Namjoon chooses the worst possible time to barge into Seokjin's room completely unannounced. They're childhood friends, sure, and Namjoon has seen Seokjin in various states of being in the last 17 years, but —
Seokjin trying on his older sister's sexy underwear? That's. Oh.
They both blush madly. Really, Seokjin's skin goes pink everywhere, breaks out in goosebumps, and Namjoon can see nearly every damn inch of it except for the parts that are covered by the red, the red, the—it's a bra, and it's red lace, and wow, Namjoon needs to get out of this room.
They don't talk about it. They're awkward for a while, stumble over their words, can't look each other in the eyes, but they don't bring it up.
Namjoon tries to act like he's not curious and Seokjin pretends that he doesn't notice Namjoon's eyes wandering; pretends that it doesn't turn him on that Namjoon's probably trying to catch a glimpse of a bra strap beneath his collar or the hint of red lace peeking out of his jeans.
But they're young and they can only pretend for so long and Seokjin wants something to happen. He's not sure what exactly it is that he wants to happen; there is just a great need to show Namjoon again, to see—this time properly—how he will react. But Seokjin knows that Namjoon would never approach him openly about this, knows that he'd never come and ask Seokjin about it, so he helpsNamjoon a little... by wearing a white shirt over his sister's red lacy bra. Seokjin checked in the mirror before he invited Namjoon over, knows that it's subtle but visible.
And, well. It works.
Namjoon looks. Namjoon looks and thinks it's his mind playing tricks on him when he spots the dark, unambiguous shadow beneath the white fabric of Seokjin's shirt, so he looks again. And again. Long and often. Only when Seokjin finally catches him staring, Namjoon finds himself brave enough to ask: "Y-You're wearing it?"
Seokjin nods. Bites his lip. He's blushing and his hands are clammy. "Do you wanna see?"
Namjoon stutters, his face going redder than Seokjin has ever seen it before. "I—I think... maybe."
"Maybe yes... or maybe no?"
"Maybe yes," Namjoon says, but he he thinks, Definitely yes.
A cold shiver runs down Seokjin's spine. Namjoon wants to maybe see it , so that means he is at least a little interested, right? So there's no reason for Seokjin to feel so nervous, right? But Seokjin's hands are still clammy and shaky when he climbs off his bed to pull down his pants first.
Namjoon thinks he's going to die, he's sure—oh God, he's only 17 but he's going to die, but if it's to the image of Seokjin kneeling all daintily on the bed in front of him wearing his older sister's sexy underwear, then he'll gladly shuffle off his pathetic mortal coil.
At least he'll die knowing that Seokjin looks absolutely stunning in red lace (that's quite some knowledge to have about your best friend of 17 years, isn't it?). He'll die knowing that even though the bra is a little loose on him because there's nothing to fill it, it is fucking pretty, and see-through, and Namjoon can see Seokjin's dark nipples through the fabric.
Namjoon will die knowing that this particular pair of lace panties hugs Seokjin's skin so perfectly; that they make his hips and tummy look incredibly soft. It's all so beautiful—so pretty—and Namjoon's sure he's going to die from the sight alone.
Of course Namjoon doesn't die because he isn't some shounen manga protagonist, although he does feel really close to fainting when he's explicitly allowed to touch; when Seokjin, shy and blushing, asks him if he'd like to. And of course does Namjoon like to—his fingers are practically itching with want.
So after he's received Seokjin's consent, he scoots closer and lifts his hand to run a shaking finger along the velvety strap of the bra. He's reluctant to do more than that, keeps tracing the strap up his shoulder and down, up and back down—before he goes down a little further, over the transparent, thin fabric of the cup. He curiously but carefully slides his fingertip over it but recoils immediately when it makes Seokjin gasp and squirm.
"Sorry," Namjoon apologizes ruefully, afraid that's he's gone too far.
Seokjin quickly tries to reassure, "It's alright, it wasn't—it—it felt..." but he trails off, unable to finish the sentence, and looks down, his cheeks flushed red.
Instead of continuing what he was about to say, Seokjin takes Namjoon's sweaty hand. Lifts it up toward his chest. Places it back against the bra. One of Namjoon's fingers brushes against Seokjin's nipple and—ah.
