Chapter Text
The sound of the dessert spoon clattering into the porcelain bowl of rapidly melting gelato was barely audible over the sounds of the romantic din of the quaint restaurant, but to Hoseok’s ears it sounded extraordinarily loud. Louder even than his breath whooshing in and out of his ears. His mouth hung open in what was probably a most unattractive manner, and he darted his tongue out to wet his lips. Everything felt suddenly dry. And loud. And was he drooling? He unconsciously wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, not missing the way Seokjin’s bemused smile widened into a full blown grin beneath his steepled fingers.
“Say that again?” Hoseok croaked, and Seokjin chuckled - a deep rumble in his chest.
“Will you marry me?” he repeated, and Hoseok coughed. He quickly scanned the restaurant, relieved that Seokjin hadn’t gone so far as to plan some elaborate way of popping the question. Everyone seemed caught up in their own tables - young couples on dates, a few families having a dinner out, the elderly couple that was always seated next to them when he and Seokjin went on their bi-weekly dinner date at Grand Ticino.
“That’s what I thought you said,” Hoseok said quietly, low giggles shaking his frame. He felt overwhelmed, giddy - maybe a bit confused because he and Seokjin were great friends - had been seeing each other for a couple of years - but marriage?
“So?” Seokjin prompted, leaning across the table. “Will you?”
Hoseok bit his lip and leaned forward as well. “Are you seriously asking me this now? You’re gonna be on a plane in four hours.”
Seokjin grinned and took Hoseok’s hands in his, running his fingers lightly over Hoseok’s knuckles. Seokjin had soft hands, warm hands, and Hoseok adjusted his hands so that their fingers were interlaced instead.
“I’m already past thirty Hoseok,” Seokjin said lightly. “If I go home still a confirmed bachelor my mother might actually die from shame.”
Hoseok snorted and shook his head, his eye catching the restaurant owner - Leo - hovering near the bar with a bottle of champagne.
“Seokjin,” Hoseok whispered conspiratorially, “your mother is already dying.”
Seokjin released Hoseok’s hands to press his own hand to his chest as he gasped dramatically. “Don’t speak ill of my mother,” he intoned in a pompous accent, and Hoseok barely managed to keep his water from shooting out of his nose as he took a sip.
“I’m just saying,” he said in between coughs and chuckles. “You’ll get your inheritance faster.”
“You’re a cruel man,” Seokjin said, but his eyes were soft and his lips set in a soft smile. Hoseok was struck again how handsome Seokjin was - handsome beyond what the stylists managed to accomplish for his many shows and interviews. He had a natural perfection about him - regal, like a prince, and with a laugh like a windshield wiper. He was kind, endearing, decent in bed…
“But in all seriousness,” Seokjin said lowly, pulling Hoseok from his wandering thoughts. “What do you say? C’mon Seok, I love you. It’d be nice - set companionship and occasional sex -“
“That’s what we have now,” Hoseok interrupted, and Seokjin grinned wider, white teeth flashing.
“Ah yes, but this way I can bring you to all of my fancy actor parties and introduce you as my husband, instead of ‘this guy that I’m sort of seeing and fuck every so often but mostly we see bad plays and eat the same foods and watch Netflix entirely too much.’” Hoseok laughed and Seokjin reached again for his hand. “And also I can claim you on my taxes.”
Hoseok laughed harder, used his free hand to rub at his eyes. “So I’m a tax write off?”
“No Seok. I mean it.”
The somberness of Seokjin’s tone stopped Hoseok’s giggles in his chest. Seokjin’s eyes were dark and clear, so focused, that Hoseok almost felt like he was being dissected. Hoseok bit his lip and focused on the diamond print pattern on Seokjin’s blue tie. Seokjin had a point - they were getting older and had only been seeing each other. Where else was their relationship to go? He peered up through his lashes, unsurprised to see Seokjin still regarding him.
“Look, Jin, you know how my husband died, right?”
Seokjin’s eyebrows raised. “Of course I do. We worked together.”
“Yeah, yeah I know.” Hoseok squeezed Seokjin’s hand and gave a sad smile. “I think…I think maybe we had bad luck.”
Seokjin leaned forward, face confused. “Bad luck?”
“Like,” Hoseok released Seokjin’s hand and ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Like, we got married at the city hall the same day he proposed. And it wasn’t even a proposal - we were by the city hall and he said ‘we should get married.’”
“That sounds like him,” Seokjin murmured and Hoseok nodded emphatically.
“That’s what I mean. Right from the start we didn’t do it right.”
“Do what right?”
“Could you kneel down?”
Seokjin laughed, the loud sound attracting the attention of diners at other tables before Seokjin realized that it wasn’t a joke.
“Wait, really?”
Hoseok sighed and fidgeted with his napkin. “If you’re proposing you should kneel down, Seokjin. That’s how it’s done.”
“This is a good suit,” Seokjin whispered, gesturing to the deep blue suit that he was wearing.
Hoseok rolled his eyes. “I know it’s a good suit. I helped you pick it out - it came with two pairs of pants!”
“Okay, okay.” Seokjin stood from the table and crossed until he stood by Hoseok’s chair. He kneeled down slowly, muttered something about his knees being too old, and then smiled at Hoseok warmly. “Forgive me, I haven’t done this before.”
“That’s okay,” Hoseok whispered back, very aware that they now had the attention of most of the restaurant. “Do you have a ring?”
Seokjin raised a perfect eyebrow. “A ring?”
“Yeah, a ring,” the older gentleman from the table next to them practically shouted.
“I-if you’re proposing marriage you should offer a ring of engagement,” Hoseok supplied, cheeks burning with a deep flush.
“You can’t forget the ring, dear,” the man’s wife said, even louder than her husband.
Seokjin looked like he either wanted to laugh or hit something, and Hoseok bit his lip against the urge to chuckle. “You can use one of your rings,” he said, nudging Seokjin’s forehead with his own.
Seokjin rolled his eyes but pulled off the silver ring he always wore. “I like this ring,” he muttered, and Hoseok snorted.
“I know. I helped you pick it out.”
Seokjin held up the ring, first just to Hoseok, then to the entire restaurant while Hoseok tried to hide his face in mortification. “Jung Hoseok,” Seokjin announced, and Hoseok peeked at him from in between his fingers. “On my knees, with my favourite ring, in front of all these people…” Seokjin lowered his voice from it’s stage volume and gently pried Hoseok’s hands away from his face. “Will you marry me?”
Hoseok knew his face was completely red - could feel the warm tingle all the way up through the tips of his ears. He brushed his thumb lightly along Seokjin’s jaw and smiled.
“Yeah. Sure, Seokjin, I’ll marry you.”
The entire restaurant burst into applause at the same time that Seokjin slipped the ring onto his middle finger muttering about ‘yeah, sure? And you made me get on my knees.’
Leo ran over with the champagne and Hoseok immediately threw his hands up. “No champagne, we need the check. Seokjin you need to be at the airport.”
Seokjin kissed his knuckles with a small smile as he stood. “What would I do without you,” he said softly, then nodded at Leo who immediately placed their check down as if he had been anticipating having to do so.
“You were a good bachelor customer for ten years,” Leo intoned sadly, and Hoseok laughed.
“Leo, we’ll still eat here,” Hoseok said as Seokjin signed. “I promise.”
Leo sighed, but gave a small smile as he took the receipt. “I am happy for you. You deserve it, both of you.”
“So, when are we going to do it?”
Seokjin glanced up from his phone and Hoseok caught a glimpse of his confused look out of the corner of his eye.
“Do what?”
“Get married.” Hoseok sighed as they stopped once again in the tunnel - he hated tunnels, hated all of the tunnels in New York that always seemed to get crowded when he needed to go through them. Seokjin didn’t answer and he glanced over to catch the man worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “A date?”
“Hoseok,” Seokjin said with a small smile, “I’m flying out to see my dying mother.”
“I know,” Hoseok said, exhaling in relief as traffic started move again. “But you asked me to marry you right before hand so…when are we doing it?”
“When I get back?” Seokjin suggested, and Hoseok resisted the urge to laugh.
“Okay, but when?”
“My mother is dying, Seok. Can’t we just say we’ll get married when she’s dead?”
“Oh my god,” Hoseok laughed, nearly rear-ending the car in front of him when it slammed on it’s brakes. “Seokjin, that’s your mother.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s dying.”
“I’m just saying we need a date. We need to plan, send out invitations, get a venue - I don’t want you to come back and we end up at the city hall.”
“Alright, alright.” Hoseok glanced over in time to catch Seokjin running his hands through his hair, the dark strands falling almost exactly back the way it was styled. Seokjin was blessed in that way. He almost never had bed-head; even his eye bags looked sexy. “We’ll do it in a month.”
“A month from today?”
“Jesus, have you always been this anal?” Hoseok snorted and Seokjin pinched his thigh, making him yelp. “A month.”
“A month from today.”
“Yes, dear,” Seokjin drawled. “A month from today.”
Hoseok grinned, and at the next red light he leaned over and pressed a wet kiss to Seokjin’s cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured, nipping at Seokjin’s earlobe. “You made me really happy.”
