Work Header

i want to be the blanket (over both of us)

Work Text:


Thunder wakes Yonghoon up. He opens his eyes, right in time for the flash of lightning to light up the room, turning his furniture into strange spiked shadows. He shivers unconsciously, curling further into his thin blanket. It’s summer and they’ve got air conditioning, but it’s only on at its lowest setting, so they don’t rack up the bills too much. He’s only wearing a pair of shorts and a thin T-shirt and covered by the aforementioned blanket, but it suddenly doesn’t feel like enough protection from the loud crashing sounds from outside.


Yonghoon curls up further on himself, wincing at another loud peal of thunder. It almost covers up the sound of the knocking on his bedroom door. He freezes, horrified. It’d be just his rotten luck that the storm would cover up the sounds of a burglar, ready to steal his precious mic stand and also murder him.


He’s halfway to reaching for the lamp so he’ll at least have something to defend himself with when it occurs to him that a burglar probably wouldn’t knock first. “Yeah?” he calls out weakly towards the door, curling his hands into fists and hiding them under the pillow.


The door cracks open and Dongmyeong’s head pokes in. Another flash of lightning illuminates the room, and his eyes look dark and liquid in the white light. There’s a song lyric in that if Yonghoon could keep his hands steady enough to write it down.


“Hyung?” Dongmyeong says softly, and his voice sounds a little weird. “Sorry…”


“What’s wrong?” Yonghoon asks, halfway to sitting up, his protective instinct awake. Looking at Dongmyeong hesitating in his doorway, it occurs to him that he and Dongmyeong are the only ones at the dorm, the others either staying with their families for the evening (Hyungu and Harin), or sleeping in Geonhak’s room (Giwook).


“Can I...can I stay with you, hyung?” Dongmyeong asks, and it hits Yonghoon like a lightning bolt (but only figuratively) - Dongmyeong must be afraid of the storm. And it’s up to Yonghoon, as his Strong and Upstanding Hyung, to protect him. His heart is immediately lightened, and he only barely flinches as another round of thunder rumbles in the distance.


“Of course!” he says, fighting to keep his giddiness out of his voice. “Hyung’s bed is always open to you!”


Dongmyeong sighs, as if put-upon, but he makes his way carefully around the minefield that is the floor of Yonghoon’s room. The fact that he doesn’t trip on a box of guitar picks is probably a minor miracle, but soon enough, Yonghoon’s got an armful of prickly dongsaeng in his arms and the storm outside is almost forgotten. 


Dongmyeong is a pleasant weight on top of him and his skin is cool, almost too cold. “Were you standing under the air conditioner unit?” Yonghoon asks, rubbing his palms up Dongmyeong’s arms. “You could have gotten a cold.”


Dongmyeong hums sleepily, curling in further, exhaling softly against Yonghoon’s throat. He’s close enough that their legs are tangled together, their bare skin sticking together. Yonghoon smooths his palm down Dongmyeong’s back. At the base of his spine, Dongmyeong’s shirt has ridden up and Yonghoon slips his fingers under it to touch soft skin. 


“You smell good,” he says, because Dongmyeong does, the scent of vanilla and coconut lingering on his skin, like summer trapped just beyond the surface. It makes Yonghoon want to choose a patch of skin and bite, but gently, because Dongmyeong is always sensitive about them leaving marks.


“Hyung, are you being greasy again?” Dongmyeong mutters with a sigh but Yonghoon can feel his lips pressed against his throat as they stretch into a smile.


“How dare you,” Yonghoon says, and he chances a quick kiss to Dongmyeong’s temple, “I’ve never been greasy in my life.”


“Does that mean you’re dead? My condolences,” Dongmyeong giggles at his own lame joke and Yonghoon rolls his eyes. 


