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Namjoon has a problem.

A serious fucking problem, in the shape of a coy-mouthed, smoky-eyed, devastating heartthrob — who just so happens to be his bandmate.

His bandmate, who is staring at him from across the stage in front of thousands of screaming fans.

His bandmate, who is walking closer and closer until they’re almost pressed up chest to chest and Namjoon is about to astral project from his sweaty body.

His bandmate, also known as Kim Taehyung, who is looking at him from underneath his impossibly long eyelashes like he wants to eat Namjoon right up.

Namjoon gulps. He has no particular desire to be eaten but he would make an exception for Kim Taehyung. In fact, the sudden tightness in his crotch tells him his body’s already made the decision for him.

Taehyung remains either oblivious to or uncaring of his horny plight. He reaches up to tug at the necklace around Namjoon’s neck and Namjoon swears he sees a flash of heat in Taehyung’s eyes. He’s asking the audience a question in a jokey voice, but his eyes are trained on Namjoon and they’re not jokey in the slightest.

Why does Namjoon feel like he's being assessed like a prime cut of meat? He is drenched in sweat, his pores are gigantic. If Taehyung touches him he might actually explode. 

Namjoon would do a lot of things for Kim Taehyung, as it turns out, and it’s possible it’s written all over his face.

Oh shit, Namjoon thinks, his brain short-circuiting. I’m fucking fucked. He knows.




“This is a mistake,” is the first thing the boy blurts out. He has huge ears, Namjoon notices, and is wearing a bright red puffer jacket, his foot tapping against the floor nervously.

Namjoon blinks. He opens his mouth to say — well, he doesn’t know what yet — but the boy beats him to it.

“I shouldn’t be here, the lady in front must have messed up,” he continues, eyes wide. He flinches when he realizes what he’d said. “Or, no, I messed up, I must have come to the wrong room, because, you know, there’s no way this is correct, there’s already one of us here, I should go…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and immediately looks like he regrets it.

Namjoon winces. Does he smell that bad? Suddenly he is acutely aware of the sweat gathering in his pits, the inner corners of his elbows, in between his toes — he’d just finished dance practice (he really needed it).

“Whoa, hold on,” he says, trying to sound like he’s someone who knows what he’s doing instead of a dripping disaster. He puts his hands up like you would do to calm a startled animal. “What’s your name? Who are you looking for?”

“Kim Taehyung,” the boy says. “Uh, I’m a new trainee. I’m looking for Kim Namjoon-ssi?” His voice goes up higher, questioning.

“Oh!” Namjoon exclaims. He points at himself. “You found him!”

Internally, he groans. You are so uncool.

The tense line of Taehyung’s mouth wobbles into a small smile. “I thought you were going to be a real adult,” he says, and Namjoon grins reflexively. The kid has no filter.

“Yoongi-hyung is the grown-up around here,” he says. “Him, and Seokjin-hyung. Come in, you can meet them soon. They should be back any minute from Japanese lessons.”

The apprehension in Taehyung’s eyes comes back as Namjoon steps back into the practice room and gestures for him to follow. Taehyung’s nostrils flare out widely as he rotates his head around the space. His hands come up halfway to his chest and clench into fists but he doesn’t look like he even notices.

“ okay?” Namjoon asks. He tries to sniff surreptitiously. The room smells like damp socks and the ghost of too many MSG packets. So: typical. There’s, like, a stack of Murakami books he’s been reading while on break, but he doesn’t think that’s what’s alarming Taehyung. “Um, do you have allergies, maybe? I can spray—”

And then Yoongi and Seokjin enter the room. Taehyung swivels around to face them, mouth parting in a startled ‘O’ shape. Namjoon tries not to stare, and then tries not to feel like a giant creep about it.

From behind the two older trainees, Jungkook steps out. Jungkook is thirteen, their latest member. Jungkook might be a wunderkind, or just inhumanely hardworking, Namjoon isn’t quite sure yet (possibly both).

He looks at Taehyung and Taehyung looks back at him. They circle each other warily.

Namjoon makes eye contact with Seokjin, who’s raising one eyebrow, and makes a ??? face. (Yoongi made a beeline straight for the corner of the room where he’d left his phone; he barely registered Taehyung’s presence and is probably conserving his energy for when he’ll actually have to interact with him.)

“Hi,” Jungkook says, which is unusual. Jungkook is excruciatingly shy; it took Namjoon a full three days to get him to look him in the eye when they spoke. He did his research on whether the evasiveness was because Jungkook would think it rude or threatening (Namjoon has watched a lot of nature documentaries, he knows direct eye contact with a predator is bad news) but apparently that instinct did not survive the evolutionary leap. So it was all Jungkook.

“Hello,” Taehyung says back. He looks less stressed out than he had five minutes ago, more curious now.

“Can I…?” Jungkook trails off, neck stretched out.

To Namjoon’s surprise, Taehyung looks at him. Namjoon stares back. He’s not quite sure what’s going on but Taehyung’s gaze is questioning, like he’s asking for permission. To do what? Seokjin, who’s trailed over to stand by his side, nudges him with an elbow.

“Uh,” Namjoon says. He inclines his head in what he hopes is a vaguely assenting gesture, and is rewarded with a brilliant, boxy smile from Taehyung that takes his breath away. His whole face lights up and Namjoon can’t help but smile back. Next to him, Seokjin is visibly amused.

Then Taehyung and Jungkook are hugging each other like they’re long lost friends, running their hands all over and sniffing, and — this is pathetic, but Namjoon is not going to lie, he’s a little put out that Taehyung seems to have taken to Jungkook much quicker than he had to Namjoon. It feels a little bad, given that he’s supposed to be the leader of this new group.

“Why didn’t I get a hug,” he mutters under his breath.

He didn’t mean for anyone else to hear, but Yoongi is nothing but a sneaky little gremlin, who has snuck up behind him and Seokjin. Now, they both turn to look at Namjoon like he’s an idiot.

“He doesn’t know?” Yoongi asks Seokjin.

Seokjin shakes his head, one hand stifling a laugh.

“Know what?” Namjoon barely stops himself from stomping his foot.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi says with the infinite patience of someone inured to betrayals and idiocy, “he’s not just doing that for fun, don’t need to be jealous. He’s scenting Jungkook.” He raises a brow. “The new kid is a fucking werewolf, too.”

Over the years, the phrase that’s stuck with Namjoon, tellingly, is don’t be jealous. He’s dissected this casual statement every way he can think of. Was Yoongi joking, because he knew that back in 2011 Namjoon was more sensitive than he let on beneath the bluster of rapper bravado? Or was Yoongi warning him, trying to let him down gently because he could tell even then that the way he looked at Taehyung was too greedy, too invested, too much? What if Yoongi incepted this idea of there even being anything to be jealous about in his head? Maybe that meant this twisty feeling he got every time he looked at Taehyung wasn’t real. But what was real, anyway?

