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no blood on the first date

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The irony and bittersweet taste of blood filled his mouth, making him grimace in disgust. This wasn’t how the mission had been supposed to go.

 

The previous day Taehyung had met with Seokjin at the man’s studio. Photography. It was a good facade, a photography studio, something to clear him of any suspects. The studio was pretty and big and a good source of income for Seokjin and his husband Namjoon, considering that the latter was, in fact, an actual photographer and a rather well renowned one. But that wasn’t the reason Taehyung had found himself in his boss’ office. Seokjin had dropped some photographs on the desk, sliding them towards the boy.

 

“Vante.” And there it was, the name people in the business would call him with. The one he used to separate his two lives, the one as an assistant at the studio and the one as a professional killer. He had chosen his two carriers, if that’s how you can call them, by himself, not once feeling forced to. Taehyung had lost his parents when he was too small to be able to remember their faces clearly, and Seokjin, the son of a distant relative, even though he had been only a teen at that time, had taken him with him, saving the boy from the streets or an orphanage. When Taehyung had become old enough to sense that his “big brother” wasn’t exactly what he thought of him, Seokjin had showed him what was laying carefully hidden under the surface. The boy would have never expected his sweet and caring and clumsy brother to be a mob boss though. It had hit him, the string of implications that came with the realization, but it hadn’t changed the way he saw him: Seokjin was still his loving brother, the person who had given him support and love and a roof to live under when no one else could be there for him. And Taehyung loved and respected him, mob boss or not. He had started working for the photography studio, yearning to help the older, to silently thank him, but it hadn’t felt enough. Moreover, Taehyung’s bloodstream was made of pure curiosity and interest for everything, yearning to see and know and discover and try and challenge himself. Seokjin had tried to dissuade him from dirtying himself, tried to keep him away from the dangerous part of his life, but Taehyung had insisted, eyes glistening and such a strong curiosity dripping from his tongue, that he had eventually surrendered, letting him join what he called his “underground family”.

 

“Vante?” Seokjin had called again, ripping Taehyung away from his memories.

 

“Yeah, sir?” It had been on a mutual accord that they had decided to keep their distance when working, keeping their personal ties hidden from the sight.

 

“This is your new target. He’s the bastard that killed RM’s brother.” RM, aka Namjoon, his husband. The corners of Taehyung’s mouth twitched, a smirk making its way on his pretty face.

 

“Can I consider this job as personal revenge then?” he asked. He loved Namjoon, his brother’s husband was part of his small, unconventional family to him, and he still couldn’t get rid of the image of the pearly teardrops at the corners of his eyes when he had announced that his brother had died.

 

“Revenge is the reason I’m giving this job to you and not someone else.”

 

“I thought it was because I’m the best killer you have,” Taehyung had replied, arching a brow playfully. The other had shaken his head and sighed dramatically, before getting down with the details of the mission.

 

It was supposed to be an easy and quick job. Study the guy for a day, find out about his plans for the following one, search for a good spot and pull the trigger. Vante was Seokjin’s best sniper, probably even one of the best in the field, his job always done impeccably, the list of missed targets blank. The thing with Taehyung though is that he never listens. It was too personal this time, too close to his heart, the image on Namjoon dressed for the funeral too painfully tattooed on the back of his eyelids. He didn’t want to kill the man from far apart, it didn’t feel right. Vante was as good with any other killing technique as he was as a sniper, so it wasn’t supposed to be that hard, to murder him from up close. He hadn’t taken in account though, that the person his target was supposed to spend the day with was a gang member. The boy had managed to take his target down, but the man’s friend hadn’t wasted time before trying to get him and, probably, crush his head. Taehyung could had easily killed him too, but it was against his personal moral code to harm people that weren’t his targets. Once a fellow “colleague” had laughed at him, trying to point out how hypocritical it was for him to despise harming people when he literally murders strangers for a living. Seokjin had understood though, he always does, and that was enough for him. The man had managed to punch him a few times but had lost him before he could touch him anymore or before he could rip the mask off of his face and reveal Vante’s identity.

 

Therefore, Taehyung was now bleeding and aching and running. Running desperately and aimlessly, searching for anything that could be safe enough to be considered a hiding spot. Azaleas. They were his favorite flowers because they would remind him of his parents, for some unknown reason. And they were right there, in front of his eyes. Azaleas and tulips and narcissus and roses. Before he could stop his impulsiveness, he was rushing inside a flower shop. Well, at least no one would ever think of coming to search for him there. The small shop was filled with flowers and plants all over the walls, shelves overwhelmed and bleeding just as overwhelming colors. The strong and pricking smell of flowers hit him immediately, pulling him in more and soothing the blinding fear that was threatening to rip his heart out of his chest.

