Author: justhismorning
You can find the original work here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387938
Summary:
In which Namjoon is recording Trouble and he needs Jin to moan and… well, they get creative.
STORY:
“Well, it’s… certainly something.”
Seokjin is flushing. He could feel it start to creep up on him the second Namjoon’s voice came on the track, and for some reason he thought that holding his breath might help him keep it at bay, but now he’s red in the face from both the lyrics and the oxygen deficiency.
“It’s… something? Like something good, or something bad?” Namjoon’s prying eyes are looking into Seokjin’s face for some non-verbal feedback, but Seokjin doesn’t know what else to do but to give a weak smile without meeting the other’s eyes. He knows if he meets Joon’s eyes right now, his gaze would just flicker away pathetically, shyly, so he remains staring at the monitor, nodding passionately, seemingly agreeing very strongly with the silence between them.
Namjoon’s studio is cool, Antarctica-levels of freezing, really, but Seokjin starts to regret that he’s chosen today to wear this thickest hoodie set. “I like the cadences of your lines. The rhyme patterns are new, you haven’t done something like it in a while. And I mean, the fans are gonna go crazy. It’ll be the talk of the town for weeks.”
Namjoon grimaces at that. “God, it’s gonna be like Expensive Girl all over again.”
“You liked the attention, don’t you lie,” Seokjin teases, finally gathering the gall to look into his leader’s eyes, poking his arm playfully. “At least you didn’t say ‘pussy’ in this. You did say ‘bitch’ a couple of times though, and you know how I feel about that.”
His pokes are returned in kind, as Namjoon teases him about his prudeness. “Well, I just wanted you on the chorus. The bit where Bei Maejor goes…” and Namjoon starts to sing the chorus all pitchy, with absolutely zero voice control (nada, zip, nought) and Jin gives a smirk, pressing his index finger over his mouth.
“Shh, I know how it goes, Namjoon-ah.”
“Right. Yeah, that bit.”
Seokjin can’t hide his expression of pride at the implicit flattery there. “So you want me to sing the chorus? You don’t wanna just use the sample where Bei sings it?” Or get Jeongguk, or Tae, or Jimin…
“Obviously not.”
Seokjin can’t see what’s particularly obvious about it. He swaps over to Namjoon’s browser tab and pulls up the original version of the song, murmuring something about how he just wants to hear it again, and upon completion, he concludes that the only thing obvious about this is that the vibe of Namjoon’s verse suits Bei’s chorus voice more than it would suit Jin’s.
“I’m truly flattered that you’d ask, I just think the way Bei sings it suits your verses better, is all.” Seokjin turns to Namjoon. “He sings it like she’s really in trouble. I’d sing it all sweet. No girl or guy is going to feel that… you know, that thrill. Like, oh no, I’m in for it tonight. Seokjin’s really gonna let me have it.” The thought itself is hilarious to him, but Namjoon doesn’t laugh along.
He just considers this as he looks down at his notebook with the lyrics. “Maybe you’re right. Producer-nim bought the whole sample anyway, so I am technically free to use Bei’s voice in the chorus.”
“There you go then. See, simple!” he says, more to himself than to Namjoon. Crisis averted, he celebrates internally.
As simple as it hypothetically would be to just insert his verses into the pre-existing sample and do a quick informal release of the track, Namjoon has his eyebrows all scrunched up as he starts chewing on the end of his pen like he always does when he’s about to pull an all-nighter.
The worry blooming in Seokjin’s chest is what compels him to blurt out “Don’t sleep too late, ok Namjoon-ah?” as he exits the studio. He’s met with a grunt, a hasty “goodnight”, and a flick of his pen. Our beloved leader, thinks Seokjin sarcastically. So expressive sometimes.
-------
That night as he washes up and gets ready for bed, that chorus cycles on loop in his head. It’s an incredibly efficient earworm, in that it has already burrowed through most of Seokjin’s head and is escaping out of his mouth in periodical hums. “It’s gon’ get you in trouble…” he sings, into the mirror as he pats moisturiser into his skin, purposefully making his voice get deeper and harsher than usual. It doesn’t work out too well— he looks constipated.
He reverts back to how he’d naturally sing it, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s gon’ get you in trouble…” he sings again, this time lighter, smoother. He sings it like he’s singing it to himself, then he imagines singing it to Namjoon, like he’s chiding him about the explicitness of his verses. It's gonna get you in trouble, Namjoon, if you keep doing these stupid sexy raps. He surprises himself by how much he likes how he sounds when he lets himself go, when he falls into the dips and peaks of the song.
