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I think you lost your morals (but you don't need them where we're going)

Chapter Text

It starts off as Namjoon looking to blow off steam, stumbling out of the dance practice room with sweat matting his hair and adrenaline thrumming through his veins.

It's been days, weeks even, since he's been able to properly relieve himself; jerking off in the shower and rubbing his cock dry with his fist pressed against his teeth minutes before falling asleep only serving to rile him up even more, and it seems like he's been perpetually half-hard all day, his dick showing signs of interest at every movement of his jeans as he walks.

He makes a quick stop at the Bangtan room, makes Jimin and Jeongguk promise to turn in within the hour before shutting the door quietly behind him, blaring music fading with every stride he takes down the hall and towards the elevator. His hands shake only slightly as he jabs the button for his floor number; somewhere up on the top of the company building, high enough to be away from the noise of the trainee dorms but a floor lower than Yoongi's office so that his pacing doesn't disturb him.

It's stuffy, always has been in the elevators, but it feels like he's burning up and he untucks his shirt, brushing the pads of his fingers absently over the soft skin above his waistband. The arriving ding has him jolting and he nearly stumbles as he steps out into the hall, walking in a half-jog to his office and yanking the door open.

Not much prepares him for seeing his computer already on, screen blinding him in an otherwise dark room, and his office chair already occupied by a certain dark-haired dancer. Who appears to have his dick out. Great.

"Same idea?" Hoseok drawls, lolling his head back to look at him, and if the intrusion had startled him, Namjoon can't tell; laid back in his chair, lazy grin on his face, hand wrapped around his cock. He's at least stopped stroking himself, but it looks like he was before Namjoon interrupted him, cock hard and flushed in his hand, the brightness of the computer screen making the precome at the tip glisten. Not that Namjoon is staring at his dick or anything. Nope.

"I-uh, yeah," Namjoon stammers, stepping in and pushing the door shut behind him, lock clicking. So that someone doesn't walk by and see them, he had reasoned, but great, now he's standing in his office with Hoseok (and company) ten feet away from him and some porno playing on the computer. "Is this-is this okay?" He finds himself asking, and his fingers ache when he realizes how hard he had been clenching around doorknob. "I can come back."

"Nah, it's cool," Hoseok says, and it really does sound like he's cool with it. Of course, now he remembers that Hoseok was nearly naked when meeting almost all of the younger boys, and they've all walked in on him dozens of times, probably. Namjoon is just trying to figure out how after five years, this is the first time it's happened with them.

It is cool, he tells himself, dragging a chair up next to Hoseok's and sitting himself down in it. People do this.

It's not cool. People don't do this, unless they're in a gay porno and those never, never end which with each male in their respective chairs, hands on their respective dicks. Never, his brain screams at him, but he ignores it, focuses instead on if he pulled his chair too close to Hoseok's and if its weird that he has a full view of Hoseok's lap and vice versa.

"It's just started," Hoseok says, leaning forward to grab the mouse with the hand not wrapped around his dick, wiggling it over the screen so the timeline pops up. It is indeed just a few minutes in, past whatever semblance of plot the video was pretending to have and onto the opening of poking and prodding and eating pussy. Namjoon grunts in response and Hoseok sits back once more, continuing to stroke himself lazily.

His jeans are shoved midway down his thighs, legs parted as much as his clothing will allow and his cock twitches in his hand as the girl onscreen moans. Namjoon glances up at the screen (he was already looking at the screen, he wasn't looking at anything but the screen) and the foreplay has ended, some faceless guy fucking a pretty brunette into a futon that looks like it belongs in a model home.

He had forgotten how hard he was, cock nearly aching now, and he almost thinks he hears Hoseok chuckle at the groan that falls past his lips when he palms himself through his jeans, squeezing the length and settling more comfortably into his chair. Within the minute he's fumbling with the button and yanking his zipper down, rubbing the wet spot in his briefs for only a moment before shoving the waistband down and taking himself into his hand.

His cock is throbbing and he has half a mind to rub himself raw, but there's a small bottle of lotion somewhere on his desktop and he tries to be somewhat inconspicuous in reaching behind the computer to grab it, getting over his apprehension in touching it with his right hand after fumbling to get it open with one hand after approximately two seconds.

"Gonna get a goddamn hand pump for this next time," Namjoon grumbles, and he tries not to make any embarrassing noises when Hoseok laughs, smiling over at him with his mouth half-open around a moan and his hand working quickly over his dick. He squirts a generous amount onto his hand, the cold biting at his palm at first, offering some to Hoseok before throwing the bottle back into some unknown corner of the room.

He's always liked it wet, and with the lotion he can not only see but hear the wet sounds of Hoseok jerking his cock in earnest, Namjoon unwittingly following his pace, heat pooling in his stomach and tension fizzling away in the air.

It's hard to feel uncomfortable around Hoseok, familiar Hoseok, same-aged Hoseok, warm Hoseok who's known him for 5 years and falls asleep in his bed and jokingly kissed him in the underground company parking lot on New Years Eve when the clock struck 12 and no one was looking; and Namjoon finds himself getting into a rhythm, consciously reminding himself to tease his orgasm out of himself instead of bucking his hips up off the chair to fuck into his own hand.

Hoseok has his head tilted back, lip caught between his teeth as he arches towards himself, hand moving faster and faster. He's so pretty like this, gorgeous as he lets his head drop forward, curling into himself as he moans out his orgasm, and Namjoon's own orgasm catches him completely off guard; realizing that he's coming right around the same time that he realizes his eyes are clenched shut and the embarrassingly loud groan he just heard was his. He gentles himself through it, strokes slowing down until he's just squeezing his hand around the head of his cock, and he opens his eyes just in time to see Hoseok sucking each of his fingers clean.

"Fuck," he breathes, at what he doesn't know, but Hoseok just giggles, actually giggles, nodding in agreement. He tucks himself back into his pants and Namjoon takes a little longer, waiting until Hoseok is closing down the Internet browser and shutting the computer off, some of the sensitivity worn off but not enough that he doesn't gasp a little as he pulls his jeans back up over his hips.

"So this has been fun," Hoseok chirps, smile lazy and tired and content as ever, a familiar expression and now Namjoon knows why Hoseok comes home most nights from solo dance practices looking so smug. "We should do that again sometime."

Namjoon laughs.


(They do.)