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“Come on, you gotta get up.”
Hoseok’s voice is the first thing Jeongguk hears when he shakes back into the feeling of being awake. It’s nothing new. Jeongguk is so used to this, used to Hoseok’s always-there kind of presence, so much so that he thinks he might fall back asleep, just for a hazy millisecond or two, in the time it takes for him to shift, to react to Hoseok sliding onto his mattress. Under his blankets and right up beside him he goes, and Jeongguk goes too, pushing over a couple meager inches to his left to give him some space at the same time he mumbles a “don’t wanna.” Or, he tries to mumble it, but then Hoseok is right there, half on top of him, legs slinging over and staying put, stilling him before the words can be born from his lips.
Hoseok is sun-warm, like he’s been outside for a while, and it doesn’t quite make Jeongguk want to get out of bed, but it does make him a little more alert, a little more with it. A little curious to see what his Hobi’s been up to, in that way that the rustling of the leaves outside can make him want to get dressed or at least get some coffee just to observe what the world could possibly be like in the shine of a new day. To see if it’s changed, if anything's changed, even if he knows it hasn’t, couldn't. He gets up just to be a part of it.
Just to be alive, maybe, if he’s being philosophical, and it’s something he’s been wanting to talk to Namjoon about lately. The way that being here makes him feel, despite all of the cameras and crew teams, a bit more rounded. On-kilter. Readied. Not whole, because he’s never felt empty before— no, the opposite— and so maybe it’s more about not being fully present. About moving too fast and forgetting that he’s supposed to stop sometimes, just to feel what it’s like to start again.
So Jeongguk exhales a few times, and Hoseok pats his palms on Jeongguk’s chest a few times. Right next to him, synced up like that. Then Jeongguk finally gets the words out: “don’t wanna.”
Hoseok’s leg squeezes around him, a replacement for the blanket that’s almost halfway off the both of them now, and Jeongguk makes sure to add “get up” to the end of his sentence before Hoseok can even think to pull away.
He doesn't move an inch. “You sleep well?” he asks instead
“Mm.” Jeongguk doesn’t mean for it to come out the way it does: almost like a whimper. A moan, if he’s being dirty, if he’s even awake enough to be dirty. But it’s true and he’s told Hoseok as much already, on the first day here: he hasn’t slept so soundly, so comfortably in awhile. In months, if not maybe even years. But he doesn't keep track of those kind of details, not anymore.
With Hoseok’s breath on the nape of his neck, almost at his cheek, it would be so easy for Jeongguk to slip right back into that slumber again. The albatrosses that have been noisy, nesting outside of his window for the past few days, are silent today. Outside is silent. The sheets are so new. Everything smells like trees and air and air freshener and mint.
But Hoseok’s hips are at his back, canting in that way that he does when he’s trying to rock Jeongguk awake, toying with him ever-so-slightly, play-fighting since their trainee days, and they’ve been here, in this exact predicament so many times, that Hoseok doesn’t even have to say anything for Jeongguk to know what’s going to come next.
“Get up. C’mon,” he says, in English. He tickles Jeongguk’s legs through his pajama shorts, reaches underneath to find the skin of the spot where his right thigh meets his knee.
“Hyung.” Jeongguk’s throat is gravelly, morning rough. He snags Hoseok’s wrists, bones knobby and skin smooth, and pulls them to his face, using his palms as a shield against the light, against Hoseok himself. He’s just as bright, Jeongguk muses in a sweet-sickly subconscious kind of way. He’s mused before, and he’ll muse later. Could write a song about it, broken American-style stream of thought with the words “friend” and “skill” and “like” merged together in some capacity. Yoongi could help with the beat. Christ knows he’s got to have a few shoved away on the back burner files of his computer, labeled something ambiguous that any of the other six, Jeongguk included— and maybe Jeongguk’s at the top of the list, too, for getting the reference— would read as a synonym to hope.
Jeongguk burrows into his pillows. Hoseok squirms beside him.
“Wanna stay. Stay,” Jeongguk repeats, and then gives Hoseok a look as if to emphasize. Yes, you. Stay, too. With me.
