What is it about happy couples and dinner parties?
Are they required to invite all their friends, even the single ones, to their domestic den of cozy, mismatched furniture and framed photos?
You arrive late, having taken too long to decide whether or not to actually go. The flat is crowded. Namjoon and Seokjin’s friends lounge in the hallway, lean against the couch, and linger in the small kitchen.
The other partygoers chat in small groups. They all know each other. The low thumping music, the engaging conversation, the genuine laughter, it makes for a pleasant soundtrack. The party is nice. They’re nice. If you were remotely capable of social interaction, it would be fun. But, you aren’t.
Maybe you could leave. No, too rude. Maybe you could go outside and bum a smoke. Better.
You maneuver to the opposite end of the flat and open the back door. Only one person is out here. His back is turned and he leans against the bar-high wall enclosing the small landing. A cold breeze runs along your neck, feeling like an inept lover’s clumsy enticement. You shiver. A whiff of smoke reaches you and you realize that’s not a cigarette he's smoking. Thank god. This evening is definitely looking up.
But then it isn't.
Min Yoongi turns around, looking disdainful and wearing black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt and black leather jacket. His dark hair is artfully mussed, as if the wind were his personal stylist. A joint hangs off his lips.
You've met him before. Namjoon introduced you on one of those late nights when he stayed at the library until closing. Yoongi waited on the front steps for his friend, looking much like he does now, slightly annoyed and inscrutable.
"Mr. Min Yoongi," you say, sounding like a game show announcer. Fuck, what is wrong with you?
You scramble to think of a way to recover this whole situation. You need to get him to share that joint.
"I’m not getting you high."
"—the fuck?" you say. This really isn't the best idea, but seriously, what the hell.
"I’m sorry." He exhales.
"No, you’re not."
"No," he says with a huff of laughter. "I’m not, but I need something to get through this whole" — he waves the hand holding the joint toward the window where you can see the others laughing and talking inside — "dinner party thing."
"Me too," you sigh. "Why not help me?"
"Because then I couldn’t finish this." He expertly holds the rapidly diminishing joint between his fingers. The embers burn bright in the wind.
"Please," you say, embarrassed by the whine in your voice, but continuing nonetheless. "I’m terrible at small talk."
"Getting high isn't going to help." He scoffs.
"I know, but if I'm high I won't feel weird about drinking alone, which is what I'm going to do anyway.
"Sorry, kid." He shrugs.
What is it with this guy? His whole I’m-going-to-stare-into-the-night-sky-and-contemplate-the-vastness-of-the-universe-thing really works for him. If the rumors are true, it really works for a lot of people on campus, but seriously, fuck him.
"We’re the same age, dude."
"Don’t call me dude." He turns around to continue his staring time.
"No problem, gramps." Your dramatic exit is thwarted when the back door gets stuck. Eventually, you yank it open.
Seokjin has finished cooking dinner. Most everyone is claiming seats in their now-formed groups. Every cup and bowl must have been pulled from the cupboards to create this charming mishmash of a dining table. It meanders from the kitchen and into the living room. You move to the front of the flat, nodding and smiling awkwardly as you brush past the other guests.
You don't recognize anyone. You aren’t even friends with Namjoon, not really. You’re his assigned research librarian. He takes it seriously, though, unlike most professors who treat you like an indentured servant.
It was sweet of Namjoon to invite you. You had been in such a daze from the broad-shouldered man in the pink sweatshirt who had introduced himself as Namjoon’s boyfriend that you never considered turning him down. Instead, you were thinking maybe there was hope for you when Namjoon, who once got lost in the rare books room, could pull the most attractive man you've ever seen.
You take one of the last seats available, a squeaky folding chair wedged between the front window and the side of the hutch. There's an empty chair beside you, but you doubt anyone will take it. You’re going to be at this end of the table alone. Well, better to be the odd one out than to make painful small talk all night.
Things are looking up though, 'cause there’s an open bottle of wine in front of you and no one you have to share it with.
"Great," a voice mutters.
Min Yoongi sits down in the folding chair next to you.
You pour yourself a glass of wine.
Yoongi is high as fuck. Like, almost not fun high. Like he needs to close his eyes and stop the room from spinning high.
He really should have shared that joint.
He feels light-headed and untethered. Everything he is supposed to do – like, going to the studio and finishing his newest track – is waiting for him on the other side of whatever this is. For now, he just needs to be.