Seokjin turned and captured Hoseok’s lips in between both of his, short and sweet and comfortable.
“The light’s green,” he murmured into Hoseok’s mouth, and Hoseok broke the kiss just as the cars behind him began honking. They drove in silence for a while, Seokjin typing away on his phone and Hoseok doing his best to not get stuck in traffic on the way to La Guardia. As soon as the signs for the airport became visible Seokjin started fidgeting and Hoseok’s anxiety started to slowly ratchet up.
“Are you okay?”
“Seok, I want you to do something for me,” Seokjin said, his voice eerily quiet. Hoseok kept his mouth shut and nodded his assent, afraid that anything he said would be too contradictory to Seokjin’s mood. “I want you to invite my brother to the wedding.”
Hoseok’s mind went blank for a moment because -
“You have a brother?” Seokjin sighed and Hoseok nearly stuttered over his words in his haste to get them out. “Seokjin, I’ve known you for over four years. How did I not know you had a brother?”
“We don’t…” Seokjin trailed off and huffed out an enormous breath. “We had a falling out. We haven’t spoken in five years and I just…please ask him to come.”
“Y-yeah, of course.” Hoseok pulled off to the drop off terminal and flipped on his hazards. “Do you have his information?”
“I’ll text it to you.” Seokjin gave a small smile. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Hoseok’s lips, pulling away before Hoseok had time to deepen it. “Thank you. I love you.”
Hoseok bit his lip but couldn’t stop his grin. “I love you too. Get home safe.”
“Will do,” Seokjin shouted over his shoulder as he stepped out of the car. With the slam of the trunk and a ridiculously large wave, Seokjin disappeared into the throng of people pushing into the airport. Not a minute later Hoseok’s phone vibrated in his pocket.
[Seokjin] 20:34: Min Yoongi -Bangjangsoo Bakery
[Hoseok] 20:34: Min? And he works at Bangjangsoo?
[Seokjin] 20:35: It’s a long story.
[Seokjin] 20:35: And he owns it.
“Holy fuck,” Hoseok breathed. He went to the bakery almost every week - had even brought items from there for Seokjin on random breakfast dates. How many times had he run into Seokjin’s mysterious brother? Hoseok went through a mental list of everyone he bought things from, trying to remember if anyone looked remotely like Seokjin, but none came to mind. Finally the honking of the cars around him became too much and he flipped off his hazards and began the long journey back home, his eyes constantly glancing down at the ring on his finger and his mind racing around who the hell this Min Yoongi was.
Hoseok walked into his house to the sound of soft jazz playing over the record player, his father sitting in his old arm chair with a mug cradled in both hands.
“You’re up late,” Hoseok said as he took off his coat, keeping his laughter in at the sight of his father startling and then juggling the mug in his hands. His father shot him a dirty look before taking a long pull of whatever he had in the mug - tea, a hot toddy, hot chocolate. His father smacked his lips loudly and shrugged.
“Maybe you’ve just been out too late.”
Hoseok chuckled and shook his head. “I’m twenty-nine, dad. I’m allowed to stay out late. Anyway, if you’re up come into the kitchen. I have news.”
He heard his father groan and the distinct squeaking sound of old leather as he pushed himself out of his chair. Hoseok maneuvered his way into the semi-dark kitchen, deciding to stick with the tinkling glow of the holiday lights in the window rather than turn on the overhead fluorescents. He brought down two champagne flutes and filled them with the Proseco his mother had leftover from Christmas mimosas earlier that week. His father raised an eyebrow, but dropped a sugar cube in each glass regardless - Hoseok had since stopped making fun of his father for not liking champagne until it was basically ginger ale since he was the same way. Hoseok toasted his flute and his father politely clinked their glasses.
“Saranghamnida,” Hoseok murmured, and his father chuckled.
“Formal Korean?” He asked with a small smile before holding his glass up as well. “Saranghae.”
They sipped their champagne in silence, the bubbles and sugar making Hoseok once again feel giddy from the nights events.
“So?” His father asked, setting his glass down on the small table. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’m getting married,” Hoseok blurted. His father stared at him blankly, and for so long, that Hoseok started to fidget.
“Again?”
Hoseok felt his face colour, that familiar burn high on his cheekbones. “What do you mean again?”
“I mean you did this once before,” his father said with a small shrug. “It didn’t work out for you.”
“A-are you serious?” Hoseok stuttered. “Dad, my husband died.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” his father said, matching Hoseok’s rising volume. “You’re mother and I have been married almost forty years, not one of us died. You were married what, a year? And someone’s dead. Don't do it again, Hoseok, it won't end well.”
Hoseok didn’t know whether to laugh or throw a tantrum. He took a too big gulp of his champagne, the bubbles burning down his throat and making him cough.
“What are you saying?” he asked around fits of coughing. “That I’m cursed?”
“Not cursed, son,” his father intoned seriously. “Just bad luck. With marriage. It happens.” Hoseok stared with wide eyes and a tight smile, and his father sighed. “Who are you marrying anyway?”
“Kim Seokjin.”
His father snorted and threw his hands up. “An actor? Really?”
Hoseok threw his hands up as well. “He’s a very sweet man!”
His father leaned in close, eyes intent. “I don’t like him Hoseok. Actors are trouble - they get paid to pretend and feel different things. What’s he got to hide?”
“What are you even talking about?” Hoseok ran his hands through his hair with an aggravated sigh. “Look, dad, did you ever think that maybe if I had gotten married in a church, with suits and a reception and an actual fucking service, maybe I wouldn’t have bad luck?”
His father shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. But that's your own fault.”
Hoseok took another sip of his champagne, smaller this time, and breathed in deep through his nose. “Seokjin got on his knees and proposed to me.”
His father arched an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like him,” he said gruffly, then nodded his head toward Hoseok. “Where’s the ring?”
Hoseok held out his hand to show off the diamond encrusted silver ring. His father gripped his wrist and inspected the ring, his lips pursed. After a moment his father huffed and dropped Hoseok’s wrist.
“It’s not even an engagement ring. What did he do - give you whatever ring he happened to be wearing?”
Hoseok flushed and balled his hands into fists, not because his father was right but because it shouldn't have mattered. “It’s temporary,” he snapped.
“Everything is temporary,” his father said solemnly. “That doesn’t excuse it.”
Hoseok resisted the urge to scream in frustration at his father’s pensive face. Every so often his father looked every bit the part of the ‘aging yet brilliant English Professor.’ Times like now where he sounded like one of the stuffy books he happened to be teaching.
“Let’s go see mom,” Hoseok said instead, placing the empty glasses in the sink.
“She’s asleep,” his father said, but still followed Hoseok up the stairs.
“I’m telling mom,” Hoseok stated stubbornly. “She’ll be excited for me.”
As it so happened the light to his parent’s bedroom was on and he opened the door to find his mother propped up in bed with a book open and reading glasses perched on her nose. Her gray hair was still tied up in a bun from earlier in the day, and she glanced up over her glasses with a small smile.
“Excited for what,” she asked softly, her voice low and melodic.
“Hoseok’s getting married,” his father said from behind him, leaning in the doorway.
His mother’s brows furrowed. “Again?”
Hoseok’s mouth dropped open and he glanced between both of his parents. He groaned and ran a hand over his face, dry fingers crackling against the slight stubble on his cheeks.
“It’s official,” he muttered. “You have finally morphed into the same person. Any time I see two of you it’s because I’m hallucinating.”
His mother laughed, loud and squeaky, book dropping out of her hand and onto the bed. “Oh Hoseok baby,” she said in between laughs, her eyes curved into crescents. “I just meant - well, I wasn’t expecting it. But it’s to that actor, yes?”
Hoseok sighed, thankful for some normalcy around his big news. He sat on the edge of the bed and allowed his mother to cup his hand in both of hers.
“Yeah. Seokjin.”
“I don’t like him,” his father said from the doorway, and his mother snorted.
“You’re not going to marry him, Ilseong.” His mother squeezed his hands and Hoseok squeezed back. “Do you love him?”
“No,” he answered truthfully, thankful that his father didn’t respond. His mother nodded with a knowing smile. “I mean I do. But not like, in love.”
“Good,” she said. “When you love them they drive you crazy because they know they can.” Hoseok snorted and she squeezed his hands again. “But you like him?”
“Oh yeah. He’s a sweet guy. I love spending time with him.” Hoseok bounced on the bed a bit, the idea of an actual wedding coming back to him and making him giddy. “And this time I’m getting an actual wedding. With a cake and everything.”
“Oh yeah?” His mother raised her eyebrow with a soft chuckle. “And who’s going to pay for that?”
“Dad,” Hoseok said automatically, not surprised to hear the shocked stutter from the doorway.
“Who says?”
“Father of the bride pays,” Hoseok recited, sharing a wink with his mother.
“You’re not a bride.”
Hoseok gasped dramatically and put a hand to his chest. “I can be a bride if I want to,” he said, then, more loudly because the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it goddamnit: “I can be the bride at my wedding!”
His father didn’t say anything, but Hoseok could see him chewing on the inside of his lip. He watched Hoseok carefully and Hoseok resisted the urge to hide, to cower behind his mother like he used to do when he was a kid in trouble. His father said not a word when he finally entered the room, or when he sat down beside Hoseok on the bed, or when he clapped a hand onto his shoulder.