 

“Welcome, can I help you?” a voice called him and oh. Oh, it was deep and raspy, but every word was like wrapped in honey and sugar, edges all careful and sweet and swollen. And then the person that voiced belonged to came in sight from somewhere behind the counter and oh. Oh, the guy looked exactly the way he sounded, cold and sharp features mixed with others that were soft and sugary and pretty pretty pretty. And Taehyung, the attentive and careful person he was, completely forgot that he was a murderer hiding from an enemy. He took his mask off, revealing his face and a painfully wide smile, his characteristic warm and boxy smile.

 

“No, thank you! I was just looking around and-”

 

“You’re bleeding,” the florist said, voice concerned, and brows furrowed into an unvoiced question. Before Taehyung could reply and try to play it cool, probably saying something stupid and thinking it would sound nonchalant, the guy disappeared again. One, two, three, four. Four heartbeats later he was back, holding a first-aid kit in his hands and gesturing for Taehyung to sit at the stool next to the counter, which he did. The florist, Yoongi -as his name-tag read- started cleaning the wounds, his fingers touching Taehyung carefully as if he was something precious that he was afraid to break.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“Uh?” Taehyung all but charmingly replied, catching himself staring at the florist’s pouty lips.

 

“The wounds. You have one on your lips and a couple on your cheekbones.”

 

“Not really, I was too busy looking at you to notice.” Maybe it was to blatant but maybe the deep pink blooming on Yoongi cheeks was worth another try. “You’re really pretty.”

 

Yoongi’s hands stopped for a moment, the blush deepening and spring dancing in his eyes.

 

“You’re pretty too. Super charming with your face all covered in blood,” Yoongi replied, earning a sincere laugh from the other. “How did you end up like this?”

 

“Work,” Taehyung replied mechanically, not quite weighting that one word nor the consequences it could have. The other though didn’t pressure farther, allowing the stingy topic to fall. Yoongi didn’t question, he let a stranger covered in blood enter his shop and he was taking care of his wounds, but he didn’t question him. Right then, Taehyung’s phone ringed.

 

“Hi!”

 

Taehyung, what the fuck happened? You were supposed to be done with your job an hour ago! Are you okay?” Seokjin’s voice resonated through the entire shop despite it not even being on speaker.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll explain everything at the studio, see you later!” He hanged up. Probably a poor choice, considering that the other will definitely scold him for it later.

 

“So, your name’s Taehyung,” Yoongi said, lingering on the last word, dragging each letter and tasting it on his tongue, making Taehyung wish that he could taste it too. “I’m done with the wounds. And I think you really need to go talk with whoever was yelling at the phone just now.”

 

Taehyung pouted theatrically, saying that he’d rather stay there with him, making Yoongi blush hard hard hard and his heart beat fast fast fast. But he knew he couldn’t make Seokjin wait any longer. Without giving it much thought, he grabbed Yoongi’s hand firmly, bringing it to his lips and leaving there a small kiss and a thank you whispered against the skin, before leaving.

 

For a few minutes Yoongi just stood there, thoughts spinning weirdly, the warmth of the boy’s smile and lips on his hand tightening something in the pits of his stomach. When a customer, an actual one, stepped inside the shop, he was forced to put the thoughts on that oddly interesting boy in the back of his mind.

 

-

 

“Taehyung, I understand that you were mad at him, and frankly you had all the reasons to, but was it worth it to kill him that way and put yourself in danger? Can you stop doing stupidly dangerous shit?” Seokjin scolded him, his voice heavy with concern and affection.

 

He was examining the cuts on the boy’s face, grimacing at the idea of his little brother getting beaten up.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I hope you’re being for real this time, Tae. ‘Cause you always say that you’ll stay out of trouble but-”

 

“No no, I wasn’t talking about that,” he said, taking in the way Seokjin cocked an eyebrow in a silent question. “I was replying to your first question, yes, it was worth it. First of all because that bastard deserved that. Second because it helped me meet this cute florist who-” he trailed on, unaware of, or maybe not caring about, being ignored by the other. Seokjin just sighed loudly, letting his hand drop from Taehyung’s face. It had been years, years and years of the two of them living together, sharing every bit and piece of their lives with each other, yet he still couldn’t get used to the peculiar ways life worked for Taehyung. Because who the hell meets a cute boy during a killing mission?