He needs a few other things, too. He needs a drink. He needs Seokjin’s food, and he needs a place to sit other than next to the librarian who doesn't like him, but he couldn't get out of this uncomfortable chair now if his life depended on it. He crosses his arms and leans back.
He doesn’t even know how he ended up at this party.
Except, he does, actually.
Seokjin had threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t show up, and Namjoon had given him the puppy dog eyes. Yoongi was impressed he held out the two point five seconds that he did.
He felt bad about not getting the librarian high. Yoongi glances over at you. He recognized you as Namjoon's favorite research librarian which really means something. Namjoon has probably known a lot of librarians in his life. Yoongi isn’t usually so stingy, but it had been a bad day and a bad week, and he did need something to get through this night.
He feels worse about it now, though.
The only bottle of wine at this end of the table is held firmly in your hand. He isn’t going to be able to wedge himself back through the crowded hallway to get another one in his current state.
"Just half a glass-"
"Maybe you’re terrible at small talk because you swear at everyone."
"Maybe, but we’re stuck here for the next hour, and— oh shit."
"Some might find the swearing cute, but—
"I need a favor," you say, eyes going wide, hand griping the bottle so tight your knuckles are white. "Please."
Yoongi likes the look of desperation on your face, and he isn't above using it to get what he wants. He looks pointedly at the bottle. "I'm sure we can work something out."
"Okay," you sigh, handing it over. "It's worth it."
Oh shit, Yoongi thinks, pouring himself a glass. "What have I agreed to?"
"See the guy sitting between the couch and the coffee table?"
"With the goatee?"
"—the fuck?" He looks over at you. He’s sure the disbelief is showing on his face. You're cute, and this guy looks like a moron. Yoongi might be high as fuck, but that makes no sense.
"He didn’t have a goatee." You clutch his arm. "I swear."
"Okay, I believe you.” That makes a little more sense, but not much. "So far this has nothing to do with me, not that I mind."
"He’s still sort of into me, so he might— yup, here he comes." You wave your hands in front of your face as if to fend off this moron.
Goatee guy has a smile that says 'fancy seeing you here,’ and he is awkwardly trying to stand, wedged as he is between the couch and the coffee table.
Yoongi sighs. "Are we dating?"
"Only for the next hour. He's not a stalker, just an idiot. He will think me going out with someone else means I'm not interested, instead of all those times I told him I wasn't interested."
Yoongi shakes his head. Thankfully, the moron gives up on trying to maneuver to this end of the table. Yoongi’s high and wants another drink and pretending to date you is not actually that bad a prospect. Fuck it, the swearing is cute. The big sweater, little dress thing works for you. "So, what happened?"
"Didn’t work out," you say, arranging the bowl in front of you, as if it wasn't perfectly placed already.
"Come on, you at least owe me a story."
"We only went out a couple times."
"So, it wasn’t the sex."
"Oh, it was definitely the sex." You exhale. "I keep thinking I will get lucky."
"Sounds like you did."
"I got laid," you say, "there’s a difference."
Yoongi laughs. He likes your answering smile.
"He’s one of those guys who can’t talk about anything. He was like ‘whatever, I get it' but he obviously didn't, you know?" You cross your legs tightly, as if to make yourself as small as possible. "I’m pretty sensitive. So, I told him 'I'm pretty sensitive' because, communication, right. But then this guy goes for my clit like his last fucking meal."
Yoongi almost spits out his wine.
"Oh God, this is why I'm bad at social interaction." You look up at the ceiling. You bounce your knee against the underside of the table, looking like you would bolt if there was any way you could get out of this corner. "I should’ve lied, right?"
There’s a red flush to your cheeks, but there is no reason you should be embarrassed just because this guy is an ass.
Yoongi puts a hand on your leg, holding you steady. You take a stuttering breath, but still can't quiet your nerves. He grips tighter, squeezing your thigh with more pressure than necessary to get your attention. Finally, your leg stills.
"Good girl," he says, words tumbling out before he can stop them. He tries not to be obvious as he watches your reaction.
The tension holding you tight, making you cramped and uncomfortable, loosens. Your eyes flutter closed, your breath steadies.
Well, that answers that question, he thinks, and it’s not a disappointment. He tries to quiet his own nerves and the images that invade his mind, rushed and unbidden. He’s been keeping them at bay for a long time. He needs to get ahold of himself before he does something that you might not like, that might make you recoil instead of relax.
He loosens his hand but doesn't move away.