“No, I’ll get you up,” Hoseok says. Predictable. There it is, Jeongguk thinks, the conversation going exactly where he knew it would. It’s not a proposition, even when Hoseok speaks in that low rumbly voice of his, seriousness just on the edge of a laugh, so much so that Jeongguk can’t help it when his own lips rise in response.
He licks them, and Hoseok bends to meet him halfway.
“Cameras,” Jeongguk blurts just before they can touch. He regrets the word the second he says it.
Hoseok almost rolls his eyes. Unaffected, he looks, and glowy and happy and good, and Jeongguk’s hands are grabbing again, holding onto Hoseok’s waist, his lower back, guiding him closer despite his protest.
“They’ll edit it out.”
“Will they?” It’s not really a question.
Jeongguk grabs the blankets back and Hoseok slips under again. Jeongguk can hear the static of Hoseok’s hair against them. Can feel his smile aimed at him more than he can even see it once his eyes adjust; there was a flash of the sun reflecting against the mirror on his bedside table, too bright and right into his retinas when Hoseok had moved to jerk underneath.
“Hi,” Jeongguk says.
“Hi,” Hoseok giggles.
Jeongguk thinks about that— the fact that Hoseok really does giggle, the fucking man, the doll that he is— but then it’s a little hard to think about anything besides the way that Hoseok is kissing him. Jeongguk feels his smile again, this time pressed right up against his. The doll kisses well, more than well, and Jeongguk has known this for awhile now; he’s lost track of this too, time being all fucked up in his head after the drudgery of the past four months or so of the pandemic. But he knows what he needs to know. Hoseok is here. The others are here. He steadies him. They all steady him.
Hoseok’s tongue tastes like coffee and water and himself, all soft and velvety between Jeongguk’s lips when he makes a show of sucking it into his mouth.
“Gross,” Hoseok splutters, his giggle more of a laugh this time, full-chested and keyed up. He lets Jeongguk do it again anyway.
Hoseok’s hands twist in the band of his underwear. Jeongguk’s hips jump, catching up to things, to the warmth of his palm at the base of his crotch, and he sinks further back into the mattress when he feels the first swipe of Hoseok’s fingertips against his cockhead. He’s hot suddenly, so hot all over with Hoseok’s weight on him and the tent of the heavy blankets steaming up the air around them.
Hoseok wastes no time. Pumps him all the way down to the base. “So eager.” He says it so nonchalantly, Jeongguk could close his eyes and pretend they’re eating breakfast, talking about the weather, ordering coffee. Sometimes, Hobi-hyung is more excited about macchiatos.
But he kisses Jeongguk’s neck, sighs into him, and Jeongguk feels it: the wanting. The goodness. It’s good to be wanted. Good when he gets to want back. Best when he gets what he wants.
“It was your idea,” Jeongguk retorts. There’s nothing but honeysuckle in his voice, airy sweetness as he kisses Hoseok's hair and smells his conditioner and feels that familiar churn in his gut.
“You never disagree.”
“Never done it here. With cameras on.”
“You’re not worried. Right?” Hoseok stops. Stills, freezes completely, and Jeongguk is quick to shake his head for reasons more than just wanting the slide of his hand back on his cock. Aching, the length of it throbs already in the seconds without movement, but Hoseok looks like a deer caught in headlights, so concerned and endeared and genuine that Jeongguk has to kiss him again. He does it so insistently that something in his neck tweaks.
“No, no. It’s fine.”
“Fine?”
“More than fine. Please. Hyung. Hyung- ah. All good, come on.”
It’s in the fine print of their agreements, in the verbal spiel they received before packing their bags and heading out of Yongsan: someone, or maybe quite a few someones, watches the cameras live and turns them off when needed. No explanation required, no questions asked. No one else has been even moderately concerned about what footage could possibly get out to the world, so Jeongguk hasn’t thought about it much.
Then again, he hasn’t had Hoseok in his bed with his hands on him for the whole time he’s been here. Until now.
He hasn’t realized how much he’s missed it. So he says, just to egg him on, just because he knows it’s sometimes a thing for him: “it’s not like Taehyungie-hyung or Jiminie-hyung have stopped going at it every night, anyway.”
“I know,” Hoseok says. Immediate, Satoori heavy, almost a wail. Sexy. “Heard them a few days ago.”
