Lip Service

It’s kind of adorable, really, how shy Yoongi suddenly gets sometimes.

Cheeks faintly flushed, fingers twisting at a frayed thread on his jeans, breath coming a little quicker than usual. Not that Namjoon would ever admit to having paid enough attention to know how fast Yoongi normally breathes. That would be lame.

They've been talking for hours—ensconced in Yoongi’s studio, lights on low, a chill out playlist and whirring of the air conditioning in the background—it's long past the time they should’ve headed back to the dorm. Jimin will probably chew them out in the morning for not getting enough sleep. Their conversation had meandered from topic to topic: music, politics, work, fans, love, lust. It’s that last topic that brings Namjoon a surprise.

“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” Yoongi says quietly, eyes fixed somewhere past Namjoon’s shoulder. “Let alone, y’know, Fucked.”

Namjoon blinks. “Wait, so your lyrics are—?”

“Total bullshit,” Yoongi says, huffing a dry laugh. “I almost kissed someone once, before I auditioned. But it didn’t feel right. He was a dick. And since then... Well, trying out kissing doesn’t seem worth the risk of getting outed.”

He scrubs a hand over his slightly flushed face as if to try and wipe away the tint of colour on his cheeks. Namjoon just watches him, feeling a complicated kind of ache. He’s grateful he got some experience in before BigHit. It probably made it easier to keep exploring after. He can’t imagine what it’s like—having to choose between everything you’ve worked for or risking it all for a measly kiss with some dude who probably only wants you for your fame.

Namjoon leans back on the little couch tucked into the corner of Yoongi’s studio, palms braced behind him, gazing up at the ceiling. They’re both sitting sideways, one leg curled up on the seat, the other grounded.

“I mean,” he begins, tentative, “I could give you the contact info for a guy or two I’ve been with, if you want to—”

He’s cut off by the grimace on Yoongi’s face, wrinkling his nose.

“No offence, I’m sure they’re great. But I feel kinda weird knowing you’ve been with them first,” Yoongi tells him, and Namjoon quirks a brow, stung despite himself. But Yoongi’s already scrambling to clarify.

“Not because it’s you specifically! Just—ugh, I don’t know, it’d feel like... leftovers?”

Namjoon chuckles, the annoyance dissolving as quickly as it came. “I get it. I wouldn’t want Seokjin-Hyung’s seconds either, as good-looking as he is.”

“Does Hyung even have seconds? I swear, he’s so tight-lipped about this kind of thing, maybe he’s faking it too,” Yoongi jokes, shaking his head.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Namjoon glances over, cautious but sincere. “Feel free to say no, but... what about me?”

“What do you mean, ‘what about you’?” Yoongi frowns.

“What about experimenting with me? I mean. I’m gay, you’re gay, you’re hot, I’m passable—”

“What the fuck, Namjoon.” Yoongi sits up straighter, eyes wide. “Okay, firstly, you’re more than passable. Shut the fuck up with that. And second—second—you can’t just offer to make out with me!”

Namjoon blinks, caught off guard. Not by the rejection—he knew that was possible—but by the way Yoongi said ‘more than passable’ like it isn’t even a question. Like it’s a fact.

Something inside him unknots just slightly. Because maybe he says things like that—I’m passable, I know I’m not much, you’re hot, I’m not—as armour. As a preemptive shrug. A way to soften the blow if someone else says it first.

Yoongi didn’t hesitate. Didn’t play along with the self-deprecation. He just shut it down. It really shouldn’t surprise Namjoon any more that others find him attractive. He’s seen enough memes online from ARMY—seen the thirst edits and hungry tweets. Still, it’s a balm that soothes an old ache inside him whenever one of the other members makes such a comment, even if he’s bad at taking compliments.

“Shit. Okay. Well. That’s—thanks.” Namjoon laughs, surprised and slightly breathless. He’s grinning now, trying to keep it casual, but the back of his neck feels warm.

“You're not gonna make this weird, are you?” Yoongi asks, still watching him, a little wary.

“Only a little. I mean, we were already talking about making out.” Namjoon shrugs, trying to play it off.

“Ugh. No we weren’t. I was saying we shouldn’t make out,” Yoongi huffs.

