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i. the flight

Yoongi doesn’t hate long flights. He has an impressive attention span and an even more impressive ability to sleep anywhere horizontal enough. In his carry-on is an extra pair of jeans, clean socks, a few changes of underwear, and a book Namjoon recommended, as well as enough Dramamine to subdue him through the entire flight and then some.

For Jimin and Taehyung’s college graduation, they’d decided to all fly to LA for a week, towing along the entire crew (all seven of them, even Jeongguk whose graduation is two years out yet). And Yoongi has no qualms with LA, and no qualms with the excuse to escape his studio for a week and get some sunlight.

He has one singular qualm - rather, a reservation - about the entire arrangement, and it’s all due to the unfortunate circumstances of his particular emotional constipation.

Naturally, Jimin and Hoseok are sharing a room in the two-bedroom suite they’d all chipped in to pay for (they’re married, after all, minus the actual wedding and rings) and Jeongguk was deferred to the couch because he’s a toddler and an asshole. Namjoon and Seokjin have their own room in the other suite (they’re actually married, rings and the whole shebang).

So, Jimin and Hoseok are sharing a room and Namjoon and Jin are sharing a room and Jeongguk has the couch and… Taehyung and Yoongi are sharing a room.

Which is fine. Taehyung usually listens well and he’s pretty quiet as long as he remembers to turn down the volume on his games and not monologue scenes from dramas at 3 AM when he can’t sleep (sometimes in his sleep) and he’s not too messy and he’s not bad to look at either, especially not when he’s changing and his broad shoulders and flat stomach pop out to say hello and when he sighs in his sleep, voice deep and rough, or when he forgets himself and clings onto Yoongi and his skin is soft over lean muscle, his eyelashes long and black…

It’s not, actually, fine. It was fine before Hoseok mentioned that each room has a double and Yoongi choked, because somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that hotel suite bedrooms are for adults who sleep together and not teenage boys who have to bunk separately because it’s gay (it’s gay anyway, Yoongi reasons, considering… well. They’re both men who date men).

Anyway. Yoongi. Taehyung. Sharing a bed.

Yoongi’s brain decides this moment, wriggling into his airplane seat and slinging his bag under his seat, is a good time to think about the particulars of Taehyung’s sleeping habits. How many times has he walked into Jimin’s apartment to find the pair napping on the couch, Taehyung wrapped around Jimin’s body like a particularly tan, humanoid octopus, breath ruffling Jimin’s hair?

Speak of the cephalopod and he shall appear. Taehyung plops down into the seat next to Yoongi, shaking out his hair and stretching. “You ready, hyung?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says as the engines rear and the plane jerks into motion. “S’pose so.”

The turbulence always bothers him, so Yoongi reaches into his bag and pops another anti-nausea pill in anticipation. He fleetingly wonders what counts as an OD of Dramamine, then subsequently remembers the time he flew to Hong Kong, retching the entire flight, and decides it’s worth it.

“Y’know, we’re lucky,” Taehyung says to him, fiddling with the AC vent above them.

“Why’s that?”

“There’s less turbulence closer to the wings. And we’re right in front of them,” Taehyung says, gesturing towards the window. Yoongi pushes open the blind only to find that through the thick glass he can see the silvery white wing stretching out behind them as the plane ascends.

“Hm. That’s good, then,” Yoongi says, wriggling back into his seat with his arms crossed over his stomach. Taehyung hums in response.

It’s probably a placebo but the anti-nausea pills he takes make him drowsy, so by the time they reach flying altitude, Yoongi’s head is nodding back into his neck pillow. Gazing out the window, he lets himself drift into thoughts of soft clouds and blue skies and flying.

 

When he comes to, he checks the screen on the seat in front of him for time. It’s only been forty-five minutes, but he’s already getting stiff and restless, legs cramped and neck aching. When he shifts, he notices a weight on his shoulder - Taehyung. Taehyung’s sleeping, his temple pressed into the fabric of Yoongi’s neck pillow.

Half of him wants to shrug Taehyung off. The other half, the nicer half, lets Taehyung rest soundly, hoping the nap will help with jet lag later. International Date Line and all that.

A handful of minutes later, once Yoongi has - very slowly and carefully so as not to disturb Taehyung - plugged his earbuds into his screen, a flight attendant comes by to offer him a drink.

“Just a Coke, please,” Yoongi requests.

“And for your boyfriend?”

“Uh,” Yoongi coughs. He’s sure his face glows red when he sputters, “Coke.”

And he absolutely does not ever mention it to Taehyung, not when he wakes up, not when they land in LA, not when they pick sides of the bed, and not when they head out to Disneyland.

 

ii. disney

"Nope," Hoseok singsongs, abruptly spinning in the opposite direction to flee only to be tugged back by a cheeky Jimin.

"Come on, babe," Jimin says. "I'll be right there with you. It'll be fun."

Thus was the opinion of all but Hoseok. Disneyland, The Disneyland, the destination of their entire trip, splayed out before them; Taehyung and Jeongguk were downright giddy, the latter of the two nearly vibrating out of his Timberlands with excitement despite their near lack of sleep. Namjoon desperately smoothed his hair under his newly-purchased Mickey Mouse ballcap, reflection squinting back at him through the black screen of his phone, and it seemed that he was more excited for the atmosphere, perhaps, than the rides. The same could be said about Seokjin, who had acquired his own map the second they walked through the door, snagging a pink pen with a springy Minnie Mouse figure on the back end from the first bag of what would be many, many bags of Namjoon's purchases and circling all the restaurants onsite.

"Churros," he hummed. "Churros and pretzels. Turkey legs. Funnel cakes. And what are those things? The things with the chili?"

"Chili cones. With queso."

"Ahh, yeah. Chili cones... cone-queso.” He ignores all six glares he receives. “Am I missing anything else, sweetie?"

"Macaroons?"

"How could I forget. Macaroons. Thanks, babe."

Yoongi watches all of this, a spike of energy coursing through his chest. As someone who usually falls on the apathetic side of the mood spectrum, roller coasters and travel were some of the few things that could get his adrenaline going.

That, and the proximity of Taehyung, who is currently clinging onto his arm and shouting, "Splash Mountain! Splash Mountain!"

Jeongguk joins in on the chant and Seokjin laughs in agreement. "Let's head that way. The water will cool us off, anyway."

Hoseok's face pales, even as Jimin slings an arm around his waist and ducks in to kiss his ear.

In line for the ride - a serpentine throng of sweaty, dehydrated and sunburnt individuals - Hoseok's forehead rests against Jimin's shoulder and Jimin strokes his back to soothe him.

"It's fun, babe," he cooes. "Like a boat ride."

"There's nothing fun about boat rides," Hoseok hisses through his teeth, and Seokjin laughs again.

At the boarding dock, Hoseok is positively trembling, but no one takes mercy on him as they cram into the seats. Jeongguk claims the front seat on his own, Namjoon and Jin settle for the second to last row, and Jimin and Hoseok take the row in front of them. This, of course, leaves Yoongi and Taehyung to slide into the still-wet seat of the second row together.

"If I get nervous," Taehyung mumbles, watching Yoongi with a sideways look, "can I hold your hand?"

"What."

But before Taehyung can answer, the ride jerks into motion and he and Jeongguk propel into screams much louder than the 10 KPH starting speed warrants. (Hoseok screams, too, but his scream is one of genuine fear. He's already curled into Jimin's side, and it's all Jimin can do to keep him from jumping out of the log and back onto the platform.)

With each small drop or turn, the three (Taehyung, Jeongguk, Hoseok) whimper or yell in varying volumes, and by halfway through, even Seokjin and Namjoon have their arms in the air.

"Fuck, fuck," Hoseok whimpers from behind them. "Fuck. I wanna get off. Knock me out. Please. Fuck."

"Shh, babe, it's okay. It's all right. It's safe. You're safe. I'm not going to let you get hurt," Jimin murmurs.

"Are you excited for the big drop, hyung?" Taehyung shouts, pumping both fists in the air as Jeongguk whoops loudly.

"Fuck yeah," Yoongi answers despite his racing heart and shaky knees. The adrenaline is jarring, like being dropped into icy water, but not wholly unpleasant. He feels a touch more alive than he has in a while as the log climbs up another hill, each a little steeper and a little more nerve-wracking than the last.

Taehyung buzzes, teeth chattering with excitement. "Are you nervous?"

"No," Yoongi fibs, clenching his hands over his knees.