“Son,” he said at last, “are you trying to tell me you only bottom? Because that’s not right. A true man knows when it’s okay to take it up the ass.”
“Oh my god,” Hoseok groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. His mother cackled and his father kept rubbing his back, which only made his embarrassment worse.
“I’m only saying-“
“Dad, please stop talking.”
Thankfully his father didn’t push, simply pat Hoseok awkwardly once more before getting up and announcing his intention to turn off the lights downstairs. Hoseok lifted his face from his hands to meet his mothers bemused gaze and released a tight hiss of air through his nose.
“He’s ridiculous,” he whispered, and his mother nodded.
“I told you. When you love them they drive you crazy.” She reached for his hand again and Hoseok intertwined their fingers. “I am happy for you, sweetheart.”
“Thank you mom.” Hoseok kissed her knuckles gently and she sighed.
“But your father won’t pay for it.”
A loud thump and muffled cursing echoed from downstairs and Hoseok sighed, staring out the dark bedroom door. “I know,” he said. Another thump. More curses. “I know.”
The smell of fresh coffee and fried food roused Hoseok from sleep. He glanced over at his phone, unsurprised to see that he had slept through his alarms. Luckily it was still winter break - and a Saturday at that. He stretched through his creaking joints before rolling out of bed. He dressed quickly in jeans and a plain black sweater and ran a comb through his knotted up hair. Hoseok had the unfortunate habit of having to be completely presentable before he could leave his room, even with his stomach growling so loudly that it was physically painful. It had driven his husband crazy in the short time they lived together, that Hoseok was incapable of spending a whole day lounging in his pajamas. He shoved his phone into his back pocket, eyes lingering on the framed complimentary photo that he got on his wedding day at the city hall.
In the photo he’s wearing ripped jeans and a band tee. His hair was longer then, held back with golden hair clips. The other man, Sanjeev, was much taller - so tall that he practically bent Hoseok in half as they kissed for the photo. His hair was tied back and his eyes closed against wire-rimmed glasses. It was summer, their skin dark despite the white-washing from the shitty courtroom camera. It wasn’t the greatest photo but - Hoseok ran his finger along the frame same as he did every morning.
“Coffee?” his mother asked when he finally made it into the kitchen. Hoseok nodded and sat at the table, chuckling when his mother shoved not only a full mug of coffee at him but also two fried eggs, rice, and a number of side dishes. She sat down across from him with her own mug, her slippers slip-sliding against the floor as she kicked her feet.
“Will you live here?”
Hoseok’s eggs dropped out of his chopsticks back onto his plate. “What?”
“When you get married,” his mother continued. “Will you live here?”
Hoseok shrugged. “Probably not. Dad doesn’t like Seokjin. Seokjin’s got a nice apartment. We’ll live there.”
His mother sighed around her coffee mug, little feet still swinging. “I guess we’ll sell the house then.”
Hoseok coughed around his food, eyes wide at his mother’s look of serious concentration - her moon face a perfect portrait of the way she looked when Hoseok was a child.
“Why would you do that? You didn’t when Dawon got married.”
“Grandma was still alive,” his mother said sadly. “It’s too big now, what with Dawon married and you getting married.”
“It’s a great house mom,” Hoseok said seriously. “Don’t sell it.”
“Then live at home.” His mother’s eyes were wide and Hoseok took her hand gently.
“Mom. I love the house. I want to live in the house. Dad doesn’t like Seokjin.”
“No,” she reluctantly agreed after a moment. “He doesn’t.”
Hoseok squeaked as his bum vibrated, then pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had a missed text from Jimin about the dance class that he was teaching the next day, Seokjin’s last text popping up right after he x’d out of the new message.
“Oh fuck,” he muttered, quickly googling the number to Bangjangsoo and wincing when his mother kicked his shin under the table.
“Language. And no phones at the table.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled as the phone dialed. “This is an emergency.” The phone rang a couple more times before someone finally picked up, a young male voice that sounded vaguely familiar.
“Bangjangsoo, how can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah,” Hoseok stuttered, turning away from his mother’s raised eyebrows. “I need to speak to Min Yoongi?”
“Who’s calling?” The boy said, voice suddenly sharp.
Hoseok pulled the phone away from his ear and then gave a disgruntled look to his mother before turning back. “I’d just like to speak to him please.”
“Alright.” The line went quiet for a moment before a gruff voice came on the line, something low and raspy that made Hoseok’s stomach flutter. He had expected Min Yoongi to sound something like Seokjin - something a little more high pitched.
“Hey, this is Yoongi.”
“Oh,” Hoseok stuttered, kicking his mother back when he felt another bump to his shin. His mother could always read him like an open book; it got a little annoying sometimes. “Hi. Um, I’m Hoseok. Hoseok Jung. Jung Hoseok. Um. I’m calling for your brother -“
“What brother?”
“Seokjin has a brother?” his mother interjected, and Hoseok waved his hand to get her to stop talking.
The gruff response caught Hoseok off-guard, and with his mother still trying to whisper a conversation to him he scrambled his brain for how to respond. Did Seokjin give him the wrong number? Were there two Min Yoongis floating around?
“Um, Seokjin?” There was a sharp inhalation over the line and Hoseok scrambled to get the rest of his words out. “He’s getting married. Uh - I’m his fiancé. And the wedding’s in a month and he wants you to come.”
“Is this a fucking joke?” Yoongi was loud enough that the sound hurt his ears and his mothers eyebrows almost reached her hairline. “Who is this?”
“It-it’s not,” Hoseok stammered out. “I’m serious.”
Min Yoongi laughed, something sharp and mean. “Why didn’t he call me himself?”
“He’s in Korea.”
“Of fucking course he is.” Hoseok heard slamming in the background, maybe something being dropped. Hoseok looked to his mom but she just shook her head.
‘Traitor,’ he mouthed. “Okay, hey. Maybe I could just come by? We could talk-“
“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Min Yoongi snarled. And then the line was dead, and Hoseok was left sitting at the kitchen table staring at his phone while his mother watched him with that quirked up grin that never meant something good.
“Want anything from Bangjangsoo?”
Min Yoongi didn’t work in the front end of the bakery, which explained why Hoseok never saw him. (He also looked nothing like Seokjin, who was all long limbs and warm skin - Yoongi was petite, almost frail looking and unusually pale.) He worked in the back. He baked. Hoseok’s stomach jumped up to his throat when Min Yoongi looked up from the dough he was single handedly kneading. Yoongi’s dark hair fell into his eyes when he looked up, and his nose scrunched up cutely in annoyance when he noticed someone that wasn’t an employee in his kitchen.
“Yeah?” he asked, slamming the dough down on the stainless steel surface before wiping his hand on his apron.
“Uh, hi.” Hoseok gave a half wave. Yoongi only stared at him, and Hoseok had to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m Hoseok.”
Yoongi’s mouth immediately twisted into an ugly grimace. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Y-you, curse a lot,” Hoseok said reflexively, and for a moment, so quick that Hoseok almost thought he imagined it, Min Yoongi smiled, gummy and a bit exasperated.
“Yeah,” he said, disbelief colouring his words. “Yeah, I fucking do. Because I told you to fuck off and you think that means to come to where I work?”
Hoseok fidgeted, his smile frozen onto his face so hard that his cheeks hurt. “I just want to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Yoongi crossed around the steel table until he was practically nose to nose with Hoseok. And it wasn’t something Hoseok should have focused on, but Yoongi smelled like butter and sugar and syrup and some sort of deep earthy musk and his eyes had caramel flecks in them and his lips looked pouty and soft even though they were pulled tight against his teeth. “Look, congrats. I’m very happy for you. But I’m not going to your fucking wedding, so you can leave, alright?”
Hoseok swallowed; his entire body felt electric, buzzing with energy just beneath his skin. “Can we please talk?”
Yoongi rubbed his hand over his face, and Hoseok resisted the urge to wipe the flour that smudged over Yoongi’s cheekbone.
“Fine. Okay. We’ll talk. Let’s start with the basics: do you know about me?” Yoongi leaned back against the countertop and Hoseok suddenly felt cold. He was also acutely aware of the other bakers in the kitchen silently watching him while he fidgeted with the fraying yarn of his scarf.
“Uh. No. Actually I just learned about you yesterday." Hoseok expected Yoongi to blow up, to spout more expletives. He was surprised when Yoongi just nodded with a small pouty smile.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Yoongi raised his left arm and Hoseok swallowed his initial urge to gasp at the sight of a hand that almost looked like it was made of legos. “In case you didn’t notice, this isn’t a real hand.”
Hoseok nodded; didn’t trust his voice. Yoongi thumbed his nose with a lego finger, bitter smile on his face.
“It’s a long story, but the cliff notes version is that once upon a time I had two hands. Except one day I was working the slicer and Seokjin bumped into me and well - you see what happened.”
“B-but, he didn’t do it on purpose,” Hoseok stammered, and Yoongi snorted.