“Why not? It’d help you out.”

Yoongi looks at him like he’s trying to figure out if he’s joking—or just bold enough not to be.

“And what do you get out of it?” Yoongi asks, as though he’s actually considering it now.

“I get to kiss a cute guy. And I think you’d be good at it,” Namjoon continues, voice softer now. “I mean, the way you rap. You already know how to use your mouth. But if you ever want to practice... I’d be happy to lend a kiss. For five.”

“Only five?” Yoongi asks, voice strained and a little higher as he tries to ignore being called cute in a not-so-platonic context by one of his closest friends.

Namjoon shrugs, his smile lazy and warm. “Five, five hundred... however many you like, Hyung.”

That pulls a laugh from Yoongi, low and a little shaky, like he’s trying not to let it mean too much. He stares down at his lap for a moment, fingers twitching with unspoken thoughts. When he looks back up, his expression is more serious.

“You’re not fucking with me, right?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

Yoongi nods slowly, like he’s still trying to believe it’s okay to say yes. He’s buzzing, like he’s had ten cups of coffee. But it’s from nerves not caffeine, from wanting this too much but not knowing how to admit it.

Namjoon can tell. Yoongi is like that.

It’s kind of funny, in a warm, affectionate way—watching Yoongi vibrate like a live wire over a kiss. Not even the idea of sex, just a kiss. But Namjoon gets it. Yoongi’s never done this before. Has barely let himself think about doing this before. And still, he’s here, looking at Namjoon like he wants it to be good—not just for himself, but for both of them.

Yoongi isn’t some delicate, blushing innocent. He’s sharp and stubborn and grounded. He’s just... anxious. And self-aware enough to know he doesn’t want to mess this up. Doesn’t want to do it wrong. Doesn’t want Namjoon to kiss him and regret it.

Namjoon sees it—sees Yoongi—and takes his time.

He leans in slowly, giving Yoongi every chance to back out—but Yoongi doesn’t move. Just watches him with wide, uncertain eyes, as if memorizing the moment. When their lips meet, it’s barely anything—just a soft press, then another, and another. Little touches. Reassurance, not hunger.

Yoongi is tense, shoulders stiff, hands clenched in his lap. Namjoon lifts one gently, lacing their fingers together, rubbing slow circles over Yoongi’s knuckles with his thumb. It works. Yoongi softens.

Namjoon presses another kiss to his mouth—longer this time, a little deeper. Yoongi makes a faint noise, surprise and want tangled up in a breath. He’s inexperienced, that much is obvious, but the way he follows Namjoon’s lead, the way he leans in like he’s trusting him with something fragile—it sends a pulse of heat through Namjoon.

And, okay. Maybe the whole nervous first-time thing is... kind of doing it for him. Just a little.

More than just a little. He can feel his boxers starting to feel a little too tight. Namjoon chooses not to examine that too closely.

Shit, he’s getting hard already.

Yoongi is clearly trying so hard to be polite, not to look, but Namjoon can see his eyes flicking down. Again. And again. It’s endlessly endearing.

Namjoon shifts a little, trying not to make a big deal out of it, but still looking sheepish. “Sorry. Don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says, licking his lips. “It’s uh… nice to know you—that you’re into it.”

“Do you want to touch me, Hyung?” Namjoon asks softly against his lips, thumb brushing Yoongi’s cheek.

Yoongi jerks back sharply and looks at him, startled.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Namjoon adds quickly. “But you're welcome to touch and like... explore. If you want. No pressure.”

Yoongi untangles their fingers, hesitating just a second before reaching out. His lower lip is caught between his teeth—and shit, that’s hot. Namjoon needs to try those sweet lips a nibble next time they kiss—his expression one of determined curiosity. He trails his fingers lightly over the outline of Namjoon’s cock through his jeans, barely touching. Then he jerks his hand back like he’s been burned.

“Let’s keep kissing,” he says instead, and Namjoon sees it: the flush across Yoongi’s cheeks, the bulge starting to tent his own jeans. Despite the nerves, he's into this. Into him.