Seokjin squirms again, pressing his thighs together.
He can feel himself getting hard under the panties, so embarrassingly fast, just from Namjoon touching him and looking at him with wonder in his eyes; as if this is the best thing he's ever seen in his life—as if he enjoys seeing and feeling Seokjin like this.
And Namjoon does.
He revels in Seokjin's small, soft breaths and the suppressed noises he makes when Namjoon gets a little bolder and slides the pad of his thumb over where he can see Seokjin's nipple—rubs over it until he feels it harden under his touch. Encouraged by Seokjin's reactions he tends to the other side of his chest as well, slides his finger over the fabric and feels the little hard nub under it.
Seokjin whimpers and wraps his fingers around Namjoon's wrist. It's not to stop him—just to anchor himself because he feels the need to hold onto something. All these new sensations are making him feel lightheaded—in an overwhelming but good way.
Namjoon looks down on impulse, just wants to take in as much of Seokjin as he can for as long as he's allowed to. To his surprise he's met with the obvious outline of Seokjin's erection straining against the fabric of the panties.
He hesitates. Seokjin notices.
"S-Sorry," Seokjin mumbles, skin feeling so warm, especially his cheeks. "It just—it just got like this, I—"
"It's cool," Namjoon interrupts him on impulse even though this is literally anything but cool . "Don't worry about it." And—Namjoon's not sure why, but they're already here, he's already got Seokjin in front of him like this, so he offers, "If you'd like, I could—?"
For some unfathomable reason, Seokjin understands and actually accepts. Without prompt he crawls into Namjoon's lap, his milky thighs spread on top of Namjoon's.
One of Namjoon's hands immediately and very ungainly tries to work Seokjin's dick out of the panties, his other hand subconsciously going to grab Seokjin's waist to steady him. The hand lands lower than intended—just a little above Seokjin's ass—making his pinky slide under the panties.
Seokjin moans and stops Namjoon from freeing his dick, tells him, "Like this, please?" He takes Namjoon's hand and guides it in a way that makes his palm rub over the lace; along the length of Seokjin's dick. "Just—ah—wanna feel the—wanna feel them." His hips buck into Namjoon's hand. "Please. Namjoon."
It's the need in Seokjin's voice that elicits an urge in Namjoon to please and give Seokjin what he's so desperately asking for. He wantsSeokjin to feel good, so he does as he's told and rubs him through the panties until Seokjin's panting and moving his hips in small, guarded motions in Namjoon's lap. His hands clutch at Namjoon's shoulders for balance and he whimpers every time Namjoon presses the rough fabric against the sensitive tip of his dick with his fingers.
Glancing up, Namjoon's heart skips two beats.
Seokjin's so pretty like this—dazed from pleasure, desperate to come.
Panting, Seokjin bends down to rest his forehead against Namjoon's, and in turn Namjoon tilts his head up slightly, their lips almost touching. He can feel Seokjin's damp breath mingle with his own, landing warmly on his lips like the ghost of a kiss. Mere millimeters keep their mouths from pressing together—but just when he feels Seokjin's top lip brush gently against his, Seokjin shuts his eyes tightly and turns his head away.
Namjoon tries not to be disappointed and keeps eagerly palming at Seokjin's dick until Seokjin whines into his ear, reaching for Namjoon's hand between their bodies.
"Too much," he sobs, and only then Namjoon notices how sticky his fingers are.
Quietly, Seokjin untangles himself from Namjoon and, yeah.
That just happened.
Namjoon's sporting the biggest boner of his life. He lets his hands fall into his lap in an attempt to hide the bulge in his pants.
It is then, when Seokjin moves and turns around—facing away from Namjoon, his ass on full display—to grab some tissues from his nightstand, that Namjoon realizes: Oh. Oh, wow. He hasn't even seen the backside view yet.
There's really not much left to the imagination. The fabric is covering only half of Seokjin's perfectly round ass cheeks; hugging Seokjin's surprisingly small ass tightly and making the visible part of it look plump and soft. This isn't just cute or sexy. This is outright deadly.
Namjoon makes some kind of choked up sound in response, his hand pressing almost automatically against his aching, friction-seeking dick.
