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Talk To V

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On the list of things he shouldn’t be doing, calling a phone sex hotline is number one. It’s also number one on the list of things he shouldn’t have made into a habit. But Yoongi guesses it’s still better than the alternative, which would be going out there and actually fucking people out of sheer frustration. Making that into a habit sounds even more unhealthy, so, this is fine. Perfectly fine.

Of course when he thinks this way, Yoongi blatantly ignores how in reality, he’d be too tired for actual sex most of the time. He calls the hotline because he just wants to lie in bed and jerk off before falling asleep, but every now and then, he doesn’t want to do it alone.

An automated voice on the other end tells him to press ‘2’ if he wants to speak to a male employee, and Yoongi presses the number on his touch screen before the voice has even finished. He’s not doing this for the first time, no. He switches hotlines now and then, just to make sure he doesn’t get the same guy twice, that’s all. He keeps telling himself to quit, but then he also keeps ending up like this; still in his suit, spread-eagle on an expensive hotel bed and staring at the ceiling, horny but tired from a long day of being an asshole while talking to other assholes and hearing the words I hate my job repeated into infinity on some sort of broken record player in his head. Maybe he’ll quit phone sex once he stops feeling the urge to steal a bulldozer and run over all of his colleagues and their stupid business partners.

“Hi there,” says a dark voice, ruining Yoongi’s bulldozing dreams. “You can call me V, what would you like me to call you?”

In Dire Need Of A Vacation, Yoongi thinks. Though that might be a name too long and weird for phone sex role playing. “Yoongi,” he says. He’s been using his real name for a while; there are enough guys called Yoongi out there, and it’s not like he’s giving them his business card. And even if it does end up getting him fired in the end, he’d be fucking thankful. Really, he’s past the point of caring.

“Yoongi, that’s a pretty name.” This V guy actually makes himself sound like he means it, even if Yoongi knows it’s just empty phrases at this point. But that’s alright. He’s just doing his job. “Is there anything in particular you wanna do tonight?”

Yoongi closes his eyes. Okay, he’s going to admit that this is one of the nicer voices he’s heard over the phone. It’s deep and slow in a friendly way that makes it easy to let go, not to mention he’s pretty sure he can hear the remains of a dialect in there that feels very close to home. “Nah,” he says, trying to relax into the mattress. “Nothing special. Just gotta unwind a little.”

“Alright, well, why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing, for starters?”

At that, Yoongi snaps his eyes open again, glaring down at his slacks, and his feet hanging off the bed in boring black socks. “I’m still,” he says without thinking, “wearing this stupid suit.”

V laughs softly, a huff of air, not making fun of him, just honest amusement. Yoongi can tell. He needs to be able to read people. “If it’s a stupid suit, maybe you should take it off. That should help. Believe me, I’m a professional; start with the tie.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Yoongi mutters. His free hand reaches up to tug at the knot of his tie, enjoying the way his neck immediately feels freer. He thumbs at the top button of his dress shirt and thinks about how he should at least kind of try to get in the mood here, but his mouth has different plans. “I don’t know why they’re making me wear this. A three-piece suit in the middle of July, really? I can’t even wear a shirt with short sleeves underneath, even though nobody would be able to fucking tell. Like, what, I can’t be a lawyer if I don’t sweat through four damn layers of clothing every single day?”

This isn’t going according to plan. Yoongi can’t exactly bring himself to care, not when V is chuckling into his ear with that suppressed, but real sort of amusement again.

“Three-piece, yeah?” he echoes, and Yoongi can tell he’s doing his best to stay in the mood himself now. “I love those, I’m sure you look hot. But leave the tie, then. Start with the vest.”

“Yeah, I probably look as hot as I feel,” Yoongi blurts out, “which is boiling.” V actually snickers at that, and Yoongi catches himself with the weird thought that this is just as good as phone sex, or maybe even better. “The second I step outside I’m, like, burning up in this garbage suit, and the worst part is that after that, I go into these business buildings that have only two types of air con: the one that doesn’t work at all, which means I get to stew not only in my own body heat but in everyone else’s, breathing air that tastes like somebody farted it all out; or the one that’s way too strong and makes me freeze because there’s litres of sweat drying on my whole fucking body. I hate suits.”

