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Second Skin

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Ten years is a long time to know someone. Namjoon feels lucky to have had Yoongi by his side for a decade. They’ve been through a lot. Awards shows. Aggressive paparazzi. Saesangs. Long nights, missed meals, jet lag. They’ve endured it all together, and for that, Namjoon is grateful to have had Yoongi with him for it all. 


After performances, Namjoon can’t help but feel nostalgic, his mind wandering to their early years. Can’t help but smile when he thinks of him and Yoongi living together before the others—a pair before they were a septet. 


After shows, he always feels a rush of adrenaline, chemicals coursing through his body, urging him to remember and relive, replay those days of eyeliner and bad haircuts, giddy excitement at having even 100 fans at a show. They’ve come a long way. And Yoongi has been there. 


“Do you ever think about those days?” Namjoon asks quietly, dragging his finger along the seam of Yoongi’s leather pants. They may as well be painted because they're so tight. 


“Not if I can help it,” Yoongi scoffs. He’s tired. Namjoon can see it in his sagging shoulders, the way his head is tilted against the glass. 


“I mean those days,” Namjoon says, sliding his palm along Yoongi’s thigh. That gets his attention. 


Yoongi smirks, eyes flicking down to see Namjoon’s eager hand. “Oh, those days? How could I forget? You were so needy, you’d grab at me before we’d even get in the car.” 


“Can you blame me?” Namjoon asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You were so hot—cocky and young, dripping sweat, swagger. God.” Namjoon lets out a small groan. 


“You calling me old and ugly now?” Yoongi asks, a devilish grin on his face. He’s still flushed from the performance, and the faint pink hue on his cheeks makes him look impish, dangerous, even. 


“Never,” Namjoon whispers. And he means it. When they changed eras, swapped stylists, leaned into their true personalities and styles, Yoongi flourished. When he was stripped of eyeliner and gaudy gold jewelry, he looked softer, but somehow stronger. With each year, he grew more comfortable, looser with his affection. Namjoon loved having Yoongi this way—gentle and unabashed, tender in his gaze and touch. He was comfortable now that he was older, more free to be himself. 


But something about Yoongi styled in all black, clad in leather pants, hit Namjoon with a rush of nostalgia, a surge of attraction like what he felt years ago when they were younger, tougher, more desperate to touch one another. Neither one really knowing what it meant to feel that kind of electricity with the other boy, but both of them feeling that same curiosity and magnetic pull.


It was a strange feeling: to miss Yoongi from 2014 when he had Yoongi now, tonight in their blacked out SUV. Maybe it was the memory of rushed handjobs, sloppy kisses behind audio equipment—the thrill of kissing him after a performance. Something about those urgent, frantic days made them feel courageous, like they had something to lose, even more to gain.


Yoongi grins, watching as Namjoon doesn’t try to hide his desire, the way he bites his lip, whispers hyung in a way that’s a little too needy—at least with their driver so close. But he doesn’t stop Namjoon. Sometimes, he likes to make Namjoon work for it, likes to remind him who’s older, who’s in charge. Yoongi’s a sucker for the attention--Namjoon’s wide, hungry eyes, the way he chews his lip, the dip in his voice when he whines for Yoongi to play along.


“So what are you thinking about then, Joon?” Yoongi asks, voice rough and smug. Like a match struck and lit, burning straight down to Namjoon’s gut. 


“Remember our first tour? When we finally wrapped and you let me finally kiss you?” Namjoon leans closer to Yoongi, his breath heavy and warm against his ear. 


“Ah, when you stuck your hand down my pants right by the craft services table?” Yoongi laughs, shaking his head. “Almost got caught.” Yeah, he remembers Namjoon’s tongue down his throat, the desperate way they fumbled with zippers, hands gripping one another in a flurry of strokes, holding their breath when one of the other members poked their head in the room looking for them. 


“You liked it,” Namjoon snaps, his hand squeezing at Yoongi’s thigh, fingernails gripping his pants, the leather so tight, it’s like a second skin. Namjoon wants these pants off now, wants to feel his teeth drag along the smooth, pale, tender skin of Yoongi’s thighs, wants to lick the salt from every inch of his sweaty body. He’s done it before. He aches to do it again. 


“Hmm,” Yoongi hums, diverting his gaze out the car window. “Maybe I did. But it’s been so long, what if I’ve forgotten?” He licks his bottom lip, chewing at it before turning to Namjoon with a wolfish grin. “Remind me?”


The drive feels eternal. Namjoon, breathless and handsy, Yoongi resisting the urge to give in, let Namjoon get him off in the backseat of the car, but they behave. 


The elevator ride feels just as long, and they’re crowded into the small lift with their security team. If they don’t notice the palpable tension between Namjoon and Yoongi, they’re either blind or good at faking it. Yoongi feels like he might ignite when Namjoon’s hand brushes his thigh. 