“Okay, how about this: I shove your hand in the slicer. Seokjin comes home and decides, ‘you know what, I really want someone with two hands.’ And that’s fucking that.”
Hoseok’s breath stuttered into his chest rapidly through his nose. “You were engaged,” he breathed out.
“Oh wow, Seokjin picked a smart one,” Yoongi said sarcastically, and Hoseok bit his lip against the sudden sting in his eyes; he knew it wasn’t a personal jab, but Hoseok was sensitive on the best of days. “So yeah. Congrats. Fuckin fantastic. Go ride off into the sunset. But I won’t be there. And you can tell Seokjin to fuck off. From me.”
Yoongi turned back to his dough, seemed to think better of it, whipped off his apron and tossed it onto the counter.
“I’m taking off,” Yoongi announced, and the room gave general murmurs of assent. Yoongi pushed past Hoseok without a word, and Hoseok felt equal parts intrigued and terrified. With a final glance around the kitchen, the wide eyes of the staff following his movements, he ran after Yoongi.
“Wait,” he shouted once he got outside, his scarf slightly muffling his words. Yoongi turned around with a raised eyebrow, his one good hand buttoning his black coat. Hoseok stopped in front of Yoongi, ran his hands through his hair and smiled too brightly. “I - I just want to talk.”
Yoongi looked up to the sky with a small disbelieving laugh. “You know,” he said after a moment, that small not-quite-grin back on his face. “I think there’s only so many times I can say ‘are you fucking serious’ in one day.”
Hoseok smiled back, warmth erupting in his gut. “Does that mean yes?”
Yoongi shrugged. “I live upstairs.”
Yoongi’s apartment was huge by New York standards, a lofty one bedroom with white washed walls and fake linoleum hard-wood floors. It was sparsely decorated with dark furniture - a leather couch in the middle of the living room, bookcases along the wall stuffed with records and cds, a record player in the entryway. The walls were bare save for a few framed posters from shows that Hoseok wasn’t familiar with - Undine, Orfeo et Euridicie, Turandot. Yoongi tossed his heavy coat on the back of the couch, one finger already hooking under the hem of his grey shirt and pulling it over his head as he walked towards what Hoseok could only assume was the bedroom. Yoongi’s skin was paler than most Koreans, paler than Hoseok’s definitely, and seeing it made Hoseok think of milk bread. His back was smooth and his spine stuck out - made Hoseok want to simultaneously bite him and feed him. Yoongi disappeared into the room and soon Hoseok heard the sound of a shower running and released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“What am I even doing?” he murmured to himself. “He said to ask. You asked. Go home.” But he didn’t. Instead he went through Yoongi’s almost bare cupboards before going about making red bean porridge - the only meal Yoongi seemed to have all the ingredients for. Hoseok thought Seokjin was bad with his almost constant eating out - despite loving to cook, acting didn’t always allow the luxury - but Yoongi didn’t even have take-out leftovers in his refrigerator.
“Explains why he’s so thin,” Hoseok muttered as he soaked the beans and set a pot of water on the stove. Despite having no food Yoongi had a beautiful kitchen. The counters were quartz and there were copper and stainless steel pots and pans hanging from a rack in the ceiling. There was a moveable butcher block table in the center with more storage underneath - Hoseok spotted numerous mixing bowls and a few gadgets he didn’t recognize. It was like a chef’s kitchen from the tv shows, everything there and in it’s place. Hoseok’s kitchen was huge back home - an actual kitchen and dining room combo, but it was filled with an ancient mixer and a Mr. Coffee coffee pot and mugs that were collected from everyone’s travels. It was mismatched and messy - nothing like the pristine black and white and deep brown of Yoongi’s kitchen.
“What are you doing?” A gruff voice demanded behind him, and Hoseok was proud that most all of the beans ended up in the pot of boiling water instead of in the air when he jumped.
“I’m making red bean porridge.” Hoseok turned and flashed a smile, not surprised when Yoongi’s lips settled in a thin line and he gave a blank stare back.
“I don’t want it,” he said, almost petulantly, and Hoseok resisted the urge to reach out and smack Yoongi upside the head.
“Well too fucking bad,” he said, his voice a whole octave higher in his frustrated nervousness. “I’m making it and you’re gonna eat it.”
Yoongi’s eyes widened for a moment before his lips twitched into a small smile. “Wow. You’re feisty.”
“Ha-ha,” Hoseok muttered sarcastically, setting up a small station for making the rice flour dumplings. He glanced over his shoulder to catch dark eyes watching him carefully and his face heated in slight embarrassment. “You bake. Want to help make the dumplings?”
Yoongi shrugged. “No.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” The words were out before Hoseok could think about them, and he was about to take them back when Yoongi smiled again.
“You don’t know what I am Jung Hoseok.”
“You hung up on me!” Hoseok found a wooden spoon in a jar on the counter and stirred his developing porridge a bit too hard, some of it splashing out onto his hand. “And you’ve yelled at me! And here I am making you breakfast -“
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Oh will you shut the fuck up and roll some dumplings?”
Hoseok didn’t dare to look back to see Yoongi’s reaction, didn’t know if he could handle either the inevitable explosion of anger or look of cool disdain. He was so focused on his porridge that he didn’t even realize Yoongi had moved until he felt warm breath ghost along his neck.
“Sure thing,” he murmured, and before Hoseok could think up a scolding about personal boundaries Yoongi was beside him, rolling perfect little mochi in his one hand.
“How is it that you cook and have no food?” Hoseok muttered instead, and Yoongi snorted.
“I bake,” Yoongi said, rolling yet another perfect little ball. It was unfair really - Hoseok’s mochi always came out looking like snakes. Or little cancerous tumors. “I don’t cook.”
“Fair enough,” Hoseok conceded.
They cooked in silence for a while, Hoseok only talking to ask where the sugar was and Yoongi only coming close enough to drop his mochi into the thickening porridge. Despite the initial friction and underlying awkwardness, it was almost nice. Hoseok hadn’t cooked with someone for a while - not even with his mother, and it was a little saddening now that he was aware of it. Family cooking was a part of his up-bringing; even when he was married he would come home and help prepare family meals. Once Sanjeev died, Hoseok spent a year avoiding everyone, and at that point the tradition seemed to have ended. It was something he wanted to bring back, he supposed. Maybe when Dawon came to visit, or when she had her baby.
Hoseok spooned the porridge into two bowls that Yoongi provided and they set up their meal at the small fold out table by the window. Hoseok was almost surprised that there were two chairs when Yoongi obviously lived alone, but he didn’t ask. They were probably part of a set - maybe left over from his days in a relationship.
“So,” Yoongi said after a moment of idly stirring his porridge. “Since I’m obviously not getting rid of you - why are you marrying my brother?”
Hoseok shrugged around his mouthful of food - still a little too hot. “He asked. Eat your food, you’re making me nervous.”
Yoongi snorted but obediently spooned porridge into his mouth. His eyebrows raised as he chewed and swallowed. “That’s it? That’s going to be a great story to tell your kids. ‘Well Booby Sue, he asked.’ This is really good by the way.”
“Bobby Sue?” Hoseok bit into a small mochi, surprised to find it almost fluffy - by mochi standards at least. Definitely less dense than what he normally made. “And thanks.”
“Fine, how did you two meet?”
“He knew my husband.” Hoseok didn’t miss Yoongi’s look of surprise even though the other man tried to hide it. “My late husband,” he corrected.
“Shit,” Yoongi said, and he did look apologetic. Hoseok had a thought that maybe Yoongi wasn’t as abrasive as he came off to be. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Hoseok said, waving his hand like he could wave away the memory. “It was two years ago. Almost three. I’m over it.” Which wasn’t quite true; Hoseok still had their wedding picture by his bed. He still had Sanjeev’s old notebooks in a box in his closet. But the hurt, the overwhelming loneliness and pain had diminished into nothing but a dull ache - which Hoseok supposed he would probably carry around forever. “Anyway, Sanjeev was a stage manager. He worked with Seokjin on a few productions.”
“How did he die?” Yoongi asked softly.
“He got hit by a bus. A couple months before our first anniversary.”
“Fuck,” Yoongi said, and Hoseok nodded.
“Yeah. Fuck.”
They ate in silence for a while, the thick atmosphere only broken by sounds of spoons scraping bowls and the steady drone of traffic from the city outside. In his own natural habitat Yoongi seemed more relaxed, more like a grumpy house cat than a feral Tom ready to scratch. Hoseok placed his spoon on top of his empty bowl and rested his chin in his hand.
“So…five years ago you lost your hand and your fiancé left you. Anyone since then?”
Yoongi’s eyes hardened but he leaned forward and mimicked Hoseok’s position. “Since Dinah? No.”
“Stupid,” Hoseok said, and Yoongi’s eyes narrowed.
“Two years ago your husband got hit by a bus. Any other men since?”
“Just Seokjin,” Hoseok said, his cheeks colouring when Yoongi snorted.
“Stupid yourself,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“No,” Hoseok said, his voice a little too loud, a little too pitchy. “I’m lucky. I haven’t been lucky.”
“Oh really,” Yoongi said with a bemused smile as he grabbed their bowls. Hoseok watched in fascination as the lego hand actually gripped the side of the bowls so that Yoongi could carry them with both hands to the sink, belatedly realizing that Yoongi’s tone had been mocking.