“I can tell,” V says. “Why’re you still wearing it, then? You are off work for today, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am.” Yoongi sighs as he sits up to finally unbutton his vest. “Sorry. I’m not making this sexy at all, am I?”

“It’s fine. I’m here for making things sexy, Yoongi, so don’t you worry about it. ‘Sides, we all sweat. It’s natural.”

“Wearing a three-piece suit isn’t,” Yoongi mumbles as he shrugs off his jacket and vest, automatically hurrying to press his phone back to his ear. He looks down at his white shirt, at the long sleeves reaching just a little bit over his wrists, then he shifts to balance his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can open his cuffs and roll up his sleeves. That’ll do.

“I guess not,” V says. He’s laughing again, softer now, more focused. “That’s why you’re taking it off, right?”

“Yeah. The vest and the jacket are gone.”

“Good. How about that tie?”

“Working on it,” Yoongi says, thumbing at the knot of his tie again. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, his other hand back to holding his phone. His arm feels heavy already. God, he’s so tired. “Listen, I don’t usually do this.”

“What, phone sex?”

“No, complaining about my job to a callboy. Doesn’t really, you know…” Yoongi hesitates -- what he was planning to say suddenly feels mean and condescending, which isn’t how he meant it, but he’s not sure if it’s going to come out right. But now he’s started the sentence already, and it’s not like he hasn’t been weird and awkward for the entire duration of this call. “Doesn’t feel fair. I mean, kind of like I’m preaching to the choir here.”

“Oh, you think I hate my job?” V chuckles and Yoongi breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He still sounds like he’s having fun, not like he’s offended. “It’s pretty okay, actually. The pay’s not bad, plus I get to work from home.”

Yoongi blinks. “You do?”

“Yeah? What, did you think this is an office job?”

Yoongi sits on the hotel bed and stares at the black TV hanging from the wall. Somehow, he did. He always imagined phone sex operators sitting in cubicles, surrounded by other cubicles, but now that he thinks about it, he figures they might hear all the other operators then, and that might get in the way. “Huh,” he says to that, his other hand finally pulling his tie off completely. “So… What are you doing right now? I mean, what are you really doing?”

After all, Yoongi automatically imagines him doing his chores with a phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder now. Either he’s scrubbing his kitchen while pretending to have phone sex with people, or he’s actually lying in his own, personal, private bed and touching himself to what people say to him, but Yoongi has always found that version hard to believe.

V pauses, like he’s hesitating for a second or two, and when he speaks again, Yoongi can hear him smile. “That’s not important. What’s important is you finally losing your slacks, remember? Focus, Yoongi.”

“Right, sorry.” Yoongi looks down at his black pants. He doesn’t feel particularly horny anymore, but he also knows that he’s going to hate himself if he quits now, because horniness usually returns to him later. He better takes care of it now.

“No need to apologize,” V hums. “Tell you what, leave the slacks on for now. Are you on a bed?”

“Yes,” Yoongi answers, biting back on another apology for making this weird.

“Good. Get on your back, then. You with me? We’re doing this, you get nice and comfortable over there.” Yoongi hums a yes to that, leaning back until his head touches the soft pillows again and he closes his eyes. “Now, I want you to palm yourself through your pants. Close your eyes, relax your shoulders, just get your hand on yourself. Don’t think about work, or the summer heat. Only heat you’re thinking about is me breathing down your neck when it’s my hand getting you hard.”

Yoongi exhales carefully. He presses the heel of his hand against his own crotch, eyelids fluttering when he does manage to imagine it’s someone else touching him there. He has no idea what V looks like and he doesn’t really have a distinct face in his imagination, but he has warm hands and his palm on him, and Yoongi finally feels heat rushing south, making him swallow thickly.

“Enjoying yourself?” V’s voice has gotten a husky edge to it, and Yoongi himself already sounds a little hoarse when he breathes out a Yeah. He reaches up to unbuckle his belt, but the clinking alone seems to be loud enough to carry through to the other end of the line. “Ah. No opening your pants until you’re hard. Are you hard, Yoongi?”

Yoongi just barely fights back a whine. He knows he can technically do what he wants and shove his hand down his pants this instant, but he’s done this often enough to know that there’s significantly less fun in that. “I’m hard,” he says, clearing his throat when it comes out as some sort of scratchy plea. “Fuck, I’m getting there.”