When they’ve parted ways with security, Yoongi pulls Namjoon into his hotel room, flicking the do not disturb sign, knowing damn well no one would dare knock on his door regardless of the sign. “Take my pants off,” he whines, stomping into the room. His boots feel like cinder blocks, and he’s itching to get out of the leather pants, to feel Namjoon’s mouth all over him. 


“My pleasure,” Namjoon murmurs, dropping to his knees. He reaches for Yoongi’s belt buckle, makes quick work of his zipper. The rest of the pants prove to be more stubborn as they stick to Yoongi’s sweaty skin. He rolls down the waistband of the pants, tugging as he focuses on one leg at a time. He tugs at the stubborn leather, peeling one pant leg slowly from Yoongi’s skin. Yoongi watches, enjoying the view from above. 


Namjoon grunts, muttering about how hard it is to free Yoongi from the pants. Yoongi watches, grinning fondly, fingers lazily twirling in Namjoon’s soft hair. He knows he could help wriggle himself free, but he loves the way Namjoon is flustered and bumbling, like he’s got to prove his worth over and over again. 


Namjoon leans down further, hands working to pull Yoongi’s foot from one heavy boot, then he frees it from the pant leg.  Emboldened, Yoongi props his other foot up on Namjoon’s thigh, his heavy boot buckles jangling with the motion. 


Namjoon looks so small like this, like a personal footstool, and it makes Yoongi’s sleepy grin turn darker. They haven’t played like this in awhile. There’s nothing but love between them, and with that comes trust, even when they’re playing a bit rougher than usual.  


As they’ve gotten older, they’ve each filled out, but Namjoon grew taller, broader, thicker, his new shape dwarfing Yoongi’s new muscular build, and Yoongi loves it. Loves that he has the large, bossy demeanor, and Namjoon has the brawn. But in this moment? Yoongi is bigger, powerful over Namjoon, and the way he obeys each wordless command sends a shiver of delight straight to Yoongi’s core. 


Namjoon senses the shift in their energy, can see the expectant, smug look on Yoongi’s face. “You want me to lick your soles, hyung?” He flicks his tongue over his lips, moves like he’s going to lick the chunky sole. 


The facade breaks, and Yoongi laughs in wheezy, breathy puffs. “Oh god no, not if you want your tongue anywhere near my mouth.”


Namjoon stands, a dopey grin on his face, and he grabs Yoongi’s cheeks, kisses him roughly. 


Yoongi sputters and laughs, pushing Namjoon’s hands away. “Finish taking off my pants, dude. Stay on track.” He swats at Namjoon, his face softer now—the look he’s reserved only for him. 


“Yessir,” Namjoon teases. He clasps his hands around Yoongi’s ankle—his delicate, thin, perfect ankle—and slips his foot out of the heavy boot. Lacking patience, he tugs at Yoongi’s pants until they come off unceremoniously with a grunt. He tosses them aside. 


Ten years, and the sight of Yoongi’s slender, porcelain legs still makes Namjoon weak. The hem of his oversized t-shirt hangs mid-thigh, and it takes every bit of resolve for Namjoon not to throw Yoongi over his shoulder and toss him onto the bed. 


No, he wants to worship Yoongi—take it slow, shower him in praises and gentle touches. Yoongi emotes toughness all night, plays the role of a swaggering braggart. It exhausts him, so Namjoon wants to help him turn that persona off. Step back into his soft self, the one who loves to beg for release, who blushes and preens at any praise. 


Namjoon wants to worship Yoongi. Lick the sweat from along his sweaty hairline. Make Yoongi sigh and whimper with his hands, his mouth. Wants to fill him back up with all the energy he pours out on stage. Take him apart piece by piece, put him back together, show him what he does to Namjoon when he lets him love him like this.


“Baby,” Yoongi murmurs, tucking the hair behind Namjoon’s ear. That’s all he needs to say. Namjoon knows that sound, knows that touch is Yoongi’s way of asking to be touched. 


“Baby,” Namjoon replies, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s knobby knees, pulling him closer. He nuzzles against Yoongi’s legs, leaves light kisses along his thighs. 


Namjoon’s hands travel up Yoongi’s thighs, hands slipping under his shirt, stopping to grip his ass. “God, I could eat you alive,” Namjoon pants, giving Yoongi’s ass a squeeze. 


“Then what are you waiting for?” Yoongi grins, fingers threading through Namjoon’s hair. He loves to see Namjoon like this: greedy and ravenous, a bit awestruck. 


Ten years, and Namjoon still looks at Yoongi like he might not be real, like he’s not giving himself to Namjoon, silently begging to feel him all over. The soft look in Namjoon’s eyes makes Yoongi’s heart race, makes him feel hotter and more desired than anything else. 