You take a deep breath. "Forget I said—"
"You shouldn't be embarrassed."
"Oh, thanks." You look over at him, biting your lip. "Sorry, I don’t normally blurt out the details of my sex life."
Your lips are red from the wine. He likes that you said what you did, it’s honest. He prefers honesty over sophistication, anyway.
He squeezes your thigh. "Except for when you do."
You laugh. "Yeah, alright. I guess I do."
Your thigh is warm under his hand. Your sweater had been pushed up at some point, bunched around your hips. Your dress is slippery and silky. He can feel the pattern of your knit tights underneath. Before he can stop himself, he gathers the fabric of your dress, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
He's high as fuck, but he's always thought you were cute, even on those late nights on the library steps when he's cold and he just wants to get to the studio and he’s tired of waiting for you and Namjoon finish debating whatever obscure topic you’re discussing.
You look down, staring at his hand on your thigh. You don’t shift or ask him to move. You’ve got a small smile on your face, hidden as if you are worried what might happen if it’s found.
Well, he didn't get you high, but he can do this. "Then let’s make sure he knows we’re together, yeah?"
As the dinner party goes on, Yoongi squeezes and touches your leg, casual-like, like this is normal, like this has happened before. He nudges his thigh next to yours when he moves his hand away, as if to remind you he won't leave you alone.
You relax as the candles get lower, the conversations more subdued. It feels like he’s drugged you with that raspy voice of his and his sarcastic comments. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, it shouldn’t make your breath catch or your body feel like it’s attuned to every subtle movement he makes. Gradually, it feels like you are the only two people in this room. As if this whole party was an excuse to sit next to Min Yoongi while he casually, seemingly unknowingly, unravels the tension you carry with you, not realizing how heavy it is until he removes it.
Honestly, it feels fucking fantastic. You’ve had orgasms less satisfying than the feeling of his fingers grazing the skin of your thigh.
When the idiot looks your way, Yoongi leans a little too close, whispering something in your ear. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in your chest.
Yoongi seems not to notice what's happening to you. He seems perfectly normal, for a guy who's pretty fucking high and hates small talk.
He tells to you about the graduate project he's working on with Namjoon. He's a composer of all things. He looks at you stunned when you ask what his parents thought of his choice. He simply answers that he doesn’t know why their opinion matters. There's a hard edge to his voice, though. You wonder if it did matter at some point. You wonder if he found a way to move on from it, and you wonder if he will tell you his secret. You tell him about your thesis and the research you're doing for Namjoon. He listens. He even asks questions, not dumb ones. It's as heady as the hands that can't seem to stop their gentle exploration, fingers worrying at your skirt, rubbing at your tights. He even pours you some of the bribe wine.
Eventually, dinner’s over but no one has left the table. You don't want to move, what with the spell that’s been woven by his hand on your skin.
His hand moves possessively, dipping down between your thighs, fingers grazing your other leg. You squirm in your seat. You can't help it. It feels so fucking good to have him touch you like this.
His hand stills.
His fingers dig into your skin. He's got a grip, and it's hard not to think about what else his hands could do.
"What –" he starts, confusion on his face.
He’s probably just realized this is weird and the weirdest thing is you haven’t stopped him, and he’s going to think you are weird.
"Sorry, I know I’m weird—"
"No—what?" he stutters. His hand dips again, slipping between your legs, almost reaching the apex of your thighs. Oh god does he have any idea what he’s doing to you? "Are these thigh-highs?" His voice sounds incredulous. "Tights?"
He looks over at you with wide eyes.
How much did he smoke? 'Cause now you realize it’s more than you thought. (He really should've shared.)
He looks so cute though, smiling and running his hands up and down your thigh in disbelief.
You really hope he remembers this conversation tomorrow when he's sober, because he is going to be so embarrassed. "Yes, they’re tights."
"How do they stay up?"
You've never been so charmed in your life.
His hand reaches for your other leg as if to make sure there are indeed two, one on each leg. His grip is strong, as he pulls your legs together, fingers scrambling over your skin.
"Um, elastic." You try not to laugh. "They're really common."
Now he’s running a finger along the edge, dipping below the elastic and circling your thigh. How something so innocent can feel so obscene, you have no fucking idea.
You shake your head, not trusting your voice. His fingers skim your skin, warm and light. Every movement feels like a chorus being played on your body. You look over at him, expecting that gummy smile of his again.