It’s usually at this point that Namjoon gets tired of fighting his own brain and goes for a ride by the river instead. By the time he’s done with his usual route, he’s too busy trying to catch a breath for any spare oxygen to fuel his wretched thoughts.

But then he’ll stumble into their shared living room and see Taehyung, sprawled on the couch upside down reading manga with his head hanging off the edge, shirt ridden up to expose a smidge of soft belly. The gears in his head will start up their slow and tortuous grind again, and Namjoon will excuse himself with a hurried oh, hey, night, before Taehyung can do something worse, like stretch.

And Namjoon gets it. Sort of. He’s a young, sexually inquisitive boy. Man. Whatever. The point is, he’s known he was bisexual since he was thirteen and watched Drunken Tiger perform live, and a horny asshole since — well, right then, really, when he jerked off immediately that very night for the first time, somewhat confused but feeling really good about it.

So by the time he joined BigHit, he knew that almost anything could set him off: a slim leg, arched in a graceful dance pose; general competency at basic household tasks; sarcasm; and so, devastatingly and yet completely unsurprisingly, his bandmate, Kim Taehyung.

Who also happened to be a werewolf.

Right. That part made it infinitely worse.

It’s not like Namjoon doesn’t know other werewolves; Jungkook is right there! And Jungkook is a cute kid (a cute kid who definitely had a crush on him for at least six months, which Namjoon freaked out to Hoseok about before Hoseok gently told him that no offense, but Jungkook has had crushes on everyone in the band), and a cute wolf too, but Taehyung is—

He’s beautiful. Not just as a boy, but in all his glorious shapes.

Namjoon’s only seen Taehyung in his wolf from two and a half times.

The first time was unpleasant, and nobody in the band talks about it.

It was right before their official debut and Sejin walked into the practice room looking like this was the last place he wanted to be, which definitely did not help anyone’s nerves. He was with two unfamiliar men in formal-looking suits.

Slowly, he explained that they were here for a routine health checkup. Namjoon remembers frowning; they’d had those done last week. Then he realized that Sejin was looking right at Jungkook and Taehyung, who’d moved closer together as if they knew what was coming.

“I’m sorry,” Sejin said, looking pained. “These are part of the regulations Bighit has to comply with.”

“What regulations?” Namjoon spoke up. Physically, he was still a limp noodle of a boy back then, but he remembers how protective he’d felt of his two youngest members.

“They just need to demonstrate that they can shift at will,” Sejin explained. “So we know they have it under control and there won’t be any, ah, accidents. It’s quite rare for wolves to be in the public eye, let alone debut as idols.”

“Oh,” Namjoon said. For some reason it hadn’t even occurred to him that the two werewolves in the group had to jump through special hoops to do what they’d all already fought so hard for. He felt shame burn in his chest, then, when he realized he’d almost forgotten, in the flurry of debut preparation and practice, that they were any different at all.

Before he could say anything else, the two men stepped between them and Jungkook and Taehyung. “Do you want us to leave?” Seokjin asked them softly. “We can give you some privacy.”

To Namjoon’s surprise, Jungkook was the one who piped up. “No!” he squeaked. “Please stay.” He looked mildly terrified. Taehyung’s usually animated face was smooth as a stone; he didn’t affirm or deny Jungkook’s request.

So the rest of them stood at the side of the room, and watched as Jungkook and Taehyung shifted.

This part is seared into Namjoon’s brain. Not because he had some weird obsession with seeing werewolves in their wolf form, which he knew some people on the internet had, but because—

Well. Jungkook made it look easy. He was good at being a wolf, just like he was good at a lot of things. He took a deep breath, and Namjoon still isn’t quite sure how to describe what happened next, but it was as if he simply flowed from one form to the next, nose elongating into a muzzle, limbs furrifying, tail sprouting out like a shoot through soil. And then there was a black wolf where Jungkook had stood mere seconds ago, his left hind leg twitching the same way Jungkook would sometimes shake his thigh when he was anxious.

One of the men nodded, seemingly satisfied. He turned to Taehyung next, who was standing there with his fists clenched. He looked so openly miserable that Namjoon was about to protest that surely there was some other way to do this.

But Taehyung obliged, and then there was the sound of something ripping.

Next to him, Jimin jolted. Even Yoongi looked concerned, and he was the one who knew the most about werewolves in the group (his brother was one, the only Min in generations to get the gene, so he’s had plenty of experience).

Jungkook had looked as if he were simply remolding the shape of his body to fit his wolf’s skin. Taehyung, on the other hand, transformed like his wolf was clawing its way out of his human form: his lip curled, teeth sharpening one by one; he tossed his head back and forth and in between each movement gray erupted from his skin in patches; there was a violent crack, and when Namjoon realized it was the sound of bones breaking and reconstituting, the two men had moved to block their view so that he did not see anything else.

The sounds were more than enough. Namjoon bit down on his lip so hard he started bleeding; how could anyone possibly survive what it sounded like Taehyung was going through?

It felt like it lasted forever, and then it was over.

The men parted, and Taehyung there, silvery blue and gorgeous, a storm condensed. His eyes were the same, and that made everything even more overwhelming.

Namjoon felt like he was intruding on something incredibly private; at the same time, he thought he owed it to Taehyung to bear witness.

Afterwards, when the men had left and Taehyung and Jungkook had shifted back and put their clothes on, he approached the both of them. He’d thought about pulling Taehyung aside, to say what, he didn’t know, but the way he’d reacted so strongly made him hesitate. He needed to process his emotions before he blurted out something he couldn’t take back. Namjoon’s impulsiveness was something his mother told him he needed to work on.

“I’m sorry,” he said to them. “I had no idea this was going to happen. I promise I’ll do better. I’m going to read up—”

“It’s okay, hyung,” Taehyung interrupted. Jungkook was clutching Taehyung’s sleeve, wide eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. “We’d rather you just treat us normally. It’s better than being treated like a freak.”

The last word was said so inflectionlessly that Namjoon flinched, and wondered how many times it had been said before that it seemed to have lost all effect on Taehyung. “You are not freaks,” he said, “and I’ll fight anyone who thinks so. You guys are not alone, okay? Tell your hyungs if there’s anything bothering you, and I’m not just saying this because of, ah, you know. And I know I’m not a very good leader yet but I’ll do my best to protect all of you because—oh god, this is so cheesy, but we’re family now, right, and that’s what families do?” He ended, pathetically, on a questioning note once he realized how much he was babbling.

Thankfully his dongsaengs chose not to humiliate him. Jungkook gave him a hopeful smile and Taehyung said wryly, “Yeah, hyung, that’s what families do.”

So that was the first time.

In between that and the second time, some five years passed.

(The 0.5th time was during their Wings tour, after Taehyung and Seokjin fought backstage. Taehyung was visibly upset and Namjoon felt like a giant asshole but he needed them to get their shit together for the show that was about to start in three seconds, so he hugged Taehyung tight and said, “You’re stronger than this. Hyung’s got you, okay?” It helped that he didn’t have to make eye contact with Taehyung.