“Bet they knew you did. Bet they liked it.”
Jeongguk feels the poke of Hoseok’s cock then. Just the tiniest shift against his hip, the need for friction, his gym shorts slash pajama slash the clothing item Hobi wears when he has no idea what else to wear giving him away. Jeongguk can see the whole shape of him. He laughs something that sounds like a cackle.
“Bet you liked it, too.”
“Jeongguk-ah.” Hoseok sounds scandalized. Scandalized like he hasn’t heard Jeongguk say far worse to his face, with his mouth full of cock or fingers or both. Scandalized like they haven’t talked about this before, just last month after a particularly pronounced and memorable run-in with the two of them just outside of the gym showers.
“Hobi-hyung,” Jeongguk parrots, just because he’s getting wetter and Hoseok is doing that thing with his thumb on the underside of his cock, right near a vein that he has a tendency to lick— and now Jeongguk has that image in his mind, a memory flashing behind his eyelids when he closes them, and he needs more.
“We should be quick,” Hoseok says at the same time Jeongguk says “want you to touch me.” He says it again, watches the way Hoseok’s eyes darken, pupils getting impossibly bigger under the canopy of the sheets.
“What do you call this?” Hoseok gestures, a jut of his chin pointing to his hand. The sun comes in again, for just a glistening second from the window behind Jeongguk’s pillows, and it illuminates the slope of his collarbones, his fist disappearing into Jeongguk’s briefs. His face. Those eyes. He looks beautiful.
Jeongguk kisses him again. Harder, with more teeth this time.
Hoseok ends up with his mouth on Jeongguk’s throat again, his elbows caging him in. Jeongguk’s shoulder nudges Hoseok’s cheek, the brand new cotton of his shirt getting in the way.
“Get this off me,” he mutters, and then: “Yeah. Need more. Take off your pants.”
Hoseok obliges. He moves so fast Jeongguk isn’t quite sure how he goes about actually undressing. Whether he undoes the drawstring or just flings the shorts in their entirety to the floor, or maybe kicks them past his ankles to the end of the bed. He’s breathless when he leaves a messy kiss on Jeongguk’s shoulder blade.
“Should we- bathroom? Or, shit, we should have gone in there before I took off my-”
Jeongguk doesn’t let him finish. Deeper down the bed he inches, until his head is off his pillowcase and he’s fully hidden under the shield of sheets. He shucks off his clothes, messy and haphazard and scrambling around the blankets while he does so. He’s fully sweating now and Hoseok is laughing at him but doing the same until he’s got nothing on but his pretty bracelets, pretty rings.
“Pretty,” Jeongguk tells him.
Hoseok’s cock jumps against his belly. Jeongguk reaches out and strokes it with two eager hands, takes him into his mouth in a quick swallow, mainly just because he’s here, because he’s so close and because he can. Because Hoseok is so pretty, and Jeongguk is getting him wet, saliva sticky and messy, just how he likes, and it works like a charm. Hoseok groans. His arm flops over his mouth.
“Thought you were so tired just a few minutes ago.”
Jeongguk doesn’t answer. Just lifts himself back up so that his face is level with Hoseok’s, so that he can tilt his face towards him with the hand that’s less damp and kiss him again. There’s spit stains on Hoseok’s jaw when he pulls away.
Jeongguk’s stomach is drizzled in precum, and blindly Jeongguk’s free hand skates through it, fingers lapping it up, and serving it into his own mouth— until Hoseok stops him, wordlessly easing his fingertips onto his own tongue.
“Fuck, hyung, you-”
“I told you we gotta be quick-”
“You’re not making it very easy.”
“Shh. Let me get you there.”
The next moan Jeongguk gives him is wet, throaty, and intentional. High-strung, he has too many ideas of how he wants Hoseok. On his knees, with Hoseok’s mouth on him, slow circles and eager licks and exploratory touches. Maybe his head in Hoseok’s hands, hair gripped and throat full, mouth full, only tasting him, only feeling him, brain turned off, fucked up, only thinking about him. Or on his side, with Jeongguk’s fingers deep inside him, between his cheeks wet with lube, but not the strawberry kind they swore to never use again, not after Chicago. There are too many options— the reverse, Hoseok holding his leg up, dick curving into him, jackrabbit fast or maybe painstakingly slow, so slow he might as well not be moving and Jeongguk’s head stays on his chest for what feels like hours, waiting and begging and eventually getting more. They’ve never done it like that. Never been much for teasing.
