Chapter Text
Yoongi stretches out on the padded cushion in his breakfast nook with his leather-bound notebook open and balanced atop of his knees. He sticks his tongue out in focus as he hastily scribbles the final stanza on the page. He recites his poem aloud, pleased with the rhythm and flow of the piece.
With a contented sigh, he glances across the room at a large canvas leaned against the wall, blank and untouched. Its bright surface reflects the afternoon sunlight that filters through the sheer white curtains, illuminating the kitchen with a tranquil glow.
That’s his next text task for the day. His best friend Namjoon commissioned a piece from him, giving him creative freedom to do whatever he pleases. He only has one request: dark blue paint. Yoongi wants to begin work on it soon, but he craves a short break after working on his poetry.
A brisk breeze flows through the cracked window and tickles the side of Yoongi’s neck and floats across his bare legs. He closes his notebook, laying it on the bench beside his feet while he pulls his knees to his chest. He props his chin in his palm as he turns to peer outside. Yoongi’s gaze follows a butterfly, fluttering around in a flowerbed of pansies and tulips in his neighbor’s front lawn. A chickadee playfully flaps around a birdbath until a precipitous beep from the street startles it away into dusty blue skies.
Yoongi turns his attention to the figure in his periphery that approaches the home next door. His breath stutters and catches in his throat. It's his neighbor. The tips of his ears burn while he watches the man strut along the stony walkway with a bag over his shoulder.
Yoongi doesn’t even know his name, and it’s only been two months since he moved in. In spite of that short period of time, Yoongi finds himself captivated already.
The man has brown hair, sweet like caramel when the light hits it at the right angle. A lithe body with sun kissed skin that frequently invades Yoongi’s thoughts. Thoughts that always spiral into obscene sexual fantasies.
Yoongi feigns nonchalance as their eyes meet through the glass. The man grins and waves, and Yoongi does all the same. However, as the man’s gaze lingers, his smile fades and his expression twists into one of awe.
Yoongi’s brow furrows, confused until he remembers that he’s nude from the waist down. His sweater may be large, but he’s predominantly on display.
Mmmm, how fun.
Yoongi looks down at his legs with a playful smirk, drifting a careful finger along the smooth skin of his knee, then moves higher to his thigh. He lifts his head again to peer at the man, biting his lip while sending him a cheeky wink.
The man gapes at him, unfortunately too preoccupied to watch his feet as he trips up the stairs and crashes against the front door face first. He straightens a moment later and embarrassedly fixes his hair, sending a wobbly smile his way. Yoongi lifts a hand to his lips to stifle a chuckle as he watches him fumble with his keys, clumsily dropping them to the welcome mat twice in his scramble to get the door unlocked.
“Like what you see, huh?” Yoongi whispers to himself.
With a coy smile, Yoongi stands from the bench and peers through the windows of his neighbor’s home when he finally gets his front door open and makes his way inside.
So ensues his daily fascination—or rather—his obsession.
Yoongi follows, parallel to the man inside his own home as he moves into the living area. Yoongi studies him as he drops his duffle bag beside the couch, then walks into the kitchen. He pulls a bottled water from the fridge, takes several deep gulps, then places it back inside.
To his knowledge, the man has never noticed him watching. Yoongi’s hoping that pays off one day. Maybe he’ll bring someone home and fuck them on the sofa so he can watch him unravel a partner. Yoongi longs to picture himself in their place. He wants to see just how well those hips move, and considering he’s seen him dancing in his living area before, he's confident that the man is a great lay.
Candidly, Yoongi has always been a people watcher, an observer. But this is far different; watching a stranger in their home, unaware and unsuspecting. It ignites something downright foul inside of him. He knows it’s wrong, of course, but he can’t help himself. It’s like a drug, and he’s helplessly addicted.
Yoongi's cock swells and twitches when he sees the man pull his shirt off, just before he makes his way into the obscurity of the hallway.
Oh yes, Yoongi knows exactly where he’s going, because he does this quite often. Yoongi scurries to his den and kneels on a folded blanket to peek through the blinds. The man enters his bathroom and Yoongi curses whoever built the home next door, choosing a window so goddamn small. Yoongi can only see him from the hips up, but that’s fine because his shower is made of glass and the man’s shirtless torso is more than enough to make him burn white hot. The context helps as well.