Later that night, Taehyung knocked on his hotel room door after their group talk and locked himself in Namjoon’s en suite bathroom. Silence, and then the same awful ripping sounds. The shadow of something bulky settling against the door, Namjoon’s heart pounding on the other side of it.

He stayed there until he fell asleep, and the next morning was woken up by Jimin prodding him awake, mouthing thank you as he hustled a sleepy, fully human-shaped Taehyung past him.)

The second time was in 2018, in the biting cold of Achasan. Namjoon keeps that time close to his heart and refuses to think about it. If he does, his brain might break. Or worse.

So Taehyung as a wolf causes Namjoon extreme emotional distress, one can certainly say that. At first he tried not to examine this part of himself too closely, worried that if he dug deep enough he might find out something about himself he’d rather not confront.

But his resolve didn’t last. The questions plagued him: like, was he a fetishist? A pervert? A goddamned furry? Namjoon could not stop thinking about it. He felt simultaneously ashamed and horny, but to be honest that was an embarrassingly common combination of emotions for him during his pubescent years.

He had to know, so he spent one shameful night in the musty underbelly of the internet, making sure he was on incognito and using a VPN, before he concluded that no, he most likely wasn’t any of those things.

Well, maybe he was a pervert, because one time he’d jerked off after clicking through a rabbit hole of Sexy BTS V Moments compilations on YouTube, but everyone knew that correlation didn’t imply causation, right? He’s a habitual masturbater; it didn’t mean anything!

Best case scenario, Namjoon was just a red-blooded young man with his wires crossed.

Worst case scenario, since Namjoon apparently did not get turned on by werewolves as a general concept, he was just turned on by Taehyung who was a werewolf, which meant he was turned on by Taehyung specifically, which meant—

And he’s back where he began, leaping onto his bike and cycling so hard that the wind scythes through his beanie and scours his brain smooth.

Only this one night in particular, when Namjoon gets back home, what he sees makes him come to a stop so quickly he bangs his knee against the side table and yelps.

They’re in the middle of their time off and he was sure nobody would be in the dorm — Jimin is, randomly, in Russia; Hoseok is in Gwangju visiting his family; Seokjin and Jungkook are holed up in their own apartments probably alternating between sleeping and gaming and eating; Yoongi disappeared into the ether the minute their break started; and Taehyung should have been at his parents’, or hanging out with his actor friends.

No such luck. Taehyung is sitting on the living room sofa, eyeing him curiously.

That’s the first thing. The second thing is that he’s in his wolf form.

Namjoon cannot breathe. He tells himself he’s just winded from cycling more than 5km but that’s a lie; he has very good lung capacity. Stop being such a fucking mouth-breather literally.

“Sorry,” he blurts out. “Uh, you must have thought you had the place to yourself. Silly me! Should have texted in advance! The dorm just has more food stocked and I’m really hungry and honestly I still haven’t figured out the oven settings in my place and you know how Jin-hyung has configured everything perfectly here already...and you don’t care about all of that, sorry, I am literally going to go right now, please have a good night—”

It’s just that sometimes he gets a little tongue-tied when he’s alone with Taehyung. It’s just that things are easy when he’s RM, the Leader of BTS, and Taehyung is V, and they have a bit to commit to for the cameras or the other members.

It’s just that it’s been almost a decade since he met Taehyung and he still acts like a fool in front of him. Namjoon remembers the letter he read out to him during Bon Voyage and how he’d carefully deliberated each word so that it came across sweetly fraternal, supportive, wholesome. A pale shade of all the actual things he feels when he looks at the boy with the big eyes, busy legs, puckered lips.

(He should have known he was fucked from that alone. Why would you pay attention to someone’s lips if you didn’t want to kiss them?)

Namjoon is snapped back to reality when Taehyung makes a rumbling sound, low in his throat, and hops neatly onto the floor. He pads over to where Namjoon is standing very still, and then, unbelievably, rubs against his legs.

Holy shit, Namjoon is going to pass out.

Taehyung nudges him more firmly with his nose. His eyes are dark and shiny, and there’s a familiar pouty furrow to his brows that would have made Namjoon laugh if he wasn’t so nervous. Taehyung takes a few steps towards the sofa and looks back at Namjoon, tail swishing.

Okay. He wants Namjoon to follow him.

Gingerly, Namjoon sits down and starts to unwind the scarf around his neck. Taehyung climbs up beside him and observes him, sniffing occasionally, as he takes off his coat and then his sweater. He’s seriously overheating; his t-shirt sticks to his damp skin and he tugs at it to cool off.

Taehyung whines, and Namjoon freezes. For the first time since he came home, he allows himself to really look. He’s never seen his wolf shape up close before, and guiltily, he wants to drink it all in. Taehyung is mostly gray, but there’s a slightly cool tint to it, turning some parts of his pelt silver or blue depending on the way the light hits it. He’s larger than average for a male wolf (Namjoon has done extensive research), with paws that he’s still growing into and a handsome cant to his jaw. For a split second, Namjoon is struck cold by the distance between them — here he is, just an ordinary boy, and there Taehyung sits, an impossible thing.

Then he makes eye contact, and the intensity in Taehyung’s gaze is all him, wolf or not, and it reminds Namjoon that this is his bandmate, his friend, someone he’s known for years.

As if he sensed Namjoon’s hesitation, Taehyung leans forward and licks a giant wet stripe up the side of his face, making him gasp.

Oh, it’s Taehyung all right.

(Namjoon tries not to think about how rough a wolf’s tongue is, how texturally satisfying. Ugh.)

“What was that for?” he asks instead, and Taehyung responds by shoving his snout under Namjoon’s arm. “Oh my god, are you asking me to pet you?”

Taehyung blinks at him innocently.

It’s no hardship at all but Namjoon tries to pretend it is. Too embarrassing otherwise. He still has no idea why Taehyung decided to shift in their dorm on a random weeknight, but then decides that that line of thinking is awfully self-absorbed — Taehyung could have been doing this for a long time, and Namjoon just happened to stupidly blunder in today. This train of thought makes him wonder if other members have had the privilege of seeing Taehyung like this before, and he gets so distracted that he doesn’t notice that Taehyung has settled his entire head in his lap, and is dozing off under Namjoon’s ministrations.

His hand moves automatically, stroking over Taehyung’s head with just enough pressure to smooth flat his ears before they spring back up. They twitch occasionally, a reflex maybe, and Namjoon hopes it’s because Taehyung is dreaming good dreams.

After a while, Namjoon’s body gets tired of holding itself so rigidly, and he relaxes inch by inch until he’s sunk down into the sofa, the weight of Taehyung’s body helping to ground him. He sinks his hand into Taehyung’s ruff and scratches, now a little sleepy himself, and is awestruck when Taehyung makes a pleased, growly sound in response.