It’s usually like this: touching each other. Breathiness. Giving and taking like they’ve never quite had the chance to before, might not get the chance again. Hoseok isn’t loud, but not quiet either. Only quiet afterward, when he’s fucked out and there's a fifty-fifty chance that he’s going to be giggly instead, giggly again like before, and pink-cheeked and cracking jokes. A little high, he seems in moments like that, and a little high he seems right now, still watching Jeongguk while he jerks him off. The sounds from the tight fuck of their fists are more obscene than any words they could say.
Still, Hoseok says, “good boy” on a particularly sharp downstroke, and Jeongguk gets a little bit wrecked from that.
“You’re gonna make me come so soon, barely touched me,” he goes on, but Jeongguk is the one to come instead a few moments later, not forty seconds past, with Hoseok spitting in his palm and shuddering through it with him.
Hoseok’s left hand, wrapped around Jeongguk’s shoulders, plucks at the nearest nipple. Only when Jeongguk comes down, wakes up all over again in a whole different way, does he wonder if he’s been touching him there for awhile or only just begun. The next pinch is sharp, makes him swat Hoseok’s hand away.
“Not right now-”
Hoseok is so hard in Jeongguk’s palm. Throbbing, eager, and it only makes sense to finish him off in his mouth, and Jeongguk intends for it, but it doesn’t happen.
“Kiss me,” Hoseok says, and so Jeongguk does. He kisses and kisses and kisses him, and clambers over his body until he’s a heavy weight on him and their thighs are slotted together and Jeongguk’s come-wet stomach slides against Hoseok’s. And at some point it becomes more wet, and Hoseok is breathing harder and smiling into Jeongguk’s mouth again, and it’s another easy orgasm. Another easy morning.
“You should wake me up like this more often.” Jeongguk’s too sated, too satisfied to question whether it’s the right thing to say. Whether it’s too much. Too far. Too deep, too much of an ask. Jeongguk’s not the kind of person to really question saying these kinds of things anyway, especially not with Hoseok, who laughs into his ear so loud that it rings, just for a few seconds, in the time it takes for Hoseok’s fingers to squeeze Jeongguk’s hip.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“You wouldn’t?” He’s aware this is asking for a bit more. That this could be the thing that’s too deep. Too far. He’s still not scared. He thinks he knows Hoseok’s answer.
“It’s sweet that you think there’s any reason I don’t do this more often,” he says, all quiet confirmation, “aside from the fact that I’d never manage to actually get up. To, you know, actually live life.”
His nose brushes against Jeongguk’s.
“Have a job. A career. See the sunrise. You know-”
The next kiss lingers, on Jeongguk’s lips and in the corners of his mind and in the low, dormant, idle part of his belly. He thinks the soles of his feet might tingle, in the way that they do when he’s sat on them, cross-legged in front of the television screen for too long and he goes numb. This is the opposite of numb, now. Opposite of empty, once again.
“Remember to feed myself. The basics,” Hoseok continues. One more kiss to each of Jeongguk’s eyebrows, and then he jolts up, tugs at Jeongguk’s arms with tacky palms. “So come on. Get up. We can’t have that. They're cooking.”
Jeongguk doesn’t budge. Doesn't ask who they are. He just crosses his arms behind his head, satisfied, and replies, "definitely not happening now.”
“Come on.”
“You think you can just jerk me off and then get me to do whatever you want?”
Hoseok rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak.
“Actually, don’t answer that.”
“You-”
“Nope. Not getting up. Not now.”
“Jeongguk-ah. JK,” Hoseok drawls. Gives him a look, faux-exasperated with arched eyebrows and pouty, swollen lips.
“Nope. Staying. And you stay, too.”
When Jeongguk pulls Hoseok back down to his side, he does exactly that. Stays. Jeongguk’s not surprised by it. But he’ll only realize that later, when he’s finally musing and pondering and listening to Yoongi hum an unfamiliar melody— must be a new one— in the kitchen while he does the dishes.