"I am!" Taehyung whispers when their log hits the peak and his hand is suddenly clasped over Yoongi's and he's shrieking into Yoongi's ear, laughing and waving his hands in the air, one still linked around Yoongi's. His stomach drops and his heart jumps into his throat and he screams - he can’t help himself, it’s fun and the water is refreshing and everything is exhilarating, from the sunny atmosphere and the view from the top of the ride and Taehyung’s sweaty fingers curled over his and their log racing down the slope and he really can’t help himself - and laughs right along with Taehyung.

As the log splashes into the dock again, Yoongi looks over at Taehyung, whose teeth are on full view as Jeongguk turns around and whoops again, begging for another go. Taehyung's hair is damp and windswept, cheeks flushed pink over the usual golden tan. His lashes cling together with the moisture and Yoongi's afraid to move because Taehyung might notice he's still got his massive hand wrapped around Yoongi's, warm and sticky and just as pleasant as it is gross.

When the ride slows to a stop, Taehyung seems to notice he's still holding Yoongi's hand and jerks his away quickly, jumping up out of his seat and launching himself into Jeongguk's back. (Hoseok is near tears behind them as Jimin cooes into his ear that it's okay and that he doesn't have to ride anymore rides.)

Seokjin buys the picture of them flying down the drop because of Hoseok's face. Yoongi pretends not to see it, especially not where Taehyung is very clearly holding his hand, and Hoseok frowns.

"First you drag me on the ride," he glowers, "then you harass me for not liking it. Devils."

They get drinks after that, and Seokjin buys a turkey leg the size of his forearm (which Jeongguk mooches almost half of). They manage to get some Gatorade in Hoseok and his mood levels out, though he still drapes himself across Jimin's lap where they've gathered to sit against a wall.

Taehyung's popping tufts of sticky pink-and-blue cotton candy into his mouth, sighing with contentment. "You want some, hyung?" he asks, cocking his head to meet Yoongi's eyes.

"Sure, yeah. Thanks," Yoongi says, and before he can say more, Taehyung's pinched off a tuft and is dangling it in front of Yoongi's mouth.

It's not what he meant. He didn't accept the offer of cotton candy with the intent to suck it off Taehyung's long fingers, three of them circled in silver rings that offset the gold of his skin, but some sacrifices have to be made.

He opens his mouth and his tongue curls over the dissolving sugar, and he only gets the tiniest salty brush of his tongue over the pad of Taehyung's finger before Taehyung withdraws his hand.

He's fine. The group takes a few more minutes to digest their respective turkey legs and ice cream and cotton candy before Jeongguk's hopping to his feet in impatience.

"I will leave without you," he warns.

"Good," Jimin snaps. "We're tired of your bratty ass. Go get lost in Space Mountain, would you?"

Yoongi doesn't bother watching the resulting battle of tongue-sticking-outs and fart noises and, eventually, punches. He's seen it enough in Seoul. Besides, they're in Disneyland and there's so much more to see than the bickering Busan boys, like the brilliant blue sky and the towering rides and the happy tourists and children passed out in strollers, hands sticky from sweets and sweat, princesses posing with children with the soundtrack of Monsters, Inc. buzzing in the background, Taehyung grinning his big, boxy grin as he yells for Jimin to get a load of that Aladdin costume, dude we have to ride the magic carpet ride, thighs gleaming from the sunscreen they'd all applied per Seokjin's request when they piled out of the bus. He's wearing these ridiculously short (ridiculous in general) spangled red swim trunks and a tank top, sporting the colors of the US like a true tourist. He looks ridiculous and hot and his lips are tinged blue from the cotton candy and Yoongi wants to lick the rest of the sugar from his lips and tongue and kiss the salty sweat of his neck...

"Hyung," Jeongguk says for probably at least the third time or so, and Yoongi's head snaps to the side to look at him. "Hyung. Pirates of the Carribbean or Haunted Mansion?"

"Fuck this shit," Hoseok grumbles. "I'm divorcing you if you force me on either, Jimin. I swear to god."

"We're not even married," Jimin says pointedly, waving a bare ring finger in Hoseok's face.

"And we never will be if I die of a heart attack in Disneyland!"

"Um," Yoongi says, blinking. "Pirates?"

"That's three to one, hyung," Jeongguk says, nodding to Namjoon who curses quietly.

"Animatronic pirates are fuckin' terrifying," Namjoon grumbles. "Think I'll sit this one out with Hoseok. C'mon, let's check out some shops."

There's something almost terrifically horrendous about sitting in a boat with four of your best friends, all grown adults, and being intimidated into shudders by men made of plastic and metal. Yoongi's not afraid (especially because he claimed a middle seat, crammed between Taehyung and Jeongguk, and the animatronic pirates would almost definitely go for Taehyung first. Probably not Jeongguk, though, if they're smart. Jeongguk's solid muscle) but he is unsettled, something Taehyung seems to sense the moment their boat slips into the darkness.

"Hey, hyung," he says, voice low and soft and spine-tinglingly close to Yoongi's ear. "Did you know pirates were like, super cool with queer people?"

"Cool with eating our brains, maybe," Yoongi mumbles, shifting his eyes between the bearded men staring down at him.

Taehyung snorts then stretches his arms high, settling one over the back of Yoongi's seat.

Smooth.

"No, really. They let dudes marry each other. And they split their booty." Taehyung pauses. "Well, hopefully not literally."

Yoongi actually snorts a this. "Is that true?"

"Yeah. They were super progressive, actually. I think it comes with the territory of rejecting their governments. They kinda didn't give a shit."

"That's pretty badass," Yoongi admits, feeling his shoulders soften back against Taehyung's arm. Taehyung smiles over at him and turns his attention back to the pirates currently jeering yo, ho, ho, a pirate's life for me at one another, jaws clinking open and drawing shut mechanically.

Somehow, they survive the ride unscathed by the army of demons pirates, and when the fivesome blinks their way back into the sunlight, Hoseok and Namjoon are huddled under the tiniest sliver of shade they were able to find, discussing something in hushed tones.

Jimin strolls toward Hoseok, head cocked to the side, and asks, "What did you do?"

"Shopped," Namjoon and Hoseok answer in tight-lipped unison.

Jimin squints. Does a little circle, eyes grazing their surroundings. "Ah," he says.

"No," Hoseok whispers.

"How was the Winnie the Pooh ride, boys?"

(Jeongguk and Seokjin sputter and laugh, as if they weren't the next two most likely to willingly tour Winnie the Pooh's tree or whatever the fuck the ride was.)

"You said no one would know!" Namjoon whines, stomping his sandaled foot on the hot pavement.

"I am perpetually underestimating Jimin's powers of perception. I don't know how he does it," Hoseok sighs apologetically, curling an arm around Jimin's waist in resignation.

"How were the pirates of death?" Hoseok asks.

"Better than Winnie the Pooh," Yoongi mumbles.

"Winnie the Pooh is a classic figure of American childhood," Namjoon announces, glaring at Yoongi. "The ride wonderfully exemplifies cultural differences between the respective interests of American and Korean children."

"For example, how some grown-ass Korean men have the same interests as American children," Seokjin cackles, hooking his arm around Namjoon's neck. Without allowing time for a rebuttal, he tugs Namjoon towards the next ride on the agenda.

 

Yoongi thinks that the sun setting over Disneyland is one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. The heat of the sinking sun lingers, though, wafting off the pavement and through the palm trees. The streetlights flicker on while neon strings draped across every building and plant glimmer. Sleeping Beauty's castle glistens even from the other side of the park, and the troupe finds themselves wandering in that direction, having had their fill of spinning and dropping and screaming and eating and laughing, now descending to a contented hum of conversations and giggles. Hoseok keeps sneaking kisses onto Jimin’s lips like he thinks the rest of them won't notice, but even though they all do, it's okay. They're all happy (and happy for the couple) and they're not going to bother saying anything about it, not today. Not after the hours of sun-burnt, sweaty, exhausting fun.

"Are we staying for the fireworks?" Seokjin asks, mouth full of soft pretzel. (He's the only one still eating. They joke that he has not one but two hollow legs.)

"Might as well," Jimin answers. "I don't think it makes sense to leave now."

Hoseok hums in agreement, followed by assenting nods from the rest. When they reach the castle, they squeeze through the other visitors and find a good-sized chunk of space on the wall of the bridge to lean against. Yoongi hops up onto the wall, crossing one ankle over the other, and gazes up at the fading pink of the sky. He'd almost brought his camera today, but he was too worried about it getting lost or stolen or damaged on water rides. He makes do with his shitty phone camera; after all, it's not really about the picture here, it's about the memories.

