hoseok says. “Did he say that? He told you to talk dirty to him while you were making out?”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says, defeat now evident in his monotone. “And I tried. You know? I tried to come up with something, because he was hot and I was randy and he had these nice hands so I tried to humor him, but I’m… I am bad at this.”
Hoseok’s only answer to that is another pitiless giggle, but when Taehyung moves his arm from his face, Yoongi is frowning at him over the rim of his cup.
“Why?” Yoongi says. “What’s so hard about it?”
Taehyung snorts. “Have you ever tried it?”
“Yeah, I do it all the time.”
Oh.
“What?” says Hoseok, laughing even more, not even stopping at Yoongi’s cold glare, which then turns indifferent again as he redirects it back to Taehyung and shrugs.
“What, it’s not like it’s dark magic or something,” Yoongi says and takes a sip. Taehyung watches his tongue dart out briefly afterwards. “You just tell them what you want to do with them. Or what you want them to do with you. It’s a pretty simple concept, if you ask me.”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Taehyung says slowly, frozen in his position on the couch, both legs still haphazardly thrown over the backrest and one arm dangling off so his fingers are touching the floor. “But you know I’m not really good at, uh-- Like, I start sentences and don’t finish them and half the time I don’t know what words to use, so… You get the picture, right?”
“You’re fine when you focus, though,” Yoongi says. “I mean, yeah, I know you lose your train of thought sometimes, but you’re good when you put your mind to it. And with dirty talk, it’s probably just a matter of practice.” He snorts. “It’s not like you don’t have the right vocabulary for it.”
“See, but I also don’t know when it would get too crude? I don’t want to say something insulting, or like, something ridiculous that’d just make them laugh at me.”
“Dirty talk is already pretty ridiculous in itself,” Yoongi says with another shrug. “But as I said, basically you’re just telling people what you would like to happen. So I doubt that’d end up insulting with you. Come on, you’re creative enough.”
Maybe this is a weird time to be thinking about this, but Taehyung is very fond of how encouraging Yoongi gets whenever he shows even an inkling of self-consciousness. “So I just…” Taehyung says, and frowns at the ceiling. “Do I just, like, tell him that uh, that I want him to kiss me, and I wanna, like, feel him up?”
“It’s a start,” Yoongi says into his mug. “But you should try to get a little more elaborate than that. Where do you want him to kiss you? And where are you going with your hands? You know, paint a picture.”
“Okay. Okay,” Taehyung says slowly, and frowns at the ceiling, trying to focus.
“Close your eyes,” Yoongi suggests. “Imagine last night’s dude with the pretty hands, or something. Then tell me what you wanna do.”
Yeah, that's definitely not who Taehyung is imagining, but he figures that hardly matters right now. He does drape his forearm back over his eyes so it’s dark around him, and he tries to get that creativity Yoongi spoke of flowing. “I,” he starts cautiously. “Okay, I want him to…”
“You,” Yoongi says from a few feet away, in the kitchen doorway. “I want you to.”
“Okay, right, sorry.”
“Go on.”
Taehyung breathes out and nods to himself. Maybe he should see this from a different standpoint. Maybe he should think of this as an acting job, maybe he should just, for practice, for now, pretend like he’s someone else, someone who knows how to talk dirty. He clears his throat. “I want to, um, to shove my hands under your shirt, and I wanna feel your back under my fingers.”
“Good,” Yoongi says. “I want to slide my hands down your body so I can cup that ass, give it a good squeeze before I shove you on my thigh between your legs, make you grind up against it.”
Taehyung freezes. He lifts his arm just a tiny little bit to look over at Yoongi, still there, still with his mug in his hands, unmoving but watching him. Then he settles for pushing that arm back over his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t look. He definitely shouldn’t look. “Are you,” he still croaks, “just gonna answer me now?”
“Well how else are you gonna learn?” Yoongi says, and when Taehyung lets out the quietest whine, he’s pretty sure he can hear Yoongi snort. “You’re being taught by an actual dirty talk genius, don’t complain. Just imagine someone else, come on.”
That part is really not the problem here, Taehyung thinks. “Okay,” he says again, more to himself than to Yoongi. Leg. Grinding. That’s where they were. “Uh, I… I wanna grind against your leg, and… And I want to rub myself on you until I’m hard, I wanna press our, um, our hips together--”
“Alright, slow down, slow down. Don’t forget your other body parts, Tae. Don’t make this a two-minute job. I got my hands on your ass but I wanna keep them moving, I’m gonna get them under your shirt and rake my nails up your back, scratch you up nice and well so you still remember me tomorrow.”
