Chapter Text
At 3 a.m. or somewhere there, Namjoon, drunk out of his mind and wearing pitch-black sunglasses in his own home, was dared by his friends to call a random number in his contact list. Of course, they get to pick the person without Namjoon seeing, of course it was to say something dumb. What a silly game. Namjoon wondered if this was even a game that people played? Or something made up by his hyungs to pick on their beloved maknae? Intoxicated Namjoon couldn’t be bothered by the answer. He was as malleable as a piece of string. He wobbled in his seat, caught himself, grinned, and mumbled out a slurred sure, whatever.
The instructions were simple: 1. His hyungs would pick a name out of Namjoon’s contact list (avoiding relatives and seniors at work), 2. Namjoon would say the following words informally before, 3. Hanging up immediately.
It was all lighthearted, drunken fun. What could go wrong?
A minute later, after Namjoon’s hyungs had picked a contact, they placed his phone face down on the table. There was a faint mechanical ringing as everyone waited with grins on their faces. They opted out of loudspeaker for an added veil of mystery. While waiting, Namjoon flipped his sunglasses on and off his face to each phone ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Hello?” A voice through the phone. It was so faint. Namjoon couldn’t make it out. Male definitely.
Without looking, Namjoon picked his phone up from the table and said his lines into the receiver: “Where are you?” as direct and as informal as it got. “What are you doing?” There was a muffled response, barely there. Namjoon spoke over him. “Come over.”
Namjoon hung up.
The group burst out in chuckles and lighthearted expletives. His closest hyung patted him on the back. On the table, Namjoon’s phone buzzed with texts, ignored as the group moved on to the sofa and consumed more liquor. This was way more than Namjoon would normally drink, but at this stage of the night, he no longer cared. He was home anyway. He could simply pass out on his couch and his hyungs could leave whenever they wanted. No mess, no trouble.
An hour later (maybe? It was difficult to tell), the music was lowered to a soft mumble, his friends were booking cabs on their phones and putting on their coats. Empty plates and glasses with melting ice were strewn on every surface—but that was tomorrow’s problem.
And Namjoon, still wearing his sunglasses and slurring goodbyes, was sprawled on his couch almost ready to pass out when… a knock on the door.
Namjoon’s first thought was: it was his neighbour with a noise complaint. Well, whatever. The party was over anyway. His second thought was: where were his friends’ cabs? Had they arrived yet? Were they close? Could they just get out so he could sleep freely without being woken up by the front door opening and closing?
“Uh, Joon…” one of his friends voiced from the apartment unit’s entrance.
“Mm?” Namjoon hummed, eyes closed. There was a shuffling by the front door, a cough, and Namjoon opened his eyes for the first time.
Namjoon flipped his sunglasses up, letting it rest on the top of his head. The image in front of him summoned a third thought: what the hell was his ex-best friend’s little brother, Jeon Jungkook, doing in his apartment right now? Thought 3.5 was: wow, Jungkook had grown. Grown, grown.
“Jungkook-ssi, what are you doing here?” Namjoon asked, finally finding his voice.
Confused, Jungkook glanced around at the scene, at the strangers in Namjoon’s apartment. His shoes remained on.
Halfway out the door, Namjoon’s friends looked at the scene, at the two players back and forth as realisation seeped in. They shared twin devious looks before saying their goodbyes.
“Hyungs, wait—” Namjoon tried. Coats already on, they made their way to the door with grins on their faces.
“See ya later, Joon.”
Door slam. Silence.
The awkward air and being left alone with this boy—no, man—that he hadn’t seen in a long time sobered Namjoon up, the alcohol draining from his blood by the second.
“Uh, do you—” he started.
Jungkook offered him an apologetic smile, wringing his fingers. Eyes to the floor, he spoke through a rounded pout, “Namjoon-ssi, you called me, and I thought…” He spoke in a voice that folded inward. “Never mind. This is weird. I’ll go.” Jungkook quickly turned to leave.
“Wait,” Namjoon said without knowing why.
There was noticeable contemplation in Jungkook’s body language as he swayed in the tiny foyer. A moment later, he let go of the doorknob and turned to face Namjoon.
They didn’t speak. This was so awkward.
Jungkook broke the eye contact first. He scanned the room determinedly as Namjoon sat useless on his couch. Too out of it to say or do anything, but also wide awake as the adrenaline replaced the alcohol in his veins. The thrill of having a beautiful man in his apartment.