And that's why he twists to the side and snaps a few more pictures of Jeongguk leaning over the wall to look at the ducks in the water, of Taehyung dancing to Once Upon a Dream, of Jimin tucked back against Hoseok, whose hands cup his hips as they murmur quietly to one another with faint smiles, of Namjoon watching Seokjin lean back into the wall, telling an animated story about this kid he saw on the Little Mermaid ride today.

He doesn't consider himself particularly sentimental, but maybe there's something in the Anaheim water. Something in the Disneyland air.

"Hey," Taehyung says, startling Yoongi out of his reverie. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Nothing much," Yoongi says.

Taehyung smiles like he knows Yoongi's full of shit and clasps his hand over Yoongi's knee. "It's been a good day, hyung."

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "Yeah, it has been."

The first fireworks clap in the sky then, casting bright white light over Taehyung's features, his long nose and grinning lips. The fireworks glitter in his eyes, wide with delight, and he wows loudly, amazed.

"Hyung, look!" Taehyung exclaims, squeezing his knee when another round of fireworks, these ones pink, explode above them.

"I am," Yoongi says, eyes reluctantly flickering from Taehyung’s profile to the sky.

 

Jimin and Hoseok claim the shower first (and Yoongi only let them go together after they promised not to fuck in the shower everyone else was going to have to use, to which Hoseok said, "Oh, don't worry. Shower sex is dangerous," like that was the only thing stopping them), and Yoongi pulls the seniority card to go second. The cool water and soap soothe away some of the ache from a twelve-hour day, and he takes a little extra time just to stand under the stream and enjoy cleanliness.

After yanking on sweatpants and a tank top in the bathroom, he collapses onto the bed - the bed he and Taehyung were going to sleep in tonight, together - and flicks on the TV while he waits for Taehyung to shower. He supposes he doesn't have to, it's not like they're dating or anything, he doesn't have to wait to say goodnight or any of that cheesy shit, but it seems like the most polite and least awkward way to go about sharing a bed with Taehyung.

Luckily, Taehyung takes short showers and only a half episode of Fresh Prince later, Taehyung and his dripping hair come barreling through the door. Taehyung lands on the bed next to Yoongi, smelling soapy and minty and clean.

"Should we sleep?" he asks.

"Yeah," Yoongi grunts, orienting himself on the bed properly and tossing the TV remote aside after turning off the TV.

Taehyung rummages through his bag for a phone charger and sips his water, and when he turns around, Yoongi has constructed a wall of pillows right in the dead center of the mattress.

"Hyung," Taehyung giggles. "Are you building a barricade?"

Yoongi hides his flush by focusing very intently on fluffing one of the pillows. "I-I," he says. "I need space when I sleep."

"Don't worry," Taehyung sighs, dropping onto his side of the bed, causing the whole mattress to jiggle. "I'm only a sleep cuddler sometimes."

"Comforting," Yoongi says. "I'd rather not take my chances."

"There's barely room, hyung," Taehyung whines, wiggling under the covers. "I'm falling off the bed."

"That's what you get for being fucking large," Yoongi snaps. "We're sleeping with the wall, okay?"

"Okay, okay," Taehyung concedes, settling down onto his pillow and propping his phone up on his chest as he surfs.

Yoongi knows well he's too wound up to sleep yet, the adrenaline of the day still chipping at his bones, but a softer sort of exhaustion swims through him, the result of thousands of strangers siphoning his energy, of being outside and interacting with others, of facing his abysmal English skills and of holding up his guard all day. Red and white lights from outside shine in through the window, painting the room an almost eerie silver. It's pretty.

Despite the wall of pillows between them, Yoongi can still smell Taehyung's fruity shampoo and hear his sleepy sighs as he scrolls on his phone, can feel the mattress shift when Taehyung tosses or turns. He may as well have not bothered at all with the barrier, because between Taehyung's disruptions and his anxiety, he won't be getting any sleep anyway.

At that thought, as if to confirm Yoongi's hypothesis that he was facing a sleepless night, a suspicious sort of vocalization sounds through the wall and Yoongi's heart jumps, face warming, as Taehyung freezes.

"Oh god," Taehyung moans, shoving up onto his elbows to look at Yoongi. "I hate them. I literally hate them."

Yoongi can only agree as a thumping, slow at first but gradually growing in pace, grows louder to accompany the moans. He groans, yanking a pillow from the wall to smother himself cover his ears.

"Hyung, we're in for a long night," Taehyung says. "As Jimin's best friend, I get very detailed accounts of everything. Apparently they have good stamina."

"Oh, gross," Yoongi hisses. "Disgusting. I hate them." Yoongi huffs.

The pair fall silent, both subjected to the sounds of their best friends fucking in the next room over. Every so often, the rhythmic thumping would stop for a moment, and just as Yoongi dared to think it might be over, it would start again. After nearly twenty minutes of this, Taehyung heaves and sits up.

"Hyung?" Taehyung asks tentatively.

"What, Taehyung." He's tired and annoyed and admittedly a little aroused (but he's not going to think about that too hard, no, gross) and he doesn't mean to take it out on Taehyung, but luckily, Taehyung seems to know that in that way of his.

"You wanna get payback?"

For a moment, Yoongi's mind is emptied of all thought.

All thought, that is, except for Taehyung underneath him (or above him, he's not picky), of their bed rocking into the wall as Yoongi's hips jerk forward, of Taehyung's lips, soft and salty, of his smooth skin and beauty marks against Yoongi's mouth, gasping and moaning how Hoseok is on the other side of the wall right now, and this thought does nothing for the heat already singing at his skin.

"Get up, hyung," Taehyung says.

Face hot, Yoongi flips over to watch Taehyung as he hops to his feet on the bed.

"Jump with me."

Despite himself, Yoongi climbs up onto his feet, and next thing he knows, he's holding Taehyung's forearms for balance as they both jump on the bed. Taehyung's the first to start moaning (Yoongi's ashamed to admit that the sounds deposit themselves into a very special, very private file in the back of his head) but then Yoongi joins in for good measure. If nothing else, they're being loud enough to drown out the sounds from the other side of the wall.

What little energy Yoongi has left drains quickly. It's not Taehyung so much as it is the jumping; in fact, Yoongi's come to realize, being with Taehyung isn't exhausting how being with other people is. Taehyung is familiar and everything about him is warmth and comfort, like a big, fuzzy coat (albeit a ketchup red one with little yellow ducklings on it, probably) and Yoongi doesn't mind him. Likes him.

Yoongi lets himself soften down onto his back joint by joint, and Taehyung follows soon after.

"You have terrible stamina, hyung," Taehyung giggles. Yoongi's right shoulder landed on Wall Pillow, and Taehyung collapsed mostly on top of it sideways, his big nose centimeters from Yoongi's bicep. In fact, he could almost kiss it from here if he tilted his head and pursed his lips just right. Not that Yoongi's thinking of that.

Yoongi's brain is a few seconds behind. He's tired and annoyed and admittedly a little aroused (and unwillingly, he's thinking about it now) and he says the exact opposite of anything even within the realm of what he meant to say. "Why don't you find out just how terrible my stamina is?"

He pinches his eyes closed before he even finishes speaking, already sensing the I Fucked Up leering over his shoulder, so he feels instead of sees Taehyung's head press up off Wall Pillow.

"You're funny, hyung," Taehyung whispers, but he sounds less amused and more something else, something thick and heavy, something Yoongi thinks he recognizes but is afraid to confront.

Yoongi's tired and annoyed and getting more aroused with every second ticking by and he risks opening his eyes to see if there's any trace of that same something from Taehyung's voice in his face.

But by the time Yoongi's brain gets back to functioning and fires off the right neurons (for once) to get Yoongi's eyes blinking open, Taehyung's rolling away and resituating himself back in his spot on the enemy side of Wall Pillow, rightfully banished from Kingdom Yoongi for his assault on Yoongi's thoughts.

On the bright side, Yoongi thinks, the chaos on the opposing side of the other wall, the Real Wall, has ceased for good. (For the night, anyway.)

Yoongi's tired and annoyed and arousal still niggles at him, but he can feel himself slipping beneath the surface, being dragged under by the undertow of sleep.

 

iii. the beach

"They're both clothed. And there's an entire wall of pillows between them."

"Awwwwww. I'm sincerely disappointed."

"Did you really want to see hyung's dick?"

"That's not what I'm disappointed about. I wanted to ask him how it felt to finally stop repressing his - oh, good morning, hyung," Jimin chirps.

Yoongi propelled himself to sitting as soon as Jimin's voice wrestled him onto this side of awake. He's still wearing his glasses as well as a necklace of hickies to match the one on Hoseok's cheek (it's almost impressive; Yoongi didn't even know that was possible) and holding a steaming cup of coffee, which he waves under Yoongi's nose. On the other side of Wall Pillow, now in slight disarray but still mostly effective, Taehyung snores softly, face buried under his own arm.

