There are plenty of ways to get something discreetly delivered to a dorm, it turns out. The easiest, most secure, and most embarrassing is to have something delivered to one of the managers' apartments: even though diehard fans know who they are, they aren't interested in reading return addresses, and any illicit mail would still be assumed for the manager, especially if they live with their girlfriend.
Yoongi, that little shit, had this delivered to his studio. It even had his real name on it.
Seokjin's ears were hot with embarrassment. "Yoongi-yah, what the hell!" The package was still unopened in his hands where he stood at the foot of their pushed-together beds.
"It worked out fine, didn't it?" Yoongi wouldn't meet his eyes from where he's hunched over on his side of the bed, out of his big jacket and hat and socks, knees knobby and thighs vulnerable through the artistic weathering of his jeans.
"What if someone had found it? What then?" The package made a muffled rustling noise when Seokjin shook it for emphasis.
Yoongi turned his head even further to the side, avoidant. Seokjin, definitely a Dog Person, could not help sometimes noticing how feline Yoongi was at times, and this was not always a winning comparison.
He took a deep breath, released it, and shook the box again, more tentatively.
They had gone through the catalog together, using Seokjin's real phone, backs against the headboard and laughing because, c'mon, imagine ordering from a store whose name was a dick joke. They clicked on every picture for the enlarged sample just because it was hilarious to see plugs and vibrators and collars all displayed in bright lighting on a white background--well, it was hilarious until it wasn't anymore, and they were distracted from the screen. They might not have ordered anything at all if Yoongi hadn't mentioned somthing when Seokjin was plugging his phone in to charge it.
"Here," he said. "If you're too embarrassed--I'll do it, hyung."
Seokjin hadn't been embarrassed--he'd honestly forgotten--but Yoongi's deference played out sometimes in these slantwise ways where he'd do things he wanted to do anyway but pretend it was a favor for Seokjin. It was one of those things that could be simultaneously charming and irritating, which generally lent Seokjin to being fond.
Shaking the box reminded Seokjin of that moment, of that feeling of banked anticipation when he knew looking at high definition photographs on a mannequin would be nothing like looking at the real thing. It was there, though, in this box in his hands.
"You're right," Seokjin apologized. "It did work out fine. This time."
Yoongi looked up at him through his bangs, biting his lip, that little shit.
"I'll go get the scissors."
Wordlessly, Yoongi leaned forward, passing the scissors over handle-first.
Seokjin took them and then consciously had to pretend to himself that this was like getting any other anticipated bit of mail in order to open without his hands shaking, especially with Yoongi biting his lip again and watching as the tape was split, the cardboard flaps opened, the puffed plastic packing material and shipping statement set aside.
His hands started to tremble a bit anyway, despite pretending, when he was taking the scissors to the clamshell packaging, then setting the scissors aside and using both hands to pry the final pieces of clear plastic apart.
The black clamps and connecting chain spilled onto the duvet with a shivery sound, the heft detectable in the soft thump they made upon landing.
Seokjin swallowed, and licked his lips. Fuck pretending, this was a moment of truth if anything was. He looked at Yoongi, who was gripping his own ankles, his knuckles pink, mouth open just enough to see a hint of his tongue--also pink. Seokjin's favorite color and his favorite person all in one bony, soft, sleep-deprived old-man serving.
He was so fond. The clamps were cool in his hand when he picked them up. He grinned, opening one slowly, watching Yoongi's mouth open slowly too, like some kind of ventriloquism. "Take off your shirt," Seokjin said, still grinning. This was going to be fun.
The first time they'd messed around, Yoongi didn't want Seokjin to touch his nipples. He'd taken off his own shirt, Seokjin caught up watching the familiar action in this new context, closing in again to kiss Yoongi when he couldn't wait anymore. His hands instinctively went to Yoongi's waist; Yoongi had taken a bath the night before, and his skin was still softer than usual, inviting to touch.
When Seokjin's hands strayed, Yoongi pulled back. "Not my nipples," he'd said, and Seokjin couldn't help giggling. "Hyung, seriously! It's too much--you can't." He'd pouted out his lower lip and Seokjin moved his hands to somewhere safer, lower on Yoongi's sides.
That didn't mean he stopped giggling, though, as he tried to keep kissing Yoongi.
"Ugh, c'mon," Yoongi huffed out, so pretty and riled up.
"Sorry, sorry--come here, I'll stop laughing," Seokjin promised, and he did, too busy doing other things with his mouth.
It had planted a seed in his mind about Yoongi's nipples though. The thoughts of what Seokjin might be able to do to them, to Yoongi--those fantasies were appetizing and intriguing, like displays of candy in the window of a specialty chocolatier.