Dongmyeong’s lips skitter softly across his throat, and then the line of his jaw. Yonghoon tilts his head down obligingly, and then Dongmyeong is kissing him, a gentle press of lips. He catches Yonghoon’s bottom lip between his and sucks on it before letting it go with a soft pop. It’s a classic Dongmyeong opening move, invented and practiced way back when they all still thought they’d be using them on girls instead of each other. It makes Yonghoon smile and he retaliates with his own favorite - a kiss to the top lip, and a swipe of tongue that has Dongmyeong’s mouth parting for him with a soft sound.


They make out like that, Dongmyeong a comfortable weight on top of him, his mouth hot and generous and familiar enough that Yonghoon gets lost in it. By the time they’re ready to separate, he’s got his hand halfway up Dongmyeong’s shirt and the storm outside has gentled into soft rain. 




Yonghoon wakes up fuzzy and warm, his nose filled with the scent of vanilla. He gets a mouthful of Dongmyeong’s hair on an exhale, and sighs with relief when Dongmyeong’s movements shift him off his arm. He follows it up with a pained his, as the limb fills with pins and needles. Some of the pain is forgotten as Dongmyeong rubs his cheek instinctively against Yonghoon’s forearm, almost apologetically. Yonghoon presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, half-instinctive.


Somewhere above them, Hyungu coos. It’s only about two-thirds mocking. Yonghoon raises his still painful arm to flip him off, making Hyungu giggle. Yonghoon presses his grin into Dongmyeong’s skin to keep up his facade of annoyance a little longer, not that he thinks it’s actually fooling anyone.


There’s movement in the room, the scraping of the door against the doorway, and then a low laugh. Harin, probably leaning against Hyungu’s side.


“Well, aren’t you adorable?” Harin says, a smile in his voice. Yonghoon aims his hand vaguely in his direction and waves at him. Judging by his laugh, he misjudges the direction entirely. “Did you have to help hyung with his fear of the storm?”


“Yup,” Dongmyeong says, which is frankly insulting since Yonghoon was pretty sure he’s mostly asleep and also, because Yonghoon is definitely not afraid of storms, what are they talking about?”


“Did he shiver and huddle under his blanket?” Hyungu asks, voice going tight and high with the force it’s taking to temper down his laughter.


“Did he mistake you for a burglar and scream through his highest octave?” Harin adds and Yonghoon frowns, prepared to leave the sanctuary that is the nape of Dongmyeong’s neck just to go out and defend his own honor. That only happened one time, and Harin was lucky that Yonghoon hadn’t made a grab for his lamp and start swinging.


Dongmyeong grumbles, and Yonghoon feels the movement against his chest, instinctively shuffling closer. “Why are you all so awake?” Dongmyeong says, sounding plaintive, and Yonghoon can practically hear the other two folding.


“The bed does look pretty cozy from where I’m standing,” Harin says thoughtfully, right before there’s a dip in the bed behind Yonghoon and Hyungu’s familiar arms are sliding around his middle. 


“It’s still raining,” Hyungu says, almost in Yonghoon’s ear, making him shiver, “we wouldn’t want hyung to get scared again.”


Yonghoon is tempted to elbow him in the stomach, but Harin’s making himself comfortable on Dongmyeong’s other side, his hand cool where it lands on Yonghoon’s hipbone, and he’s feeling suddenly mellow.


“Giwook not back yet?” Yonghoon asks, with the last dredges of his coherency. Hyungu snorts against his back, ruffling Yonghoon’s hair.


“Still at Geonhak’s,” he says, “not that I blame him. He’s got the nicer sheets, and he changes them like, every three days.”


Yonghoon should argue in defense of his sheets, he changes them often enough, every two weeks, mostly, and it’s not like they smell, and also, if Hyungu finds them so uncomfortable, he should just leave. But, Harin’s fingers are drawing soft unconscious patterns on the thin skin of his hip, and Hyungu’s breath is evening out and Dongmyeong is soft and sleep warm in his arms. The argument slips away from him. 


The rain beats softly against the window, dove-gray dawn lightening into steel-tipped daylight, and lightning and thunder and all the things that someone could fear, feel a thousand miles away, soundly chased away with the warmth of familiar bodies.