"Well, this was supposed to be a morning after coffee, but you look thoroughly unlaid," Jimin sighs, setting the mug on the nightstand with a clink.

"We heard you last night," Hoseok says, "and we were upset to find we've been duped."

Yoongi croaks, "You wanted me to sleep with Taehyung?"

"We're always rooting for you to have sex with something other than your hand, hyung," Jimin says.

"Your hand and silicone, that is," Hoseok adds.

Yoongi finds their inability to use the pronoun “I” infuriating. Almost more irritating than their invasion into his sex life. "How do you know I'm not getting laid?" he snaps.

Hoseok smiles softly. Pushes the mug of coffee into Yoongi's hands. "Talk to us after you drink this."

 

A handful of minutes and two cups of hot coffee later, Yoongi is almost kind of alive enough to carry on a genuine conversation.

"So, if you didn't get laid, what the fuck was all that noise last night?" Hoseok asks.

On the stool next to Yoongi, Jeongguk leans over a bowl of cereal, swaying dangerously. He's definitely asleep, spoon dangling limply between his fingers and mouth parted just enough to show off the soggy cereal on his tongue. Jimin sighs, pushes Jeongguk's mouth closed, and plucks the spoon out of his hand. "All right, Gukk. It's time to wake up, buddy."

"That was revenge," Yoongi says. He's nursing his third cup of coffee now.

Taehyung yawns and stretches from the couch. "Mhm. You were keeping us up so we decided to get revenge."

"Not really good revenge," Jimin comments. "You didn't bother us at all. We were happy for you."

Yoongi squints. "Did you talk about us fucking while you were fucking?" Hoseok's mouth opens, and then Yoongi preemptively interrupts, "Never mind. Please do not answer that. Really. I don't want to know."

"We have some of our best conversations - "

"No."

"When you're that close - "

"Stop."

"There's like, this next level of intimacy - "

"I will piss on your bed. Then see how fun sex is."

Hoseok shrugs. "We'd just fuck on your bed. You do you, though."

Jimin snorts. "Chubs, babe, I think he does."

Yoongi reaches for the Bacardi, intent on dumping a splash into his coffee, but Hoseok slaps his hand away.

"No. We're going to the beach today, and you will be sober for it whether you like it or not. This is Jimin and Taehyung's vacation, and you're not going to jeopardize it by forcing them to babysit your drunk ass on the beach."

Yoongi recoils. "Wasn't gonna get drunk," he mumbles.

 

Namjoon and Seokjin barge in with bagels while Yoongi's in the bathroom, and when he emerges, Hoseok is already balls deep in planning the day.

"Head to Laguna by ten," Hoseok says. "Lunch on the beach. Everyone got cash?"

"Taehyung?" Seokjin asks, eyebrows raised. "You got cash today? I'm your favorite hyung but I'm not spotting you another forty bucks today for a whale plushie or whatever the fuck you decide you want."

"Relax," Taehyung says. "I've got cash. And if I run out, I have three more hyungs to mooch off."

Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon whip their heads in his direction and chide "NO" in unison.

 

The sevensome claim a back corner of the bus to Laguna, on which they get a touch too rowdy singing Cheer Up and Lotto, and Namjoon and Jimin are forced to pacify them under the glare of the bus driver in his rearview. For the remainder of the ride, they play yellow car and make acrostic poems from the roadsigns (Jeongguk claims he won both. Yoongi isn't sure how one wins a poem, but Seokjin vehemently argues that he, in fact, won the acrostic poem, so maybe Yoongi's mistaken somehow).

The bus driver seems relieved when the seventh member of their gang steps off the bus and he perhaps speeds away a little more quickly than strictly necessary, but the boys are much too consumed with Laguna Beach to notice.

The sun today has no more mercy than it did yesterday, so again Seokjin passes a bottle of 30 SPF to the boys and reminds them not to miss their ears before they're let loose on the sand.

Jeongguk takes off first, arms and legs streaked in creamy white. When his bare feet sink into the sand, he shrieks and runs for the waves. Following soon after are Taehyung and Jimin, who tackle Jeongguk and together are able to drag him under the surface of the water.

Seokjin scoffs. "Don't they know sunscreen needs 15 minutes to soak in?"

"Evidently not," answers Namjoon, who is still slathering his shoulders and neck with layers of it. Seokjin sighs, fills his hands with a healthy portion of sunscreen, and slides them under Namjoon's shirt to massage it into his back. Namjoon stiffens before relaxing, letting his husband reach the places he wasn't flexible enough to. "Thanks."

Yoongi is the last to snatch the sunscreen bottle, and when he does, he slaps some on his face and arms and calls it good.

Namjoon and Seokjin are propping umbrellas in the sand when Yoongi catches up to them.

"Care to help?" Seokjin asks sweetly.

After rolling out towels and patting in sand to support the stems of the umbrellas, Yoongi drops into the soft sand and sighs, contented. The sun warming his back combined with the ambiance of the waves and the faraway shouts of excited children sink into his muscles and he exhales. Next to him, Seokjin chatters about a wine tasting later in the week and Namjoon grunts in assent, the side of his face pressed to Seokjin's stomach and arm curled over his hip.

Yoongi's peace, while pleasant, is short-lived. Hoseok and Taehyung barrel towards them, skidding to a stop and sending sand flying in Yoongi's face, jarring him upright.

"Hey, what the fuck," Yoongi snaps, wiping his face on the back of the arm to no avail. Sharp clumps of sand stick to the oils and sunscreen on his face and he winces.

"Sorry, hyung!" Taehyung shouts, sounding very not sorry. "Come play!"

"I'm playing," Yoongi says flatly, drawing a circle in the sand with his index finger and dropping back onto his side.

Taehyung pouts. "Nope."

"Yep."

"Don't think so," Taehyung hums, voice getting louder when he bends over Yoongi. Suddenly his arms are around Yoongi's waist and he's grunting as he hoists a flailing Yoongi up and over his shoulder.

"Put me the fuck down!" Yoongi growls, pounding his fists against Taehyung's back without any intent to actually hurt him. Each step shakes his entire body uncomfortably, Taehyung’s bony shoulder digging into his abdomen. He’s going to kill Taehyung.

"Nope!" Taehyung says, still steadily making his way towards the water.

Yoongi can hear Jimin laugh as they approach the water, commenting loudly how Taehyung is about to get his ass killed. The ground shakes as he dangles, and his head is starting to ache from the rush of blood. The last thing Yoongi hears before he's thrown into the water is Hoseok's echoing chuckle and a whoop of victory from Taehyung.

Salt is the first thing Yoongi registers, in his mouth and nostrils and ears and eyes. It burns everywhere it touches, almost as much as the sand scuffing his skin raw. Yoongi chokes on the cold, on the ick - of the whale pee and human pee and dead fish and sharks and blood and filth he's in the ocean with currently. His mouth opens, as if to gasp or maybe vomit, when hands drag him back to the surface and he sputters.

"Hyung," Taehyung calls. "Hyung, hyung, oh my god, are you okay? Hyung, talk to me?"

Yoongi coughs, hands digging into the sand beneath him for purchase. "Fuck you," he gasps, kicking at Taehyung's kneecaps.

"Ohthankgod," Taehyung breathes, dropping to his knees next to Yoongi. "I thought I drowned you in two-foot-deep water."

"It wasn't two feet deep!" Yoongi croaks, voice lost to the salt and grit.

Jimin bends over him, squinting. "Hate to tell ya, hyung, but the water was definitely two feet deep there."

"Fuck off," Yoongi grunts. "I'm going to kill all of you in your sleep."

"No you're not," Hoseok chirps. "You're harmless as a housefly."

Yoongi hates all of them, most of all Taehyung, who is still grovelling beside him. "I'msorryI'msorryI'msosorrydon'tkillmeI'msorry," he breathes, and it's at this moment that Yoongi realizes Taehyung's grasped his right hand and is squeezing it between his own, eyes clenched shut. His wet hair is plastered against his forehead and leaking salty water onto his already wet skin, lips flushed from his teeth worrying on them.

Yoongi lifts his head off the ground, shifting to lean back on his elbows. He squeezes Taehyung's hand back and smiles down at him softly. "It's okay, Tae. I forgive you."

Taehyung startles, hands slackening for a moment, before he lifts his head to look up at Yoongi. "Really?"

Yoongi flings a fistful of wet sand directly onto Taehyung's face. "Fuck no. Now get the fuck away from me."