 

-

 

One, two, three. Vante counted in his mind, waiting the right moment to shoot. Two days later after his last job he had been giving another one, along with the order “strictly follow my directions or I’m firing you from both your jobs”. He smiled at the memory of Seokjin’s finger pocking achingly at his chest. One, two, three. Then a silent shot. Then the target was down, and his job done. It had all gone smoothly this time, no reason to run away or to hide. Fairly enough, as any other professional would have done, he tripped. That’s it. Such a trivial and stupid thing to do but on his way back from his shooting spot he simply tripped, fell and reopened the wound on his lip. Still, there was no reason for him to be there. Absolutely no reason for him to find himself in front of the flowers shop, the entrancing smell of flowers filling his lungs and robbing him of air. Taehyung swung the door opened.

 

“Welcome, can I help- You.” And maybe the fact that the cute florist remembered about him made his heart do wild tricks in his chest. As per routine, despite it having happened only once before, Yoongi disappeared, coming back a few moments later with the first-aid kit. As per routine, despite it having happened only once before, Taehyung sat down on the stool, letting the florist treat his wounds. As per routine, despite it having happened only once before, Yoongi was touching him with so much delicacy that Taehyung wondered, stupidly, whether kissing him would have been just as prickly soft. “Do you always must have blood on your face when we meet?” Yoongi asked after a while, his touches lingering for a few beats too much.

 

“I promise I’ll be clean on our date.” Taehyung would have gotten worried at the silence following his reply, if the florist hadn’t exhibited a whole garden of roses blooming on his flushed cheeks. Cute.

 

“Our… Date?” Yoongi finally managed, his flustered voice matching the blushing.

 

“Yeah, date. Would you go on one with me?”

 

Now, rationally speaking, Yoongi had all the reasons in the world to refuse, gently and kindly and with words careful to not hurt, but to refuse. Because he had only seen the boy twice and both times, he had blood on his face. Because he had told him that it was for work that he had ended up in such a state, which made him think that he was involved in something dangerous and maybe even illegal.

 

“Yes, I’d love to,” he said instead, sensing the pink of his cheeks deepening. Taehyung smiled happily, eyes glistening in excitement and relief.

 

“What about this Saturday? When does your shift ends?”

 

“7pm.” And then Taehyung did that thing again, that one that had robbed Yoongi of the ability to breathe properly, taking his hand in his own and kissing it lightly.

 

“See you on Saturday then! Have a good day,” he said, before leaving the shop and a puzzled Yoongi.

 

-

 

Seokjin couldn’t wait for Saturday. First of all because he had a work deal that was organized for that day, some new type of drugs delivered from Singapore that he needed to have inspected. Second, because Taehyung had been pestering him with “What should I wear on my date?” and “He’s so cute, did you know? So so cute,” and “He’s such a delicate and sweet guy, I think I like him,” and “I want to pin him against a wall,” and Seokjin really couldn’t wait for Taehyung’s date to be over so he would shut the fuck up. He couldn’t deny that the idea of his little brother dating someone, living his life like a normal person and receiving the happiness he deserved, made him melt. Still, Taehyung could refrain from sharing details such as “His lips look so soft and do this pout thing when he talks that makes me want to cry,” and “I’m gonna put my leather pants that make my ass look great, I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

 

Therefore, when Saturday finally came, even the apprehension about the drug deal was washed over by the relieving realization that his brother would finally stop sharing his trivial concerns about his date with the most intimidatingly beautiful guy he had ever seen – Taehyung’s words.

 

Taehyung, on his side though, was positive that his stomach was eating itself from the nervousness. Vante, that was one confident person, with his collected and intimidating personality. Taehyung, on the other hand, was eccentric and extroverted and bold but in different ways. And nauseatingly nervous. And Yoongi was so pretty it made his bones sing. That’s the first thing he thought as soon as he arrived in front of the flowers shop, taking in the sight of Yoongi sitting on the bench outside, hands folded together, and cheeks flushed from the chilly wind. He thought it and voiced it immediately after, his brain-mouth filter forgotten.

 

“You’re the cutest guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” To which, Yoongi didn’t know whether to laugh or blush at, so he did both, hiding his face behind his hands. He recovered quickly though, trying to play it cool, the faint tint of pink still lingering on his skin betraying him.