Namjoon stands, dragging his hands up along Yoongi’s torso, peeling off his shirt before tossing it aside. Yoongi shifts awkwardly, tugging at the band on his black briefs. He suddenly feels shy under Namjoon’s gaze. A flush creeps up his neck, blazing in his cheeks. “Okay, stop staring. You’ve seen it before,” he mumbles, laughing quietly. 


“Never gets old,” Namjoon murmurs, shaking his head. He crowds Yoongi, wrapping his arms around waist, pulling him closer. He grins at the feeling of Yoongi’s half-hard cock against his own. “Let’s take a shower.” Before Yoongi can answer, he’s pressing a kiss onto his lips, pulling him toward the bathroom. 


Namjoon flicks on the lights, and they both squint at the bright bulbs flickering on over the vanity. “I’ll start the water. You--strip.” Yoongi gestures at Namjoon, still clothed, and a bit breathless. He starts the shower, cranking it to its highest setting. He leans against the counter, watching Namjoon struggle to get out of his own leather pants.


“Remind me why the fuck we wear these?” he mutters, wiggling and tugging at the leather. He finally frees himself from the pants and hurls them into the bedroom. 


“Because we look really good in leather pants,” Yoongi says, stepping closer to Namjoon. “Especially you with those thighs, God,” Yoongi sighs. He drapes his arms around Namjoon’s neck, pulling him closer for a kiss. “Let me help you,” he says, pulling off Namjoon’s shirt, revealing his chest. “Love how big you’ve gotten, Joonie.” He rakes his fingers down Namjoon’s chest, marveling at how he’s filled out in his shoulders and pecs. 


“You’ve gotten bigger too,” Namjoon says, squeezing at Yoongi’s biceps. 


“Yeah, but you’re bigger.” Yoongi bites his bottom lip, looks up at Namjoon through his messy bangs. “I like that.” 


Namjoon groans and squeezes Yoongi’s arms harder. “Let’s go.” He drags his hands down Yoongi’s arms and hooks his thumbs into his waistband, pulling off his briefs. He does the same for himself, and he pushes Yoongi toward the shower. 


They step in, sighing in the steamy space, just standing for a moment as the water washes over them, rinsing the sweat of the night off of them, turning their skin pink from heat. Namjoon wants to grab Yoongi now, fuck him raw until he’s whimpering, but he remembers the sleepy, gentle way he smiled at Namjoon earlier, how Namjoon just wanted to make him feel good


“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling Yoongi to his chest. Pouring a handful of shampoo into his palms, Namjoon begins massaging Yoongi’s scalp, relishing in the way Yoongi’s neck has gone limp to his touch. 


Yoongi lets out a moan, dropping his head back on Namjoon’s chest. “Feels so good,” he sighs, rolling his head back and forth with the motion of Namjoon’s hands. 


He could stay like this forever, Namjoon thinks. Just stand under this warm spray, his hands tangled in Yoongi’s hair, his body aching and hard, pressed against the milky white softness of Yoongi’s body. No sounds but the steady rhythm of the shower and Yoongi’s ragged breathing and breathy moans. No feeling more divine than this one. 


“Touch me, Joonie,” Yoongi whines. His eyes are still closed, but his hand fumbles back and grips Namjoon’s ass. “Please.” 


“Let’s rinse this first,” Namjoon says, leaning down to kiss Yoongi’s neck. He turns him under the spray and rinses him, scratching along his scalp until the suds are gone. Yoongi turns to face him, but Namjoon stops him, stepping between his legs and pushing him against the wall. 


Yoongi hisses against the cold marble but throws a knowing look over his shoulder. “Joonie,” he says with a smirk. He watches as Namjoon bites as his shoulder then moves along his back, pressing kisses into his skin, each one hotter than the stream of water pelting them. He drags his tongue down the small of Yoongi’s back, flicks it along the dip of his ass cheeks and finally drops to his knees. 


Gripping Yoongi’s ass, Namjoon spreads his cheeks, licks a long stripe between them, grinning when he sees the goosebumps rippling across Yoongi’s skin. He licks again, kneading the flesh of Yoongi’s ass cheeks, licking again and again, fueled by Yoongi’s mewls. 


Baby,” Yoongi whines, breath pitchy and high. He rolls his hips back against Namjoon’s face, absolutely shameless in the way he wants to fuck himself on Namjoon’s tongue. Forehead pressed against the wall, he gives in to the warm feeling brewing in his gut. 


The sound of Yoongi’s ragged breaths and whimpers spurs Namjoon on. He presses his thumbs against Yoongi’s rim and laps at the edge, flicks his tongue quickly back and forth, teasing him. Yoongi presses himself against Namjoon’s face, and he grins at how needy he gets whenever Namjoon’s working his tongue against him. 