Yoongi stays down just long enough to watch Taehyung's horrified face as he spits out a mouthful of muddy sand and gags.

"I hate them," Yoongi comments mildly, sinking back onto his spot next to Seokjin, who is now reading a book with Namjoon sleeping on his chest.

"They deserve it," Seokjin responds. "You should do something awful to Taehyung while he's sleeping."

"I plan to," Yoongi says. "He almost killed me."

"Well," Seokjin says, "to be fair, he didn't know it was possible to drown a full-grown adult in two-foot-deep water."

Yoongi scowls. "It wasn't two feet deep!"

"It was two feet deep," Namjoon mumbles, shifting against Seokjin to tuck himself more comfortably on Seokjin's broad shoulder.

"Fuck off," Yoongi says for what must be the millionth time. "Jeongguk is the only one of you I even like anymore."

Seokjin only hums in response, flipping his page. Yoongi grunts and turns back to the water, watching Hoseok jump onto Jimin's shoulders and Taehyung straddle Jeongguk's. He hopes to see at least half of them thrown violently into the water, but not all dreams are meant to come true; only Hoseok ends up being dunked, and even then, Jimin catches him, pulls him upright, and kisses him on the mouth (even from this distance, he can hear Hoseok swoon. He can even hear Jimin say, "I thought you could use a kiss of life."). Disgusting.

The second round, however, yields more satisfying results; Taehyung gets thrown off Jeongguk's back by one of Hoseok's flailing kicks, and even Jeongguk goes under. Yoongi chuckles to himself.

"You think they're cute," Seokjin accuses.

"Shut up and read," Yoongi says, mouth pulled suddenly into a tight line.

Seokjin laughs.

Yoongi once again lets himself drift, even drags his towel out into the sun so he can lay in the warmth. The panic of nearly drowning took more out of him than he's willing to admit, so it's not surprising when he jerks awake a while later, not having realized he'd ever fallen asleep.

However, what is surprising is the lack of mobility of Yoongi's limbs.

This is mostly due to the fact that he's buried under the sand from his neck down. Also a little bit due to the fact that he is so consumed by the mindless urge to throttle Kim Taehyung that his brain has shorted out.

Luckily, he isn’t buried deep, so kicking and punching his way out of his sand coffin is easy enough.

“Aww, hyung,” Taehyung whines from somewhere to his left. “You ruined all our hard work.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi says.

“Just make sure you clean up the mess, mkay?” Jin chirps. Namjoon is awake now, and he’s constructing what looks like the foundation of a large lounge chair out of hard-packed sand. “We don’t want to get fined.”

“I’ll fine your ass,” Yoongi snaps.

“Speaking of fine asses,” Hoseok says. Yoongi hadn’t paid them any attention before, but when he turns to look - much to his instant regret - Hoseok is massaging suntan lotion into Jimin’s low back, but his hands take a detour to said fine ass. (Jimin only pretends to try and swat him away.)

“I’m flying back to Korea,” Yoongi says, “and I’m taking all the food you’ve bought with me.”

“No you’re not,” Jimin says. “You already have the ticket to go back this weekend. You wouldn’t drop the money on another one.”

Yoongi pouts and crosses his arms, shuddering at the sharp grit of sand on his skin.

 

In the early afternoon, Yoongi is suddenly reminded that it’s a weekday when all the parents pack up their towels and kids and clear the beach. Within an hour of sunset, they have much more space and privacy, so Namjoon digs his bluetooth speaker out of his bag for some ambiance. The air starts to cool and the entire troupe heads to the waves, Jeongguk and Taehyung splashing deep into the water with loud battle cries. Someone suggests another chicken fight and before he knows what’s happening, Yoongi’s thighs are on Jeongguk’s shoulders and he’s being hoisted out of the water.

“Unfair!” Jimin calls. “The strongest person doesn’t get to hold the lightest person.”

“No, Jiminie,” Taehyung insists, “we can beat them. Get on my shoulders.”

Hoseok ends up on Namjoon’s shoulders, and they go down first to no one’s surprise. Jeongguk, being his ruthless self, doesn’t surrender until Taehyung and Jimin have also fallen. Someone calls for round two and teams are swapped now - Hoseok scales Jimin’s back and mounts his shoulders, Seokjin crouches so Yoongi can climb onto his, and Taehyung ends up on Jeongguk’s.

Taehyung kicks at Hoseok, who screams and grabs Jimin’s face for support, jabbing him in the eye. Jimin shouts and then they both collapse into the water. Yoongi and Seokjin last until Jeongguk throws his shoulder into Seokjin’s chest, when Seokjin stumbles backwards and Yoongi topples off his shoulders into the water.

After that, Jeongguk and Taehyung drag Seokjin into the deeper water and show him how to ride the waves. Namjoon’s entertained himself with the tiny clams wriggling under the sand (Yoongi hears him calling one “clammy,” and he can’t decide if it’s cute or weird). For a second, Yoongi’s concerned because he can’t see Jimin or Hoseok, but then he spots Jimin’s orange hair against the sand, legs wrapped around Hoseok’s waist. Hoseok’s kissing down his neck, propped on his elbows. It’s not family-beach-friendly, not even a little bit, but Jimin tugs on Hoseok’s hair and unhooks his legs and they look at each other and laugh, apparently having finally realized as much themselves.

When the sun sets, they all sit where the waves meet the sand and watch it light the ocean orange. With salt-chapped skin and tired bodies, they slip into a nearby buffet and eat before catching the bus back to their hotel.

“Did you have fun today?” Taehyung murmurs across his pillow, hours later after they’ve all showered and tucked themselves into bed. Yoongi forewent the pillow wall, and Taehyung’s taken advantage of that, stretching his long limbs over onto Yoongi’s half of the mattress. Yoongi thought he’d been sleeping until he talked, eyelids closed.

“Yeah,” Yoongi answers. “I’m still gonna kick your ass for drowning me, though.”

“Two fee-”

“Don’t.”

Taehyung snickers quietly into his pillow. “‘Night, hyung.”

“Night.”

 

iv. the club

The hot tub Yoongi’s soaking in boils around him, and he sinks deeper, taking in the heat and comfort. The concrete is soft underneath him and the water smells clean and snug, wrapped around his body like a comforter, smooth like skin. He tries to wade forward, but his arm is stuck, asleep and tingly under the weight of -

Oh. Yoongi jolts out of the dream, feeling no less warm with the blankets twisted all around him. His arm, it turns out, is caught underneath Taehyung, whose bare chest his nose is pressed up against. He stiffens and wonders for a moment if it’s possible to wriggle away without waking Taehyung. Taehyung is a pretty heavy sleeper, he reasons, but he’s also one large half of the human pretzel they’re making. Nonetheless, it’s fucking hot - seriously, Taehyung’s body radiates like a heat fan - and Yoongi can’t breathe, and not just because Taehyung’s overwhelming all his senses.

So Yoongi lifts his leg off Taehyung’s thigh, shifting his weight back. (And if his lips press against Taehyung’s chest while he’s maneuvering himself around, well, that’s purely incidental.) Just as his torso begins to peel away from Taehyung’s hip, though, the body underneath him stiffens and Taehyung’s arms curl around Yoongi, crushing him to his chest.

“Uh,” Yoongi squeaks, barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears, the heavy thud of his heart in his chest. “Tae?”

“Stay,” Taehyung mumbles, voice slurred over his sleep-heavy tongue.

“Tae-”

“Stay,” he repeats, this time with a soft pleading edge.

Yoongi has a weakness for pleading, especially the soft kind, and another weakness for Taehyung, so he exhales and asks why before deciding to wriggle away again.

“‘Cause cuddling is nice,” Taehyung says. “And you’re real cuddly.”

“I’m not-”

“Mmm,” Taehyung hums, nuzzling closer to Yoongi and throwing a leg over his thighs. “Okay.”

He seems to succumb back to sleep after that, his breathing slowing to steady and his arm going limp over Yoongi. Soon, Yoongi too sinks back into sleep.

 

When Yoongi wakes up again, it’s to Taehyung slipping out of bed and yanking a shirt over his head. It feels like Yoongi just closed his eyes, but when he grapples his phone off the nightstand and clicks it open, he finds it’s already almost ten and Seokjin will probably bitch him out for skipping breakfast.

He passes Taehyung in the hall on the way to the bathroom, and all at once, a rush of warm memories from earlier that morning overcome him, pooling blood in his face. For a moment again, he can smell the organic sweetness of Taehyung’s skin again, feel the weight of that long arm over him, the way their breathing synced as they slept together. He can’t shake it, not even with cold water on his face or the dark coffee Hoseok left him in the pot.