 

“Did you keep your promise, or do I need to go fetch the first-aid kit?” In all response, suddenly Taehyung leaned closer, his face just a few breathes away from the other, noses almost brushing, heartbeats almost mixing.

 

“I always keep my promises. No blood, as you can see.” And then, just because he wanted to feel a tiny bit braver, despite everything in him screaming against it, “But my lips still hurt, do you mind kissing the pain away?” he asked in all seriousness. Yoongi leaned closer, almost completely closing the distance between them but quite not, close and close and painfully close but not enough, enough for the boy to feel his hot breath against his skin but not enough to kiss him. A single heartbeat away. Too far away.

 

“I will if you take me somewhere nice.”

 

And somewhere nice it was indeed. As soon as they stepped inside the little but elegant restaurant Yoongi raised an eyebrow at Taehyung, wanting to ask him, in all honesty, how the hell could he afford such a place, but not wanting to come off as rude.

“This place suits you,” he said instead. The restaurant was on the rooftop of a tall building, a breath-taking view filling them in.

 

“Do I deserve a kiss now?” Taehyung asked, quite jokingly and quite not. Careful to keep a playful note in his voice to not make the other uncomfortable but allowing himself to hope and wish and want want want. It would have been perfect, the stuff-like-this-only-happens-in-movies type of perfect. At a perfect place, at a perfect time, with a perfect view… The perfect moment for his phone to ring, breaking the moment and shattering it into pieces.

 

“Hello? Seokjin, you know I’m kinda busy right now…”

 

Vante,” No. No no no. Not work, not right now. Taehyung felt his blood freeze. “You know I’d never ask you this, not on a date for fuck’s sake. But…” Seokjin waited, waited for Taehyung to hang up on him, to curse on him, to get mad, to pretend he didn’t hear. But the boy just hummed. “Something happened. It’s the drug deal, you know how huge and important it is. I tried to call someone else, literally everyone else, but I either can’t get a hold on them or they’re too scared to come. I need you.” One, two, three. He counted in his head with the same cold and distant voice he would use when working, measuring his choices.

 

“I’ll be there.” And when he dared to glance at Yoongi he was painfully aware of the sadness and mortification entangled in his own smile. “It was from work. I think I need to leave… I’m incredibly sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, good luck with whatever it is that you do.” The other simply replied, not looking a tiny bit mad or disappointed. Just worried. “Be careful.”

 

It kind of hit him. The way Yoongi didn’t question, the fact that he obviously wanted to but was careful to not step over boundaries, to not ask him before he was ready to talk. The way Yoongi didn’t seem annoyed or bothered or scared. The way the corners of his lips were twitching in concern. It kind of hit him. The way that he might had already been falling for the cute florist with pink pouty lips and sugar coating every word leaving said lips.

 

Taehyung hadn’t regretted leaving his date. Because something had indeed happened and protecting Seokjin was more important than anything else. So, regret wasn’t the right word. Yet, it stung. Like a bunch of bees swirling in his chest and pocking at his ribs, the muscles of his heart swollen. He wanted to make up for the ruined date, wanted to take the cute boy somewhere nice and see him having fun, wanted to get to know Yoongi and maybe let the other get to know him too. And, being honest, he really wanted that kiss.

 

That’s why he was sitting at the bench outside of the flower shop, waiting for Yoongi’s shift to be over.

 

The minutes were passing slowly, dragging at an excruciating pace. It was a pretty evening, the warm colors of the sunset slowly fading into the shadows of the night.

“Taehyung?” Oh. Taehyung felt it again, the sugary depth of his voice, making its way under his skin and settling there, uninvited but so welcome. He turned his head towards the source of the voice, taking in the sight of the florist looking... Well, like that. The locks of his messy hair were dancing graciously at the wind, dark dark strands clashing with the pale of his gradually flushing skin. Pretty. Pretty.

“Hey, Yoongi! I wanted to apologize for the way our date got interrupted the other day. And if you still want to see me, I’d like to make up for that.” The florist seemed to weight his words carefully, pretending to think over the proposal as if he his lungs weren’t going numb from the desire to yell yes, yes, absolutely yes.

“And what were you going to do to make up?” he asked, his gaze away focused on closing the shop. He couldn’t see the way a smirk and then, gradually, a smile made its way on Taehyung’s face, sugar-coating his features. As soon as Yoongi was ready, Taehyung grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers firmly but with delicacy dripping from his fingertips.