But instead, he’s narrowing his eyes at you like he’s about to con you out of your life savings. He doesn’t look away as he moves his hand higher, nudging aside your skirt, as if in disdain of the fabric for interfering with his plans.
He doesn’t shy away like you think he might, pretend it's a coincidence, pretend it's a weird accident, pretend he doesn't know the basics of human anatomy. Because he does, and you wonder if this whole time he knew what he was doing.
You feel light-headed. The sensations you've been trying to deny all night, out of a sense of propriety, out of a sense of this-cannot-be-happening are rapidly moving to the forefront. You’ve been lying to yourself, not very successfully, at how turned on you are. You've ignored it all: your slippery, wet panties, your aching, swollen sex.
Fuck, you feel like the most ridiculous slut. The world’s easiest woman, ladies and gentlemen, just a hand on her thigh and she’s yours. God, what if he thinks you’re pathetic? What if he didn’t intend this?
Your mouth forms a surprised oh as he moves his hand to cup your pussy, the palm of his hand resting on top, fingers pressing against your covered slit with an unwavering, gentle pressure.
Well, it seems like he intended that.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything surprising. It's like he's saying, I come in peace, fair clit. I’m not going to attack you.
You take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Does he think it's weird you haven't stopped him? Because you don’t want to. From the corner of your eye, you can see him bite his lip.
"[Y/N]," someone calls.
You jerk your head up, reverie broken. Oh god, it's the idiot.
"[Y/N]" the idiot says again, smiling at you.
Now? This is happening now?
Yoongi for his part, couldn't care less. The interruption hasn't stopped the way his fingers move in a steady rhythm. He grinds down his palm experimentally.
You briefly shut your eyes. Yoongi chuckles.
"How have you been, [Y/N]?"
You don't respond, having trouble forming words. The idiot narrows his eyes. You can feel your cheeks heat. What must you look like? You take a sip of wine to give yourself a moment to think.
Yoongi doesn’t let you, though. "How have we been?" he asks, voice soft, whispering in your ear. You can see the consternation on the idiot's face. Yoongi moves even closer, breath fanning your skin. "Are we good?"
"So good," you stutter.
"I don't think he can hear you." Yoongi reprimands.
You clear your throat. "Really good," you say in a wavering voice.
The idiot glances between the two of you. Yoongi hasn't moved away, and you can still feel his breath on your neck. It must look like he's continuing to whisper something, when really what he’s doing is turning you into a pool of lust right here at the dinner table. Yoongi grinds down again. You stifle a moan, and you must show more than you intend. Understanding dawns on the idiot's face.
"We're great," Yoongi says. He turns away from you to face the idiot. "Thanks for asking."
The idiot scowls but finally fucking gets it, as he turns to speak to someone on the other side of him.
"That worked," you exhale.
"Did it?" Yoongi grins. "Or is it still working?" He taps your pussy with his fingers. Even those slight vibrations are enough to coax you, legs parting for him, as if he had commanded it.
"What if he knows you're, umm, with your hand and whatnot?" You ask anxiously, but not stopping the gentle rocking of your hips to increase the sensation.
"Whatnot?" Yoongi chuckles, but not in a mean way. "We’re fine, I'm pretty sure he doesn’t know what you look like when you cum."
You start laughing and that's almost enough to send you over the edge. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand.
Yoongi's turns his body toward you. It must be an awkward position for him, but he's protecting you from the rest of the room. He needn't have worried, no one is paying attention. Everyone is engaged in their own conversations.
Yoongi cocks his head at you, biting back a smile like he thinks you won’t notice how delighted he is.
He’s sweet, you think.
He grinds down again. You shiver and your body aches, every nerve ending primed for whatever he'll do next.
"Fuck, you really are sensitive, aren't you?"
"I know, sorry—"
"Don’t apologize," he says, his words a dismissive drawl, as if it were that easy to change a lifetime of I’m sorries.
He starts moving his fingers over your wet panties. Just a simple circular motion. Your clit is still protected, so you don’t have to worry about him jabbing you like someone else would. Finally, someone gets it, and it’s in public, and it's at a dinner party, and it’s Min Yoongi.
"What else do you like?"
Is this a conversation? Is he expecting you to form words?
"Could you cum riding a pillow?" You nod, a little too enthusiastically, but it's one of your favorites. "Fuck, I bet you look sweet."
Do you? You’ve no idea.
"You take your time, don't you, teasing yourself? Bet you look so good."