There were plenty of candy shops Seokjin would never make it to, though. Between their schedules and living with the rest of the group, they barely had any time to themselves to begin with. It was easier and more fun to maintain a philosophical attitude about both their burgeoning sexual explorations and Yoongi's nipples: Seokjin wasn't lying in wait for an opportunity so much as keeping himself open to all possibilities.
(Sometimes it was Seokjin who wasn't feeling it, anyway: it satisfied a different kind of itch to watch movies with Yoongi until they both fell asleep.)
When they did have the time and mutual interest, Seokjin avoided Yoongi's nipples with care and strict dedication. He liked to get Yoongi worked up, and he'd been slowly trying different ways. "What are you even trying to do?" Yoongi asked one night when Seokjin just wouldn't let him do anything but sit there and kiss him back.
Yoongi's voice was breathy and hushed, and Seokjin was having fun. "I'm trying to get you hot and bothered, c'mon, Min Genius."
"You always bother me," he griped, but then his eyes darted away, his brow wrinkling. He swallowed. "If you really want to do it right, though, you'll--you can--" he reached down to Seokin's wrist and directed Seokjin's hand to his chest, swallowing again and letting go.
"Oh yeah?" Seokjin rubbed his fingertips against Yoongi's nipples, gently at first, watching as Yoongi breathed, caught his breath, and shivered the smallest bit when Seokjin pinched. "Well all right, Min Genius." Seokjin could work with this.
"Just kiss me again already, hyung, c'mon," Yoongi complained.
They experimented a lot after that, before looking at any catalogs. First it was just Jin's hands and mouth, in various combinations; that was always good time, but Jin didn't always have enough hands to do everything he wanted, if more than just playing with Yoongi's nipples was on the table. (Sometimes that was all he wanted to do but variety was the spice of life.) His mouth was talented but also an important pleasure point; it wouldn't do to be getting fussy with it when he was trying to rile Yoongi up or eat him out or whatever.
They tried out the clips they used in the kitchen on the rare half-eaten bag of potato chips, but they were too strong, and anyway now Yoongi made sure all the snacks get eaten first so he didn't have to get the clips to begin with. ("You don't want me to have war flashbacks, do you, hyung?" he said, deadpan, pushing a mostly empty thing of gummy candy into Taehyung's hands when he came into the kitchen. Seokjin had scoffed and teased him but let him do what he liked.)
Clothespins actually worked great, at first! But they had a tendency to go out alignment in unwanted ways, and Jungkook started noticing them going missing when he was doing the laundry. They both agreed they were not ready to have the sex talk with Jungkookie.
So in some ways online shopping was a forgone conclusion.
If Seokjin could bring himself to be as indiscreet as Yoongi, he would have taken out his camera and documented even just a few specific moments, like the vulnerable, open-mouthed expression on Yoongi's face, after Jin had warmed him up by pinching and sucking on his chest, first soft and then harder--only to stop and let him breathe and whine by himself for a moment.
Or maybe he'd get Yoongi's hands clawed into the sheets when Seokjin told him, mock-sternly and entirely into it, that they had to stay where they were. "Tonight is for a very specific experiment, Yoongi. We don't want to contaminate the data."
("Fuck youuu," Yoongi said, and then gasped when Seokjin released one of the clamps. Yoongi made an even better noise when Seokjin attached it again.)
And, damn, if Seokjin could have just one photo, it be of that moment right before Seokjin pulled the chain taut and Yoongi realized what he was gonna do, anticipation and steeling himself.
"Are you having fun, Yoongichii?" Seokjin asked, voice low. He was sitting over Yoongi's hips. He was pretty sure Yoongi was still into this. (The links of the chain felt on his hand like the necklaces they used to wear--another context shift.)
"Oh fuck--yes, c'mon--" Yoongi said, but he was laughing, his shoulders relaxing into the bed sheets.
That's when Seokjin pulled on the chain and made a perfect V. Yoongi made the most perfect whine, eyes squeezed shut and mouth so pink.
But even having polaroids tucked away would be too dangerous. Seokjin would just want to look at them all the time. He'd want to set one as his lockscreen, and how would he explain that to the kids, let alone his mother?
He contented himself with packing the clamps away and relaxing back on the bed. Yoongi was still sprawled out on his back, holding Seokjin's phone over his head. His nipples looked like they had been--involved in the evening's activities. The skin around them looked pink, too, turning purple in some places--Yoongi reacted so nicely to pinches.
Seokjin ruffled Yoongi's hair, and petted it absently when Yoongi let him get away with it. "What are you doing with my phone?"
"Nothing," Yoongi said, but he showed him the screen. It was the dick-joke store again. It definitely looked promising.
"Just don't get anything delivered to your studio again, okay? I thought I was going to have a heart attack."
"Okay, okay, whatever you say," Yoongi said, and added the item to the cart.