“That’s a surprise!”

Empty and crowded. That’s how the photography studio felt at night, when it was closed, and no one was disturbing its shadowy peace, but the dozens of pictures framed and hanged on the walls made it feel like a graveyard of memories of strangers. It was a special place for Taehyung, close to his heart, pieces of him and his life hanged alongside those pictures, drenched in the walls. That was probably the reason he brought Yoongi there, to make him feel special too. And he really wanted to get it out, to explain it and lay those words down for the other to know, but when he searched for Yoongi’s eyes he saw in them, swirling emotions and unvoiced wants and so so much understanding. The only lighting provided was the one of the many fairy lights that Taehyung had installed, ignoring Seokjin’s pleads to no to. Reflections of the lights were dancing in between them, waltzes in their eyes.

“How did we go in here past the closing hour?” Yoongi asked, his jumping lazily from one picture to another. Their hands were still intertwined, warmth spreading from their fingertips to the core of their chests.

“My brother and his husband own this studio and I work here as an assistant.” The other hummed, a pretty sound trapped in the back of his throat, like a distant song.

 

“And how does being a photography assistant require having blood on your face half of the time?” At that questioned Taehyung stilled, ice spreading through his bloodstream like a drug. He wanted to say something, to play it cool and throw some funny remark and then change the topic, but his mind wasn’t cooperating, unwilling to actually came up with something to say. But Yoongi quickly sensed the uneasiness torturing the boy and simply tightened the grip on his hand, a gentle squeeze to tell him “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me yet.” Taehyung’ heart, a mirror of the gesture, tightened in his chest, making him feel all funny and warm.

Soon the night was falling over the sky, endless stars like fairy lights hanged in the darkness. The two boys had been talking for a couple of hours now, about nothing and everything at the same time, conversation flowing easily. Yoongi, apparently, was a college professor. He had gotten his degree rather early and his college immediately offered him a position there. The flower shop was his own. He had received it from his grandmother when she died, and he had been taking care of it for a couple of years now, a couple of girls helping him when he was busy with college. Yoongi loved the overwhelming colors of the flowers because it would remind him of when he was little, running around in his grandmother’s garden with his dog Holly following him right behind and barking happily. Yoongi loved strawberry ice-cream and peach tea. Yoongi showed him his timid and heart-warming gummy smile while talking, embarrassed, about that one time he had spilled coffee all over one of his student’s assignment and had given him a perfect grade out of guilt. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. Every thought of his mind was running circles around that single word. A part of him melting, all mushy and warm and giddy, wanting to never let go of his hand, wanting to stare at the way his lips pouted when he talked, wanting to put his arms around his waist and keep him close. Another part of him, couldn’t stop from imagining how would it feel, to press his lips against Yoongi’s neck, to taste his skin on his tongue. It was his undying impulsiveness that made him do just as much. While the other was giving him his back, admiring a black and white portrait picture, Taehyung let go of his hand to circle his arms around Yoongi, pressing a kiss on his exposed neck. He could feel the shivers that ran down Yoongi’s spine and the ones that ran down his own at the content sound that escaped the other’s lips. He waited. Waited for a sign, either a denial or a permission. An invitation. It was with a pleading invitation tangled around his voice, the edges of each letter sharp and wanting wanting wanting, blind wanting, that Yoongi called his name.

“Taehyung...” It came out as a plea, voice feeble in a shaky whisper. And so, another kiss. And another one and another one and another one, constellations rising all over Yoongi’s neck. The dark of the night was swallowing Yoongi’s voice, humming contently, asking for more, suppressing a moan from time to time. Until it was too much. Too much of how not enough it was. Taehyung suddenly spun Yoongi around, facing him and taking him in, breath choking him, the sight of his flushed cheeks and lips parted in silent desires. And he might have imagined how would Yoongi look, with his messy hair even messier, black strands falling on his glistening eyes, with his cheeks and neck pink pink pink and warm against his lips, with his hands searching, roaming, reaching for Taehyung’s hair and tugging firmly, just right on the border between painful and pleasurable. But not a single fantasy would have compared with having him in his arms right there. So, he did what he was secretly, or not so secretly, wishing to do since the first moment he had stepped inside the flower shop, pinning Yoongi against a wall, hands firm on his waist. And finally, finally, kissing. Yoongi, Taehyung managed to think, tasted the way he talked and the way he looked, all sugary and sweet but sharp and bittersweet on the edges. Yoongi, Taehyung managed to think, kissed the way he existed, all careful and gentle and tender but also wanting wanting wanting. Taehyung, Yoongi managed to think, tasted the way he looked and acted, a weird and addicting mix of chocolate and honey. Taehyung, Yoongi managed to think, kissed the way he existed, all curious and I’m-going-to-make-you-dizzy and wanting wanting wanting.