Namjoon is tall—broad and solid beneath Yoongi—and somehow, that seems to make Yoongi feel safer. Safe enough to lean forward, push Namjoon gently onto his back against the couch, and straddles his thighs. He just rests there, pressed close. Namjoon makes a surprised little sound but smiles into the kiss, arms curling around Yoongi’s chest, hands smoothing down his back.

This is nice. So nice. The warmth, the rhythm of their breaths—Yoongi feels good, his nerves melting away with each brush of lips and gentle press of hands.

Namjoon lifts a hand and cups the back of Yoongi’s head, pulling him in for another kiss. Yoongi sighs into it, eyelids fluttering as Namjoon’s fingers lightly trace the shell of his ear, mapping the piercings.

Yoongi’s hands start to wander as the kissing makes him bolder, stroking over Namjoon’s shoulders, his neck—which makes namjoon shiver and gasp with how sensitive the skin there is— then down, palms coming to rest over Namjoon’s chest, kneading experimentally.

Namjoon can’t help but be reminded of a cat. Yoongi seems to like his ears being stroked, likes kneading Namjoon’s chest, and fuck, he’s starting to make these sweet little noises in the back of his throat that risk driving namjoon wild.

Experimentally, Namjoon drags his teeth over Yoongi’s lower lip, getting a sharp intake of breath for his efforts. Heat pools in his gut. Yoongi is so responsive, and Namjoon aches to go further, to lay Yoongi out and kiss every inch of his body, suck his cock, rim him, leave him trembling with pleasure.

Namjoon swallows a growl of arousal and shifts to get more comfortable. The movement presses their hips together fully, an accidental jolt of friction that makes Yoongi’s breath catch. His fingers clutch at Namjoon’s tee. He rolls his hips again, carefully, testing.

The low groan that escapes Namjoon makes Yoongi shiver. He likes that sound. Likes knowing he caused it. Likes the feel of Namjoon—strong and hard beneath him.

“Is this okay?” Yoongi asks, because even if he knows Namjoon would stop him—even though Yoongi is the one who has never done this before—he still needs to check.

“More than okay,” Namjoon says, voice rough with restraint. “Anything you want, Hyung.”

Yoongi moans softly and lets his head fall to Namjoon’s shoulder, one hand swatting his chest lightly. “Don’t offer so much so easily. Dangerous.”

“Sorry, Hyung,” Namjoon chuckles, impossibly fond as he threads his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Yoongi’s neck, natural black in the lull between comebacks.

Yoongi surges up to kiss him again, mouths clashing briefly, teeth knocking. It’s awkward for a moment, but Namjoon adjusts the angle and kisses the discomfort away like it never happened.

It's dangerous because Yoongi is close to cumming, embarrassingly so, just from kissing and a little grinding and imagining all the things he could do with Namjoon. All his guilty, late night fantasies that he’s always tamped down—It wasn’t right to fantasize about your male bandmate.

He distracts himself by finally, carefully slipping his tongue into Namjoon’s mouth. Namjoon welcomes it eagerly, lips parting. One hand slides down to cup Yoongi’s ass, giving it a firm, deliberate squeeze. Yoongi exhales a shaky sigh into the kiss, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to map the shape of Namjoon’s mouth with his tongue—Lapping into it, exploring.

It’s weird. Wet. But then Namjoon’s tongue meets his, and it just works. It’s overwhelming in the best way. The friction of Yoongi’s boxers against his cock head as he ruts slowly down sends white-hot sparks up his spine.

Yoongi pants into Namjoon’s mouth, lost in it. Not quite great at it yet, but so eager it doesn't matter. Namjoon squeezes his ass again, pressing him down, and Yoongi lets out a helpless moan.

“Oh fuck... that’s so good. Namjoon-ah... what if I—” Yoongi cuts himself off—jaw clenching as if it’ll help fend off the waves of pleasure rolling through him—too embarrassed to finish.

“It’s okay, Hyung. It’s okay if you do. I might too,” Namjoon groans, his head tipping back against the arm of the couch. “Shit.”

Knowing Namjoon is just as close, just as wrecked, drives Yoongi that much closer to spilling his load. He should have noticed earlier—Namjoon’s cock is rock-hard, pressed tight against his hip—but now that he’s aware, it’s all he can feel.