Namjoon saw Jungkook’s eyes light up at something, and he finally took his shoes off and walked into Namjoon’s space. Without a word, he swiped an opened soju bottle off the table and chugged it.
Namjoon watched him with widened eyes. He sat up, made a noise of dissent, but it was too late. Jungkook had already finished the bottle.
“What was that?” Namjoon asked, flabbergasted.
Jungkook wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I need,” he hiccuped. “I just need courage.”
“Courage for?”
Jungkook took a deep breath, clacked the bottle back down on the table. “Namjoon-ssi, I haven't heard from you in years.”
Namjoon thought for a moment. “That’s not true. I reply to your instagram stories.”
“Clicking on the heart is not a reply! It’s barely anything. It’s definitely not a conversation.” Jungkook had his fists balled at his sides.
“Would you have liked to have a conversation with me?” Namjoon asked flippantly. “Is that why you’re here?”
Jungkook’s ears reddened, eyebrows furrowing. “You called me,” he countered. “You asked me to come over.”
“Oh. That. Oh, it was you.”
“—at three in the morning. That only means one thing.”
“And you came. That means one thing as well,” Namjoon argued.
Caught, Jungkook looked furious. He swung around, his back to Namjoon, dove for another soju bottle, and chugged it halfway.
This time, Namjoon stood up from the couch and walked three steps into the kitchenette. “Hey, stop that.”
Namjoon grabbed Jungkook’s wrist, the bottle disconnecting from his mouth. Soju splashed down Jungkook’s shirt. He slammed the empty bottle down on the table, whipped his wrist away from Namjoon’s grip. He looked so angry.
“Don’t touch me so suddenly like that!” Jungkook spat.
“Excuse me, Jungkook-ssi, have you forgotten that you’re in my house?”
“Excuse yourself,” Jungkook marched to the couch and plopped down. The speed of his alcohol consumption catching up to him fast.
If Namjoon needed instruction on informal speech before, he could’ve just gotten it from Jungkook because he was being rude as fuck right now.
Namjoon followed him to the couch, stood over him with his hands on his hips. They stared each other down just like earlier, but with the awkwardness replaced with hostility.
“Yah, since when were you this rude, huh?” Namjoon broke the silence. “I remember you were always polite to me, so shy around us back then. This might be the most words I’ve heard you speak in my life.”
Jungkook looked up at him from where he was seated. “I’m not nineteen anymore,” he mumbled.
Namjoon eyed him up and down. “Clearly.”
Jungkook kept his eyes on him, batted his eyelashes. The angle made Namjoon’s palms moisten. “What do you mean by that?” Jungkook asked, perking up.
“You know what,” Namjoon replied dismissively.
“Can you tell me?” Switching gears with a saccharine put-on.
Namjoon huffed. The gall of this kid. “You want me to spell it out?”
“Well, I went all the way here,” Jungkook reasoned.
“Don’t you guys live like five minutes away?” Namjoon mumbled.
“All the way here. If I’m getting nothing from you, can I at least have some compliments?”
Namjoon kept his eyes on Jungkook’s. One foot hard on the accelerator he said: “You look hot.” Delivered casually.
“Oing?” Jungkook piped up, more reminiscent of the Jungkook that Namjoon knew from back then. Not this new one. “That surprised me.”
Jungkook’s manner changed instantaneously, his eyes and mouth rounding in astonishment. He gathered his knees close to his chest, his white toesocks perched on the couch, peeking underneath. Namjoon observed his rapidly changing facial expressions and found shades of cuteness on all of them. He had always been so expressive.
Finally, Jungkook looked up. “So, if you think that, can I get what I came for?”
And the new Jungkook was back.
As the adrenaline equalised and Namjoon’s previous over-intoxication took over, he collapsed down on the couch beside Jungkook and scoffed, laughing to himself. “You’re so forward.”
Jungkook turned to him. “Well, I need to take my chances. There aren’t that many.”
“Hm?”
“Ever since your group excommunicated—”
“—excommunicated?” Namjoon mimed.
“—my older brother, what excuse could I have used to see you?”
Namjoon let his head fall backwards. “I don’t know.” He shut his eyes. “Anything. I would’ve gone.” Honesty he would later attribute to alcohol.
A suffocating silence.
When Jungkook didn’t respond, Namjoon opened his eyes to look at him. Jungkook had one knee up close to his chin, his gaze fixed on Namjoon’s lap. He was holding a soju bottle, of unknown origin, and an expression of bewilderment.