“You comin’ out tonight?” Namjoon asks him from the couch, where Seokjin is sprawled across his lap.

“Out?” Yoongi asks.

“Hoseok and Jimin want to go dancing,” Namjoon explains. “We were going to check out some clubs nearby. Can you believe they don’t have noraebangs in California?”

“Good,” Yoongi says.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Anyway. We’re going out. You should come.”

 

He wants to regret coming, but he can’t say he does, even if he wore unreasonably tight pants and it’s so loud he’ll probably have trouble hearing his compositions on the plane ride back. He doesn’t regret it because this American liquor is both inexpensive and smooth, there’s no one giving the two Korean men grinding to the music - Hoseok and Jimin, of course - a hard time, and Taehyung also wore unreasonably tight pants, and he somehow looks wildly attractive even with the uncoordinated hip-swinging he’s passing off as a dance. A snapback holds his hair off his forehead, and the sleeves of his shirt are short and tight enough to show off the slight definition under his skin.

He looks good, too good, and Yoongi’s having a hard time not watching him.

“You should go dance,” Namjoon suggests across the table, twirling an empty shot glass between his fingers. “You haven’t stopped watching the dance floor since we got here.”

While that wasn’t the truth, not really, Yoongi would rather him think that than the actual truth. “Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I’m watching the lights, though.”

The bar does have an impressive light system, swirls and circles dancing over the crowd in shades of blue and green. Sometimes the lights pass over Taehyung just right and his hair and eyelashes glow, punching the air out of Yoongi’s lungs. He wishes he’d brought his camera. He doesn’t want to forget.

“Go dance,” Seokjin urges. “Go chase the lights.”

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t be tacky,” he says, but then he’s slipping his phone into his pocket and making his way onto the floor.

He’s not a dancer, but he knows it. He also knows what he does have, and that’s rhythm, so he uses that, shuffling through the crowd towards where he knows he’ll find his troupe, Jimin and Hoseok and Jeongguk and Taehyung.

“Hey, grandpa,” Hoseok shouts over the music when he sees Yoongi, then winks. Yoongi grins and flips him off, and then, just to catch him off guard, grabs Jeongguk’s bicep and starts to move against him. It’s not grinding - there’s plenty of space between them, and they’re more hip-to-hip than anything else - but Hoseok’s eyes do blow wide and then he laughs, knocking his head against Jimin’s shoulder.

And then Yoongi feels weight behind him. It’s Taehyung, he knows it’s Taehyung, his delicate fingers curling over Yoongi’s hips and his chin hooking over Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s not grinding either, but it’s closer - he’s closer. His heat sears through Yoongi again, remembering this morning. Remembering the same heat, but different. The same contact, but different.

Jeongguk shuffles away, closer to Jimin and Hoseok, and Taehyung reels Yoongi in so they’re chest-to-back and Taehyung’s breath fans over his ear.

Something shifts.

It’s subtle, but something shifts; something in the way Taehyung’s moving now with a little more purpose, fingers tight over Yoongi’s hips, something in the diminishing centimeters between them. Something in the way Yoongi presses back against him and sighs, his own fingers slotted between Taehyung’s.

They’re not drunk enough to pass this off as accidental. He’d watched Taehyung and Jimin swig twin shots, two each, half an hour ago, and he himself had nursed down a beer and a shot, but their tolerance is too high for that to have made this as unreal as it feels. It’s not the alcohol that’s given his stomach wings and made it want to take flight so much as it is Taehyung’s cool exhales over his nape, the gentle draft of his cologne seeping into Yoongi’s head, the feeling of his broad chest curled into Yoongi’s shoulders. It’s the lights, too, coloring the crowd in dramatic hues, and the music drowning out whatever voice in Yoongi’s head is telling him to turn back now, do not pass go as he floors it through the yellow.

The song changes, and suddenly Taehyung is grinding more than he’s swaying. It’s nothing like the way Hoseok slings himself over Jimin’s body, but it’s something, and that in itself feels significant. It’s been a long time. It’s been years. But Yoongi tilts his head back onto Taehyung’s shoulder. He knows it looks like a green light, and maybe it is a green light. Maybe he deserves a green light for once. Maybe he’s fucking tired of slamming on his brakes all the time. Maybe he doesn’t need to with Taehyung.

Taehyung’s perceptive, so he’s hesitant when he dips forward and brushes his impossibly smooth lips up Yoongi’s neck. The touches are a flex short of kisses, but they still ignite something in Yoongi’s spine which has him shuddering back against Taehyung, leaning into him, using him as a ground for the sparks searing up his bones.

The closer pressure means now Taehyung’s flush to his ass, and Yoongi can feel it - Taehyung’s not hard, not yet, but he’s a half-step above soft in his jeans. Yoongi at this point isn’t above gyrating back into Taehyung, and he’s about to when the song draws to an end and Taehyung slides forward, arm around Yoongi’s waist, and tugs him back to their table.

Hoseok’s lobbed over Jimin’s chest, weeping quietly. It’s not out of the ordinary; he’s a messy drunk, and a lightweight, and Jimin only looks resigned. They were destined for this fate before they set out, even if they’d all tried to talk Hoseok out of a third shot.

“I should take him back,” Jimin sighs, petting the crown of Hoseok’s head.

“I just don’t get why you have to be so nice,” Hoseok wails, snot and tears dripping off his face onto Jimin’s shirt. “What did I do to deserve you.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You’re so much less appreciative of me sober. Remember this next week when you’re mad at me for eating the last toaster strudel again.”

This has Hoseok spewing out a fresh batch of tears, and Jimin swipes napkins off the table to pat him down with. “We’re going home, baby. C’mon.”

Seokjin ordered two more fries, and the remaining five devour them in minutes over talk. Namjoon can’t stop complaining about the poor mixing of the music and Jeongguk seems a little lost without a dance partner.

“And this is why we don’t go out anymore,” Seokjin chides, picking a crumb off the empty fry plate. “Should we go?”

Namjoon shrugs and Jeongguk nods. “There aren’t even any good pokemon here. Let’s go.”

And then there were two.

Yoongi and Taehyung, still huddled awkwardly on the same side of their booth. The question bumps the back of Yoongi’s teeth - “Did you wanna go?” - but when he turns his head to ask, Taehyung’s there, so close, his lips only centimeters from Yoongi’s.

“Hyung,” he murmurs.

Taehyung tastes like his last Red-Headed Slut - cranberry and peaches, a tang of bitter alcohol - and his lips are even softer than Yoongi would have guessed. Yoongi melts into it, fighting the urge to slide onto Taehyung’s lap and make a home there.

Instead, Taehyung drags him back onto the dance floor, this time without any pretenses of friendly distance. Taehyung’s determined and touchy, unable to keep his hands or mouth off Yoongi for longer than it took to say, “Hyung, let’s go.”

 

It was half out of politeness, half out of fear that they stumbled through the dark suite as quietly as they did. Not that the act of returning together was necessarily incriminating on its own – rather, the act of returning together, Yoongi's knobbed fingers whiteknuckled around Taehyung's forearm, cheeks flush with liquor but mostly with lust, Taehyung trailing after him, hair askew and shirt half-tucked into his jeans. That, that would be incriminating, incriminating enough for Hoseok to bring it up at every social event thereafter, incriminating enough for Jimin to throw Yoongi that annoyingly knowing look across the table at breakfast, incriminating enough to have Jeongguk red and giggly. Forty-seven degrees too incriminating for Yoongi's taste.

When their door opens finally, Yoongi yanks Taehyung through it and backs him up against the wall, knee-to-knee, hip-to-hip (or close enough, given the height disparity, but Yoongi was giving himself the benefit of the doubt here). The apple of Taehyung's throat bobs, eyes flicking between Yoongi's sharp eyes and his bite-chapped lips, as his fingers wander down Yoongi's sides, curling once again over his slim hips. He looks like he wants to swallow Yoongi whole. Instead, he dips forward, long lashes fluttering closed, and presses his lips to Yoongi's, tasting the fruit of his last drink and the salt of his sweat.

“Are we doing this?” Taehyung rasps into his skin. The rumbling of his deep voice quakes through Yoongi's core, a natural disaster towards Yoongi's composure.

“Only if you're okay with it.” His fingers now grip Taehyung's shirt, asking a silent permission.

If I'm okay with it,” Taehyung snorts as if his semi weren't pressed to Yoongi's pelvis, as if he hadn't just had his tongue on Yoongi's. “Hyung, I've wanted this for -”

His breath catches when Yoongi's hands draw him forward in a rough jerk, spinning them and landing Taehyung back on the bed, Yoongi between his parted, jean-clad knees.

