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ass bread

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lax schedule or not, yoongi’s got a nasty working streak. he doesn’t want it, he really doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from stopping by the studio after their promotions that day, followed by namjoon and hoseok, who both have something to do as well. apparently. namjoon says he has some loose ends to tie up which is understandable, and hoseok probably just wants to absorb the process. honestly, yoongi doesn’t care what they do as long as they’re both quiet.

he gets a good uninterrupted hour until namjoon is finished and hoseok trails along behind him, both of them flopping onto the studio sofa. hoseok’s sprawled out over namjoon’s thighs, all long legs with his back resting against the armrest, and whatever he’s playing on his phone could be like, 10 volume notches lower or off completely. whichever happens sooner. yoongi’s battle ready to chuck the thing across the room if it comes down to that. namjoon’s scrolling SNS or looking at porn, and the scariest part is that it could be either.

namjoon pipes up first, not looking away from the screen. “hyung, are you done yet?”

yoongi checks the time. it’s not even 2 yet, so no. he’s done with what he came to do for the most part. if you take out the fact that he keeps fiddling with the same ten second segment because it doesn’t sound right. “you can go home if you’re tired, i’ll come home when i’m done. i’m not holding you hostage, namjoon.”

"it's okay. we can wait," is the reply that hoseok supplies, and they can, really. he's got a bit of a yawn or two on the way, but they've all stayed up much later than this.

somewhere along the way hoseok turns down the volume on his game. or stops playing entirely—yoongi is too focused to notice, and doesn't care enough to glance over and see—and everything goes good for a while. nobody talks to yoongi, he doesn't have to reply to any fuckery, life is great. for about forty-five minutes. maybe an hour, but he isn’t counting.

and then namjoon and hoseok are crawling over on their greasy paws and tearing him away from his baby. hoseok saving his file is the only consolation he gets for namjoon scooping him out of the producer's chair and into his arms, leaving yoongi salty and clutching at namjoon's shoulders a bit too tightly. he deserves all the pain that comes to him.

“what the fuck are you doing? i’m not done. the night is still young, i’m being productive.” yoongi isn’t whining but namjoon doesn’t humor him with an answer anyway.

he pretends to drop yoongi onto the sofa a couple times instead, swinging him over the cushions and almost letting go, although yoongi's convinced he would've dragged namjoon down with him, but it gets old and he settles into the fake leather with a grunt. yoongi's not the heaviest, but he's not a sack of feathers either.

yoongi crawls off of namjoon's lap, dismayed and betrayed and a number of other 'yed' adjectives, and doesn't even have his feet on the floor before hoseok is locking him into his spot on the couch.

"you're not going back over there. we’re done for today." wow, namjoon is using his ‘leader tone’. Scary.

he wasn't going to.

ok, maybe he was. just for five more minutes. (which roughly translates into: ‘i’ll sleep when the sun comes up’)

"do you not want to spend quality time with your two favorite people?" hoseok and namjoon need to stop completing each other's thoughts. really. please. hoseok arranges himself over them both while he's talking, ribs spread across yoongi's thighs and his head in namjoon's lap.

the position is about as sensible as it sounds. hoseok squirms around in discomfort, ends up elbowing yoongi in the stomach, and yoongi nearly pushes him off the sofa in retaliation. when he finally settles, he’s sitting on top of them both, ass in yoongi's lap and legs on namjoon's. it’s a much better arrangement, and he can show things to yoongi on his cellphone, even if the elder is dozing off with his face pressed against one of hoseok's arms, one of his own hooked loosely around the younger’s waist.

“hey,” yoongi isn’t really too keen on talking or moving, but his legs are falling asleep under hoseok’s weight, and being in the studio but not working in the studio wasn’t really on his ‘things i like to do’ list. “if ‘spending time with my two favorite people’ was supposed to mean falling asleep on this shitty couch, we could be doing this at home.”

namjoon yawns and stretches out, hoseok’s legs slipping out of his lap when he stands up. hoseok laughs and scoots off of yoongi, bouncing up as soon as his feet hit the ground. how is he still awake enough to do that when yoongi was mentally prepared to stay up another three hours working and he’s halfway to passed the fuck out?