Getting there isn’t good enough,” V says with a disapproving sigh. “That belt stays closed. Come on, Yoongi, really grip yourself through your pants, work for it. I want you to think about me grinding down on you. I’d make you feel so good, even through your pants. No need to open them for that.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi grits out in what is already at least half a moan. This has taken a turn way quicker than he would have thought, but he’s not complaining. Literally, he’s finally not complaining anymore. He’s rubbing his palm over his hardening length, grabbing himself like he’s supposed to and trying to picture the heat of another body over him, thighs pressing to his sides and someone else rubbing down against him until his slacks really do get uncomfortably tight.

“Now you can,” V says softly on the other end, right after an embarrassing, choked up whine left Yoongi’s throat. “Get rid of that belt. You got lube close?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Yoongi rasps, his arm flying to the side so he can grab the lube off the bedside drawer, where he put it when he realized that this was going to be one of those evenings.

“Very good. Get naked and slick yourself up for me. You still with me?”

“Yeah, hang-- hang on.” Suddenly Yoongi scrambles to put his phone on speaker, suddenly nothing goes quick enough. The pressure of his zipper is finally gone, but he's still throbbing in his boxers, every piece of anger about his job long forgotten. He kicks off his pants and underwear, shoving them off the bed with his foot while he's already pouring lube in his hand. “Okay, I'm good. I'm good, can I--?”

“Go on,” V murmurs.

Yoongi chooses to ignore that he pretty much just asked for permission to touch himself, just as he ignores the initial cold feeling of his own slick hand on him. He shudders instead, groaning into the warm air of his hotel room. “Oh,” he sighs, “Oh, fuck that’s good.”

“Yeah?” V sounds breathless now, and thankfully Yoongi doesn’t have time to wonder if that’s fake or not. “Imagine that’s me sinking down on you. Go slow for me, Yoongi, make it last. Make it count, ah.” He’s moaning now, and Yoongi moans too, trying hard to be good and go slow, even if he does end up jerking his wrist now and then either way. If Taehyung can hear, he doesn’t seem to mind though; he’s a delicious, deep hum low in Yoongi’s right ear, breath fluttering when he opens his mouth to speak. “Fuck me.”

This time, Yoongi doesn’t bother fighting back the whine. He jerks his hips up, fucking into his hand and tightening his fingers, and there’s a blinding wave of heat washing over him almost immediately. His orgasm is building fast, coiling tightly in the pit of his stomach, and he's not going to try and stop it. It's phone sex, and he has work tomorrow -- he's not looking for the fuck of his life. Not in V’s imaginary ass, and not in the palm of his own hand.

V stays mostly quiet now, retaliating with soft little moans whenever Yoongi releases any kind of sound, and it's enough. He's good, Yoongi has the time to think somewhere, had him and his needs figured out right from the start, but that realization just makes him go back to thinking about thrusting up into him in earnest, which then wipes his mind clean of every thought.

He spills on his hand, and the hem of his abhorrent dress shirt, which is just fine with Yoongi. His hips still stutter against his palm and he’s panting, coming down from his high only slowly, curled up toes relaxing against the bedspread. He swallows, not caring if it’s loud enough for V to hear, and pries his eyes open to the darkness of the ceiling.

“Feel better now, Mister Three-Piece?”

Yoongi smiles. “Yeah,” he says and sits up just far enough to reach for the tissue box. Cleaning himself up lazily, he throws his phone a look. “You gonna ‘fess up now and tell me what you’ve been doing over there?” Those moans sounded pretty convincing a minute ago, but Yoongi wants to stay realistic and doubts that the guy has actually been getting into this. He still realizes that it might not be the best idea to tell that to a customer. “I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna tell on you or anything. You were way too good for that.”

“Oh,” V laughs. “Thanks.”

There’s a pause, again. Yoongi tosses his tissues halfway across the room and hits the trash bin effortlessly. He figures he’s not getting an answer this time around, either.

“I’m playing Assassin’s Creed.”

Ah. Yoongi can’t help but laugh as he reaches up to finally unbutton his stupid shirt with fingers that still feel half numb. “Well, that’s fair,” he says, slipping his socks off and crawling under the blanket slowly. Tiredness and satisfaction are making his bones heavy in a pleasant way. “You have fun with that, then. Thanks for the talk, V.”