Taehyung swallows. His back is prickling against the soft surface of the couch.
“If you’re into that, I mean,” Yoongi adds casually. “I’m just saying, it’s the details that make this thing lively, you know? That’s all, but you were doing alright.”
“Thanks,” Taehyung says automatically.
“No problem. You just need some more confidence, you’ll be fine then. And this gets less awkward when you’re actually in the process of doing someone, trust me. Everything sounds way less ridiculous when you’re already pressed up against a wall and panting.”
Taehyung lifts his arm again at that, opens his eyes to carefully look over at Yoongi, because there was something in his voice, some sort of tone that almost made this sound like an invitation. He’s trying to find proof against this in Yoongi’s gaze, but he gets distracted when he notices something else in his peripheral vision. “Um…” he says. “Where’s Hoseok?”
“Oh, he left,” Yoongi says, failing to hide a smirk behind his mug. “Seemed a little disturbed.”
Confused, Taehyung looks around the living room, like he’s expecting Hoseok to be hiding behind the TV or something. He would have heard him leave, wouldn’t he? Was he really so distracted by the mental image of riding Yoongi’s thigh?
Well, he guesses that answers itself.
When he looks back at Yoongi, something hot instantly coils in the very pit of his stomach, like he swallowed a mouthful of lava. Yoongi’s gaze is heavy on him suddenly, dark and focused, with the weight of-- well, with the weight of another body pressing up against his. He’s still holding that cup between his hands, but Taehyung doesn’t think he’s actually taken another sip from it since they started getting into this, he just uses it now to stare at him over the rim until Taehyung has to swallow dryly and keep himself from squirming on the couch.
“Do you,” Yoongi says slowly, finally setting the cup down on a side table, “want to take this to my room?”
Taehyung thinks he must have misheard that. He takes a breath and almost chokes on it. “What?”
“Do you wanna take this to my room?” Yoongi repeats. “I told you it works better when you’re actually going down on someone.”
So he didn’t mishear that.
It feels like barely a second later that Taehyung finds himself slammed backwards against the door to Yoongi’s room. He’s panting, much like Yoongi predicted, and he also feels a thigh press in between his legs and a pair of hands on his ass -- also much like Yoongi predicted. Quickly, Taehyung scrambles to get his fingers underneath Yoongi’s shirt, skimming up his sides to somehow keep them from quivering nervously.
“Fuck,” Yoongi groans breathily somewhere against the side of his neck, “I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks.”
“What?” Taehyung’s voice is a lot higher than he would like it to be, and he’s kind of holding onto Yoongi’s sides for dear life now, but at least he’s still rubbing himself on his thigh. “A-Are we still practicing?”
Yoongi huffs a laugh, scaldingly hot against his collarbone. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call it.”
“No, I mean,” Taehyung starts, breath stuttering in his throat, and he almost wants to push Yoongi away to look at him, but what he ends up doing instead is pull him closer when he feels Yoongi’s cold hands slip beneath his shirt. There’s not much room between him and the door, but they stay right where the waistband of his pants end, and Taehyung feels like they’re burning themselves into his skin there, and he also feels like they can keep doing that forever. “I-I mean-- Did you mean that? Just now, did you?”
Yoongi does end up pulling back by himself. His thigh is still where it was -- his hands too, actually, he just detached himself from the piece of skin above Taehyung’s shirt collar, so he can look at him. “What,” he says quietly, “That I’ve been wanting to push you up against my door and make you whimper with just my hands and a little bit of thigh action for weeks?” He swallows, and Taehyung does, too. “Yeah, I meant that.”
“Oh,” Taehyung says weakly, when Yoongi is already back to sinking his teeth into the thin skin right underneath his jaw. “Oh, that’s good, then.”
“Just be bold about it. Brag. I’m gonna make you cum with my tongue alone, stuff like that. People don’t really care if it’s true anyway.”
“So you’re lying when you say that to me?”
“No, not me. I’m amazing, and a genius. Focus.”
“Okay, here goes. I’m gonna make you… I’m gonna make you cum with just my … feet. I’m gonna make you cum with my feet.”
“No, Taehyung.”
Obviously, it takes a genius to teach Kim Taehyung how to talk dirty. The only thing Yoongi hasn’t been smart enough to figure out is that it takes an even bigger genius, like Kim Taehyung for example, to keep talking dirty as badly as possible, to make sure they’re never going to stop.