“Yes, really.” Hoseok said, following Yoongi to the sink. Yoongi covered his plastic hand with a large rubber glove before he turned on the water and Hoseok resisted the urge to shove him out of the way and do the dishes for him. "We get married young in my family, right? My sister married at twenty-one. But I said no, I'll wait. Got married at twenty-six. And then Sanjeev wanted to have a kid right away and I said, no we had time. And then he got hit by a bus, so now I'm here almost thirty with no husband and no baby." Yoongi didn't say anything, but Hoseok caught the way his eyes flicked over to show he was listening. “You snap and bite at everyone because you’re afraid to get hurt again, but all it does is make you more lonely. I’ve opened myself to love -“
“Please,” Yoongi snapped, and Hoseok noticed the tips of his ears were red beneath the dark hair. He also notice that Yoongi’s ears were pierced, double loops adorning the lobes. “You’re not in love.”
“Y-you don’t know what I am,” Hoseok said, snatching the clean bowl from Yoongi and using the towel on the oven to dry it with more force than necessary.
“I know enough to know that you don’t love my brother.” Yoongi glanced at him with cold dark eyes, and Hoseok could see the resemblance then - how Yoongi had the same focused gaze as Seokjin that could make a person feel a foot tall. Hoseok felt suddenly panicked and inexplicably angry because, honestly, what the fuck?
“Oh, are we analyzing my life now?” Hoseok snapped, grabbing the other bowl and drying that as well.
Yoongi shrugged and turned off the water, began removing the rubber glove with careful precision. “Sure.”
“Fine.” Hoseok slammed the bowl down on the counter, silently thanking whatever deity that it didn’t shatter on impact. “Let me do yours first.”
Hoseok stepped forward until he and Yoongi were nearly touching - so close that he could feel the fabric of Yoongi’s black shirt brush against the staticky yarn of his sweater. “I think you’ve put this woman on a pedestal. You want her to be perfect so you have someone to blame, but the truth is you knew it wasn’t the right fit.”
“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s voice cracked a bit at the end and Hoseok resisted the urge to smirk.
“You’re like…you’re a like a wolf," Hoseok said, honestly not knowing what the fuck he was saying, but somehow it made sense. "This woman was a trap and you knew it so you - you chewed off your own foot to be free of it.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Yoongi muttered, crossing away from Hoseok in the general direction of the living room.
“Answer me this Yoongi, would you really want to be be with someone who would leave you for something so stupid as losing a hand?”
Yoongi whirled around, cheeks red and nostrils flaring, and for a brief moment Hoseok worried that he had gone to far. That Yoongi was going to either beat the shit out of him or murder him and bake him into whatever bread filling he used for his bakery.
“Seokjin…” Yoongi huffed and then took in a shaky breath. “He bumped me and I lost my hand. He could bump you and you could lose your whole head.”
“Oh stop," Hoseok snapped. "I'm going to be happily married."
“Yeah,” Yoongi said, nearly shouted. “A happily married groom without a head!”
“A wolf without a foot!”
They stared at each other, chests heaving. Hoseok didn’t know whether he should politely excuse himself or wait for whatever Yoongi was going to dish out next. His skin felt electric again, that buzzing adrenaline feeling almost making him miss the red rimming around Yoongi’s eyes. Finally Yoongi laughed, a breathless, heartbroken chuckle.
“How the fuck did Seokjin get you?” he murmured, and Hoseok exhaled the breath he’d been holding.
“People change,” he said with a shrug.
“No,” Yoongi said, eyes suddenly clear. “They really don’t.”
Hoseok stood outside the front door leading up to Yoongi’s apartment, frozen fingers hovering over the buzzer like they had been for the past ten minutes. After their argument the day before Hoseok had left feeling strangely empty. He ignored Seokjin’s attempt at a skype call and spent the majority of the night in bed wondering what it was about Min Yoongi that had stirred him up so much. After not sleeping much at all Hoseok decided that he had been too harsh - that had definitely been it - and he needed to do something to make it up to the grumpy baker.
Which is how he found himself outside of Yoongi’s apartment with rapidly cooling kimchi pancakes and two mason jars of hot (well, probably lukewarm) coffee. Except now that he was here he wondered if it was a good idea at all. Yoongi didn’t exactly seem keen on seeing him the first time, was probably less likely to want to see him at ten in the morning on a Saturday. But fuck, Hoseok’s fingers were freezing and he’d been standing outside like a crazy stalker for the better part of now fifteen minutes, and he was a grown ass man goddamnit.
Hoseok pressed the buzzer and held his breath. Nothing. Which was odd - the boy working the front counter said that it was Yoongi’s day off and he almost always stayed home. Hoseok pressed the buzzer again. And again. And was about to press it again when the door whipped open, making him jump and scream in a very un-manly way.
Min Yoongi stood in front of him with his hair a tangled mess and eyes scrunched again the bright light of the winter morning. His oversized white shirt slipped over his shoulder revealing sharp collar bones and covered his boxers to the point where only a small stripe of blue was visible before long milky thighs went on for days.
“The fuck?” Yoongi snapped, his voice gruff from sleep, and Hoseok felt warmth bloom in his gut.
“H-hi,” he stammered out. “Look, I wanted to apologize -“
“I was sleeping,” Yoongi cut him off, and Hoseok resisted the urge to chuckle at the way Yoongi tried to make himself look big and imposing despite shivering and looking for all intents and purposes like a kitten drowning in a blanket.
“Yeah,” Hoseok said, amusement lacing his words. “I can tell.” Yoongi scowled but didn’t say anything so Hoseok kept going. “I left things on kind of bad note yesterday -“
“You left things just fine.”
Hoseok gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you have to make everything difficult?”
Yoongi shrugged with a small smirk. “No. You’re just cute when you’re flustered.”
Hoseok felt warmth erupt on his cheeks, a tingling burn that went all the way down to his chest. He felt like he was thirteen again, having his first crush; twenty-six and kissing in front of strangers after he signed his wedding documents. It hit him then that Yoongi was fucking with him. Or flirting with him. But probably fucking with him.
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Um. Well, I brought you breakfast. And coffee.”
Yoongi crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Thanks.”
“So can I come in?”
“Do I get the coffee if I don’t let you in?”
Hoseok rolled his eyes. “No. It’s a package deal.”
Yoongi laughed at that, a loud ‘hah’ that took Hoseok by surprise. “Then yeah. Sure. Come on up.” Hoseok followed Yoongi inside the dark entryway and up the narrow flight of stairs, surprised to see that Yoongi was barefoot - who the fuck only wore a sleep shirt and boxers in the middle of winter?
“I’m not putting pants on for you,” Yoongi said as he held the door open, and Hoseok felt his cheeks burn hotter. He blamed it on the immense warmth of Yoongi’s apartment.
“That’s fine.” Hoseok placed his large paper bag onto the small table and began pulling out Tupperware containers and jars filled with his mother’s cooking, as well as two mason jars filled with coffee. “I brought kimchi pancakes. And banchan. And coffee, obviously.”
Yoongi took a mason jar, unscrewed the lid, and took a large gulp of the black coffee. He raised his eyebrows and gave a small nod. “Not bad,” he said, the gruffness from sleep starting to fade into his normal rasp. “Seriously, what is it with you and feeding me?”
Hoseok shrugged and uncapped all of the lids, the containers taking up almost all the space on the table. “Because your kitchen is pathetically empty.”
Yoongi snorted and grabbed two small plates and two sets of chopsticks. “I’ve gotten on just fine for thirty years, Hoseok. I don’t need you to mother me.”
“I know you don’t need me to.” And with Yoongi so close Hoseok could smell the sharp spice of his aftershave or body wash, the deep, almost baby-like smell of Yoongi’s natural musk. Hoseok could see the residual smear of eyeliner against Yoongi’s long lashes, could see the faint lines on his cheek from where he must have been sleeping against his pillow. Yoongi was disarmingly cute - not effortlessly regal like Seokjin, but unsuspectingly soft. “I want to.”
Yoongi shrugged, but Hoseok didn’t miss the way his cheeks coloured - a light dusting of pink along his round cheeks. Hoseok placed the pancakes on each of their plates and they ate in silence for a moment - at least Hoseok ate. Yoongi picked at his food and drank his jar of coffee - then grabbed Hoseok’s jar. Hoseok felt surprisingly comfortable, Yoongi’s small hums after each sip filling him with an indescribable warmth.
“So, Min Yoongi,” Hoseok said with a small smile. “Why are you a Min?”
“It’s my mom’s name.”
“But I thought -“
“Seokjin and I are half brothers,” Yoongi said quietly. “We have the same dad. And our mother raised us but…she wasn’t my mother.”
“Oh,” Hoseok said dumbly, and Yoongi snorted.
“Chill out. It’s not that big of a deal. But that’s why we’re not close. I’m assuming that’s why he’s in Korea.”
“She’s dying,” Hoseok said.
“Bout fucking time,” Yoongi muttered around his mug, then grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. That was crude. How about you?”