Surely it means something that this — whatever this is — is happening. Surely it means something that Namjoon is the one here instead of Jungkook, a fellow wolf, or any other person that loves and adores Taehyung (there are plenty of them).

Because it’s a known fact that Taehyung doesn’t like to shift, and he doesn’t like to talk about it, either. It’s the one thing that Taehyung has kept close to his chest, even as he learnt to let go and speak his mind and heart on literally everything else.

Normally every few months, usually when they have a short break, Taehyung disappears for a day or two and comes back simultaneously happier and grumpier. Maybe grumpier because he’s happier; he doesn’t like admitting that spending time in his wolf form feels good, releases endorphins or something.

Namjoon’s always wondered where he goes — if he takes the train out of Seoul to roam in one of the designated wolf parks, if he stays in the city and keeps to the shadows (he probably doesn’t; it’s considered impolite to scare passersby like that).

Namjoon wonders if he always does it alone.

And because this is him, and his timing is always bad, it’s when he has Taehyung’s soft head cupped under his palm and his nose dampening a spot above his belly that he has the alarming thought that maybe Taehyung planned this, that he’d been waiting, ears pricked, for Namjoon to find him like this.

Namjoon pauses. Underneath his knuckles he can feel the gentle bumps and knobs of Taehyung’s skull. He takes a deep breath and forces his brain to slow down. Did that mean that Taehyung—

And then Taehyung wakes up.

Wakes up, and starts to shift.

It happens — not smoothly, not exactly — but not excruciatingly either. It’s less the sound of bones getting ground to dust and more the mundane pop of cracked knuckles and back twists. Namjoon can’t seem to focus on any one part of the shift, his vision blurring as it tries to keep up with all the moving parts.

Less than three seconds later, and it’s done. Taehyung is still in his lap.

Except now he’s human, and he’s naked.

Namjoon doesn’t believe in god, but he truly feels his soul departing his body that very instant. He feels like he’s been suplexed except it’s not his back that’s been slammed into the ground, but his dick against the seam of his pants.

So he does what he has to do, and shoves Taehyung off him.

Taehyung yells as he half-rolls away. Namjoon throws a cushion so that he has something to cover himself with and also to block his very clear view of Taehyung’s left ass cheek.

Hyung.” Taehyung has righted himself and is pouting, but has made no move to cover himself. It’s a devastating and highly effective combo. “You pushed me! Ow.” He rubs his elbow where it’d knocked in to the back of the armrest.

“Sorry!” Namjoon says, and he is. He stares at the top of Taehyung’s fluffy head so he won’t be tempted to trail his eyes downward. “You just surprised me!”

“What, was I too heavy? Was I crushing you?” Taehyung asks. He still sounds slightly aggrieved, and that won’t do at all.

“No, no,” Namjoon hurries to say. “Um, do you mind…?” He holds up the first piece of clothing he can find, which is his sweater. “Sorry, this is all sweaty. I can go get stuff from your room if you like—”

“This is perfect!” Taehyung lunges for the sweater and tugs it over his head. Namjoon sneaks a peek too soon and his knees would have buckled at the flash of Taehyung’s happy trail if he hadn’t already been sitting down. Namjoon’s sweater is big on him, the sleeves going past his fingers and the worn, stretched collar slipping to reveal one perfect collarbone.

He’s seen Taehyung naked before; all of them have seen each other naked before. It’s just that they’re alone, not in front of a dozen staff members during a costume change, and Taehyung had just been in Namjoon’s lap, and as a wolf, which is something so special and unexpected that it’s making Namjoon’s heart ache.

“Smells like you,” Taehyung comments, sounding happy about it. Namjoon shuts his eyes briefly and contemplates death.

“Hold on a sec,” Taehyung continues. “I’m going to get some underwear.” He stands up right in front of Namjoon. Mercifully, the sweater hits him mid-thigh. Then he winks, and trots off with a wave, the movement making the sweater ride up high enough that the hem catches on the underside of oh, god, STOP THINKING!!

By the time Taehyung comes back, Namjoon has calmed down a little. His hands are still clammy and his crotch is still tight, but whatever, it’s fine, everything’s good.

“How was your ride?” Taehyung asks, oblivious to Namjoon’s crisis as he plops down right next to him, their shoulders brushing. If anything, he looks very satisfied, probably because he just woke up from a nap. Sleep-satiated Taehyung is always generous with his affections.

“It was good,” Namjoon says automatically. He frowns, heart beating faster. “You knew I was out cycling?”

“Mhm, I think you mentioned it in the group chat,” Taehyung says, looking down at the thread he’s unraveling from Namjoon’s sweater cuff.

Namjoon’s pretty sure he didn’t. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were having dinner with your mom and dad. Not that I mind,” he adds hastily. “I was just...not expecting anyone to be here.”

Taehyung shrugs. “I wanted some company that wasn’t my parents,” he says, and there’s something in the lilt of his voice that, in any other circumstance, would make Namjoon think he was being flirted with, but this is Taehyung, who could have anyone he wanted, so that’s definitely not it.

But he’d wanted company. Namjoon-specific company? Namjoon doesn’t want to potentially humiliate himself by asking.

“Do you wanna hang out?” Taehyung adds, a little more tentatively. “Just like when we roomed together, you know. I miss that sometimes.”

“Of course,” Namjoon says. “Um, again, I’m sorry for barging in just now. I hope that wasn’t awkward for you, you know I would never have done it if I didn’t know you were home—”

Taehyung puts a finger against Namjoon’s lips. That shuts him up immediately. “I know you mean well, hyung,” he says firmly. “But please don’t apologize. I was okay with you seeing that. I wanted you to. It’s private, you know, for most wolves. We don’t really let normal people see.” He takes his hand away and starts fiddling with the loose thread again. “So when we do, it’s special. You’re special.”

So he had wanted Namjoon-specific company? But, roommates? Are roommates an inherently platonic concept? Namjoon needs at least three hours to process what this could all possibly mean.

Namjoon’s heart disagrees, because it is in his mouth, ready to bust out dangerous, inappropriate words. Romantic words. He forces it back down. But he doesn’t want to rebuff Taehyung, either, so he gives into a lesser impulse and grabs Taehyung’s hand.

“Thank you,” he says. “It means a lot to me because I know it means a lot to you. It’s an honor.” He squeezes once, firmly. “And you’re normal, too. I mean, not normal like boring, you’re super not boring, normal like—don’t laugh at me!”

Whatever tension that was crawling up Namjoon’s shoulders dissipates in the face of Taehyung’s mirth. He’s giggling like a kid, eyes almost closed with the force of it. But he holds Namjoon’s hand back, and so Namjoon knows he’s not being made fun of, not really.