"Uhh, I've only been by myself." You whisper, as you try to steady your breath.
"Nuh-uh, I wanna watch. "
"Yeah?" you say, voice a little too high, a little too wavering. If you were remotely used to this sort of thing, you would pretend the thought of him watching you was a bore, absolutely nothing special, happened a million times before. But you're not remotely used to this, and the thought of him watching you is going to keep you warm on lonely nights for a long time. Probably in a few hours, actually.
"Of course," he drawls, tongue in his cheek. "Wouldn't like it if you did it without me, though, might have to punish you."
"Oh my god," you exhale, hands moving to grip your knees. You try to project an outward image of calm and sophistication. You assume it isn't working, but it’s the thought that count
He's not even close to stopping, his fingers continuing a steady, circular pattern. He leans closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.
You arch your neck, preening for him, giving him more access. You can feel his chuckle on your skin.
"What if I put you in my lap? What if I made you grind against me until you were all messy, could you cum for me like that?"
Oh fuck, that's a thought. Yoongi fully dressed, probably. You being all desperate and needy for him, hair a mess, panties ruined, lips red and bitten. How long could he maintain his cool indifference? How long before you could force him out of that mold he's so carefully built around himself? You really want to find out.
"Uh, I could do that," you say, as if this were a job interview. Really, it’s a miracle you ever get laid.
He pulls back. Your eyes track the movement and you wonder if he likes kissing, likes the slow tangle of tongues and the occasional nip of teeth, wonder if he likes to take his time. He licks his lips. "Bet you sound so pretty when you cum."
"Fuuucckkk," you breathe. You're not going to last. If he doesn't stop soon, you're going to cum, sitting in the corner of someone else's flat. God, you don’t even care, it feels so good. It’s like every guy before thought you were some complicated, intricate piece of machinery. When you are really a simple creature who just needs a boring, repetitive hand motion from Min fucking Yoongi to get you off. As easy as that.
"Yoongi," Namjoon calls.
You startle. Yoongi for his part doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away from your face, doesn't stop his ministrations under the table. It's as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. He leans in closer, lips now caressing your ear. "What do you want, sweetheart?"
You part your lips; your body seems to only exist as an instrument for him to play. Oh god, you want so much to hear him say that again. You would never get tired of it. He sounds like he means it. He sounds like he would really give you whatever you ask for.
You're ready to beg or whine, whatever it takes to keep this going, when you open your eyes. The room comes into focus. The other guests, the dining table, the fact that you and Yoongi aren’t alone even though it seemed like you were for those few minutes.
Namjoon is looking at you strangely. You turn away. You're Namjoon’s librarian, for Christ's sake. You pull requests from the rare book room and process transfer forms. What are you doing?
"Please," Yoongi says, "tell me."
He sounds like he really wants to know. You want to tell him so badly, but this isn't you. This is a story that happens to someone else. You don’t get these sorts of things. You squeeze your eyes shut.
"We probably shouldn’t."
"It’s a dinner party. They won't invite us back."
"That’s a bad thing?"
Laughter bubbles up, unbidden. "Don’t make me laugh," you pant.
"It makes it so much worse," you say.
"Dude, you want to hear his new track?" Yoongi's other friend calls. Hoseok, you think it is. It looks like you've attracted the attention of him and Namjoon.
"Don’t call me dude," Yoongi calls without turning his head to look back at his friends.
It would have been fun, you think. But you shift your body, sitting up straighter in the chair, squeezing your thighs together, letting him know this is over.
"You sure?" He asks. He sounds regretful and that’s enough to give you a thrill, a feeling of warmth even as your body is chilled when he moves away.
He looks down, sliding his hand away.
It will be a nice memory, you think.
He gives you a terse smile before moving to the other side of the room.
Yoongi doesn’t normally put a hand under someone’s clothes at the dinner table, not unless they’re dating or he’s talked to them about it first. But you were so enticing, he couldn't help himself.
You were into it, he knew that. He knew from your sighs of satisfaction, from the way your eyes would go unfocused, from the way you shifted to move your body closer. He isn’t worried that he overstepped. You had let him know what you thought about him not smoking you out, no way you would have let him do that if you didn't want him to.
He was disappointed you didn’t want to keep going, though. He knows that much, as he walks over to meet Namjoon and Hoseok.
"Do you know they make thigh-high tights?"
(Tomorrow when Yoongi's sober and walking to the library, he will remember this conversation and curse. He must have sounded like such an idiot.)