Jungkook looked so cute like this. Always did, Namjoon realised belatedly. It was at that moment that a switch flipped from reluctance to fuck it. Namjoon swiped the bottle from Jungkook’s grip and chugged it himself. He was the one who needed the courage now. The courage to break the barrier between almost-stranger and lover.
Namjoon leaned in, the alcohol dulling his ability to resist any further. Abandoning all pretence, he dove in.
Up close, Jungkook was even more gorgeous. Namjoon didn’t know why this hadn’t been clearer sooner. Face to face like this Namjoon could tell Jungkook was holding his breath. They were so close that he could see Jungkook’s baby hairs by his temple lift, so close that Jungkook’s quickening pulse seemed to infiltrate the stillness between them.
Namjoon’s gaze drooped down to his lips, then back up to his tea-saucer eyes. Outside, there was a distant patter of rain, and then a shock of lighting. But Namjoon didn’t notice. In here, the furniture could shake, the floor could open up, and Namjoon still would not notice.
A moment passed. Despite his apparent nervousness, it was Jungkook who broke the quiet first.
“Oh god. Come here,” Jungkook sighed out. He tugged at the front of Namjoon’s shirt, drawing him into a wet searing kiss.
Namjoon let himself be manoeuvred, be moulded, and mended. He felt a swipe of a tongue at his lips, and then a lick to the inside of his mouth. The heat of Jungkook’s breath warmed his cheeks whenever they parted. They kissed until Namjoon felt a weight on his lap, felt a hand cup the back of his neck, and, finally, adept fingers undoing his belt buckle. Jungkook never broke eye contact as he unzipped Namjoon’s pants.
The night’s constantly shifting power play yoyo-ing in Jungkook’s favour.
Namjoon was trapped helpless by Jungkook’s thighs on either side of him, by his weight on his lap, by the nibbling on his neck, and by the fact that his half-hard cock was out of his pants but currently untouched.
“Can you—” Namjoon pleaded. He grabbed Jungkook’s hand to wrap it around his neglected dick, but Jungkook pulled away, focusing on marking Namjoon’s neck.
Namjoon sighed. He breathed in clean, baby powder-scented skin, slid his hands all over Jungkook’s clothed body, down the sides of his waist, and squeezed his bum through his jeans. There was something inside his back pocket. Namjoon tried to decipher the shape with his fingers, figured it out, and with a concealed grin, he slipped the bottle out. Jungkook really did come here to get fucked.
Jungkook squeaked, coming up for air from bruising Namjoon’s neck. Namjoon dangled the bottle of lube in front of him with a tilt of his brow. Shameless, Jungkook ignored the discovery, swatting his hand away from his face.
With heavy-lidded eyes he said: “I’ve always liked you, Namjoon-hyung. I like you so much. It never went away. And when you called me tonight—”
Nodding, Namjoon wrapped his arms around Jungkook, tightening his grip until the oversized shirt he had on shrinkwrapped around his tiny waist.
“Fucking sexy.” Namjoon groaned.
Jungkook made a sound of discontent. “Hands off.”
Something in the bite of those two words made Namjoon comply instantly.
“Listen to me.” Jungkook snatched Namjoon by the jaw.
“I am,” Namjoon said, squished. “It’s just kinda hard to focus right now.”
“Yeah?” Jungkook scoffed. “What about now?” Jungkook wrapped his fingers around Namjoon’s neglected cock. Finally, finally. But instead of jerking him off or any sort of friction, he squeezed it. Hard. Painful.
Namjoon hissed, glaring at him. His hand flew to grip Jungkook’s wrist.
Jungkook laughed. “Whatever.” His dismissal almost made Namjoon fear he was gonna get blue-balled, but a second later, Jungkook was undoing his own pants, removing them along with his boxers. A pile on the floor.
Namjoon’s hands immediately went to knead Jungkook’s bare ass, a thumb brushing against his rim accidentally on purpose. When Jungkook didn’t scold or swat his hand away, he brushed over his rim again, circling the muscle with his thumb. Namjoon added pressure, pressed against it until his finger breached Jungkook’s hole. There wasn’t much resistance. He pressed the finger in deeper, eliciting a moan from Jungkook. Namjoon liked how that sounded. He hooked his finger in, dragging it in and out as he poked around Jungkook’s warm, gooey insides.
Jungkook sucked a breath in. “Enough of that,” he said. He picked up the bottle of lube, squeezed out a generous amount onto his palm and coated Namjoon’s cock, all while Namjoon trembled humiliatingly.