They throw together a haphazard dinner, four packs of ramyun bedazzled with some limp scallion Taehyung unearths from the back of the fridge and eggs that Namjoon tries to crack one-handed. They end up having to fish specks of shell out from their soup, and Taehyung goes into a dramatic monologue each time he ‘rescues’ a fragment; by the time they’re finished, he has a neat row of them lined up in front of his bowl.

“Please accept my humble offerings,” Taehyung announces, dropping to his knees on the floor beside Namjoon dramatically. When Namjoon looks at him in confusion, he explains in a stage whisper, “It’s 1564. You’re the Joseon crown prince and I’m your favorite bounty hunter, arriving back at court after an arduous journey across the land to capture all your enemies and bring you their heads.” He points at the sad-looking shell, and lolls his tongue out to mimic the dead.

Namjoon’s played along with Taehyung’s scenarios enough times that it’s easy now to put on the mien of an imperious royal. He puts his face close to the eggshells and pretends to look over them closely, eyebrows furrowed. He rubs his chin with his free hand and deliberates.

“O prince, do I please you?” Taehyung asks.

Damn his lizard brain. This is just role-play, Namjoon scolds himself. Don’t start getting any ideas. “Yes, you have,” he answers, trying to stay in character. “My father the king will reward you handsomely.”

The corner of Taehyung’s mouth quirks up in amusement. He flutters his eyelashes and Namjoon only has time to wonder at the historical accuracy of imperial bounty hunters being this coquettish when Taehyung says, in a low voice, “And how will you reward me?”

Are they still acting? Namjoon doesn’t know. Taehyung is very good at pretending when he wants to be. What if he is, and Namjoon freaks out for no reason and makes things awkward? But what if he isn’t?

Namjoon’s mouth goes dry. He imagines reaching forward and gripping Taehyung by the jaw; his eyes would go wide with surprise at the force behind Namjoon’s fingers, but he would stay still. Namjoon would put his mouth close to Taehyung’s ear and say all the sweet and filthy things he’s always wanted to say to Taehyung, and then he would bring him to bed and show him exactly how he’d reward him with his fingers and his mouth and—

“Hyung, you’re spacing out,” Taehyung complains, and the spell is broken. They’re back in their dorm, between them is just a row of soggy egg bits, and they’re just two friends having a laugh.

Namjoon exhales loudly. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m not very good at this.”

Taehyung shakes his head and clambers back onto the sofa. “Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, but there’s a slightly disappointed downturn to his mouth that Namjoon hates to see. “I was just being dumb.”

“On the contrary,” Namjoon says. He hates seeing Taehyung upset. “I think the crown prince is the foolish one, to be unaware of his hunter’s loyalty. He should have paid more attention. He didn’t answer because nothing he could offer would have been adequate payment for such devotion.”

When he looks back up, Taehyung is staring at him, eyes soft. “Well, maybe it was the hunter’s fault, too, for not being obvious enough.”

Namjoon shrugs. “A row of heads is pretty obvious, in my opinion.”

Taehyung grins slowly, and it’s like the breaking of the sun through cloud cover. “You’re weird, hyung,” he says. “But I like it, because I’m kinda weird too. We can match.”

“Being un-weird is super overrated,” Namjoon says serenely. He knows how Taehyung feels, he thinks. He can relate to having people look at him askance, not understanding the paths his brain goes down or growing impatient with the way his ideas come out oblong when they expected simple squares. “Let’s be weird together, Taehyung-ah!” He punches the air with a fist, laughter bubbling up in his chest and how absurd he’s being, but it doesn’t matter because Taehyung is whooping right next to him, and they’re sitting so close their knees are touching, and Namjoon is perfectly, wondrously, happy.

This is the third time.

All right. The second time floats to the top of his mind and stays there, wrinkled like milk skin.

Achasan was cold and blue and gray, and Namjoon’s knees ached by the time they got to the top. They were there for a Run penalty, but it was something that he’d suggested because he thought Taehyung would enjoy it.

The sun rose ponderously, like it wasn’t quite sure it wanted to make an appearance that day. They ate the food Seokjin had prepared and said a couple of words to ARMY, and then Namjoon quietly told the staff they’d make their own way home in a bit, and that they could leave first.

Taehyung didn’t question why they still lingered. He snuffled a little, the tip of his nose red with cold, his cheeks puffy against the sag of his face mask. They sat in a comfortable silence until their food got cold and Namjoon couldn’t feel his hands anymore.

Achasan was still cold, but no longer blue or gray, when Taehyung sighed, resigned, like he’d lost an unspoken competition, and started taking his clothes off.

Namjoon turned away politely. He heard a small chuff of amusement, and then the sound of nails clicking on stone, and then nothing.

Only once did he give in to his curiosity, and turn around to scan the treeline behind him. He thought he saw a flash of silver in between the dappled tree shadow, but he could not be sure.

Taehyung didn’t take long. When he was done and dressed, he sat back down next to Namjoon and stretched his arms over his head. He looked revived, flushed with warmth. “Thanks for that,” he said. “It was just what I needed. Spent too long cooped up in the city.”

Namjoon hummed in agreement. He could tell; the last few days Taehyung had retreated into a small and staticky version of himself, emerging only to snap at Jungkook when he was being too loud or to let himself be firmly babyed by Jimin. Namjoon hadn’t been a hundred percent sure this would be the solution, but he figured it was worth trying out.

Last time Taehyung was upset, he’d come to Namjoon’s hotel room, after all.

“How did you know?” Taehyung asked, eyeing him.

“Lucky guess.” Namjoon shrugged. He was mildly embarrassed by Taehyung’s scrutiny, and didn’t want to be analyzed himself. “You didn’t laugh at any of Yoongi-hyung’s jokes. You went to the opposite side of the room every time Jungkook showed up. When we watched that episode of Animal Planet where the wolf baby died you ‘accidentally’ ripped your cushion in half.”

“Ugh,” Taehyung groaned. “How embarrassing. We’re so immature.” He glared down at his hands, as if he can channel annoyance directly to his wolf that way.

Namjoon could hear the sulk in his voice and bumped his shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, don’t be mean, he can hear you,” he said, conspiratorial.

“You don’t think Jungkook noticed, right?” Taehyung asked suddenly. “It’s not his fault, not really. It’s just hard to be around him sometimes. Maybe it’s puberty. My wolf wants to be like his wolf and I want him to shut the hell up so I end up taking it out on poor Jungkook.”

Namjoon thought he understood. They’ve talked about this before, a little, how Jungkook was so good at being a boy and a wolf and a boy who happened to be a wolf, how he loved to cuddle and scent and run around in the woods and all the other things wolf-boys like him were supposed to love. And then there was Taehyung, for whom these things used to come so easily as well, but recently have been getting harder. He was growing up and his two selves were diverging, and it was getting painful having to hold everything in place.

It hurt like a splinter that had grown roots, Taehyung once said, all the things he wanted to do and be and what everyone else thought he should be doing and being instead burrowing inside him. Leaving him cleaved open.