Seokjin, still on all fours, looks over his shoulder, lips already parted to ask, "What's wrong?" but he pauses. Shuts his mouth. He catches Namjoon staring at his ass before Namjoon can pretend that he isn't. After everything that happened it really shouldn't come as such a big surprise to Seokjin anymore that Namjoon's so interested in him but it does, makes him feel nervous all over again.
His eyes slip from Namjoon's face to Namjoon's lap.
It's easy to tell what he's trying to cover up with his hands.
Their eyes meet and Namjoon's face goes up in flames.
Knowing that he's having this effect on Namjoon gives Seokjin the necessary boost of courage to do what he does next: He bends over, leans on his forearms, and sticks his ass out. Resting his burning cheek against his arm he quietly says, "You can touch my ass, too… if you want to."
Namjoon huffs, shuffling. "A-Are you sure? We totally don't have to go this far—"
There's no real fight in Namjoon's voice. Seokjin already knows that he's won him over. "Please?"
More shuffling. The mattress sinks in a little.
Seokjin flinches when he feels Namjoon's hands slide tentatively across his skin. The touch is so light that it tickles, making goosebumps spread all over his body. He hears Namjoon suck in a breath sharply through his teeth before a single finger traces the edges of the lace appreciatively, occasionally brushing against skin. The finger slips under the fabric briefly as if on accident, pulls back and continues its travel along the lace.
Something hard presses into the back of Seokjin's thigh.
For Seokjin it is perfectly reasonable that, after Namjoon had helped him out earlier, he should offer the same to him.
For Namjoon, the uttered Hey, Namjoonie, use me to get yourself off comes like a punch to the gut. He gasps for air, his exploring hands grounding to a halt on Seokjin's ass. "What?"
"I know you're hard. You can use me. I used you too."
God. Namjoon wishes he could see Seokjin's face right now. Ever since this started he's found an entirely new appreciation for the embarrassed blush on his best friend's cheeks. Looking down at himself, Namjoon says, "Is—Is it okay if I—"
"Do whatever you want—just don't, um, remove the panties. Please."
If Seokjin says pleaselike that one more time it might just become Namjoon's favorite word.
Namjoon feels a little like he's having an out of body experience while he opens the zipper of his pants with shaking, weightless fingers that already miss Seokjin's soft, warm skin. He shoves jeans and his underwear down far enough to expose his hard dick and crawls closer to Seokjin, taking one deep breath before he presses his dick down against Seokjin's lace-covered ass, slotting it in the small valley between Seokjin's cheeks. He gasps the moment the underside of his shaft touches the rough fabric.
Tentatively he rubs himself back and forth against the lace, biting down on his lip every time the head of his dick comes in contact with it. His unoccupied hand finds its way to the side of Seokjin's ass, fingers reflexively digging into the soft flesh.
It's done quickly.
The view of Seokjin bent over like this; his beautiful back arched, the slight curve of his spine, his narrow waist, the bra, the panties—the stimulation—the knowledge and the fact that Namjoon's getting off to his best friend, that he's getting of on his best friend—and—
"Does it feel good, Joonie?"
Seokjin feels it splatter across his skin. Namjoon lets go of him immediately.
"Shi—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"I don't mind." Without moving from his position, Seokjin reaches toward his nightstand, pulls two tissues out of his tissue box, and holds them out for Namjoon.
Namjoon cleans Seokjin up quietly. He throws the dirty tissues over the edge of the bed once he's done. Hesitates. Waits for Seokjin to unfold, move, to do anything, but Seokjin's still not moving, his head again buried in his arms. "Um."
"Let me just think about... all of this. For a while."
"Ok," Namjoon says, voice meek. "Can I… Can I stay here while you think?"
It's completely silent in the room for a good three minutes before Seokjin finally rolls over onto his back, stretching his body out on the mattress. Namjoon's eyes trail from the hand that is lazily placed on his tummy over the long line of his legs. Then, Seokjin says, "My sister has a few other panty and bra sets that I haven't tried… yet."
Namjoon's eyes snap from Seokjin's delicate ankles to Seokjin's face. Seokjin is looking at him expectantly. "W-What?"