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“you’re so good to me, hyung”

yoongi’s on his knees, bare from the waist up. his eyes are alight, flaming with unmistakable fondness and an overwhelming arousal that makes namjoon tremble above him. he’s so alluring, fiery and raw, and namjoon is the moth to his flame, utterly devoted.

he just looks so powerful, even with his lips red and spit slick, one palm on namjoon’s hip and the other on the inside of his thigh. even when he’s taking namjoon’s cock into his mouth, sucking it down to the hilt with single-minded determination. even when namjoon’s gripping his hair all the way down to the scalp and pistoning his hips into yoongi’s face, saliva spilling out of the corners of his mouth to accommodate for the speed. yoongi grips at the back of namjoon’s thighs then, moving up to cup his ass and pull him closer when he stills in his orgasm, praise spilling half-formed from his throat, seed spilling down yoongi’s throat.

he doesn’t choke, has had far too much experience for that to happen often, and he wipes at some of the spit that’s dribbled down his neck and into the dips of his collarbones. namjoon melts. yoongi’s voice is rough even after he’s cleared his throat, hair mussed by the way namjoon was tangling his fingers in it earlier.

“hey, you.”

“hi.” namjoon quakes under the pressure of yoongi’s voice, as casual and conversational as it could be after having a dick crammed halfway to sunday down his throat.

“tell me more.”

and namjoon doesn’t get it until the elder is kicking off his shorts and they’re just yoongi, namjoon, and the sheets; lips yielding for one another, the ebb and flow of their bodies against each other better than the lapping waves of the ocean against their skin. namjoon devours the way yoongi shudders against his chest when he murmurs praise into the spaces between them, pressing compliments into his flesh with every graze of his lips and tongue. he replies to every noise yoongi grants him with more kisses and words of encouragement; more ‘you’re so good, baby’s, ‘that’s it, hyung’s. soaks in the way yoongi only focuses on him, even as his eyes are clenched shut, hips lifting off the mattress when namjoon strokes him nice and tight and so painfully slow.

and soon yoongi’s whining at namjoon to hurry up, go faster, which he does a pretty decent job of ignoring until yoongi starts jacking him off again and he’s still a little bit too sensitive for all that touching, still recovering from his previous orgasm. he bats yoongi’s hand away, rifling through the side drawer for lube, and covers his fingers in an ample amount. excess drips onto the hand circling yoongi’s dick and eases the slide, but namjoon tries his best to keep the same pace as he edges a finger in.

it’s no less fascinating every time he does this, watching yoongi swallow up his fingers, squirming under his touch every time he shoves the digits back in. yoongi doesn’t really need all the prep namjoon gives him, they did this yesterday, but the complaints that fall flat when the fingers jab against his prostate come out of his mouth anyway. they don’t fall away entirely until namjoon is cramming him full, stilling only when he’s pressed all the way to the base, hand that was stroking yoongi moving to hold him steady at the hips.

they move together when yoongi signals, namjoon shifting to his haunches and hiking the elder’s legs over his shoulders. it’s a little bit of a stretch for the both of them, but yoongi is used to the burn, lowkey welcomes the intimacy of missionary, the way namjoon’s cock curves deep inside of him.

it stays slow until it isn’t, deep rocking transitioning into brutal thrusts that rock the bed more than their bodies, the frame noisily clacking against the drywall as namjoon fills yoongi up. yoongi thinks that he would possibly maybe care about disturbing their neighbors more if he enjoyed these interactions less than he does now. and also if they hadn’t presented themselves as complete assholes on the first meeting, but details. yoongi’s gasping and growling, could be wailing if that was his thing (it’s not, but the noises he makes sound suspiciously similar), gripping onto namjoon’s shoulders as he continues to ram yoongi twice to ‘i don’t think i’ll be able to walk ever again’. the filth he groans into yoongi’s ear is too much, has him turning his head away because he can’t have admiration and all the nasty things he’d like to do in the same fucking breath. can’t tell him that he’s gorgeous and amazing and takes his cock so well, should only take his because he’s the only person that can do yoongi right.

he’s too good at making yoongi wistful.

and when he’s close, yoongi verbalizes it, namjoon works him all the way through it, kisses him slow and sweet and jerks him in time with his thrusts until he’s oozing into namjoon’s palm, coming in thick spurts that leave him breathless and vulnerable.

yoongi’s eyes are still flaming when namjoon grinds himself to completion a second time, boring holes into the younger’s lips that linger even after he’s pumped yoongi full from the other side and pulled out. he curls up next to yoongi after cleaning them both up the best he can manage without actually leaving the bed. yoongi groans, sticky and uncomfortable, but embarrassingly warm in namjoon’s embrace, pressing chaste kisses to his pretty, plump lips instead of exchanging words. he doesn’t want to, doesn’t need to when he has all the actions in the word to express the way he feels. and even if he isn’t coming across exactly the way he wants to, he can always try again for as long as namjoon will let him in.

he hopes, somewhere in under his rocky exterior, that namjoon lets him for years to come.

namjoon presses all of his affection into each kiss, and although yoongi comes apart for namjoon in this moment, it doesn’t matter. yoongi can win namjoon over with a glance, turn his resolve into jelly with a word, bend namjoon to his whim even if he’s the one being bent in half.

that’s him and that’s them.

and they’re both good.