“No problem, Yoongi,” V answers, and Yoongi is too tired to be sure right now, but he thinks he’s probably smiling. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

He hangs up thinking that this was nice. He likes it when they’re both being polite at the end, after all you don’t have to be an ass just because you’re never going to hear from each other again.


 

Yoongi hears from him again five days later. He’s on his own bed this time, finally back home from his business trip, fingers of his left hand playing idly with his vest while he presses his phone to his ear with the other one. Admittedly, a lot of phone sex hotlines have fewer male than female employees, so it’s kind of a gamble to call the same one twice in a row, but it usually works out. It’s always worked out so far. Yoongi has never talked to the same guy twice, until tonight.

“Good evening, you can call me V. What would you like me to call you?”

Yoongi sits up like his mattress kicked him in the back. “Uh,” he says, blinking at his reflection in the dark window pane next to his bed. “Hi. This is Yoongi.”

For a split second, he thinks that V might not even remember him. He probably gets a lot of customers with a lot of names, and it’s probably the same thing every time, so he might not know who the fuck he’s talking to, and Yoongi doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. He wants to think that it’s good, but some part of him doesn’t like it.

But V laughs, and that alone is enough to let Yoongi know that he remembers. “Hi, Yoongi!” he says cheerfully. Yoongi watches his reflection bite his lip and smile. “Another taxing day in a three-piece suit?”

Yoongi snorts. “Yeah, pretty much. I had to wear it on a plane today. I don’t get why I can’t just wear sweats for a flight. It’s not like our business partners see me there.”

“Your job sounds shitty,” V says, and Yoongi closes his eyes. That’s definitely the one thing he wanted to hear from a callboy tonight.

“I’m a lawyer,” he says softly, slowly lowering himself back down on his mattress. “So technically it’s my dream job, I worked really hard to get into law school and everything. I wanted to, you know, to help people who need it, that stuff. But I’m currently stuck in corporate hell where I just make deals with smug rich assholes all day and I kinda wanna murder them all.”

“Well,” V says without missing a beat, “as a lawyer I’m sure you’d have all the necessary know-how to hide the bodies and pull off the perfect crime.”

“Are you telling me to go for it?”

“It’s not my fault you’re looking for career advice on a sex hotline.”

“That wasn’t initially what I called this number for, you know.”

“Makes sense.” V chuckles, and it gets a good bit darker at the end, making the hair at the back of Yoongi’s neck stand up. “You still wearing your tie, Three-Piece?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says quietly. “Got rid of my jacket already, though.” V hums at the other end and for a second, Yoongi really tries to get into it, but there’s something else tugging at his mind. “How’s Assassin’s Creed going?”

He guesses that this is one of the reasons he tries not to call people twice. Or one of the reasons he shouldn’t have called this hotline in particular twice.

“I’m taking a break,” V says. “Well, actually I died so often that I got frustrated and almost threw my controller at the TV, so I’m doing something else now. Hey, how long does it take to soft-boil an egg?”

“Four minutes for firm whites and soft yolk,” Yoongi says automatically. He blinks. “Are you cooking?”

“I’m trying.”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Your point?”

“Huh,” Yoongi just says. That’s reasonable, in a way. V probably gets most calls during the night and evenings, so it’s only natural his rhythm would be a little skewered. “Put the raw egg under warm water first so it doesn’t crack when you put it in the pot.”

“Oh, damn. Okay. Thanks for the tip.” There’s the soft rush of tap water on the other end. “You loosening your tie over there?”

Yoongi’s laugh surprises himself a little, unbridled and making his shoulders shake. “You want me to strip while you’re soft-boiling an egg?”

“You had no problem with stripping while I was playing video games.”

“I didn’t know you were playing video games.”

“What did you think I was doing? Touching myself to the image of lawyers in suits?” V sighs. “Tell you what, I actually considered it for two seconds. Those vests are so fucking hot. What color’s your suit, by the way?”

“Black with a white shirt,” Yoongi says, and he can’t help but grin when V groans. “Hey, what are you wearing?”

“Well, I just took off my bra, so I’m just in sweats and a shirt now.”

“Your bra?” Yoongi echoes dumbly. “Do you just have one lying around for work?” That doesn’t make sense, he thinks immediately afterwards, if he’s just a phone sex operator. People don’t see him. If a customer is into that, V can just tell them he’s wearing a bra, he doesn’t actually have to own one.

