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Morning slips under Yoongi’s eyelids in one grayish blink: the sharp switch from sleep to closed eyes.
The second stage of waking is a long, deep inhale, made longer and a bit squeaky by Yoongi’s mushed-shut right nostril. He shifts, warm pillowcase rasping over his cheek. Long breath take two, nose unobstructed, notices the absence of morning coffee scent.
He slept over at Taehyung’s apartment, which is bare of bitter drinks, except for Yoongi’s small stash of grounds; in place of a machine with a timer, Taehyung keeps a pour-over carafe on the counter for him, because the glass looks nice. Taehyung looks nice using it, always making a show out of being a good host. Kettle steam blooming over his face, from Yoongi’s vantage point across the kitchen island; dark-roast scent and Taehyung’s clean smile, passing him a hot mug with a lingering touch.
It’s humid between Yoongi’s thighs, still, slick as he slowly unfolds: legs stretched long, pointed toes, all bare under the sheets. Taehyung’s blunt knees press neatly into the backs of Yoongi’s thighs, Taehyung’s breath stirs the hairs at Yoongi’s nape, Taehyung warms the bed.
“Awake?” Taehyung warms Yoongi’s skin, his gut, his cunt. A neat, dry palm slides over Yoongi’s hipbone.
“Mmh,” Yoongi says. His answer is to make himself easy to move, hips tugged back so the velvet-steel insistence of Taehyung’s erection meets his ass. It leaves a warm little kiss of pre on his skin, one smeared raindrop in contrast to the messy gloss between Yoongi’s legs.
“Again?” he half-jokes, but it doesn’t sound enough like a question. Yoongi’s voice doesn’t work well in the morning. It doesn’t need to.
“Again,” Taehyung agrees, honeyed and prideful. Yoongi can hear the soft click of saliva in Taehyung’s mouth; it prickles hotly along the underside of Yoongi’s dick, zinging from its tip to his hole and back again, glittery. “Can I fuck you again?”
Yoongi evaluates. He’s tired, sticky at the edges of his consciousness, unsure how much time passes between movements. The corner of his mouth drags slick against the pillowcase: he’s drooling, and doesn’t care enough. But they’ve got time, and he’s still wet, and Taehyung wants.
Yoongi’s dick is crushed hot between his thighs and it pulses, when he squeezes them together harder, so he squeezes harder. He knows Taehyung can tell, by the low grunt carried on Yoongi’s sigh, still breathing long and slow like mid-waking.
“T’yeong-ah,” he says, “yeah, fuck me.”
The tiredness is more pervasive than Yoongi thought. His hips are awake, and nothing else; Taehyung expected to fuck on their sides, but Yoongi can’t hold his leg up, and doesn’t want to be jostled.
“Just, c’mere,” Yoongi says, turning onto his belly, legs open. He crosses his arms under his pillow, fluffing it up against his cheek and melting comfortably into the mattress. He manages a lazy wiggle of his ass, with a slick, inviting noise coming from his slightly parted cunt, and Taehyung gladly climbs on top.
Taehyung’s cockhead rubs lushly through the wetness pooling in Yoongi’s folds, nudging low enough to frot their dicks together. Yoongi’s back arches, or maybe it’s that he nuzzles deeper into his pillow; it feels good, having his little cock squished between his body and Taehyung’s thick shaft. Wet pressure, the warmth of Taehyung’s skin, knowing he’s about to get fucked. Fucked again, when his cunt still feels plumped-up and messy from last night.
A wavering groan drools out of Yoongi’s mouth, muffled by the pillow. The bed is too soft, makes it hard to lift himself up very high, their dicks smearing on the sheets. Taehyung’s sleek, long cock drags firmly against the whole span of Yoongi’s cunt, mussing his folds; Taehyung’s mouth thrills the skin of Yoongi’s shoulders, kisses and hot breaths all over.
Yoongi’s nose is squished half shut again. His lips skew to the side in a messy pout. One or two hitched breaths sound like snores, and maybe they are. The morning is a darker gray on his eyelids with his pillow blocking half the light, and he’s left drifting, someplace where the only real thing is the oozing heat between his legs.
“More,” Yoongi mumbles.
Taehyung starts giggling, his body slung low between his braced elbows and knees. Yoongi moans softly, at the comfort of Taehyung’s chest against his back and cock between his thighs, the familiarity.
“Weighted blanket,” he tries to say, but it’s just noises.
“Are you even really awake?” Taehyung asks. Yoongi knows the shape of that fond grin against the back of his neck. “Maybe I should stop?”