Hoseok blinked at the sudden change of subject, some of his pickled radish slipping out of his chopsticks and back onto his plate. “What about me what?”
“Who are you? Who’s your family? What do you do?”
“Oh, um, I’m Jung Hoseok. Parents are still married - I live with them. I have an older sister, Dawon. She’s married and about to pop out a kid.” Yoongi whistled appreciatively and Hoseok glared at his still full plate. “Also, will you please eat? I slaved over preparing this for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” Yoongi said with a small smirk, and Hoseok kicked him under the table.
“It’s unhealthy to skip breakfast. So eat.”
“Jesus,” Yoongi muttered, taking a small bite of his pancake. “Are you always this violent? And this is delicious.”
“No, just with you. And thanks.”
Yoongi wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Just with me, huh?”
“Oh my god shut up,” Hoseok laughed, his face colouring. He hated how easily he blushed - it always made him an easy target for teasing. “Anyway, I teach. High school English. And I teach ballet to five year olds at the Y.”
Yoongi’s brows furrowed. “Then how the fuck did you come to see me yesterday? Wasn’t that during school hours?”
“Winter break,” Hoseok said with a small smile, and Yoongi opened his mouth in an exaggerated ‘ah’ of understanding. “So, about you. I see you like music.”
Yoongi nodded, resting his chopsticks on his still half-full plate. “You could say that.”
Hoseok groaned. “Why are you so complicated? I’m trying to get to know you.”
“Why are you doing this?” Yoongi asked instead, and Hoseok blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t have to make this much of an effort, Hoseok.” Yoongi’s voice was soft and his eyes were wide, and it hit Hoseok that despite his gruff exterior Yoongi was actually very expressive - was unusually vulnerable. “You can tell Seokjin you tried.”
“I -“ Hoseok’s words got caught in his throat because Yoongi had a point. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to be in Yoongi’s apartment. He wanted to get to know this grumpy cat of a man. He wanted to know…how soft his skin actually was. He wanted to…
“I find you interesting.”
Yoongi’s eyes sharpened and he tilted his head to the side, like an animal listening for sounds of an approaching predator. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Hoseok said, and his spit felt thick in his mouth and his tongue felt heavy and his breathing was coming too fast. “And -“
“And what?” Yoongi whispered, and were they closer? Hoseok couldn’t tell.
“And intriguing.” They were definitely closer; Hoseok could see where Yoongi’s irises started melding into his pupils.
“Are we only picking i-descriptors?” Yoongi murmured, and his breath felt warm on Hoseok’s skin.
“And maybe, kind of -“ But Hoseok didn’t get to finish because his lips brushed Yoongi’s and his breath got caught in his throat and Yoongi’s lips were soft and full despite being a bit chapped, and his neck was craned at an awkward angle but Yoongi’s lips moved against his and he tasted like coffee and food and Hoseok didn’t care.
Yoongi pulled away first, Hoseok belatedly realizing that he was supporting himself leaning over the table with his normal hand and his forearm carefully placed around the many containers. Hoseok blinked at him, heart beating loudly in his chest, almost stopping when Yoongi pulled away completely and stood. Except then he was in front of Hoseok and he was being pulled up with a vice-like grip on his forearm and Yoongi’s lips were on his again and he probably shouldn’t be doing this but Yoongi’s tongue was hot and slick against his own and Yoongi’s hand was large and solid against his low back and Hoseok didn’t want to stop.
Hoseok allowed himself to be pushed backwards while Yoongi’s tongue shoved down his throat, groaning when his shoulder rammed into the corner frame of the doorway to the bedroom.
“Fuck,” Yoongi muttered against his mouth. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Hoseok gasped, arms wrapping around Yoongi’s neck and reattaching their lips. Kissing Yoongi was intoxicating, the way Yoongi’s tongue slid along his with a practiced ease, the way Yoongi bit at his lips, the way Yoongi moaned when Hoseok sucked hard on his tongue. Small fingers pinched the skin around his ribs and Hoseok yelped, Yoongi chuckling and pushing until Hoseok found himself laying face up on a squishy memory-foam mattress. Yoongi crawled over him, straddled his waist and leaned his weight on his good hand beside Hoseok’s head.
“You’re really fuckin’ cute,” Yoongi whispered, and Hoseok ran his hands down Yoongi’s back until he cupped the surprisingly round globes of his ass.
“I could say the same for you,” Hoseok murmured back. Yoongi kissed along his jaw, nipping none too gently at the space between Hoseok’s ear and his neck.
“Not cute,” Yoongi panted, and Hoseok groaned as Yoongi licked a wet trail down his neck before latching onto his collarbone. He smacked Yoongi’s ass and gripped the flesh hard, Yoongi’s high-pitched whines making his pants tight to the point of being uncomfortable.
“You are cute,” Hoseok panted as Yoongi sucked unforgivingly at his collarbone. “So fuckin’ cute, oh my god.” Hoseok’s words garbled in his throat when Yoongi ground down, their hips rutting together and creating a friction that bordered the other side of painful. It had been a while since Hoseok had rutted against someone in his jeans like he was a teenager. He trailed his fingers down Yoongi’s thighs until he could slip his hands under the fabric of his boxers and grip the actual flesh of his ass. He pressed Yoongi’s hips forward again and Yoongi detached his mouth from Hoseok’s skin with a loud pop.
Yoongi’s eyes were hooded and dark, his lips slick and wet, his cheeks rosy pink, and Hoseok felt a warm tightening in his gut that he definitely hadn’t felt since high school. He pressed his head forward and ran his teeth over Yoongi’s bottom lip, drinking in the older man’s low moan. He flexed his fingers against Yoongi’s ass, fingers massaging closer and closer to his crack until Hoseok could grip his cheeks and spread them apart. Yoongi pulled away from him at that point, his good hand coming up and gripping Hoseok’s right forearm while his prosthetic hand rested lightly against Hoseok’s chest. All Hoseok could hear was the ragged sound of their breathing, all he could feel was Yoongi’s soft grinding against his erection and his heart pounding in his chest, and all he could see was Yoongi’s red swollen mouth and messy hair and expanse of milky skin.
“Hoseok,” Yoongi whispered, grinding down hard. Hoseok gripped his cheeks so hard that he was sure he left crescent shape indents. “Let me suck you.”
Hoseok’s brain short-circuited, the request not something he had been expecting. Truthfully the entire morning hadn’t been something he’d been expecting, but with Yoongi on top of him, his erection poking slightly out of the slit in his boxers so that Hoseok could see a bead of wet against Yoongi’s white shirt, all he could think about was Yoongi’s rosy lips wrapped around his dick.
“Yeah,” Hoseok whispered raggedly. He removed his hands from Yoongi’s ass and instead ran them gently up his back. “Yeah, sure.”
Yoongi snorted before leaning down again and capturing Hoseok’s lips in between his own, all messy with spit and teeth and too much tongue. It set Hoseok’s skin on fire, made him buck up even though Yoongi had adjusted himself so that he now hovered over Hoseok’s crotch instead of sitting directly on top of him. Yoongi kissed down his neck, wet sloppy kisses that were more erotic than they had any right being, and Hoseok arched his head back against the mattress and just let himself feel.
He let himself feel the way Yoongi ran calloused fingers under his shirt, palm large and warm against his already hot skin. He whimpered when Yoongi rubbed his fingertip over his nipples, first one and then the other, not even pinching them - just circling with an irritating friction that made Hoseok’s breathing get heavier and his dick twitch in his jeans. He gave himself over to the sensation of Yoongi kissing down his abdomen, the way Yoongi let his tongue dip in between the slight divots between Hoseok’s abs.
“Fuck,” Yoongi whispered, and Hoseok chuckled against the ticklish sensation of warm breath hitting his stomach. “You’re fucking ripped.”
“Not really,” Hoseok said, swallowing a groan when Yoongi bit down hard against the flesh between Hoseok’s hip and abdomen, sucking hard enough to hurt. “I dance.”
“Ballet with five year olds makes you look like that?” Yoongi asked incredulously when he finally released Hoseok’s skin, and Hoseok gave a breathless laugh.
“Please don’t talk about my students when you’re this close to my dick.”
Yoongi smirked and leaned forward enough to press a kiss to the center of Hoseok’s chest. “How about here,” he murmured with a sarcastic tone that Hoseok had somehow already gotten used to.
“Never,” Hoseok amended, running a hand through Yoongi’s dark hair and tugging hard. Yoongi hissed, but nudged Hoseok’s hand when he loosened his grip. “You’re a little shit, Yoongi.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi panted, nuzzling against Hoseok’s hand when he finally released Yoongi’s hair and let his hand trail down to cup his cheek. “I know.”
It was sweet, unsuspectingly so. Not that Hoseok had anticipated coming to Yoongi’s apartment and getting his dick sucked, but he especially hadn’t anticipated this stutter of fondness in his chest when Yoongi’s lips quirked up into a half smile. Or when that smile grew into a full blown gummy grin when Yoongi slipped off the bed and casually undid the button and zipper of Hoseok’s jeans.
“You’re a dancer,” Yoongi whined as he attempted to pull Hoseok’s jeans off with both hands - his prosthetic acting more as a stabilizer than an actual aid to pulling. “Why don’t you live in sweats?”