Namjoon stands and reaches for the shower gel, grinning at Yoongi’s protests. “One sec. You’re so needy, hyung,” he teases, leaning down to kiss him. Yoongi turns around, pulls Namjoon closer and bites at his lips, dipping his tongue in and out of Namjoon’s mouth. They kiss slow and long, tongues languorous and familiar. Ten years, and they know how to kiss each other, know the way to nip at the other’s lips, suck at their tongue, push their lips hard against one another. Namjoon relaxes, lets Yoongi guide the kiss--deep and sloppy, needy in the way he tugs at Namjoon’s hair, arching his back, pressing his hard-on against Namjoon’s. 


Yoongi gasps when he feels Namjoon’s hand wrap around his cock, mouth falling open against Namjoon’s. “I thought you’d never touch me,” he gasps, bucking his hips into Namjoon’s fist. 


“Turn around,” Namjoon whispers, slowing his hand. He pulls away to let Yoongi turn, and he grabs the shower gel again, drizzling it down Yoongi’s back, drawing a whine from him. 


Namjoon wraps his sudsy hand around his own cock, pumps it a few times before crowding against Yoongi, caging him against the wall. He presses himself against Yoongi, marveling in the way his golden body seems to eclipse Yoongi’s ivory frame, loves the image of his hand intertwined with Yoongi’s hand as he presses him against the wall. 


Positioning himself against Yoongi’s ass, Namjoon rolls his lips, pushing his cock between Yoongi’s ass cheeks, thrusting lazily. The soapy slide of his dick against Yoongi’s skin makes him shiver, and he can’t help but moan as he ruts against Yoongi. He presses harder into Yoongi, sucks hard against his shoulder until Yoongi swats at him. “No marks!” he hisses. 


In retaliation, Namjoon reaches a sudsy hand around, grips Yoongi’s cock and tugs at him. Yoongi’s knees nearly buckle, and Namjoon laughs, pressing his lips against Yoongi’s shoulders, this time in a gentle kiss. “My sensitive hyung,” he murmurs, writhing slowly against Yoongi’s body. He can tell by the flush blossoming along Yoongi’s neck that he’s worked up. 


Yoongi presses his cheek against the wall, letting out a sigh. “Feels so good, Joonie,” he murmurs, licking at his lips. Namjoon cranes his neck and kisses Yoongi again, pressing his body hard against the shower wall. They stay like this, panting in silence, as Namjoon jerks Yoongi off, thrusting his own cock between Yoongi’s soft, slick cheeks, enjoying the slippery way he moves against him without pushing inside. He knows Yoongi would let him fuck him this way while he’s exhausted and pliant, but he just wants Yoongi to relax, to melt at his touch, to stay soft like this. 


“You can put it in if you want,” Yoongi murmurs. He sounds far away and dreamy, like he’s sleep-talking. His body is against the wall, held steady by Namjoon, and he looks halfway gone already. 


“Just want you like this,” Namjoon says softly, stroking him harder now. “Just want you to feel good, Yoonie.” He feels Yoongi’s telltale shudder, keeps stroking until he feels Yoongi’s knees buckle as he lets out a whimper. Namjoon slows his strokes, pulls his hand away and rinses it before turning Yoongi to face him. “My love,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against Yoongi’s. 


“Stop, you’re so cheesy,” Yoongi teases, swatting at Namjoon. But his face is so fond--eyes wide and glassy, a smile teasing at his lips. Ten years, and Yoongi’s learned to let Namjoon be cheesy, he’s learned to let himself be cheesy, too. “Kiss me,” he says with a pout.


Namjoon grins, leaning in to kiss him, letting his hands cup Yoongi’s face, holding him steady to kiss him over and over, his tongue pressing deep into his mouth. He yelps when he feels Yoongi’s long fingers wrap around his cock, wrist moving with quick, precise strokes. 


“Be a shame to let this go to waste,” he murmurs, eyes glancing down at Namjoon’s cock--pink and swollen, still covered in soap from gliding in between Yoongi’s ass cheeks. 


“Hm,” Namjoon hums, dropping his head back for a moment, allowing his eyes to close. Yoongi’s hands are nimble, skilled, and before Namjoon can warn him, he’s coming quickly, a wave of exhaustion racking over his body. 


“Let’s go to bed,” Yoongi murmurs, loosening his grip, but still stroking Namjoon idly. He tilts his chin, licks at Namjoon’s bottom lip before kissing him slow and sensual, the feeling of his hand and tongue against Namjoon’s body making him feel warm and weak. “Come on, Joonie.” 


Ten years, and Namjoon still feels lightheaded when Yoongi touches him, still can’t believe what he’s found in Yoongi, a twin soul, someone who fits him like a second skin.