“I have one lying around because my breasts hurt when I jump down the stairs without wearing it,” V says casually.

Yoongi lies still and stares at his ceiling. He feels way too tired to try and make sense of this. “Are you fucking with me?”

The laugh he gets for that is quiet, quieter than the ones before. Yoongi isn’t sure if he likes it. “Yeah,” V says. They’re both silent after that. Yoongi can hear the bubbling of his boiling water in the background. “Are we still doing this tonight, Yoongi?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says. He’s frowning at the ceiling now, his fingers having opened the buttons of his vest, but mostly just because it was getting uncomfortable, not because he wanted to go down on himself. “This is weird. I mean, uh, no offense, I just never… I’ve never had the same guy twice. Sorry, I’m not trying to be--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t apologize,” V hums, sounding as pleasant and forgiving as ever. “I know what you mean. I have a very small handful of regulars, everyone else stays a one hit wonder.”

Yoongi just hums. He doesn’t really know what to say, but V only takes a brief moment before he continues, albeit with a little more hesitation now.

“I was just asking, because… Well, if we’re not going to do the thing anyway, I was kinda…” He does something that sounds like a heavy mixture of a sigh and a deep, shaky breath. “You wanna hear something funny?”

Yoongi can feel his tie around his throat. “Shoot.”

“Okay, here goes. God, please be cool about this,” V mutters, before he takes another one of these breaths and speaks up again. “I’m a trans dude. That’s… not the funny part. I guess. The funny part is that I like this job because everyone always automatically assumes I have a dick and I get to talk about it all night. Sometimes people wax poetic about, like, my broad flat chest and all that, and I get super giddy. So, uh, no, I wasn’t fucking with you. I really just took off my bra.”

For a good few seconds, Yoongi just stays on his back and watches his dark ceiling, phone pressed to his ear with one heavy arm. Something metallic clinks on the other end and he wonders if four minutes are already over and he’s taking his egg out of the water. He still doesn’t know what his face looks like and sort of just leaves it blurry in his imagination, where V is now looking very comfortable in a small kitchen with sweatpants and a wide shirt, and a discarded bra hanging over the backrest of a kitchen chair. It looks nice and calm and almost cozy. Yoongi smiles. “That’s good,” he says finally. Immediately, V takes a nervous breath in his ear. “Good for you, I mean, that you have a job that gives you that kind of satisfaction. I never looked at it that way, I guess.” There’s a nervous chuckle from V, and Yoongi smiles a little wider. “I never would have figured, just going by your voice. Is that an okay thing to say?”

The next chuckle sounds nervous still, but a little firmer too. “Kind of. I think. I’m on T.”

“T?”

“Testosterone.”

“Oh.” Yoongi snorts. He should have at least figured that out himself. But he’s still tired from the day he’s been having.

“Yeah. V on T.” He laughs again, a breathy flutter in his voice. “My friends and I always joke that the V stands for vagina.”

“What does it stand for?”

“Whatever you want, baby,” V purrs, exaggerated and undoubtedly fake now, and they both laugh. V stops before Yoongi does and clears his throat. “So, it’s… You’re being really cool about this. I mean, I guess actually you’re just being a decent person, but a lot of people calling here want, like, a real man and dumb shit like that, and--”

“You’re a real man.”

“Well, yeah, I know. Some people just don’t agree, is all.”

“Fuck them, then.” Yoongi stretches against his mattress, flexing his feet. “We can sue them.”

That pulls a delighted giggle from V, loud enough to make Yoongi grin into his phone. “We can?”

“I’d find a way. Trust me on this, there’s always something you can sue people for.” Yoongi smiles through the next round of giggles. When they quiet down, he loosens his tie and finally opens the top two buttons. “How’s your egg doing?”

“My egg is doing fantastic,” V says. When Yoongi sits up and starts peeling himself out of his clothes slowly (to sleep -- he’s not expecting anything to go down here anymore), he clears his throat again. “So… If you don’t usually do this twice with the same guy, then… I assume you’re not going to call anymore, hm?”

Yoongi freezes, his left arm halfway out of his shirt, his phone wedged in between his cheek and his shoulder. He blinks at nothing, trying to process the question, come up with an answer that makes sense. “I,” he says, and then he starts rapidly shaking his arm so he can slip out of this godforsaken long sleeve and grab his phone with his newly freed hand. “I don’t kn-- I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t… I don’t want you to think that I couldn’t, uh…”

“That you couldn’t get off on my voice anymore?” V says with what can’t be anything other than a grin. Yoongi swallows.