His two friends look up at him in surprise. Maybe he should have complimented Joon on his new track first, but that guy's a genius, everything he touches is gold.
"Yes," Namjoon says.
Hoseok looks at Yoongi quizzically. "They’re pretty common."
"What," Namjoon asks, "are you doing with my research librarian?"
"Nothing." Yoongi looks up sharply. "She’s not yours."
"True, but I like her and she’s good at finding the books I need, so I want her to like me."
"Everyone likes you."
"True, but if you sleep with her and then there's drama she's not going to like me, because she knows you and I are friends."
Yoongi knows there's a lot of drama with him and relationships. There always has been. He doesn’t go looking for it, but most often it's there.
"She’s smart. I like the swearing and the big sweaters and the way she looks when she's working behind the research desk."
Hoseok raises an eyebrow at that. "You really like her?"
Yoongi hasn’t thought about it in those terms until Hoseok asks so plainly. Does he like you? He wants to push you just a little further to see how far you'll go. He wants you delirious and begging for him. He wants to know what you look like when you cum. So, he has wants, he knows that.
Yoongi looks over to where you're talking to another grad student. You're gesturing like you did when you described your thesis to him. You're explaining something really complicated and intricate, and it's charming.
Hoseok takes a deep breath. "You really like her."
"I think so." Yoongi says, unable to admit more.
"Well, you should know so before you do anything." Namjoon interjects. "You’ve fucked things up before."
Yoongi looks over at Hoseok. "Are you going to let him talk to me like this?"
"I'm the one they talk to when it doesn’t work.” Hoseok sighs. “So you should know so before you do anything."
Yoongi tries to focus on Joon’s music, but he can't. An hour later and the apartment is mostly empty. He sees you in the narrow entryway, pulling your coat from the rack.
It's been a long time since he wanted anyone new. Lately, he’s preferred unattached indifference. The little he did tonight with his hand slipping under your dress, fingers grazing your soft cotton was more enticing, more desirable than the overpriced lingerie and the carefully applied lipstick of his usual partners. He thinks he prefers the red of your chapped, bitten lips.
"Hey," he says, walking up to you in the dark entryway.
You look up, as if surprised he's talking to you. "Oh, hi."
He agrees with his friends, he should know so before doing anything, but how is he going to know if he doesn't try?
"Can I get your number?"
That's how this is usually done, isn't it? It's been so long since he's met someone outside of the club.
"No," you say, sadly, as if regretting he asked you at all.
Did he completely mess this up? Already?
You sigh. "Please don't be polite."
"I'm not being polite."
"Can we talk, just for a minute?"
Yoongi holds your wrist, gently pulling you down the hallway as if you might want to run away.
You don’t want to. You'd probably follow him anywhere, but he shouldn’t make this into something it isn’t. You like him, you’ve realized. And you don’t want to – it's confusing and inconvenient. The problem is your desire was only stoked as you watched him, as furtively as possible, laughing and talking with his friends and getting into some kind of debate with Namjoon.
He pulls you into the small bathroom, shutting the door behind you both. It's dark. The only light coming from the streetlamps shining dully through the frosted glass of the window.
You stand with your back to the door while he faces you. He looks like he wants to pace, but the small space won't allow it. He'll run into the tub or the counter. "Did I get this whole thing wrong? Did you not have fun?"
"I had a lot of fun."
"Good." He smiles a smile that says I knew I was right. "So why can't I get your number?"
"If you get my number, I'm going to want you to call, and let's face it, you probably won’t—"
"I want to call you, that's why I asked for your number."
"—but if you don’t get my number, then you can't call me, and I won't have to worry about it."
"That makes no sense. I can get your number from Joon or find you at the research desk until eleven tomorrow."
He knows your schedule?
"The point is," he says, clearing his throat, "I can find you, so what's the difference."
"It makes perfect sense," you say. "If I give you my number I will want you to call. I will keep thinking about what could happen if you had a little more time, maybe a little more privacy, but I was into that whole dinner table thing more than I will ever admit, okay. So, when you don't call, and it doesn't happen again, I will be sad, and I don't want to be sad 'cause you never made me cum, you know?"
It makes perfect sense in your head, but now in this small space, everything about him overwhelms you. His effortless elegance, his intense gaze.
"First of all, I don't want you to be sad." He takes your coat from your hands. "Second of all, I think I know what you're saying."