Hoseok laughed loudly, gently maneuvered himself into a standing position and captured Yoongi’s pouting lips in a soft kiss while he wiggled out of his jeans.
“Better?” He asked against Yoongi’s mouth, wrapping his his arms around the smaller man’s waist. Yoongi hummed as he gently traced Hoseok’s lips with his tongue, hands running down Hoseok’s low back and one gripping firmly at his boxer-clad ass. Hoseok resisted jumping at the sensation of cool plastic on his skin, but Yoongi pulled his hands away anyway.
“Sorry,”he murmured, eyes wide and mouth set in a frown. “I know it’s weird.”
Hoseok felt a deep ache in his chest, an animalistic desire to scoop Yoongi up and nuzzle him with kisses, to protect him from the cruelties of the world. He nudged Yoongi’s nose with his own and offered a small smile.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I don’t mind.”
Yoongi’s eyes flashed and the next thing Hoseok knew he was again laying on the bed, legs dangling off the side. Fingers hooked under the elastic of his boxers and they were off his body before he even got the chance to lift his hips to help. His cheeks colored as he lay there, dressed in nothing but his tee and flannel over shirt while Yoongi stared down at his dick, flushed red and already wet.
“Fuck,” Yoongi groaned, and then he was on his knees, teeth sunken into the meaty flesh of Hoseok’s thigh. Hoseok yelped and bucked up, the sight of Yoongi’s mouth so close to his dick doing unspeakable things to his brain, wondering what Yoongi could do to him. And then it hit him -
“Wait,” Hoseok panted, propping himself up onto his elbows. “Weren’t you…your fiancé was a woman.”
Yoongi detached himself from Hoseok’s thigh with a disbelieving look. “Are you fuckin’ serious? You’re asking about my sexuality now?”
“Well…” Hoseok shrugged as well as he could with his shoulders already up to his ears, and Yoongi snorted.
“To be fair, it’s been a while since I’ve had a dick in my mouth,” Yoongi growled lowly, and Hoseok watched in frozen fascination as Yoongi licked a fat stripe from the base of his dick all the way to the tip. Yoongi smirked and rested his lips right where his dick connected to his balls, and Hoseok could swear he could feel the slight pressure on the prominent vein. “But it’s been a while since I’ve fucked anyone.”
“Y-yeah?” Hoseok said, trying his best to sound less breathless than he felt. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a mouth round my dick so -“
Yoongi raised his eyebrows, and Hoseok didn’t know why he said it, or why he kept going. There was something about Yoongi that made Hoseok talk, that made Hoseok want to talk.
“I’ve never been in a relationship with someone who was into oral.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows shot even higher up his forehead, and Hoseok would have laughed if it wasn’t for the look of pure horror on Yoongi’s face.
“You’re fucking kidding.”
Hoseok shook his head, resisting the urge to buck up against Yoongi’s mouth. The constant warm breath on his dick combined with the promise of a blowjob was almost driving him crazy. “No. I got a blow job once at a party in undergrad.”
“Holy fuck,” Yoongi murmured, and then his face morphed into an expression of determination that was almost endearing. “I’m going to give you the best blowjob of your life.”
“Well,” Hoseok laughed shortly, “that’s not hard.” He squeaked when Yoongi pinched his thigh. Yoongi gripped the base of his cock and swirled his tongue around the crown, Hoseok groaning and letting his head fall back against the sensation.
“The best. fucking. blowjob.” Yoongi said, punctuating each word with a lick to the slit, and Hoseok had know doubt that Yoongi was serious. “Watch me.”
Hoseok watched as Yoongi ran the wide flat of his tongue along the tip of his cock, collecting the beaded pre-cum and igniting all sorts of fantasies of coming all over Yoongi’s face. Yoongi smirked as if he could read Hoseok’s mind before wrapping his lips gently around the head of his cock, his tongue still swirling and lapping, providing constant stimulation that was almost too much.
“Fuck Yoongi,” Hoseok whispered, too far gone to care about how reverent he sounded. Yoongi hummed and Hoseok squeezed his eyes shut. Yoongi immediately popped up, Hoseok’s eyes shooting open at the sensation of sudden cold and lack of touch.
“Watch me,” Yoongi growled, and Hoseok nodded dumbly as Yoongi sank back down, this time pressing until Hoseok was completely enveloped in wet heat. Hoseok whimpered as Yoongi swallowed around him, the pressure and movement from Yoongi’s tongue turning him on too, too much. Yoongi blinked up at him with wet eyes while he tightened his lips and lifted almost to the tip before sinking all the way back down. A groan punched straight from Hoseok’s chest, one hand immediately tangling in Yoongi’s hair.
Yoongi pulled back up, his one hand jerking the rest of Hoseok’s cock with surprising speed and finesse. All Hoseok could hear was the wet sounds of Yoongi jacking him off, the slurping noises of his spit as he sucked and swirled around his cock, his heavy breathing through his nose. Yoongi’s thumb pressed gently against the base of his dick, massaging the vein, and Hoseok fought the urge to let his head fall back. He tugged gently at Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi allowed himself to be pulled up until the tip of Hoseok’s dick rested lightly on Yoongi’s tongue, Yoongi’s mouth open and spit and cum dripping down his chin, down Hoseok’s dick, and Hoseok felt his balls tighten.
“Fuck you’re so pretty,” Hoseok gasped, not missing the way Yoongi rolled his eyes before he wrapped his lips around Hoseok again and sunk down, hand moving to instead cup Hoseok’s balls, which tightened even more. “Oh god Yoongi, I’m close.”
Yoongi hummed and sucked harder, cheeks hollowing and nose running as he bobbed. Hoseok’s fingers curled in Yoongi’s hair, maybe a bit too tightly, but the sensations didn’t stop, the wet and the heat and the pressure and Hoseok could feel his orgasm building, white hot and slightly terrifying.
“Yoongi, pull up,” he gasped out, then moaned low and loud when Yoongi instead sunk down until his nose brushed the small hairs at the base of Hoseok’s dick. He swallowed and Hoseok unconsciously bucked up as he came, his orgasm ripping through him and making him tremble and keen. Yoongi gagged around him but didn’t pull up, swallowing around Hoseok until he was done, until he was whimpering from the overwhelming sensation of Yoongi still sucking him off. Finally Yoongi pulled up, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Hoseok released Yoongi’s hair with an apologetic smile and Yoongi chuckled, his rasp even more prominent.
“Verdict?” He asked, and Hoseok laughed, covering his face with his hands.
“The judges give an eight point five,” he said, then laughed again at the sting of plastic meeting the bare skin of his stomach.
“Eight point five? Fuck you. That was at least a nine.”
Hoseok peeked from between his fingers to take in Yoongi’s scrunched nose and pouty lips, and his heart stuttered in his chest. “I could be persuaded,” he said before he could think of what he was actually saying, and Yoongi’s eyes narrowed.
“Could you?” he purred. Yoongi sat on the edge of the bed and fell back so that he lay beside Hoseok, erection standing proudly beneath the fabric of his white shirt. “You should let me fuck you.”
Hoseok choked on his spit, sat up to clear his throat while Yoongi laughed at him. “Ex-excuse me?”
Yoongi shifted so that he was laying on his side. “You should let me fuck you,” he repeated.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok said, but all arguments as to why it wasn’t a good idea faded as his dick twitched weakly. Fuckin traitor. “I haven’t had sex in a while,” he said instead. “I’m not prepared.”
Yoongi shrugged, both hands snaking between his legs so that he looked like a teenager trying to hide his hard on. “You act like I don’t have a shower,” he said. “And soap.”
Hoseok ran his hands through his hair, ashamed to feel familiar heat pooling in his gut. “Don’t you want to get off? I can suck you off.”
Yoongi chuckled. “I can get off in your ass,” he said seriously, and Hoseok snorted at his crudeness. “I mean if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”
“No,” Hoseok said, his answer catching him off guard. “I - I do want to.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi’s tone was something too erotic - a combination of hope and seduction that made Hoseok want to throw him down and plow him into the mattress.
“Yeah. Where’s your bathroom?”
Yoongi stood up so quickly it made Hoseok dizzy. “Right down the hall.” Yoongi nodded to the closed door and Hoseok stood as well, his legs still slightly wobbly. “You have to turn the knob all the way to hot, wait five seconds, move it to the middle, wait five seconds, and then put it to whatever warmth you want.”
“Noted,” Hoseok said with a laugh before locking himself into the small dingy yet clean bathroom. He adjusted the shower temperature as instructed before stepping in and washing himself with citrus body wash, even stealing some of Yoongi’s conditioner and washing his hair. His thoughts flicked to Yoongi as he cleaned himself up and began the process of stretching himself, of how Yoongi was softer than he presented himself, of how there was a silliness to Yoongi, a quirky fun side that Hoseok found endearing. And he was hot, if his rapidly inflating erection was anything to go by. God, he was fucking hot. Hoseok couldn’t remember the last time he chased two orgasms in one day.