The room around them started feeling smaller which each minute passing, seconds falling and shattering on the ground, the air getting hotter and clammy, sticking to their skin like dense honey. The silence of the night was only broken by Yoongi’s voice, moans spilling from his swollen lips as Taehyung trailed down, body pressed against his and lips pressing against his pulse point. With a movement of his hips Yoongi caused Taehyung to groan loudly against the skin of his shivering neck. As heat started writhing in the pits of their stomachs the kisses became more and more of everything, wetter, hotter, pleading and rough. And it felt too much and not enough all together, their bodies too close but also painfully not close enough. When the moan that spilled through Yoongi’s lips sounded too much like Taehyung’s name, the boy picked the other up, Yoongi’s legs hugging his waist like they’ve always belonged there.

“Taehyung… More.” More of what he wasn’t exactly sure, more of everything, more of Taehyung, more of this dizziness that tasted like wine, more of his lips on his neck, on his jaw, on his mouth, on his everywhere. Careful, Taehyung walked backwards, with Yoongi wrapped around him, nipping desperately at his neck, biting and whispering sweet nothings against his skin, asking for more more more. Until his legs hit the couch that was sitting there. He let himself fall on it, bringing Yoongi down to sit right on his lap, knees buried in the leather of the couch.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Taehyung was whispering, hands roaming everywhere, fingertips yearning to touch him, to have him. “My pretty baby.” Slowly, each second a little torture, each impatient instant an anticipation, his fingers reached for Yoongi’s mouth, fingertips barely brushing. Waiting, piercing eyes asking for permission, as if Yoongi’s own darkening pupils could ever deny, could ever want to stop. He opened his mouth, lips parting like a blooming rose, spring painting its colors on his already blushing cheeks, taking his fingers in, sucking and playing with his tongue. Taehyung’s free hand went to his waist, a gently firm grip, a silent order to move. And when Yoongi started to move his hips, their clothed bulges one against the other, his mind went blank, everything spinning around in hot and dizzying waves.

One, two, three. Could have been three seconds, as much as it could have been more or even less —his ability to perceive time lost somewhere along with his inhibitions- before they both ended up naked, clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. Yoongi still on his lap, still sucking on his fingers eagerly, still looking at him through his eyelashes, until Taehyung took his fingers out of his mouth with a loud pop. His other hand went for Yoongi’s neck, tugging him closer to kiss him, to taste him again and again and again, to hear the shaky gasp that escaped his lips when Taehyung’s slim fingers pressed against his hole, asking for permission. In all response, Yoongi kissed him, deeply and sweetly and with strings of prayers on his tongue. As soon as the first finger passed the first ring of muscles, Yoongi’s breath lost its way, choking him. Taehyung kissed him again, a bit to relieve the pain of the stretch, a bit because how deeply, helplessly and achingly addicted he already was to the sweetness of the other’s lips, soft petals against his own. Soon one finger became two, scissoring him open, and soon two became three. One, two, three, four, five. Five different ways Yoongi moaned when his fingers hit his prostate, each time Taehyung’s name pricking his tongue and leaving him like a prayer.

“You sound so good baby, so good- ah.” The words died in the very back of his throat when Yoongi’s hand wrapped around his hard dick. Yoongi manged somehow to pull himself together for a single instant, a single one instant to rearrange his mouth into a smirk. He leaned closer, hand moving leisurely, stroking Taehyung slowly and slowly and slowly but so good, wrist moving just right.

“Want to ride you,” he whispered, each word like dragged, like a punch in the other’s stomach, a threat to steal his breath, his sanity and maybe, maybe, something more, something more tender.