“c’mon, up, up. i’ll take you home tonight, hyung.” hoseok offers his hands, but yoongi doesn’t take them, hiding a little smile by ducking his head when he stands. he does some stretching and shoulder rolling of his own, uselessly dragging out the task to show off his hot bod. under all of his layers of clothing. namjoon shifts impatiently at the door, awkward as ever, and clears his throat. guess he doesn’t like the show. sounds fake, but okay.

the air could be cooler, but it’s tens of times better than the stuffiness of the studio. it wakes yoongi up, a little, but he’d be on the ground somewhere or blocks behind them both if namjoon and hoseok weren’t keeping him steady with the possessive palms at the small of his back, tossing jokes and murmured affection over his head. hoseok ducks in and smooches him on the ear at one point, leaning over to peck namjoon’s cheek afterwards. yoongi pretends to grimace, but it’s ruined by the way he laughs through his noise, sharp and airy.

as soon as they make it back to the dorms, yoongi goes straight for the sofa, ditching his pants on the way and falling face first onto the familiar upholstery. he’d be gone if namjoon didn’t come after him, gently cajoling him into a sitting position and telling him he can’t sleep yet.

he slurs out a ‘why the fuck not?’, curling into namjoon’s chest anyway. if he couldn’t have a pillow, namjoon could sure as hell be second best. hoseok’s already sneaking into each of their rooms, stripping their mattresses and coming back with armfuls of bedding to throw on the floor in front of the couch. he makes absolutely no effort to make the sheets look like anything less than a pile of shit in the middle of the room, stripping down to his tank top and boxers and gesturing at the lump.

“ok guys, time to sleep.”

“what the fuck is that,” yoongi’s half looking, eyelids too heavy with sleep to see anything properly, but that, whatever that is, is not going to work for the three of them. he pries himself from namjoon’s clutches, sliding off the couch and into the blanket pile. it’s a sizable amount, actually. he didn’t know that they had this many blankets between them all, and as he drowsily spreads all the covers out in layers and arranges the pillows at the top, namjoon slips away to change into sweats.

by the time namjoon comes back, yoongi and hoseok are already snuggled up and under the sheets, hoseok spooning yoongi and holding him tight around the waist. yoongi is likely unconscious, eyes shut and mouth just a little bit open (though it really looks a tad short of gaping). the floor is more than mildly uncomfortable, pressing into all the wrong places on namjoon’s already-sore body, and his arm is going to be cramped tomorrow, held between his chest with yoongi’s. and he wants to say it’s worth it because he’s sharing body heat with his boyfriends, but honestly, the ground feels fucking terrible. they need an actual bed. or more blankets in the meantime.

hoseok drifts off soon after namjoon joins them, mumbling a “g’night namjoon-ah,” and nuzzling into the back of yoongi’s neck. his arms squeeze yoongi a little tighter and he huffs in his sleep, shifting closer to namjoon’s chest. namjoon’s dimple makes an appearance, visible to no one in the dark. they’re both so cute. he brings an arm over to brush some hair behind hoseok’s ear, watching the steady rise and fall of both of their chests, the way yoongi’s eyelashes fall under the dim light. he wonders how he ended up liking them both so much, how they ended up as tangled limbs and shared smiles, more than just the same dream embodied in the same music. he’s getting a little sappy and a little too teary for being the ass bread in his personal hormone sandwich at 3 in the morning, ready to join the others in dreamland. but he feels like he could write about the sweet slope of yoongi’s nose, rap about the curves of hoseok’s legs, the way the both of them just flow, otherworldy around him. namjoon is overwhelmed. mostly because he has verses he could be documenting, but his arms are trapped.

he presses his lips to yoongi’s forehead over the bangs, pressing the words into mind. hopefully he’ll remember them in the morning.