Yoongi dips his head to hide his face against Namjoon’s neck, unable to stop himself leaving open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. An almost obscene lick, a gentle suck, a soft scrape of teeth. None of it is enough to leave a mark but all of it enough to drive Namjoon crazy. Namjoon lifts his head again, one hand cradling the back of Yoongi’s head, the other still gripping his ass.

“Hyung,” he gasps, voice hoarse, wrecked, desperate. He thrusts up against Yoongi, and then—

They’re kissing again. It’s messy now, hungry and rushed, their hips grinding together with short, frantic thrusts. Yoongi’s barely holding it together, biting back whines, losing himself in the sensation. He suddenly wishes there wasn't so much coarse fabric between them—wishes he hasn’t been dumb enough to go commando that day with how the zip is digging into the underside of his aching erection.

Idiot. But it’s so good.

Then Namjoon tenses beneath him with a strangled grunt, hips jerking in that unmistakable rhythm. He goes quiet, but Yoongi knows. Knows he just came. And god, it’s hot—knowing Namjoon, with all his experience, lost it first. Because of him.

Yoongi feels like he's been punched in the gut with arousal as he tips over the edge a few moments after Namjoon. His eyes squeeze shut as Namjoon licks into his mouth—slick and hot and insistent—a broken sound escaping Yoongi’s throat as he spills into his underwear. His hips rabbit against Namjoon for a moment in desperate bliss as he rides out his climax.

He collapses, boneless and brain full of nothing but static buzzing, face buried in the crook of Namjoon’s neck, the skin damp wish sweat and Yoongi’s panting breath. Namjoon rubs his back, soothing and slow. Yoongi doesn’t think as he licks at Namjoon’s throat, something base and animal in him enjoying the taste of sweat on his tongue.

Namjoon whines—actually whines— as Yoongi licks, shivering. But Yoongi is too cum-brained to fully comprehend just how sensitive Namjoon’s neck is, but he stops anyway, resting against him with a sigh.

“Damn,” Yoongi mutters eventually, eyes open but glazed, staring at the opposite wall.

“Yeah…” Namjoon breathes, sounding just as out of it, head tipped back as he tries to catch his breath. “Good, though.”

“So good. We should do that again. Just… less clothes,” Yoongi hums, surprisingly casual in the afterglow of cumming in his pants like a horny teen instead of the 24-year-old virgin he is.

“Yeah? That good?” Namjoon smiles, patting his ass. Yoongi jerks at the small-yet-too-much amount of friction that causes against his spent dick, hissing softly.

“Be nice to me, I’m fragile right after I’ve cum,” Yoongi groans, and can’t bite back the stupid grin when Namjoon snorts a laugh.

The room smells of sweat and sex, and Yoongi finds himself enjoying it—enjoying the scent of Namjoon clinging thick to every surface. It’ll almost be a shame to light his little scented candle and air it out.

"Can't believe I've waited so long to..." Yoongi trails off, still kind of embarrassed.

"I guess you just needed someone you trusted enough?" Namjoon suggests, lifting his head to press a gentle kiss to the crown of Yoongi's head.

Yoongi hums, absently rubbing a fold of Namjoon’s top between his fingers to feel the texture. "Yeah. Probably. You—uh, you made me feel safe. Thanks."

“Any time. I like you a lot, Hyung. You know that, right?” Namjoon murmurs, voice so, so fond, hand stroking gentle patterns on Yoongi’s spine.

“Yeah. I like you too. Like... in a horny but also mushy way.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Yeah, I got that.”

They eventually shift, both grimacing at the sticky mess they’ve made of themselves, but neither quite ready to move. They ignore it for now, instead Yoongi tucks himself between Namjoon and the back of the couch, pressed along his side.

At some point the playlist had stopped, the computer having gone to sleep without regular input. Namjoon watches a droplet of condensation drip down the outside of a bottle of water that had been half frozen when they’d started.

“We’re gonna regret not cleaning up when we wake up,” Namjoon mumbles, arm under Yoongi’s head like a pillow.

“Probably,” Yoongi agrees, already halfway asleep—warm and comfortable and satiated. “But I need my post-nut nap.”