“No!” Yoongi fusses, snapping to alertness for just a moment. “Nooo, no, c’mon, fuck me?”
Embarrassment burns down his spine at the outburst, then washes away on the next slow exhale. Neediness isn’t his style, but he needs it. Yoongi wants to come even more than he wants to sleep, and that’s all that matters. He snaps his thighs shut around Taehyung’s cock, crushing it against his cunt.
“Put it in,” Yoongi demands into the pillowcase, interrupting Taehyung’s breathy moan. His drool is cold against his cheek. The pressure of sleep feels like he’s crushed small and also soaring, and his dick is so hard. “Put it in. Taehyung-ah, put it in.”
Taehyung puts it in.
Taehyung’s cock splits him open, thumb-in-fruit firm and relentless, bottoming out smoothly. Yoongi feels pinned through the gut, hips rolling helplessly to feel it more, more, grinding as deep as it can go.
“So good,” Taehyung pants into Yoongi’s neck. He licks, dragging up to Yoongi’s jaw, tongue flicking at the corner of it, deliberate. Yoongi knows he’s thinking of sucking Yoongi off, again, as usual, as always.
Last night (a few hours ago), Yoongi stumbled back from a hasty cleanup in the bathroom, a responsible piss, and kneed up on the edge of the bed to climb over Taehyung, to get to his side. Taehyung stopped him with hands on his hips and pleading eyes; he scooted down, fat tongue cradling the shiny heft of Yoongi’s dick. Intent on cleaning him up just to make him drip again, still sensitive in his sleep, ready to be fucked again; Yoongi let him.
And it’s vivid, in Yoongi’s half dream: the wet smeared on his thighs, then and now, is Taehyung’s drool. Taehyung’s cock slicking into him is vivid, too, but the logistics don’t matter. The one problem is that the way the fuck grinds Yoongi’s cock into the sheets doesn’t feel enough like tongue, so he wedges a hand down under his body, the pads of his fingers crooked flush with the underside of his dick, sliding messily from its tip to his stretched rim.
Yoongi’s pillow, now on an unstable foundation of just one arm, tilts and folds and hugs close to more of his face. His breath bounces back on him, fanning over his cheeks like hot steam, and fails to nourish his lungs in the span of his short snore-gasps. Taehyung has him so caged in, knees bracketing Yoongi’s thighs, heavy on his back, thick inside him. Sweat sheens all over Yoongi’s body and he pictures it light blue like refreshment, blue flame like fucking in the dark, cobalt blue like sleep.
Whines go stumbling out of Yoongi’s chest, when the wet grind of his cock against his hand and Taehyung’s hips striking his ass and his lungs tugging at the air all go slipshod out of sync— all of it is stupid messy to begin with, humping and trembling and drowning in the sheets, the ridiculousness of fucking when he’s barely awake. His fingers slip and spread, knuckles bracketing the width of Taehyung’s cock as it plunges into his cunt.
It’s that— Taehyung’s cock beats into him so right, sugar-syrup at the slit of his cunt and stretching him out inside, shoving straight down into his spot every single time. It sends Yoongi’s nerves haywire: the shockwave adrenaline of it on each stroke, pulsing down his weak thighs. Half his energy is wasted by his feet kicking aimlessly, tangled in the blankets, too hot too cold, his knees trying to brace him at the perfect angle and immediately giving out because it’s too good. Tension down his pinned arm going numb, dick squeezed between his clumsy fingers, quivering. The punishment for wanting sex more than sleep is that he’s too much of a helpless ragdoll to get himself off.
“Wanna come,” Yoongi whimpers uselessly. The thick down filling of the pillow swallows it up, makes the air too hot to breathe. The fabric is invading his mouth; he thinks about tongues again, riding Taehyung’s face— remembers he’s pinned facedown, getting fucked instead— which is good, fucked good— Yoongi bites down, hard.
The pressure in his jaw makes his dick throb: something primal, hips shoving helplessly like he wants to fuck a hole in the bed. Taehyung’s cock pins him flush to the ground, and it makes Yoongi so hard he starts digging.
“Please,” he spits. “Please?”
Taehyung’s hand squeezes the back of Yoongi’s neck, fingers sliding into the damp roots of his hair.
“Wanna hear you, baby,” Taehyung huffs, “can’t hear you like that.” There’s a whining edge to his breaths, like Yoongi’s cunt has him on a short leash, so good it almost hurts.
The feeling is mutual. This cock belongs to Yoongi, it belongs inside him, his favorite pastime, time isn’t real here in the hot dark crush of sleep and Taehyung’s body so it’s fine for this cock to be the rest of his fucking life.