“I think he definitely noticed,” Namjoon replied, because Taehyung didn’t need to be mollified that way. “Jungkook is sensitive. But I think he would forgive you in an instant if you spooned him for a bit. Maybe let him win at wrestling.”

Taehyung snorted. “I wouldn’t need to let him, Jungkook is ridiculously built.”

Then, a sigh: “What would I do without you, hyung?”

“You would be just fine, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon said. “You’ve grown up a lot, you know? Hyung is really proud of you. You’re doing your best.”

Taehyung tugged his earmuffs down and huddled further into his jacket, squirming like a little bug. Then he said, almost shyly, “I’m proud of you, too. You’re doing well, Namjoon-hyung.”

He put his head on Namjoon’s shoulder. They were both too tall for it to have been entirely comfortable, but Taehyung didn’t budge. Namjoon tilted to the side a little to make up for it.

They didn’t need to voice it aloud but they both knew that things were changing. Had been changing since last year. More fame, more fans, more everything. It was getting overwhelming and Namjoon felt like he was constantly gasping for air. Breathe in one, two, three, and that was all the time he had to let himself feel anything about whatever they’d just done before he had to move on to the next thing.

He had to cut himself off, focus on the new dreadful, exciting, impossible things coming up on the horizon; if he tried to take in everything that pushed up against his back he would be knocked off his feet.

You’re doing well.

Simple words that so many other people had said to him before: Bang PD, Sejin, his parents, the fans, the other members, that they’d lost all meaning.

Perhaps unfairly, it felt different coming from Taehyung. It wasn’t like Hoseok’s cheerful practicality or Yoongi’s knife-sharp well, what else can we do? grimace-grin, and it certainly wasn’t like his own sad attempts at self-affirmation.

It was different because Taehyung got it. He could see past Namjoon’s gnarled justifications and counter-arguments and catastrophizing hypotheticals and simply believe that all of it was insignificant in the face of his hard work and determination. He felt so strongly and instinctively that Namjoon found himself compelled to as well; how could he deny him?

Namjoon let himself exhale slowly. Taehyung’s hair brushed against his cheek when his shoulder moved. Maybe Taehyung wasn’t the only one who needed this trip up the mountain.

And so Namjoon nodded, and they watched the sun journey across the sky together.

Oh shit, Namjoon thinks. I’m fucking fucked. He knows.

Taehyung spins away to complete his verse and Namjoon spends the rest of the concert compiling the incriminating evidence of his feelings over the years.

That one time in 2013, after their first music show performance ever: the two of them were the only ones awake in their cramped, stuffy room because Namjoon was too keyed-up to sleep, Taehyung told him stories until his eyes closed. The two of them at the Art Institute of Chicago, sharing earbuds to listen to the museum’s audio commentary, standing close enough to whisper, Taehyung’s breath warming his cheek. Every time Taehyung opened his arms for a hug and Namjoon jumped right in, his usual awkwardness nowhere to be found.

He digs past the innocent stuff and remembers the guilty twinges of arousal whenever they went to the gym together and Taehyung had chest day; the way his stomach went oozy when Taehyung practiced his smirks in the mirror.

Then there was the surreal stretch in 2016 where Taehyung would creep into Namjoon’s bed at night and politely ask if he could hold Namjoon’s hand because it would help him sleep easier. At that point Jungkook was the notorious snuggler of the group so Namjoon was used to falling asleep with another body pressed against him, but this was Taehyung, so he’d choked out, “I would prefer not to, but you can stay,” and they’d fallen asleep side by side, not touching. That went on for a whole week until one day Namjoon turned over sometime in the night and he woke up clutching Taehyung’s arm, hips tight against the curve of his spine, and had almost died of shame.

Things only got worse as the years went by. Taehyung got more and more handsome and Namjoon winced at everyone marveling at his multiple glow-ups. I’ve been here since he had Dumbo ears, he thinks. It doesn’t change how affected he is, too.

He supposes somewhere down the line he slipped up, and it got too obvious. Dazedly, he wonders what did him in. Maybe Taehyung will tell him, right after he gently lets him down. That would be good. Namjoon will have to learn from his mistakes and do better in the future.

Namjoon finishes Muster in a cold sweat, going through the motions of smiling for the post-show photo, heading back to the hotel, washing up. Then he sits on his bed and waits.

It doesn’t take long for Taehyung to show up. He knocks and says, “Hyung, let me in,” and Namjoon lets him in.

He looks good. Soft and freshly showered, thick black glasses perched on his nose and smelling like clean soap. Namjoon, meanwhile, has sweat through his thin sleep shirt.

“Hey,” Namjoon says. He gestures vaguely at the lone chair in his room. Taehyung ignores him and stays standing, arms crossed with a determined expression on his face.

“I have something important to say,” he declares. “And you have to promise me you won’t laugh at me or be mean to me about it, because this is hard for me and I’m a little scared that it might change things between us forever.”

It’s sweet that Taehyung is worried about how Namjoon might take being rejected. Namjoon braces himself. He’s been bracing himself for years now; what’s one minute more, right?

Taehyung clears his throat. “We’ve been members for a long time now, and we’ve had a really good relationship. I like the way we are now but I think we could be so much more. What I’m trying to say is, hyung, you make me very happy. I want to make you happy too. And I wanted to tell you that because I don’t think I can keep it a secret anymore. I don’t want to. So.” He pins Namjoon with a stubborn gaze, like he’s daring Namjoon to try and stop him from speaking his truth. “I like you, Namjoon-hyung.”

This is not what Namjoon expected. “Uh,” he says. “Can you clarify? Do you mean as a friend?” He winces immediately at the hurt that flashes across Taehyung’s face.

“Are you making fun of me?” Taehyung asks.

“What? No! I just—don’t understand how—or why—I’m sorry, you like me? As in, you want us to—” Namjoon gives up on words and pushes his fingers together in a horribly childish approximation of kissing.

Taehyung squints. “Yes, I want to kiss you. Eventually. Only if you want to kiss me back, of course. What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know! Where is this coming from?”

“Well, if we’re talking long-game I’ve basically adored with you since, like, 2014, but if you mean what made me decide to do something about it — you smelled really, really, good,” Taehyung says, speaking so matter-of-factly that it’s clear he doesn’t realize Namjoon’s world is being upturned on its axis right now. “You always do, but it’s been really distracting lately and none of my usual coping mechanisms were working. I was complaining about it to Jimin and he kind of exploded at me and said I should just tell you how I felt instead of abusing my poor nose and also his goodwill as my soulmate, and that I would feel much better once I got this off my chest.” He pauses. “I’m not sure if I feel better. Yet.”

Since 2014. Namjoon’s self-sabotaging instinct jabs at the tingling in his chest he is starting to suspect is hope. “You like me because I smell good?”