“- years,” Taehyung finishes weakly.

“Years.” Yoongi doesn't mask his disbelief as he pats Taehyung's thigh and the younger wiggles his butt back up the bed, Yoongi crawling after him and settling onto his lap.

“Years,” Taehyung nods. Maddeningly, his thumbs smooth circles over the insides of Yoongi's knees, a touch below his thighs and many strides too low.

“Never knew,” Yoongi grumbles, ducking forward to nip at Taehyung's piercings. Taehyung's shoulders tense under his hands, fingers frozen in their movements.

“I am an actor, hyung,” Taehyung says. His long hands spread now over the tops of Yoongi's thighs, no real purpose or direction yet, just infuriating teasing. The heat trapped between their bodies grows with their rocking movements and wandering hands.

“Why are we still talking,” Yoongi groans, growing impatient. Every bite on Taehyung's neck earns him a gasp, each suck a whimper.

“Because communication is a very important part of every - ahh - encounter.”

Yoongi straightens, hands sliding to Taehyung's palms and guiding them between his legs. “Enough,” he says. In his head, it's hot, demanding; in practice, it's breathless, gasped out over the drag of Taehyung's palm across his zipper.

“Enough what, hyung?” Taehyung asks. “Enough of this?” He grinds his palm a touch harder, feeling Yoongi's hands grapple for purchase on his forearms.

“You know what I'm talking about,” Yoongi accuses, but he doesn't move, unwilling to risk losing the scorching friction. He lets his eyes fall closed until Taehyung giggles, and his eyes snap back open.

“What?”

“Cute,” Taehyung says, grinning as he links his hands behind Yoongi's neck and drags him in for another kiss, this one longer and hotter, Yoongi rolling his hips down in near desperation.

Taehyung can sense the threatening protest behind Yoongi's lips, so before Yoongi can speak, his fingers hook into Yoongi's waistband and he pops the button with a well-practiced thumb. The release of pressure leaves Yoongi sighing into Taehyung's collar.

“Please,” Taehyung says, flattening his hand to stroke Yoongi over his boxers. His pants leave little room for anything overly exciting, but the gentler friction is welcome, even has him leaking precome in his underwear. “Please tell me if you don't like anything I do.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. He's spaghetti thrown across Taehyung's chest, dripping butter over his skin. He's a puddle. He's nothing and everything. “You - you, too.”

Taehyung starts to tug Yoongi's jeans down, which brings him the clarity to roll over and finish the job himself. By the time he's gotten his jeans over his heels - fuck skinny jeans, even if they get him laid - Taehyung's jeans are gone, too, and Yoongi can barely keep himself from knee-walking back over to straddle him again, keeping their clothed dicks carefully distant from each other.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung pleads. A pink flush blooms over the bridge of his nose, under his freckles, and he twitches in his briefs, but still, he's gentle, his fingertips catching the hem of Yoongi's shirt and guiding it up over his chest. He's so gentle and so soft, so eager to please.

“Yeah?” He's tugged his shirt over his head now, leaving him the barer of the two. It's fine, he's not shy about his pale chest or the way his skin curves over his ribs, but he wants to see Taehyung too.

“Please, do something,” Taehyung whimpers. Yoongi re-angles his hips, letting his dick brush over Taehyung's so scarcely it hurts, but it's enough to make Taehyung tense under him. He revels in the way Taehyung's eyes roll back, fingers squeezing Yoongi's thighs, lip tugged tight between his teeth. He does it again and again and again, and it's maddening even to him, the material of his boxers soaking slowly with accumulating precome. Taehyung isn't much better, the flaming red of his briefs staining dark where he leaks against the cotton.

It's enough. Enough. Their breaths come in gasps and they're shaking against one another even as Taehyung sits to yank his shirt over his head. “Do you have any condoms?” Yoongi asks.

Taehyung shakes his head. “Didn't really think I'd be getting laid here. Sharing a bed with you 'n all. Joke's on me,” he snickers.

“Fuck,” Yoongi says. “Well. You clean?”

“Last I checked.”

“Which was?”

“Two months ago.”

“I'm clean too. But I'm not comfortable fucking anyone - or getting fucked - without a condom. Not the first time,” Yoongi says, pointedly ignoring the way Taehyung’s dick jumps at his words.

“I'm not really either,” Taehyung says.

Yoongi whines, impatient again. “Can we just - can we -” He hooks his heels behind Taehyung's knees and rocks down in earnest. The time spent talking was enough for the intensity to return, and they both shudder at the contact.

“Yeah,” Taehyung gasps, “we can.”

“Hold on.” Yoongi shifts onto his knees, snapping his boxers down his thighs, dick bouncing free, the cool air bringing sweet relief to his searing skin. “Is this okay with you?”

“God, yeah,” Taehyung says, fingers climbing Yoongi's thigh as he kicks his boxers off the bed. “Can I?”

“Please.” And then Taehyung's long, warm fingers curl over his length, catching at the rim and smearing precome over the head. The raw touch pulls a moan through his lips - a real, honest-to-god moan, and he has to force himself to remember that Hoseok and Jimin are next door, hopefully passed-out drunk from all the shots - and he bucks into the heat of it. Taehyung's other hand cups his balls, delicately tracing over his perineum and god Taehyung knows his way around a body.

“Tae,” Yoongi supplicates. The half hour, now, of teasing - dancing excluded - has caught up to him, and he needs it.

“Chase it, hyung,” Taehyung mumbles. He folds over to the nightstand, pumping lotion into his fist, then curls his fingers around Yoongi's dick. “Chase it.”

Yoongi does, pushing forward and watching the head of his dick squeeze through the circle of Taehyung's fingers. It's a nothing but a handjob but it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, and with Taehyung's other hand now teasing at his rim he won't last long.

“Tae, Tae,” Yoongi whines. “Let me - yeah, you should -” Taehyung's underwear follows after Yoongi's, plunging over the edge of the bed, and then they're both bare, Taehyung's long, dark body under Yoongi's paler, more delicate one. Taehyung's dick is a little longer and marginally thicker than Yoongi's, the head - now leaking clear slick onto his bare stomach - a darker purple to Yoongi's velvety pink.

“Are you comfortable if we - oh - okay,” Taehyung giggles, because Yoongi had read his mind - or maybe his face, the way he was aching for touch. Yoongi now presses his own dick against Taehyung's, the lotion spreading to Taehyung's skin as he jerks into it, desperate for a more satisfying friction.

“Please,” Taehyung gasps, “please, oh - fuck.” Yoongi's locked both hands around their lengths pressed flush together, linked fingers dragging up and down their shafts just tightly enough for it to brink on pain.

“Fuck it,” Yoongi hisses. Taehyung thrusts up, his frenulum catching on Yoongi's, and the sounds of their synchronized moans are definitely loud enough to be heard next door, but Yoongi's something like eight thousand percent past the point of caring. “Yeah, Tae - mm.”

Taehyung stops to pump more lotion into his palm, now batting Yoongi's hands away to replace them with one of his own. Yoongi thrusts forward in long, heavy drags, setting a slow pace, his palm smoothing over the heads of their dicks, slick with precome.

Taehyung's gasping in his ear when he collapses forward. He thinks that at one point, his intention was to kiss Taehyung again, but that was lost in the fray. Instead he kisses his neck, less for Taehyung than it is for Yoongi, for the warmth and sweet press of soft skin to his lips, for something to do with his mouth that’s not spilling out curses and moans.

It's too much but not enough at the same time, the pulse under his skin growing painfully slowly. He needs more, harder, something sharp to throw him over the edge.

“Fuck, Tae, fuck me,” Yoongi breathes. He's glad when Tae gets it, hips propelling forward in time with Yoongi's thrusts. Suddenly everything is more, the grip tighter, friction hotter, the wriggling pleasure under Yoongi's navel stronger.

“Oh, oh - hyung, I'm close,” Taehyung whimpers. It registers then to Yoongi, absently, somewhere far in the back corner of his mind, that their rocking thrusts have the bed creaking, even thumping into the wall here and here. Hoseok and Jimin will know. Hoseok and Jimin will know but Yoongi doesn't care, his fingertips are on fire and Taehyung's abdomen is flexing and his thrusts stutter to a near halt as his come shoots up his chest, streaking his belly with white. The sight alone is enough for Yoongi - gasping, “Me, too” - and his come spills over their tangled fingers and Taehyung's slowly softening dick. Taehyung's hand loosely gentles them both through the aftershocks.