“Yeah,” he says, and deflates a little, because that still sounds stupid. “So I mean, we could still…” He pauses again, and sighs. What is he trying to do? Convince a phone sex operator that he still finds him hot and would call again, really? Is that really what he wants here?

“Listen,” V says when Yoongi has freed his other hand too and uses it to rub the bridge of his nose. “How about this: I can give you my private number. Then you can call me there. That’s cheaper for you, and I mean, if you want, we can still talk about getting you off. Or we can talk about eggs and three-piece suits. Or all three of those, but maybe not in the same conversation. I guess tonight we proved that doesn’t work.”

Yoongi can hear himself breathe. He swallows, and next thing he knows he’s on his feet again, stumbling over to his briefcase so he can fish out a pen and his notepad. “Yeah,” he says, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “Yeah, sure. I got a pen ready, go on.”

Carefully, Yoongi writes down the number he gets, reads it back to V, and then stands around in his room looking at it.

“Kim Taehyung,” V adds finally.

“Huh?” Yoongi blinks. “Is that--?”

“Yeah, that’s my name. Is Yoongi your real name?”

“Min Yoongi, yes. I’ll text you after this, so you get my number, alright?”

“Good.” Kim Taehyung still sounds like he’s smiling. Yoongi walks backwards until he can sit back down on his bed. “Hey, Yoongi? This egg is great. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Yoongi says, looking down and trying to figure out the best way to lose his pants while on the phone. This feels a lot easier when he’s actually having phone sex, and not just trying to get into bed comfortably.

“You sound tired,” Taehyung says. “How about we text tomorrow when you get up?”

“That’s in six hours. Will you still be up?”

Taehyung snorts. “Good point. Text me when you’re on lunch break, then.”

“Alright,” Yoongi laughs. “Then good night, Kim Taehyung.”

“Good night, Min Yoongi.”


 

As it turns out, Taehyung’s number scrawled on a piece of paper tucked away safely in his phone case is a welcome reminder. Yoongi occasionally forgets to take breaks during work, which is one of the many reasons he always ends up so tired afterwards, but today he remembers. As soon as his computer informs him that it’s 11:30, he pushes his chair away from his desk with so much enthusiasm he almost crashes into the window of his office, and pulls out his phone to wish Taehyung a good morning.

Taehyung is a great conversationalist even in text form. Yoongi tends to get caught up in work, but Taehyung is just the right mixture of understanding and stubborn to know when to leave him be, and when to remind him that his days aren’t supposed to be all business. So they’re quick to make it into a habit, Yoongi telling him good morning in the middle of his work day and Taehyung in return telling him good night when he is only just getting started, and talking about this and that in between. It’s texts mostly, but it’s calls now and then, and Yoongi thinks it’s the longest he has gone talking to someone without wanting to set them on fire in months.

He finds out that Taehyung is saving up for top surgery, that he doesn’t want to go to college but he wants to be an actor, and that that’s why he left the warm supportive home he had with his family to move to the big city instead. Yoongi tells him about his own family, how they all scraped and worked to make sure both he and his older brother would go to university, how it was mostly money that drove him into this horrible dead end job. He wanted to pay his family back for their efforts, and maybe he has and they’re absolutely not poor anymore, but now Yoongi is stuck here and still fantasizes about bulldozing people.

The first time they meet in person, Yoongi gets so nervous he’s half ready to bulldoze himself. He’s swamped with work and only a day away from leaving for another business trip, but Taehyung said he has something important to ask him, something he wants to say to his face, so they’re meeting up in a café during Yoongi’s lunch break.

By now, Yoongi has received (and saved) copious amounts of selfies from Taehyung, and also sent a good few of his own, so they recognize each other quickly. Yoongi’s stomach still plummets in a weirdly pleasant way, though. He didn’t expect him to be this tall, or this… Well. Cute, he guesses. Taehyung looks vaguely disheveled, hair messy and his shirt only tucked into his pants on one side, like he just got up. He probably did. They smile at each other awkwardly for a good few seconds, until Taehyung dives in for a hug and Yoongi pulls him close as quick as he can.