“No?” Taehyung wrinkles his nose. “That’s not how things work, you don’t have, like, super sexy pheromones or something. You smell good because I like you, dumbass hyung!”

Namjoon’s mouth plops open, undignified. The jabbing subsides. “Oh,” he says. Then: “Holy shit, you like me.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but his mouth is twitching with amusement. “Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”

“W-what do I smell like?” Namjoon blurts out.

Taehyung has always been the bold one. Fearless, putting his foot forward even if he can’t see the ground beneath him. He must see something worth stepping into darkness for, because he comes right up to Namjoon and pushes his nose into his neck. His arms hold Namjoon’s waist and then he breathes in, deep.

“You smell delicious,” Taehyung says, his voice very, very low. It’s pulling Namjoon down into the dark, he’s helpless against it. “Like a meadow after rain, and fresh-cut wood, and warm sweat, like you’ve been running under the sun.”

“Wow, warn a guy,” Namjoon says shakily. His whole body is trembling. He should do something suave, like put his arms around Taehyung too, or say thank you. Would that be appropriate? Also, is smelling like sweat...a good thing?

Taehyung pulls back. His gaze is uncertain, and Namjoon doesn’t like that. “I know this is a lot,” he says. “I’m sorry, you never even said—if you liked me back—I mean, I was pretty confident you did but now I’m not so sure and I’ve already unloaded all my crap onto you. Ugh, fuck. Sorry. I just had to tell you. I’ll go now.”

It’s rare to see Taehyung scramble for words because he’s nervous. Unlike Namjoon, he isn’t the kind of guy who normally succumbed to people’s judgment or scrutiny. The last Namjoon can do is put him out of his misery.

And his own, because suddenly he’s tired of thinking, wondering, being too scared to act. He wants to do something. One very specific something, in fact.

So he says, “Can I kiss you?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen. “Oh, please, hyung—”

Namjoon cups the back of Taehyung’s head with his left hand and tilts his chin up with his right, and then he puts his mouth on Taehyung’s and kisses the shit out of the boy he’s adored since at least 2014. He’s not letting Taehyung beat him at his own game of mournful pining.

Taehyung’s lips are warm and slightly dry, very pleasant, and the kiss is sweet. Namjoon can’t believe this is really happening. He bites down lightly on Taehyung’s bottom lip, drawing a whimper out of him that instantly makes the blood rush straight down his belly. If he doesn’t stop soon he’s going to do something wild, like palm Taehyung’s ass or push him up against the wall, so he makes to pull back for a breather.

But Taehyung makes a small sound of disapproval and shoves his tongue into Namjoon’s mouth, and suddenly everything is wetter, and hotter, and Namjoon is the one getting pushed backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he folds like a rag doll.

He doesn’t have a second to breathe before Taehyung is clambering on top of him, and then he has a lapful of boy, at once familiar and utterly, mind-blowingly foreign. “Does this mean I was right?” Taehyung murmurs as he winds his arms around Namjoon’s neck. “Do you like me, hyung?”

“Don’t tease me,” Namjoon groans, burying his head against Taehyung’s shoulder and trying to keep his hips still. He can feel the vibrations as Taehyung laughs. “Holy shit. Taehyung-ah.”


“You have to know how I feel about you.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually know everything.” Taehyung trails a hand through Namjoon’s hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and Namjoon shivers. “I saw the way you looked at me sometimes. When you thought I wasn’t paying attention But I didn’t want to assume anything. I wanted to get it right.” He pokes a finger into Namjoon’s cheek and pushes it upward so they’re face to face. “So tell me. Did I?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says. “I’m a fool, and you’re a genius. I like you a lot, Taehyung-ah. I like you so much it scares me sometimes. But you’re the brave one, because you just—” he chokes out a laugh, “—came up to me and confessed. Like, that’s incredible.”

“I just wanted to do my best,” Taehyung says, smiling sweetly. Like he gets exactly what Namjoon is saying; he remembers Achasan, too. “No regrets.”

“What do you want to do now?” Namjoon asks, thinking about how they’re going to have to tell the rest of the group and select staff members. Sejin will probably tear up.

“Ah, I wanted you to fuck me,” Taehyung says, totally casual, “but I didn’t bring any lube or condoms. Did you?”

Taehyung saying the word fuck goes straight to Namjoon’s dick. It’s a K-O, he needs to tap out. “Um, what? No? Why would I have?”

“Oh, so you’re an old-school kind of guy, huh.” Taehyung mimes spitting into his hand and making a rude gesture. “We could make that work…”

“You’d let me fuck you?” Namjoon blurts out.

“I mean, do you not want to?”

“I do!” Namjoon is quick to assure him. Maybe too quick, if Taehyung’s smirk is anything to go by. Carefully, he angles his hips up just so, letsTaehyung feel. “Trust me, I do. I just thought, uh, conventionally…”

Taehyung’s gaze, which had clouded over with pleasure at the friction, lights up. “Oh, someone’s been watching too much WolvesGoneWild, haven’t we.”

“Oh my god.” Namjoon feels like a worm.

“I have to text Jimin about this,” Taehyung says, curling up with laughter. “Hyung thinks I’m a big alpha wolf who has to assert his dominance with his big alpha cock—”

“Please stop.”

“Make me.”

“Oh, so it’s like that?”

“Mhm, it’s exactly like that,” Taehyung practically purrs, and Namjoon does give in to his baser impulses then, and tugs him roughly down onto his thighs. His fingers dig into Taehyung’s ass, and Taehyung’s eyelashes flutter with pleasure.

Something hot and primal goes through Namjoon at the sight. He did that. Taehyung wants him.

“I want to suck you off,” he says abruptly, giddy with this revelation. “We can get lube tomorrow. But I want to use my mouth on you tonight. Right now.”

Taehyung’s eyes are huge. “Okay. Yeah.”

Namjoon flips them over so that Taehyung’s lying on the bed, and then he reaches for the waistband of his shorts, gentler. “Can I?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Taehyung says breathily. His glasses have been knocked a little off-center; Namjoon reaches up to set them straight.

“Up,” he says, patting Taehyung’s side. He obliges, making it easier for Namjoon to slide everything off, and then he’s bare before Namjoon, and beautiful.

“Hyung, don’t stare.”

Namjoon wasn’t aware he’d been staring, but he ignores Taehyung and takes his time, detailing the light shaking of his thighs, his neatly trimmed hair, the mild redness on the inside of his knee that must have been the remnant of a mosquito bite, and his perfect, wonderful dick, already half-hard and wet against his belly. He takes his time spreading his palms up Taehyung’s legs, opening them wider until Taehyung’s breath hitches at the stretch, and then he settles in, and puts his mouth to work.

Sucking dick is a little like making music, Namjoon always thought. He loses himself in the rhythm of it, the muscle memory of his hand working what his mouth can’t stretch around, the faint whimpers falling from Taehyung’s lips above him. Everything reaches a crescendo when Taehyung’s hand lands in his hair and tugs, sharp; Namjoon forces his throat to relax and goes even deeper, feels a throb of satisfaction in his own dick when Taehyung gasps out, “Oh no—” and comes, mindlessly rutting his hips against Namjoon’s face.