With one hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, Jungkook aligned himself. The tightness of his little hole puckered up around Namjoon’s tip.
Namjoon panicked. “Woah, woah, you didn’t even—”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook said as the head of Namjoon’s cock entered him with little resistance. “I’ve handled it.”
Namjoon groaned. “By yourself?” What a stupid question, but the image it conjured up only made him hornier.
Jungkook ignored him, kept his balance as he slowly slid down Namjoon’s dick.
It was so warm inside. Jungkook sank deeper until he was halfway. For Namjoon, it was a toe-curling, butterfly-inducing, spine-melting pleasure as Jungkook sat down on his cock. It made Namjoon tremble, made him see white for a split second. When his eyes adjusted he saw Jungkook wince as he took Namjoon’s cock deeper in his ass. Despite what Jungkook had told him earlier, it was a snug fit and he was only halfway there.
Jungkook had one hand behind him on Namjoon’s thigh for balance, the other on Namjoon’s shoulder. Sweat dripped from his hairline, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Jungkook took a deep inhale and, without warning, started to move up and then back down. He repeated this movement slowly, taking complete control of Namjoon. Jungkook shifted his weight and Namjoon groaned as he started to bounce.
Namjoon felt his cock sucked up into his ass, the tip poking his soft insides, the squelch of it hung obscene in the quiet room. Jungkook’s ass slapped Namjoon’s thighs with a downward thump, finally swallowing Namjoon’s cock whole.
The noise Namjoon made was something he didn’t recognise on himself. It was half whimper, half grunt. Embarrassing, if he were sober.
Namjoon lifted Jungkook’s shirt up, wanting a peek at his abs, before being swatted away again with a quick slap on his forearm.
“Now,” Jungkook sneered as he bounced on cock. A slight smile on his face. “Tell me you like me.”
“I like you,” Namjoon responded immediately, obeying like a desperate puppy.
“Tell me how this feels.”
“You feel so fucking good.”
“You don’t even deserve it. You never noticed me.”
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon replied dumbly.
He clawed at Jungkook’s ass cheeks, separating them and pushing them back together as Jungkook rode him relentlessly. Namjoon growled in his ear, licked a wet strip up Jungkook’s neck.
He fucked up into Jungkook’s wet hole and reduced to his wildest, animalistic instincts he said: “Should’ve done this years ago.” So wrong. “Should’ve done this back then, baby.”
Far worse, though, was Jungkook’s grin, seemingly pleased by this, he laughed an approving laugh.
“Pervert,” Jungkook teased. He shoved Namjoon down, sideways on the couch until Namjoon was flat on his back, his head hitting the cushion. Through the position change, Jungkook didn’t stop riding him, his mouth falling open when Namjoon’s cock hit the right spot with a different angle. Namjoon whined in protest, feeling completely vulnerable and at Jungkook’s mercy in this position underneath him.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” Jungkook confessed, breathless. Sweat glued his hair to the sides of his face, dripped from his nose. His eyebrows knitted in pleasure and consternation as he rode Namjoon at a brutal pace. “You have no idea.”
“You’re gonna make me come right now, slow down,” Namjoon grunted through deep breaths. “If you don’t slow down.”
The image of Jungkook smiling as he rode Namjoon’s cock while his own hard-on bouncing against his clothed stomach will forever be engraved in Namjoon’s memory.
“Jungkook.” Namjoon begged, gasping. “I’m gonna—”
“Then do it,” Jungkook urged. “Come inside me like I’ve always wanted you too.”
The effect of this was something that Namjoon would have to unravel later on. Shoving that all down, he shuddered with an embarrassing wail as he released deep inside Jungkook. Namjoon could feel him tighten around him, all while looking down at him with the same cloying grin he had on all night. Namjoon’s body tensed, before going completely limp.
“Good boy,” Jungkook sneered, still grinning. He patted Namjoon’s cheek like one would an obedient pet, and finished himself off in his fist, coming all over Namjoon’s stomach.
Afterwards, Jungkook collapsed on top of Namjoon, his cheek on his chest, their breathing syncing up. The apartment stilled, a single lamp lit at one end of the couch.
After a long stretch of silence, Jungkook said: “Next time you call,” he mumbled into Namjoon’s chest. Namjoon could feel the muscles of Jungkook’s cheek pressed into his skin as he spoke.
“Call who?” Post-orgasm brainlessness.
“Next time you call me ,” Jungkook repeated, “it better be for dinner.”