Taehyung tips Yoongi’s head further to the side, thumb firm and soothing on the perpetually tense muscle running from his neck up behind his ear. Yoongi’s shiver wobbles down his spine, cunt sucking gratefully on Taehyung wedged inside him. Shivers, again, when air chill hits his wet mouth. Mid-moan, it makes for a stuttering grunt, the last of his breath punching out of him, and the next inhale is—
Colder, cleaner, whistling breezily around the pillowcase trapped between his teeth. Cold shock to the steam-fog in his brain from all the hot, drooling pants he’d breathed back in, self-perpetuating sleepiness— Yoongi gasps, loud and rough like waking once again—
“I couldn’t breathe,” he says stupidly. He blinks, blinks again, and again. Funny how sleep feels less heavy on his skull if he breathes, though still not entirely weightless. The pillowcase slips out from Yoongi’s teeth, clinging to his bottom lip, tongue dried out and clumsy in his crooked mouth. “Said I wanna come.”
A single fond, nervous ha puffs out of Taehyung’s mouth. “You’re okay, right?” His thrusts slow, nearly stop, and Yoongi can’t have that.
“Fuck me, keep fuckin’ me,” Yoongi pleads, hips rolling. “I’m fine, did it to myself, tired— it’s fine, c’mon—”
Taehyung giggles, rocks to meet him. “Hyung is cute. Wanting it more than air.”
Yoongi nods sloppily, melting back into the pillow, half-smothered again by his pliant body. Taehyung’s hand tightens on the back of his head, holding him in place by his hair, safely by the roots. It glitters in his scalp, another messy gasp caught in his chest.
“I want you to be safe,” Taehyung chides.
Yoongi’s cunt is too wet. Strings between his fingers, sweat and slick all over the sheets, not enough friction for his aching dick. Taehyung’s fist in his hair makes him pulse desperately, heartbeat kicked to overdrive.
“I just wanna come,” he scowls. “Please? Help?”
“I’m helping,” Taehyung promises. He tugs Yoongi’s hair again, demonstratively, with a delighted little groan when it nets him a vicious cunt-squeeze, a more determined shove of Yoongi’s hips.
“Please.” Yoongi’s pruned fingertips smack clumsily into the underside of his dick on a mistimed grind, and it shocks through him, like something tangy. He does it again, harder, spanks his cunt over and over. “Please, please.”
“Shameless, hyung,” Taehyung teases, but it’s strained. Yoongi knows he’s not the only one drooling.
“You woke me up for this, so finish the job.” Smack, smack, smack. Yoongi’s dick against his palm, Taehyung’s dick crammed up inside him. Mine. “Be good and make hyung come. Make me coffee. Suck me off. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” His voice cracks a little, Taehyung’s cockhead kneading just right inside.
“Okay,” Taehyung pants, meek and attentive the way good boy always makes him, his free hand scrunching up tight in the rumpled sheets. Yoongi’s sleep-dazed eyes won’t stay open or focus, but he knows Taehyung’s expression by heart: the world’s sweetest determined snarl, tongue soft in his open mouth, an overwhelmed crease in his brow. “Gonna make you come.”
His fist in Yoongi’s hair grips meaner: sugarcube sweet, all coarse and sparkly, Yoongi’s head pinned to the side so he can’t smother himself anymore, so Taehyung can lean down close and grind into him and drop messy kisses all over Yoongi’s cheek, jaw, pouting lips, closed eyes. Sweet comfort, the pain pulling him adrift in a new way, fucked stupid and held down, dazed, perfect.
“You feel so good, you know that?” Taehyung’s breaths are sharp punctuation, like he’s fucking the air out of his own lungs. “I can’t get enough, wanna— just be touching you all the time, let me make you feel good—”
Taehyung’s mouth always takes off running when he gets close. Some petty, bratty part of Yoongi decides to come out and play: “You better not fucking come first,” he says, some impact lost in the slurred syllables. He shoves his hips back against Taehyung’s, counterproductively, still petulantly stuck on the thought of mineminemine.
“Hyung,” Taehyung wheezes, and Yoongi can picture his eyes wide like a wounded fawn. Dutifully, his cock slips all the way out of Yoongi’s cunt, bouncing clumsily between his thighs. Fat and wet and going to waste, nestled in the chubby crease between Yoongi’s cunt and right thigh while Taehyung whimpers frustration into his nape.