Taehyung slid his fingers out of him, wanting to chuckle at the whine that escaped Yoongi’s lips at the loss, wanting to kiss away the pout adorning his crimson lips, wanting to cherish each detail of him in the spaces between his ribs. He watched as Yoongi raised himself on his knees and position Taehyung’s dick at his entrance. Taehyung’s hands went to his hips, to support him, to draw soothing and senseless patterns on his burning skin. His mouth opened, ready to tell him to go slow, to take his time, but when Yoongi slammed his hips down, taking all of him, only a low, guttural and painful groan left past his lips. Immediately, the grip on the other’s hips tightened, reinventing the border between painful and pleasing, in an attempt to hold himself back from bucking up and to give him time to adjust to the new stretch.

“You’re so big, Tae,” Yoongi panted, heart bumming in his chest, seconds away from breaking his rib- cage and right into Taehyung’s hands. He raised his hips, slow and slow and slow, until only the tip of the other’s dick was inside of him, before slamming down again, the sound of skin against skin meddling with their moans. And then again. And again and again and again. Again, until Taehyung’s head was spinning dangerously, again until they felt like wine was swimming in their bloodstream, again until Taehyung thought the sound of Yoongi’s moans were the only thing worthy of being remembered, of being engraved in his bones like a lifelong memory. And maybe Yoongi thought it wasn’t enough, all of this and all of him, to make Taehyung lose his mind.

So, when Taehyung’s hand reached for his throbbing length he stopped him.

“Wanna cum from your dick only,” he said, voice all wrecked, sending shivers down Taehyung’s spine.

And he lost it, there and then, the thoughts in his head vanishing, everything replaced with Yoongi and Yoongi and Yoongi. He gripped on his hips with more force and, before the other could register what was happening, Taehyung stood up, wrapping Yoongi’s legs around his waist. Merely a couple of steps and Yoongi’s back was suddenly pressed against a wall.

“What are you- ah, fuck.” Everything became blurry and distant, the only thing he could register was the blinding pleasure and Taehyung, Taehyung pounding in him roughly, hitting his prostrate with each thrust, Taehyung kissing him softly and tenderly and with delicacy, Taehyung panting against his neck and whispering sugary words, sugary breaths, sugary confessions. And everything was somehow too much and not enough, dancing on the border and inventing the definition of perfect, of pleasure.

“I like you so much, baby.” A single sentence whispered at his ear, teeth nipping and voice all low and deep and honey-like. “You’re my pretty baby, aren’t you?” Everything was too much. Too much of sweet words and delicate praises, too much of the ragingly overwhelming sensation of Taehyung inside of him, fucking him like that.

“I- ah, you. Like you too. So much” And they cum, together and the name of each other on their lips, blinding pleasure tattooing fireworks behind their eyelids.

There was a moment of nothing then, a space in between a couple of heartbeats that stilled like ice, as if they were waiting for the other to just say something, anything really. But then Yoongi smiled, tired and content and sweet and Taehyung felt his heart breaking in his chest and rebuilding itself, the image of that smile engraved in the ventricles. Taehyung helped Yoongi reach the couch again. After disappearing for a moment, he came up with a towel, cleaning them both up and helping Yoongi to get dressed too.

“If that’s your way of making up for a ruined date, you should ruin more of them.” The boy’s arms, who were wrapping themselves around the other, tensed for a moment, before warmth, simple and plain and happy warmth, flushed all over him, making him smile.

“Does that mean I can take you out on more dates?”

“I was hoping so.” They kissed again. A lazy and soft kiss. Taehyung was content like that, all giddy and warm and simply, deafeningly, purely happy like that. But doesn’t life work in odd ways for Taehyung though? It was right at that moment that they heard it, the sound of keys meddling and voices, rough and raw, just outside the door. Probably, it was only Namjoon and Seokjin, fighting about something stupid like they always did.

“I’m not gonna waste my time here, RJ,” one of the voices said. And then pure panic suddenly took over

Taehyung, the realization that those weren’t his brother and his husband but Seokjin and someone from the underworld. Because the only ones who called Seokjin like that were people he worked with or people who wanted him dead. In a matter of a second, Taehyung was gone, the sweet features of his face replaced by cold and sharp ones, unwelcoming and distant. Vante.

“You need to hide. Right now. No questions.” Yoongi looked at him, confused and puzzled and maybe a bit scared, but nodded, nonetheless. Like always, he didn’t question, just followed the boy towards some hidden stairs that he hadn’t noticed before, following them to a mezzanine and quickly away from the sight of whoever was coming in.