By the time he stepped out his fingers were a little wrinkled, but he was fully hard and satisfactorily stretched. He stepped into the slightly cooler air of the bedroom and nearly choked on his spit at the sight of Yoongi naked on his bed, prosthetic hand resting lightly on his hip while his other idly stroked himself. Yoongi wasn’t huge, but he did have length and girth that made Hoseok’s mouth water. He also noticed that Yoongi had long fingers, bony fingers, and a broad veiny hand.
“So that’s why you were taking so long,” Yoongi murmured, his breath stuttering as his palm brushed over the shiny tip of his cock.
“You wanna fuck me with a soft dick?” Hoseok snapped, crawling onto the bed and settling in between Yoongi’s legs. Yoongi snorted and sat up, nudged his nose against Hoseok’s.
“I would have made you hard again,” he whispered, and Hoseok kissed him, a quick brush that quickly deepened into a languid slide of tongues and sighs.
“Well I helped you out,” Hoseok whispered when he finally pulled away, and Yoongi nipped at his bottom lip before maneuvering himself into a kneeling position.
“And I thank you,” he said. “Now get on your knees.”
Hoseok snorted but complied, rested his upper body on his forearms and stuck his ass up in the air with a small wiggle. Yoongi groaned behind him and Hoseok smiled triumphantly into the mattress, thankful that his face was hidden when Yoongi shoved two slicked fingers into him without any preamble.
“The fuck,” Hoseok moaned into the sheets. “You always just go for it like that?”
“I figured you stretched yourself in the shower,” Yoongi said with a small laugh, his fingers spreading in Hoseok’s ass and making him groan. “And I was right.”
Hoseok choked on his comeback when Yoongi pressed another finger inside of him, the slight burn bordering on the other side of painful. Despite his forceful start Yoongi was careful with him, methodical. He curled his fingers at the exact right time to brush against Hoseok’s prostate, to make sparks shoot up Hoseok’s gut and pull embarrassing noises from deep within his chest. Soon all Hoseok could hear was his own heavy breathing and the squelching sound of Yoongi finger fucking him with an obscene amount of lube - so much that Hoseok could feel it drip down his balls.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok groaned as Yoongi’s fingers brushed against his prostate in a constant massage that felt great but wasn’t what he wanted. “C’mon. I thought you were gonna fuck me.”
“Impatient,” Yoongi said, but Hoseok could hear the strain in his voice, knew that Yoongi was past the point of edging himself. He rocked back into Yoongi’s fingers and released a long drawn out moan. “Fuck,” Yoongi hissed, and Hoseok whined when the fingers were pulled out of him.
The first press of Yoongi against his rim was uncomfortable - a stinging burn flashed all the way up his spine and Hoseok had to let his head fall into the mattress while he tried to catch is breath.
“Fuck,” Yoongi said again once he was completely sheathed, and Hoseok huffed out a small chuckle of agreement while he throbbed and clenched around Yoongi. “Oh fuck Hoseok you’re so tight.”
“T-thanks,” Hoseok stuttered out before he pressed himself up and wiggled his hips. “Now fuck me.”
He felt fingers tighten against his right hip and a light touch of plastic against his left before he felt Yoongi pull out and slam back in. Yoongi didn’t fuck hard necessarily, but he fucked deep, pulling out slowly to the tip before slamming back in with a swift thrust, hitting Hoseok’s prostate with scary precision. Hoseok met his thrusts as best as he could while gasping and moaning, pleasure flooding his body and making him feel like a live wire.
“Oh, Seok,” Yoongi groaned, and Hoseok keened when Yoongi adjusted his thrusts into quick, shallow, staccato bursts. “Fuck baby you feel so good.”
“Yoongi.” Hoseok reached between his legs to lightly grip himself, tugging randomly to relieve some of the building pressure in his cock. “Fuck, fill me up. Don’t stop, please.”
Hoseok heard a groaned out ‘sweet christ’ before a firm broad hand pressed against his chest and pulled him back until he was pretty much sitting in Yoongi’s lap. He moaned as Yoongi began trusting again, the angle much deeper and putting constant pressure on his prostate. He leaned his head back against Yoongi’s shoulder and tried to grind down in time to Yoongi’s lazy thrusts - most of the time getting too caught up in the feeling of Yoongi inside of him to do anything but pant and groan and take it.
“Grab the headboard,” Yoongi whispered wetly in his ear, and Hoseok flopped forward until his fingers wrapped around the dark wood of the headboard. Yoongi gripped his hips hard and pounded into him ruthlessly, thrusts hard and quick and irregular. Hoseok cried out at the rough pressure against his prostate, his voice punched out of him on each thrust, high pitched ‘ah ah’s’ that he would never want to hear played back to him - the sound too reedy and desperate.
“You’re perfect,” he thought he heard Yoongi say over the creak of the bed and the wet sound of their skin slapping together. “Oh god, you’re perfect.”
“Yoongi,” Hoseok whined out. “Oh my god, please come. Fuckin’ come.”
Yoongi gave a breathless chuckle before he thrusted impossibly faster. “Touch yourself Seok,” he panted out, and Hoseok obediently gripped himself and began jerking hard and fast. “I wanna feel you come. Wanna feel your tight ass clench around me.”
Hoseok moaned, a hot coil tightening deep in his gut as Yoongi kept groaning out expletives against his skin. What the fuck what was wrong with him, getting off on cheap dirty talk like he was a horny teenager? But the more Yoongi talked to him, the more he whispered about how Hoseok’s ass was so tight, how good Hoseok felt around his cock, how Hoseok’s ass ate him up and Yoongi couldn’t wait to see it suck him in when he came, Hoseok got more turned on, wound tighter and tighter until the dam broke and he shouted and clenched and scrabbled at the wall as his body shook and trembled.
“Oh my god,” Yoongi groaned, and he thrust a few more times before he pressed into Hoseok so hard his chest slammed against the headboard. Hoseok rested his sweaty forehead against the wall, dimly aware of Yoongi pressing open mouthed kisses against his spine. The throbbing against sternum came first, followed closely by the uncomfortable sensation of his skin getting clammy from drying sweat.
“I’m gonna have a bruise from that,” Hoseok croaked, pressing himself away from the headboard and wincing when he felt the wet slide of Yoongi pulling out.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi murmured before pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. Hoseok allowed himself to fall backwards into the bed while Yoongi left to the bathroom to dispose of the condom Hoseok had missed him grabbing in his haste to get fucked. Yoongi returned with a warm wash cloth, and Hoseok couldn’t help his dopey grin as Yoongi wiped him down, tip of his tongue out in concentration and sweat-damp hair sticking up at all angles.
“Why are you looking at me like that,” Yoongi said when he was done, tossing the washcloth on the floor and crawling beside Hoseok.
“You’re cute,” Hoseok said, and Yoongi snorted.
“Yeah, whatever.” But Hoseok didn’t miss Yoongi’s shy smile or the way his cheeks darkened before he pulled the heavy fleece comforter over them.
Hoseok lost track of time. He woke up to Yoongi biting hickeys along his collarbones and the next thing he knew he was on top of Yoongi getting his dick sucked while he teased the head of Yoongi’s cock until the man finally came with an adorable whimper. The next time he woke Yoongi rode him, Hoseok watching in rapt fascination the way Yoongi’s eyelids fluttered in pleasure whenever he lowered himself onto Hoseok’s cock, the way his mouth hung open as he panted and whined, the way his skin glowed under the orange of the sunset.
He woke up again to bright light, the full moon almost looking like it was right outside of the window. He sighed against the feeling of Yoongi’s fingers moving gently inside of him, spread his legs wider to allow Yoongi in a little deeper.
“He wakes,” Yoongi murmured against the bare skin of his shoulder, and Hoseok hummed.
“You’re insatiable,” Hoseok groaned as Yoongi’s finger curled against his prostate - something he’d gotten incredibly good at doing. “I’ve already come four times, Jesus.”
“Then let’s make it five.” Yoongi rolled Hoseok onto his back and Hoseok sighed as Yoongi slid inside of him, the deep ache from his abused hole quickly over shadowed by the fluid roll of Yoongi’s hips and the tender way he kissed Hoseok, like he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.
Hoseok wrapped his legs around Yoongi’s waist and moaned tightly as Yoongi pressed deeper and stayed there, simply rolled his hips and massaging Hoseok’s sensitive nerves in a way that was almost overwhelming.
Hoseok’s eyes snapped open when he realized Yoongi had paused, and he stared into wide caramel-flecked orbs.
“What?” he whispered, and Yoongi smiled softly.
“It’s gonna sound cheesy, but right now, in the moonlight, you look like a fuckin’ angel.”
Hoseok snorted, then moaned when Yoongi shifted his hips again. “You’re right,” he gasped out against Yoongi’s mouth. “That was cheesy.”
Yoongi hummed and licked into his mouth, cutting off Hoseok’s next sentence - that under the bright moon Yoongi looked angelic too, looked like the most beautiful person in the world. Hoseok came with a whimper that was swallowed by Yoongi’s mouth, and when Yoongi pulled out to come over his thighs and then proceeded to lick up his mess, Hoseok couldn’t think of anywhere in the world he’d rather be than with Min Yoongi - alone save for the impossible moon outside the window.