"You do?" you say, mesmerized as he sets your coat on the counter. He puts his hands on your thighs, dragging his fingertips over your dress, pushing up the fabric to reveal your tights.
"They are special," he mutters.
You squeeze your thighs together.
"Come on, I want to feel you." He looks you in the eye. "Please"
You relax your body, leaning back against the door.
His hands haven't moved, just tightened their grip. His thumbs rest lightly on the still covered apex of your thighs. He leans in closer, lips hovering above your ear.
"What do you want, sweetheart?"
Your breath catches. What do you want? You want more of him whispering like this. You want more of his hands and his questions, of him gently pushing you into something you've never done before, of his praise and his whole fucking deal.
The thing is, though, you don't know if you want it right here and now. The two of you are in a cramped bathroom in someone else's flat. You are anything but relaxed. You feel exposed and nervous, and your heart is beating a steady rhythm that makes you want to bolt out of there.
He kneels before you. Oh god, what is he doing? You can feel him exhale against the damp cotton of your panties.
"So pretty," he says.
You shiver from his tone. He's probably good at this. He's probably better than anyone you've ever been with. But even so you clench your hands into fists and glance up at the ceiling, trying to calm your heart.
His tongue wets his lips. "Yeah?"
"Uh," you waver, looking down at him. What are you going to say? How can you talk to him about this? How many people have wanted to be in this situation and turned him down? "I don't—"
"No?" he says, sounding confused.
Fuck. You look around this small bathroom, Yoongi kneeling before you, trying not to fall over into the bathtub. You take a deep breath. It's not like this night can get any weirder.
"Look, I don't want to hear about how repressed I am or, like, confused about how good it can be. I'm sure you're great, but it hasn't been great lately and I'm not interested in finding out, uh, here now, you know, in this tiny bathroom at this dinner party." You cover your face with your hands. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't fucking apologize," he mutters.
Wow, you've really fucked this up, but you've ignored your intuition for too long. Even if that means not taking the opportunity in front of you, which is Min fucking Yoongi on his knees. He's probably way better than anyone you've ever been with, but this, you think, is the right thing to do. You aren't sure why, but you have to start listening to yourself sometime. You aren't going to wait anymore, not even for him.
"I know I'm weird—"
He holds your wrists gently and moves your hands away from your face. You let him, and you wonder how many regrets you are going to have about this night. They just keep adding up.
He lets go gently. He stands before you and runs a hand through his hair looking you up and down. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You like him so much in that moment for thinking you are worthy of such consideration, of finding the right words.
"If someone made you feel like what you want is wrong, I hope you know it isn't. If you don't like something, you get to say you don't like it." He puts his hands on his hips. "And, if you're into something, you get to be into it and no one gets to tell you it's wrong. Unless it involves, like, non-consenting partners or clowns."
"Clowns are a hard stop for me."
"Who wouldn’t they be a hard stop for?"
"I don’t know. Please give me your number."
You squeeze your eyes shut, why is this so hard? He's cute and he’s hot, a real deadly combination. Pretty much since the moment he sat down next to you all he’s wanted to do is get you off, and it's sweet, you think. He's sweet.
"Please look at me." He sounds a little lost.
You open your eyes.
"Here's the thing, I’m rude and I’m terrible at dinner parties and I won’t answer my phone when I'm in the studio, but I won’t lie. If I say I'm going to call you, I'm going to call you."
You believe him. You don’t know why, but you believe him. "How do you break up with someone?" You’re obviously getting ahead of yourself but fuck it.
He narrows his eyes but takes your question seriously. "I tell them it's not working for me and then we break up. I don't like drama."
Oh, he must have a lot of it to say that. It must follow him. Honestly, the only guys who say that are pretty full of drama themselves. Your life is drama free. Your life is pretty fucking boring, actually. He's probably worth a bit of drama now and again. Plus, he gave you that nice speech about consent and that's a turn-on in itself.
"Alright, you can have my number."
He hands over his phone, and you put in your number.
"Here's what's going to happen," he says, "I’m going to text you to make sure you get home okay and then I'm going to make a not very clever reference to the fact I almost got you off under the table of this dinner party and then tomorrow night I'm going to meet you at the library for your shift."
"Then I'm going to ask you out."
"Am I gonna go?"
"You tell me." His hands move up your leg, adjusting the thigh-highs with an efficient fluidity, like he just can't help himself. He smooths your skirt, covering you back up.
"Good," he breathes, "I wanted you too." He helps you on with your coat. "You got a ride?"