Slick drools out of Yoongi’s hole, hot excess dripping down to coat his already-glossy fingers. His cunt clutches at empty air, all loosened up and lonely, jealous of how Taehyung’s cock nudges bluntly against Yoongi’s fingers, the head kissing wet on his palm. Getting in the fucking way. Yoongi swats at it, trying to love-tap the both of their dicks with one tired hand.
Taehyung yelps, not unpleased. “Okay,” he chants under his breath, “okay, okay.” His hand untwists from Yoongi’s hair, the little ponytail-handle he’d gathered up, and pets down Yoongi’s spine, as he shimmies down the bed on his knees. Two big hands on Yoongi’s hips, hauling him up on his knees— lifting him entirely off the bed, fuck, by just a bit to arrange him properly, braced and steady.
Taehyung’s thumbs spread open Yoongi’s cunt so he can bury his face in it. Thick tongue shoved inside like an apology, and Yoongi only barely holds back from fucking himself on it, the curve of his back dipped low. It’s a simmering feeling, steam-breath billowing over his hot slit and fanning out to his inner thighs, little tremors all down his legs. Taehyung’s chin nudges Yoongi’s fingers out of the way; he replaces them with lush kisses, full lips rubbing down the underside of Yoongi’s cock, wet little smacks turning into a firm suck. Yoongi clutches his pillow, both hands, groaning into it low and rough to vent the bubbling pressure inside him.
Little grunts huff out of Taehyung’s nose, teasing against Yoongi’s hole (his cum smudged over the little beauty mark there, how sweet, how kissable), and he knows Taehyung’s cock is trapped down between his thighs, too needy to be left alone, placated by little flexes of the long muscles there, soft inner-thigh skin, dutifully hanging on the edge while he sucks Yoongi off.
Messy, loud, it’d be humiliating without the haze of sleep and blue dawn light over them, without a way for Yoongi to hide his flushed face. The tight seal of Taehyung’s lips around his cock breaking with an insistent slurp, clicky wetness when Taehyung laps up the slick pouring out of his cunt, tonguefucking him, back to sucking. Yoongi’s breath comes in little grunting pants, smothering himself again from overwhelm: the hot, dark privacy of the pillow balances with his ass in the air, spread open and shameless, being eaten alive.
Taehyung’s tongue flicks just right over Yoongi’s cockhead, bright like— video game coin noises, loud compressed audio playback in Yoongi’s mushy brain. His thighs jolt, and Taehyung does it again, over and over until his legs are quaking.
“Baby,” Yoongi whimpers, safely muffled in his pillow. He breathes it back in, desperation rolling on his tongue alongside all the drool. “Baby, honey, oh shit.”
Everything below his waist feels scalded, helpless and pleasure-hot down to the soles of his feet, kicking helplessly. Like a tantrum, overwhelmed and offended by his own enjoyment, the way it seizes control of him. Always spitting pet names like frazzled complaints, when he gets close, shit, he’s close. Lucky that Taehyung loves Yoongi’s bossiness, sweet and obedient even when he gets edged— like now, thick cock politely put away between his legs until Yoongi asks for it again, probably drooling precum down the soft backs of his thighs, since he was so close—
“Baby. Oh, fuck.” A bit of fresh air slips in, burning Yoongi’s nose. Something about the discomfort gets him off, the exhausted clumsiness in his limbs, straining for thin, cotton-filtered breaths. Taehyung was right, Yoongi wants it more than air: putting in work to pretend like he’s still asleep and doesn’t have to do any work, suffocating himself so he can play pliable and get fucked into the bed just right, because he’s a spoiled brat that owns Taehyung’s pretty cock, pretty mouth.
Yoongi can’t help rocking his hips back, clutching his pillow so hard it aches. Taehyung squeezes up big palmfuls of his ass, holds him down firmly. “Sweetheart, right there,” Yoongi begs. Taehyung hasn’t let up on his little pseudo-frenulum at all. “Yeah, s’right there, Tae’ng-jagi, fuck, fuck—”
Yoongi’s coming, delirious, overwhelmed. Snapped power lines tumbling down to scatter a mess of sparks, all his rough cries, shuddering movements. Stale pillow taste in his hungry mouth, sweaty hair plastered to his glowing-hot face, strain in his tightly-curled toes, all under that shower of bright lights. It’s so good.
His dick pulses between Taehyung’s lips, throb throb throb in time with his empty, clenching cunt, imagining the load he’d like to shoot into Taehyung’s hot mouth. Taehyung goes mm, mmm around him, like he’s thinking about it too and wants to swallow it. Wants to drink Yoongi down like a little treat first thing in the morning, that’s what he’s done, indulging in Yoongi’s cunt as his first conscious desire, this body as Taehyung’s favorite body. Melted into Taehyung’s bed, knees starting to give out. Head spinning end-over-end, loopy and uneven, tripping into another long blink.