Namjoon only pulls off when Taehyung starts twitching from oversensitivity. He rests his chin on Taehyung’s thigh and watches Taehyung come back to himself. Pretty, he thinks, with his wet eyes and trembling lip and pink cheeks. So fucking pretty.

“‘Oh no’? Was it that bad?” he jokes. He nuzzles idly against Taehyung’s hip bone and turns to press a kiss to the tip of his softening dick, delighted when Taehyung’s foot jerks and he turns red.

“I didn’t want to come so fast,” Taehyung protests. He leans forward and uses his thumb to wipe something off Namjoon’s lip. “You had some—there.” He’s blushing so hard.

Wow, Namjoon is going to be on his knees forever if it means he gets Taehyung like this afterwards.

“I should go brush,” he says, gesturing at his mouth.

“No, come kiss me.” Taehyung pulls him up by his arms and wraps his legs around Namjoon’s waist like a squid. The action presses Namjoon’s still very hard dick right up against Taehyung’s and he groans. “Ah, hyung. We have to take care of you.”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to go red. “I mean,” he hedges, “only if you want to…”

Taehyung gives him what can only be described as a wolfish grin. Wow, how original, Namjoon.

“Oh, I definitely want to. I would use my mouth, too, but I haven’t done that in a while and I want it to be really good when I finally do it. Let me jerk you off instead?”

Namjoon blinks. “Yeah, yeah, you can do whatever you want.”


And then Taehyung reaches right into Namjoon’s boxers and wraps his big, warm hand around his cock.

“Oh, you’re so wet, hyung,” he says, moving slowly. “I like it when things are wet, makes it all messy and sloppy and so much better, right? Bet your dick is just as pretty as your mouth,” he sighs, and rubs his cheek against Namjoon’s. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. I’m glad I took Jimin’s advice and told you and I’m glad you like me back. You’re so smart and kind and you always know the right things to say and your arms are so strong, I just want you to pick me up and, like, fuck me hard, then carry me into the bath and blow bubbles in my hair…”

Somewhere in the middle of this stream of consciousness Namjoon realizes that Taehyung has his eyes half-closed and is subconsciously grinding against Namjoon’s thigh which he has somehow maneuvered between his legs. He also realizes that he’s about to come, and that he’s more than halfway in love with Taehyung already.

Namjoon grabs Taehyung’s leg and hikes it up further; he can feel how hard Taehyung’s gotten again (Maybe the nonexistent refractory period is a wolf thing? Namjoon sends his thanks up to the lupine gods).

“I’m going to do all of that,” he says, and kisses the tip of Taehyung’s nose, right where his mole is. “We’ll have spa dates. I’ll surprise you with art and show you all my favorite places in the city and go back to Achasan with you. I know you like it there. Your wolf does, and I love him. I love you.” Oh, shit, he’s really saying this, huh? Fuck it. Namjoon can be the brave one for once.

“I want everything you can give me — your wolf and your weird little mind and your entire heart.” He sweeps his hand down Taehyung’s back and brushes his dry fingers against his hole. He just wants to touch Taehyung everywhere. “Once we get back home I’m going to fuck you until you cry, Taehyung-ah. And then I’ll do it again, once you beg for it.” God, Namjoon can feel him clenching against his fingertips. Fuck it all to hell, he’s so turned on. “You’re a good pup, aren’t you? Will you be good for hyung?”

“Hngh,” Taehyung pants, tugging on Namjoon faster as his hips pick up speed. He arches his back against where Namjoon’s fingers are lingering. “Yes,” he says, and Namjoon can’t help but stare at the saliva literally pooling in his half-open mouth. It makes him feel nasty and fond all over. “Hyung, I—I’m gonna—”

“Come on,” Namjoon murmurs. “I got you, okay? Come for me, baby.” He kisses Taehyung, wet and sloppy, and presses just the tip of his index finger into him. He feels it when Taehyung comes, not just the sudden heat against his thigh but the gasp that Taehyung makes into his mouth, and then it’s his turn to double over as pleasure whites out through him. He shivers as Taehyung continues stroking him through the orgasm; he can feel it all the way to his toes.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung mumbles once they’ve collected their breaths. “Hyung.”

Namjoon laughs shakily. “Good?”

“Perfect. You are so sappy.” Taehyung swings a leg over Namjoon’s waist, completely disregarding the rapidly cooling sum all over his thigh and belly, and cuddles closer. “I feel so called out. Pup. Really? How did you know?”

“Because I know you, and you’re a kinky little shit.”

Taehyung laughs. “You sure you’re not the kinky one? I should have known you’d be into puppy play.”

“I’m only into one puppy and that’s you.”

It’s so stupid, Namjoon’s just messing around, but Taehyung legitimately looks like he’s tearing up. Then he says, “Hyung, that’s so sweet. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I hate you, we both know that’s not true.” Namjoon flicks him on the forehead, and then immediately smooths out the red mark with his thumb.

Taehyung sighs happily. “Wow, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

“I hope so,” Namjoon says. “You know, speaking of kinks, I legitimately got a semi on stage tonight because of you.”

“No way. What did I do?”

“I can’t explain it. You looked at me like you wanted to eat me or something. It was insanely hot. I thought you must have known, I have a terrible poker face.”

"It wasn't your face that gave it away, hyung," Taehyung says. He inhales dramatically. "I could smell it all over you. You wanted me." 

"I thought you said sexy pheromones weren't a thing!" 

"They aren't! Nobody's scent is, like, inherently attractive. But everyone smells different, and if you're close enough to someone you can tell when their scents change." Taehyung's eyes sharpen. He trails a finger down Namjoon's neck. "For example, when someone is aroused." 

Namjoon gulps. "That's, uh, cool. Very useful."

"Mhm, right?" Taehyung's nose twitches and Namjoon wonders what he's smelling right now: the dissipating steam from Namjoon's shower, his eucalyptus oil diffuser, the sex they just had.

Namjoon figures he might as well go all in. "Honestly, anything you do is automatically hot. But tonight...I was like, wow, Taehyung is all grown up now. He’s a big bad wolf." 

Taehyung grins and pretends to chomp on Namjoon’s arm, teeth bared comically wide. It’s funny because he could actually do it, if he wanted to. Namjoon’s not sure what it says about the both of them that they clearly find the thought more amusing than alarming.

“I don't actually want to eat you, hyung,” Taehyung says with a straight face. "Maybe in, like, a sexy, metaphorical way. I'd do it for you. I’d do a lot of things for you. Because, you know—” He mouths the big words out silently.

Namjoon grins, so full of earnest feeling it hurts.

"Funny you would say that, Taehyung-ah. I was thinking the exact same thing.”