Water sprays from the shower head, dampening his hair and cascading down his body in fast rivulets. Yoongi wishes that water was his hands, dancing and feeling along the sharp lines of his arms and abdomen. Yoongi lifts his sweater and untucks his cock from the tightening confines of his underwear. He quickly reaches over and pulls open a drawer in a small side table just beside him, fishing out a bottle of lube that he keeps stashed inside for this exact purpose.
He’s lost track of how many times he’s watched his neighbor shower like this. The first time it occurred, it was purely happenstance. Almost two months prior, Yoongi was doing some spring cleaning. Wiping the windows with a rag when he spotted him undressing in the bathroom. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t look away.
That’s also when this infatuation began. Now here he is, kneeling on the floor with two fingers holding the blinds open while he watches his neighbor squirt body wash over a mint green loofah.
Yoongi strokes himself and pants, fucking into his fist with small whines and whimpers. It's pathetic, and he loves how deplorable and humiliating this scene is. How dreadfully wrong he is. His arousal is far more important than any moral compass he's been trained to follow.
Yoongi holds his breath when the man glides the soapy loofah across his chest and shoulders, then lower.
Lower.
Fuck yeah, go lower.
The man looks down while he moves his hands beyond Yoongi’s line of sight; right where he wants to know what his neighbor is packing. Yoongi whimpers, because it’s almost like he’s teasing him. He knows what’s down there, he just can’t fucking see it.
The man steps back under the stream of water and the soap suds rinse away. He drops his head back to dampen his hair once more. The motion gives Yoongi an outstanding view of his neck and jawline. His side profile is soft and sharp all at once. Beautiful, overwhelmingly so.
The man stays like that for a while. Head back, mouth hanging open.
Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, but that’s when he notices the way his arm is moving, quick and jittery. Yoongi can’t see his hand, but god, he absolutely knows what he’s doing.
He’s masturbating.
“Oh, fuck,” Yoongi whines. He rises on his knees, as if elevating a few extra inches will give him a better vantage point. It doesn't. He still can't see any lower than the sharp line of muscle that leads exactly where he can't fucking see.
He considers standing, but he's tried that before as well, to no avail. So Yoongi stays exactly where he is.
His legs wouldn't support him anyway, because the man looks down to watch as he pumps his cock under the water, his brow furrowing as he bites his lip. Yoongi feels fine not seeing his hand on his cock, because the look on his face is filthy all on its own.
Dammit, the way he holds his lip in his teeth... Sharp, perfect teeth.
The man curses, Yoongi reads his lips: 'Fuck.'
That's when Yoongi actually needs to see how he does it. He needs to know: does he touch his cock like Yoongi does? Fast and desperate? Or does it take it slow? Does he swirl his thumb around the head, tease his fingers at the slit? Does he use both hands to fondle his balls and stroke at the same time?
Yoongi speeds up his own movements and leans closer to the blinds. He’s never seen the man touch himself before, and although he truly can't see—goddammit—knowing that he's currently doing just that, Yoongi finds that he doesn't necessarily need the details. Those can come later. He'll just have to watch him more intently from now on.
It’s then that Yoongi remembers what happened minutes prior to now. When the man had been looking at him in his breakfast nook.
Is that why he’s aroused? Did Yoongi get him worked up like this? A cute little display of legs is enough to get him hard?
God, please let that be true.
A nagging desperation takes over and Yoongi tugs the string of the blinds, tired of holding the slats open. With his only concealment now gone, all the man needs to do is turn his head and he’ll see him. Part of Yoongi hopes that he does; hopes he turns to see how good he’s making himself feel while watching him do the same.
No, not part of him. All of him. He aches for him to look. He wants eye contact. Needs.
Yoongi watches the man’s free hand slide up his chest to pinch and twist his nipples, and Yoongi mimics him, rolling hardened nubs between the pads of his shaking fingers. A sharp pang of arousal splits down his spine, straight to the pooling warmth in his groin.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Yoongi whispers, words directed at the man next door. He does it often, talking as if they’re in the same room together. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
Yoongi is almost convinced he somehow heard him, because moments later, the man’s arm moves faster, urgent. He shifts on his feet and curls forward, abs flexing, then his entire body jolts, mouth open wide.
Oh.
Oh, shit, he’s climaxing.
Yoongi isn’t far behind, because with a loud whimper, he’s dripping wet evidence of his own bliss in his palm. His legs tremble, and he struggles to hold himself upright as he rides the wave of his orgasm, heavy eyes trained on the man as he looks back down at his cock in his hand, chest heaving just like Yoongi's.
Yoongi swears their eyes lock through the windows just before he drops the blinds again, but he convinces himself that he must be seeing things in post haze.