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Strawberry Tarts

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“Those bastards. Those fucking unbelievable bastards.”

“What have they done now,” Namjoon mutters, not budging from his laptop.

“They brought us tarts,” Hoseok hisses, brandishing a fetchingly-beribboned basket containing two of the aforementioned pastries. Freshly baked. Homemade crust, too. The fuckers. Hoseok's going to have to throw a damn dinner party now, isn’t he? “Straw-fucking-berry tarts. Yongha made them with the strawberries I brought over three days ago.”

“Wait, that’s where the strawberries went?” Namjoon asks, looking up. “My sister gave those to us last week, I wanted to eat those!" 

"Well, I had to do something after they invited us over for drinks and brought us those candles and then Jaeshin fixed those loose shingles on the roof and the step ladder you broke!” Hoseok wails. “The strawberries don’t even begin to cover our niceness debt, Namjoon! I mean, would it kill you to offer to mow their lawn once?”

“You were the one who banned me from touching all lawn equipment except the watering can,” Namjoon points out, eyebrows raised. He inches closer to the tarts. “These smell amazing. Are you sure we can’t try just a—?”

Hoseok sweeps the tarts out of reach. “No, that would mean they win,” he says darkly, depositing the tarts on the kitchen counter. Namjoon watches forlornly. 

“They’re trying to one up us on niceness,” Hoseok continues with a manic glint in his eye, “I’m sure of it. It’s all part of their plan to get us under their thumb and then they’ll turn around and, I don’t know, bulldoze our backyard for an Olympic size wave pool, and we won’t even be able to say anything because they brought us tarts.”

“I’m pretty sure bulldozing our lawn without our consent would be illegal,” Namjoon says drily.

“That’s what they want us to think,” Hoseok huffs, turning to look out the window at their Machiavellian next-door neighbors. They’re both outside trimming the hedge that divides their two yards, making sure none of the clippings fall onto Hoseok and Namjoon’s side, of course, because they are fucking perfect, and Namjoon and he will never in a million years be able to catch up with—

“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “Fuck. Jaeshin just took his shirt off.”


Namjoon is suddenly peering over Hoseok’s shoulder. Hoseok elbows him in the stomach. “Look at his abs, oh my god.”

“Is he human?” Namjoon asks. “Damn, that looks like a nasty scar. What did you say he does again? Security?”

“He’s a detective with the metropolitan police,” Hoseok says, and maybe it’s a little too admiring, because Namjoon frowns at him. “I’m sure your cock’s still bigger, Joonie, don’t worry.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and turns back to the window. “Yongha’s pretty fit, too,” he says, tilting his head. They watch as Yongha stuffs a handful of leaves down Jaeshin’s pants, then cracks up at his husband's wounded expression.

“His mouth is huge,” Hoseok muses. “I wonder how much you could fit in that.”

“A whole tart,” Namjoon says wonderingly. “Maybe two.”

“Are they looking?” Yongha mutters out of the corner of his mouth. “Jaeshin!”

“How’m I supposed to know?” Jaeshin grumbles. “I’m trimming the hedge, don’t distract me.”  

Yongha peers around him quickly, then bounces back a huge grin on his face. “I saw the curtains move. They’re totally checking you out, I knew it was a good idea to take your shirt off!”

Jaeshin groans. “Will you stop that, Yongha, please.”

“What, are you embarrassed?” Yongha teases, and Jaeshin would flush if he had any residual shame left—but no, a life spent with Yongha was a life spent in a perpetual series of embarrassing social situations and if he blushed at every single one he’d have a heart condition by now.

“I just don’t see why we can't—why we can’t just ask them,” and okay, maybe he has a little bit of shame left because he can feel his ears growing hot, “if they’re into, into swinging or something.”

“Okay, first of all, no one says ‘swinging’ anymore what decade did you time warp from,” Yongha says flatly. “Second, have you seen them? They’re babies. We have to warm them up. Pique their interest. Tickle their—”

“I get it,” Jaeshin interrupts hastily before Yongha can get really riled up with the synonyms.

“Thirdly, I know you’re interested because you went over last week totally unprompted and helped them with their roof, which is practically a love letter from you.”

“I did that because I’m nice,” Jaeshin protests, to which Yongha just snorts derisively. “I am! And also because the shorter guy—" 


"Yeah, Hoseok screamed so loudly when Namjoon fell I thought someone was getting murdered,” Jaeshin says. “Then once I was there, I had to help. If I’d left Namjoon alone with the power tools, there would definitely have been a murder.” He paused. “Or a manslaughter I guess. Wouldn’t be intentional. Probably.”

Yongha rolls his eyes. “Whatever. The point is, you like them. Don’t even try to deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at Namjoon.”

Jaeshin winces. “He’s…cute. Like a puppy.”

“A really big puppy,” Yongha says wiggling his eyebrows. “Remember that time with the garden hose and the basketball shorts? 'Cause man, I sure do.”

“Yongha. Please. We’re outside,” Jaeshin shushes, feeling the start of a flush. He clears his throat. “Hoseok is nice too. Great, er, lungs.”  

“Imagine him moaning,” Yongha says dreamily. “You could probably even hear it from Yoonhee and Sunjoon’s place. Make Sunjoon clutch his pearls,” he grins lasciviously, and Jaeshin seriously considers melting into the hedge out of pure embarrassment.

“Stop,” he pleads. “Come on, Yongha, don’t make me come over there.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised we haven’t heard anything yet,” Yongha continues, blissfully ignoring Jaeshin turning beet red beside him. “I wonder if they use a gag.”

“That’s it,” Jaeshin grits out, dropping the clippers and grabbing Yongha’s arm and tugging him towards the house. “We’re going inside.”

Yongha smirks. “Ooh, can we use the handcuffs this time?”