"Should be here soon."
He buttons your coat for you. "Stay warm, yeah."
He leads you down the hallway. The flat is quiet, just the sound of Namjoon and Seokjin's low voices coming from the kitchen as they wash dishes.
He hasn’t kissed you. You kind of hoped he would, maybe he doesn't want to.
"I’ll kiss you tomorrow when I walk you home from the library after your shift."
"Why not now?" you ask, before realizing how absolutely ridiculous you are.
He turns around, looking at you with a lip-bitten smile as you follow him down the steps. "If I start, it's going to take a while, and your car's coming."
"Oh," you breathe.
It's cold outside. You stand beside him on the sidewalk. The night is so clear you can even make out a few pale stars beyond the city lights.
Fuck, this ended up being a weird night. Just two not-really-friends standing around in the cold, one of you thinking you really need a warm bed and a vibrator, probably not even the vibrator. You rub your thighs together. You've been teased all night, it isn't going to take long. You almost regret not taking him up on the offer. But no, you think, as he wraps a scarf around his neck looking up at the sky, you made the right choice.
"Whatta you gonna do when you get home?" He asks, words muffled by the scarf.
"Go to bed, I guess." You shove your hands in your pockets. Why does he care? Maybe this is normal I-almost-got-you-off-in-the-bathroom small talk. You don't know. It's a first for you. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to the studio." He takes a deep breath. "So, what are you gonna do before you fall asleep?"
What the hell is he talking about? You glance over at him.
He cocks his head at you, the cheeky fucker, tongue swiping his lip.
"I've been teased enough tonight, dude."
"Don’t call me dude."
"I'll take care of myself just fine."
"I know," he drawls, "but what are you going to think about?" He’s got a glint in his eye, and he looks so pleased with himself.
"Don't you mean, 'who'?"
He laughs. You can tell even he's surprised by it.
This is probably one of those times when you should lie but fuck it. You look up at him.
"I might not even make it home. I might have to take care of myself in the car. You know, hand under my skirt, legs spread, trying to be quiet so the driver doesn't hear."
He narrows his eyes at you.
"Maybe I'll hold off till I get home, shut the door behind me, and shove my panties down. They're ruined anyway. I can push up my dress and lean against the door. Probably won't even take the time to make sure the blinds are closed."
His jaw clenches. It’s super fucking satisfying.
"But," you say, shrugging. "I guess if I actually make it home and make it to the bed, then I might have to take my time, you know. Take everything off, get comfortable and remember what it felt like when you had your hand under my skirt, teasing me—"
"I wasn't teasing, sweetheart."
"—I'll suck on my fingers, getting them nice and wet, I'll hold off as long as I can, fingering myself, and I'll be a panting, slutty mess when I cum, probably have to muffle my moans."
"I want to hear you," he says, fists clenched by his sides.
"I would do what you asked," you say, as if it needed to be said out loud, as if it wasn't completely obvious.
"Yeah," he says, looking dazed.
"When I feel like it, I guess." You look up at him to gauge his reaction.
His shakes his head, facing breaking into a slow smile. It’s a smile that promises something and you can't wait to find out what it is. "Well, I did ask."
Your grin must be ridiculously large.
The car pulls up to the curb. Before you know what to say – best dinner party ever, I really like your hands, thanks for not being a jerk about the bathroom thing, – he's opened the door for you, helped you inside, and closed the door, leaving you warm but lonely in the back seat. The car starts to move.
"Wait, stop," you demand. The driver, grumbling and swearing, does as you ask. You roll down your window. "Hey," you shout.
Half a block away, Yoongi looks up at you, bemused smile on his face.
The car's starts moving again.
"I don’t know what to say." Your lips are numb from the cold, making it difficult to form words. "I had fun."
"Me too," he calls.
You look back at him until you can barely see him. Until he’s just figure in black at the end of the block, watching your car as it drives farther and farther away.
Unknown number: did you make it home okay
Yoongi: imagine some witty reference to the table here
Yoongi: I wasn’t going to ask
Yoongi: I want to know
Yoongi: tell me
You: what do you want to know
Yoongi: is this how youre gonna be
You: how im what
You: . . .
You: I wasnt going to say
You: it seemed like a pillow night
Yoongi: . . .
Yoongi: i guess you remembered
You: . . .
You: I guess I did
Yoongi: see you at the library sweetheart
You: goodnight mr min yoongi
Yoongi: night librarian girl