This time, Yoongi's lips do land on Taehyung's, his sticky fingers on Taehyung's ribs now, carefully avoiding their oversensitive dicks while they gasp into each other’s mouths. Taehyung's salty lips are soft under Yoongi's tongue, mouth slow and pliant from orgasm. After a long moment, Taehyung rolls Yoongi onto his side, their faces falling centimeters apart on the pillow.

“Messy,” Yoongi grumbles.

“Worth it,” Taehyung singsongs under his breath.

“Never said otherwise.”

Taehyung giggles.

After Yoongi regains feeling in his legs but before he starts to drift, he forces himself out of bed and procures wipes from his luggage. It takes three before he feels clean enough to consider laying back down, and two more before he actually does, but not without first throwing a handful at Taehyung, who seemed to be falling asleep before the cold wipes hit his chest.

“Hyuuuunnggg,” he moans. “Why'd you do that.”

“I'm not cuddling you if I'm gonna get clammy come on me. Clean up so we can sleep.”

“Aw,” Taehyung says, voice soft with tiredness, “never pegged you for an after-sex cuddler.”

“And I never pegged you for someone who'd have casual sex,” Yoongi quips, watching Taehyung wipe himself down.

He doesn't miss the way the tension crosses Taehyung's face when he says that. “Oh. Yeah.”

“No, Tae, I didn't mean -”

“It's fine, hyung,” Taehyung says, tossing aside the used wipes.

“We should,” Yoongi whispers, sliding under the covers and pulling Taehyung under with him. “We should talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Taehyung says. Yoongi curls himself around Taehyung's back, kissing his shoulder blade.

“'Night, Tae.”

“'Night, hyung.”

 

v. coming clean

There’s something sharp assaulting Yoongi’s ribs. Sharp and wriggly, tickling over his skin, and he makes a strangled gasping noise in his throat before his eyes snap open and his hands catch the offending thing.

The thing is Taehyung. Taehyung, who’s grinning at him with swollen cheeks and an impressive bedhead, eyes alert and chest bare.

“G’morning,” he whispers, throaty voice sleep-raspy.

“You demon,” Yoongi grumbles, wriggling back into Taehyung’s side. “Don’t tickle me awake.”

“You were so cute, though,” Taehyung pouts. “I had to.”

“I’ll bite you next time. I really will.”

“Maybe I’m okay with that,” Taehyung laughs, voice warbled with sultry humor.

“Fuck off.” They’re still an uncomfortable level of sticky, Taehyung especially, and Yoongi’s torn between staying here in the precious warmth of this bed and going to shower. “Time’s it?”

“Little before nine.” Eyes closed, Taehyung is stroking Yoongi’s side, cheek pressed to Yoongi’s temple. “We should probably get up before Jimin tries to get us up.”

Yoongi’s stomach does a strange, flip-floppy thing, and he jolts up then, already eyeing his bag for clothes. With the mention of Jimin, he suddenly feels very naked and very nervous. “Uh-huh.”

Taehyung sighs, curling towards the empty space where Yoongi’s back had been moments before. “When do you wanna talk?”

“After coffee?” Yoongi suggests, throwing the covers off to make his way to the shower.

Taehyung tugs him back by the wrist, stretching forward to kiss him on the lips. “Sounds perfect.”

 

“What I’m confused about,” Jimin hums, chin resting in his palms on the bar, “is what you were getting revenge for last night.”

Yoongi has just entered the kitchen-now-interrogation-room after a heavenly shower to find Taehyung at the bar, shoveling eggs into his mouth as Jimin smiles sweetly at him.

“Don’t know what y’mean,” Taehyung chews. “Revenge?”

“We get the first time,” Hoseok says. He’s on Jeongguk duty this morning, watching the younger robotically fork eggs into his mouth with his eyes more closed than opened. “We were loud and we bothered you. But why last night?”

Yoongi can feel himself pale as the all the blood in his body seems to shrink back inside him, hiding in shame, maybe fear. “We don’t –”

Jimin lets out a tinkling laugh when Hoseok hooks his chin over Jimin’s shoulder, eyes darting between Yoongi and Taehyung. “You know, chubs. I think that may not have been revenge.”

Wow,” Taehyung says. “Are you accusing us of –”

“Jumping each other’s bones like we know you’ve both wanted to for years?” Jimin finishes for him.

“Why would we do that?” Hoseok asks. He sighs, ruffling Jimin’s hair. “But are we right?”

“We are not having this conversation at breakfast,” Yoongi says.

“We’re right!” Jimin shouts. “We’rerightwe’rerightwe’rerightwe’rerightwe’reright!”

Yoongi gathers up all the nasty and bitter in his bones and shoots it via his eyes across the bar at Jimin. “Taehyung, would you mind accompanying me back to our room?”

He ignores Jimin’s wolf whistle and Hoseok’s subsequent cackle.

 

Accomplishing awkward with Kim Taehyung is challenging, but somehow, Yoongi’s managed it. They’re sitting side-by-side on their unmade double bed, Yoongi clutching a hot mug of black coffee between his shaking hands, not talking or touching or even exchanging glances.

“So,” Taehyung says, finally turning to look at Yoongi. “What’re you thinking?”

Yoongi exhales a long, long breath, and it’s not stalling but he is using the time to consider his words. “I… What’re you thinking?”

Taehyung flops back on the bed. “I’m thinking that I’ve been nursing a crush on you for like, a decade, and that I’m not sure last night actually happened.”

“It happened,” Yoongi assures him, still feeling the satisfaction of a good orgasm deep in his muscles. “I take that to mean you don’t regret it?”

“No, I don’t regret it,” Taehyung says almost too quickly. “I don’t know how you feel, but… I don’t regret it at all.”

“I don’t regret it,” Yoongi says. “Except that we did it in the room next to those assholes. They will never let us live it down.”

Taehyung giggles. “Yeah, well, there could be worse things to regret.”

“I like you,” Yoongi says suddenly, voice a little louder than he’d intended. “I like you.”

“C’mere, hyung,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi sets his coffee on the nightstand before sliding down next to Taehyung, who pulls him in and presses a kiss to his lips. “I like you, too.”

“Well.” Yoongi’s cheeks are pink, his skin on fire. “I, do you, should we…?”

“Yes,” Taehyung breathes, “yes. We should.” His lips are more persistent this time, hot against Yoongi’s, tongue laving over Yoongi’s bottom lip. “Yes.”

 

They emerge from the bedroom a half hour later, hair disheveled and lips swollen, fingers laced together.

Jimin whistles again. “Y’know, sometimes it’s really annoying to be the most perceptive one in the friend group.”

“Hey,” Hoseok snaps. “I’m perceptive, too!”

“You are. But you don’t count.”

“What are you talking about?” Taehyung asks, eyebrow cocked up.

“I don’t know, Taehyung,” Jimin says. “What do you think I’m talking about?”

Yoongi gasps, squeezing Taehyung’s hand. “When?! How long?!” he demands.

“Um,” Hoseok says. “Two days. The night before the beach.”

“What are you – oh. Oh. What the fuck!” Taehyung shrieks, nearly barreling over the bar to wrestle Jimin in for a hug when he, too, sees the gleam of silver on Jimin’s finger. Yoongi throws himself around the bar, hugging Hoseok from behind.

“You’re getting married,” Yoongi grumbles into his nape. “I can’t believe.”

“Tell me all about it!” Taehyung screams, shaking Jimin by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna propose?”

“I didn’t!” Jimin protests. “I wasn’t. Hoseok got all sappy at Disney. He asked me by Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Gave me the ring when we got back.”

“Well, that explains all the fucking,” Yoongi deadpans, shifting back on his heels to watch Hoseok look at Jimin. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because. Hoseok owes me dinner and a rim –”

Stop,” Yoongi groans.

“We bet on it,” Hoseok explains. “I said you’d notice the next day. Jimin said you wouldn’t. Then we were going to see how long it took, but we got tired of not being able to talk about it. And now I owe Jimin dinner and a rimjob.”

Jimin sighs wistfully. “Can’t wait to get home.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice the rings,” Taehyung complains.

“Me neither,” Hoseok pouts. “Look at how beautiful it is. Do you know how much I spent on that? How dare you not notice it.”

Jimin spreads his fingers, wriggling them and flaunting the thick silver band, glittering with diamonds.

 

vi. the flight home

“Wow,” Jeongguk says, four days later as he’s buckling into his seat between Namjoon and Seokjin. “I can’t believe all of you got some degree less single on this trip. Everyone except me.”

“That’s not true, Jeonggukkie,” Jimin says, patting Jeongguk’s knee. “You caught a Porygon. I’m sure that counts for something.”