Then, everything happened so quickly that he barely had the time to register it, events rolling in front of his eyes and forcing their fear and cruelty onto him. Seokjin came in, walking ahead of a man who was clearly sticking a gun right in between in shoulder blades. Two other men were following right behind, each of them with a gun in their hands, with a bored and annoyed yet smug expression on their faces. As soon as Seokjin saw Taehyung, something broke in him, his voice a mirror of the raging fear eating him up from the inside.

“Vante.” The incomers stopped in their steps, eyeing him. Then it was a mere second, the man’s grip on the gun tightening imperceptibly, Seokjin’s eyes widening and his face losing all of his color, and then a weird gesture with his hand, nonchalant enough to not be suspicious, but clear enough to be a sign. Yoongi had never witnessed a murder. He didn’t consider himself a fan of thrillers or horrors either, and he definitely wasn’t the type to get himself into trouble. Yoongi had never thought that he would witness someone he’d like to call his boyfriend killing someone. It would have been a weird thought to have anyway, right? Something taken straight out of a movie maybe. Yet, here he was. Reality settling in in icy waves, crude and cold and too surreal to entirely feel like reality yet. Entranced, we watched as the boy he was kissing just a few moments ago was suddenly all over the men. And Yoongi wanted to see, he wanted to see because he wanted to know and understand and put the pieces together. But witnessing a murder had never really been in his to-do list, moreover he knew that Taehyung was weapon less, hopeless and helpless. It felt like breaking. The fear, paralyzing and cold fear that in reality was worry and concern, was screaming at him, choking him and breaking him into pieces, a porcelain doll thrown against the wall. The noise, all those sounds and screams and curses and at a certain point, gunshots were all but quiet, yet Yoongi couldn’t hear, his eyes shut tight and his heart beating fast fast fast in his chest, pounding in his head, in his ears. It felt like a second. It felt like a year, spent there, hiding and fearing and wanting to scream, wanting to run away and wanting to look, just a glance, just to know. A hand. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder and his whole body flinched. Fear, overwhelming and blinding fear and so he didn’t bear to open his eyes. It felt like breaking. But then the hand on the shoulder morphed into a hug, warm and careful and so so sad. It took a heartbeat for Yoongi to recognize those arms and his eyes shut open, the sight of Taehyung filling him in. Taehyung broke the embrace, sadness and pain and mortification mixed with blood painted all over his face, the corners of his lips down down down and tears veiling his eyes. And it felt like breaking but being put back together.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded so small. Vulnerable and defeated. Voice fighting to manage to find its way out.

“I’m sorry, I wanted you to know one day but... Not like this.” Then a pause, all cold and miserable, sad.

“I should have never bothered you in the first place. I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’ll take you of here now and you’ll never hear from me a-”

Yoongi kissed him. It was an uncomfortable position and he felt both Taehyung’s and his tears, that he was unaware of had been holding, against his skin and on his lips. And then a vague taste of blood mad him pull back and take in the absolutely terrified and vulnerable and mortified and sad sad sad vision that was Taehyung. His Taehyung.

“I thought you were going to die, you absolute fucking idiot!” he shouted, voice all clammy and unsteady, words dripping concern and affection from their edges.

“I’m sorry...” Taehyung said again, but this time with a hint of confusion. “I understand if you hate me right now. I really like you, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me ever again-” Yoongi kissed him. Again but different, again but new. Sweet and kind, delicate and lovingly, so so lovingly that Taehyung felt like crying again, so he did. So lovingly it felt like breaking and being put back together. So lovingly Taehyung thought he could fall in love, maybe he was already falling.

“Next time you better warn me properly, you fucking idiot.” Taehyung’s hands, careful on the other’s shoulders tensed, confusion and aching hope creeping in.

“Next... time?”

“Didn’t I say I wanted you to take me out on more dates?” And if it hadn’t been for the seriousness of that moment, for the tears still staining their cheeks, for the adrenaline and the fear and all the other types of fear still circulating in their bloodstream, Yoongi would have laughed at Taehyung’s expression. Because he looked like everything, like the entirety of human emotions was crushing him under its weight. He looked happy and hopeful and confused and scared and everything all at once, smile so wide and happy but with uncertainty bound to its corners.

“Doesn’t... this scare you?” Voice still small, still fragile but daring to be hopeful again.

“Yeah, of course it does. But I think I’m already used to seeing your face covered in blood anyway.” And they kissed again, tears still flowing but this time for all the right reasons.

 

Life really does work in odd ways for Kim Taehyung.