Once Yoongi has his Americano (which Taehyung wrinkles his nose at) and Taehyung has his donut, they sit down at a small corner table and Yoongi finally has the time to realize that Taehyung has been eyeing him. His gaze is stuck somewhere on the knot of his tie, or maybe his vest, and he leans back slowly with a smile curling his lips.

“Man, those suits,” he just says.

Yoongi snorts, his nervousness slowly calming to a soft flutter in his stomach when he looks down and thumbs at the white of his dress shirt poking out of the sleeve of his jacket. “Yeah,” he shrugs, “Still hate them. Gonna have to wear one on a plane tomorrow again, and then spend some more time sweating through as many layers of fabric as I can.”

His heart jumps in his throat for a split second when Taehyung reaches across the table and takes the slightly stiff material of his shirt sleeve between his own fingers carefully. “You should just sew the ends of your shirt sleeves into your jacket sleeve so it’s always going to look like you’re wearing long sleeves. Then you can wear whatever you want underneath. You could even get one of those stripper shirts that only really exist in the front.”

He grins up at him, all pretty and a little coy, and Yoongi hears himself laugh before he really feels himself floating back into reality. “You’re a genius,” he professes. He makes sure to keep his hand still on the table so Taehyung doesn’t have to let go, uses his other hand to grab his drink and take a sip. “If all goes well though, I won’t have to deal with this bullshit job for long anymore.”

“Whoa, really?” Taehyung stares up at him with enormous brown eyes, his face close, and Yoongi gulps. “You quitting?”

“Well,” Yoongi says quickly, “the problem was always more that they were too reluctant to let me go, even if I wanted to.” He grins back at Taehyung and shrugs. “But remember what I said? There’s always something you can sue people for. I got dirt on them, so now I’ll just threaten them into submission.”

“Hell yes,” Taehyung says loudly, letting go of Yoongi’s sleeve to smack his fist on the table instead, and then point a finger at him with so much enthusiasm it pulls something dangerously close to a giggle from Yoongi’s throat. “Stick it to the man.”

They grin at each other, but when Taehyung goes back to ripping his donut into pieces and putting them into his mouth with fingers that are a lot longer than Yoongi remembered from his selfies, he gets reminded that he is very much still under a contract with these people for now, and he’s only on lunch break. “So,” he says, and shifts in his seat. “There was something you wanted to talk about, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Taehyung swallows his piece of donut down and licks his lips, and then he puts his hands on the small table between them and sits up straight and looks at Yoongi and says, “Do you wanna call this a date?”

Yoongi can feel his mug burn into his hand somewhere. Taehyung smiles, he looks like he’s just making small talk, and it does something to Yoongi’s brain that makes everything fog up dangerously.

“So we could,” Taehyung continues, happily, effortlessly, “you know, say that this was the first date, and then we can go on a second one soon? After your business trip maybe? I know a nice place, and also there’s a movie in cinemas right now that I kind of wanna watch. Or if that’s not your thing, I could just show you my apartment, too, I make some great soft-boiled eggs.”

He’s grinning now, probably partly because Yoongi has started smiling somewhere halfway in. Yoongi is fiddling with his shirt sleeves again, his neck feels warm, like this is another terrible day to wear as much clothing as he does, but he’s still smiling, and it’s not going away so fast.

“That sounds good,” Yoongi says. “Let’s declare this a date.”

Taehyung’s mouth goes all boxy with how much he’s grinning now, and Yoongi thinks he might be having a heart attack. “It is law!” Taehyung announces. Yoongi laughs into his Americano.


 

About thirty hours and a horrible flight later, when Yoongi is lying on another big hotel bed and staring at a dark ceiling, he presses his phone to his ear.

“Hey, Three-Piece,” Taehyung drawls on the other end. “What’cha wearin’?”

“Nothing,” Yoongi lies. “Just my vest.”

Taehyung gasps so loud and exaggerated that he ends up choking on his breath and laughing for a solid minute.

“Well, there goes the mood,” Yoongi says dryly, his own laugh only just dying down slowly in his throat.

“It’s better that way!” Taehyung says. “We can’t have phone sex after our first date. That would be wild.”

“True,” says Yoongi. “Who even has phone sex anyway? I heard that’s really awkward. I say we take it slow, so… Just talk to me.”