“Can I? Please?” Taehyung pets restlessly over Yoongi’s back, flanks, ass, firm and groping strokes like trying to knead him flat. His cock bobs up from between his thighs, kissing sweetly at the trail of hair down to Yoongi’s cock.
“Mm,” Yoongi says helpfully. Legs spread, tilting his hips up to offer. He’s all squeezed-up and hot inside, aftershock twitches still working him over, and Taehyung deserves to feel it, Yoongi doesn’t stop craving him.
There’s some shuffling, bed-creaking, Yoongi being manhandled, letting it happen: sleepy again, still. There’s Taehyung’s plump cock squeezing back inside him, pushing a shameless satisfied moan from Yoongi’s chest. Pumping, every nerve inside his cunt hot and soothed. Taehyung’s warm hand on his hip, cheek on his shoulder, body holding him down in the clouds that make the bed.
“S’good,” Yoongi sighs, mouth loose and sweet now, soft noises falling out. He’s sensitive, split open for Taehyung to fit into, all the way, easy, sated by the thump of Taehyung’s balls against the underside of his spent cock. It’s good, even if he can’t come again, it’s enough, the hot, lazy comedown he needs.
“Yeah? Good?” Taehyung’s hips tremble like he might come just from that lazy praise, all pent up, humping into Yoongi’s cunt like it’s all he knows how to do. “Fuck, hyung, really like you like this.”
Yoongi doesn’t realize how delayed his answer is until he hears himself snore. “M’awake,” he insists. “I like you too, I like you, fucked me so good. Mmh, good morning, baby, do you wanna come?”
Taehyung’s laugh— what’s funny?— turns into something hiccuping and low, dark bitter chocolate, hitching on rough breaths and his teeth pressed blunt to Yoongi’s shoulder. Cock crammed up tight inside, gone still, aching.
“You’re coming? I made you come?” Pride settles warmly into all of Yoongi’s bones, simple and gleaming, pale buttery sunlight on his closed eyes.
Taehyung nods, huffs out deep little moans, painting Yoongi wetter and wetter. Hot hot, their legs tangled up, hearts pounding.
“Thank you,” Yoongi says between little half-snores, indulgent ruts of his dick against the sheets, squirming under the cock inside him, “for doing so— For doing me well, every time, you know?”
Taehyung keeps giggling. “Thank you for letting me, hyung.”
Taehyung’s cum slides out of him in a hot little rush, white blooming on his surface; Yoongi manages not to say something like “pussy latte art,” in case Taehyung won’t want to think about cream.
“You’re my sweet thing,” Yoongi sighs, after some unknown intermission. “Want you within reach.”
“I’ve got you.”
One more long exhale passes, or ten, comfortable silence with Taehyung kissing his neck. It isn’t too lonely, when Taehyung slips away; Yoongi expects it, and can still hear him. Little creaks of floorboards and door hinges, Taehyung’s hands reappearing to spread Yoongi’s thighs and gently pet him with a hot, wet cloth. Familiarity is a sixth sense, this loving tether between them.
The color behind Yoongi’s eyelids is warmer, when he next wakes with that long rasp of air. Close to golden, now, clear-sky sun and the red warmth of skin, coffee scent drawn in so deep he tastes it on the back of his throat.
Footsteps, a cool shadow slanting over Yoongi’s face.
Blink-blink. There’s Taehyung, thick messy hair and loose baby-blue shirt, buttoned wrong, there’s Taehyung leant down to quietly set a mug on the nightstand. Yoongi’s hand slips out from the sheet drawn over him (ah, when was that?) in a mindless need to touch: Taehyung’s thighs long and bare, tan skin endless up to little white briefs, the crooked tails of his shirt split open over them, so cute.
Taehyung catches Yoongi’s hand, twines their fingers together. Backlit by the window, the sun curls its fingers around his soft edges: his waist outlined though the thin shirt, the curve of his throat, the happy rise of his cheeks. Rays catching in Taehyung’s lashes and turning his eyes liquid-clear, coffee poured fresh from that pretty pour-over glass, made for Yoongi to love.
Yoongi breathes out all his renewed longing, slow, settled comfortably on a fresh pillow.
“Good morning,” Taehyung says softly, his smile curled up shy, most of it found in the shape of his eyes. “If you’re ready.”
“I missed you,” Yoongi tells him.
“While you were asleep?”
“Just a little.”
“Good,” Taehyung says. He leans down for a kiss. “I always do, too.”