Soon enough, he’s calling Namjoon. He has no qualms about contacting him this late into the night, considering he knows that Namjoon’s wide awake, fretting over his song like a helicopter parent for no reason.
“Hyung,” Namjoon says by way of greeting. “Still up?”
Seokjin’s radiating, the excitement at the possibility of an amazing track having energised him. “I changed my mind, I wanna be in the song. You still want me to do it?”
“Uh, yeah. Of course.” Seokjin can hear his smile, and it’s endearing.
He heaves a sigh of relief. “Great.” There’s silence for a few seconds— or maybe that’s just the sound of Namjoon slowly taking off his thinking cap. Then, “I’m excited about this, Namjoonie. I think it’s gonna be cool.”
“Yeah, me too hyung.”
-------
“Aw, cute,” Namjoon needles Seokjin the next evening as he walks into the studio purposefully. He’d spent the day with his hairstylist, getting his black hair dyed back into his signature baby pink. It was a trechearous day of painful bleaching and heated arguments with his stylist about cutting his fringe, but the end result was perfect and to complete the look, he’d donned a fuzzy pink sweater. Because he's a fashionista, and he can.
“Shut up, I can see your roots peeking out. You’re due for a touch up soon,” Seokjin reaches up and runs a hand through Namjoon’s silvery locks, and sure enough, there’s a hint of black at the base. “Time to ruin your scalp.”
“Yeah well, bald is the new black, haven’t you heard?” he banters right back, and they break out into childish giggles like they always do. Hell, even the sight of Namjoon’s face is sometimes enough to send him cackling, and the cause, well, it’s a mystery. As he winds down, he looks at Seokjin properly. “It’s really nice. You look very handsome. But what’s new.”
Namjoon plops into the chair casually, like he didn’t just make Seokjin blush, the bastard, and twists around to face Seokjin.
“We can start.”
He gestures to the condenser microphone he set up beside the computer, surrounded by black sponge drywall. It’s an informal setup, for an informal, self-produced track. Seokjin cracks his neck and fingers dramatically, like he’s about to ride gallantly into battle, before taking his spot behind the mic. He’s thankfully already all warmed up from his practice this morning, so he doesn’t need to embarrass himself by doing his vocal warmups in front of Namjoon. They’re incredibly unflattering.
“We’ll just try it. Nice and easy, ok?” Namjoon says as he hits play on the track and Seokjin slides the headphones on. With the black sound-absorbing sponge on either side of his head, he can’t see Namjoon, which makes it a little less embarrassing when he squeezes his eyes shut and sings into the mic emphatically. It’s difficult to deny the tension that builds in his belly listening to Namjoon’s first verse, so he pours all that into the chorus.
It’s barely a minute of vocals. He pulls the headphones off, and steps out from behind the barrier. Namjoon can’t see him and his quiet escape. Seokjin watches as he closes his eyes and takes a deep, overly controlled breath, running his fingers through his hair— almost like he’s very angry at something. Was it me? Was I flat or something? He’s only worried about having offended Namjoon’s sensitive musician ears for another second though, because Namjoon rips his own headphones off and turns to face him.
“That was really good. Really. Like, really, really.” He runs his hand through his hair. Again.
“Thanks... I’ll do it again, though. I mean, I’m sure there’s something to be improved on, right?”
Namjoon clears his throat, and why’s he acting so weird? He places one side of the headphones over his ear, and with droopy eyes, inspects what he hears closer. Then (thank god) musician and leader RM takes over and he’s instructing Seokjin how to improve his pronunciation, where to emphasise the notes. Jin notes with dormant narcissistic pride that Namjoon doesn’t ask him to change anything about his tone or breathiness.
They do it four or five more times, but instead of getting progressively more comfortable with the song, each passing take sees Seokjin getting less into the song and more into his own head. He fixates on all the other stuff Namjoon told him to do, and the resultant English-song stress swirls inside him.
Namjoon notices. He plucks away the black sponge that blocks Seokjin from Namjoon’s eyeline, and looks at him with a raised brow. “All good?”
“Mhm, yeah. Yeah.”
Rolling forward on his chair, he approaches to put the sponge back, but Seokjin grabs his forearm, shaking his head slowly. “Could you leave it?” He doesn’t know what shitty excuse to give that won’t sound weird; the truth is, he has a hunch having more access to Namjoon might help him feel the music a little more. Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t give it a second thought, and tosses the ugly squishy thing onto the floor, rolling back to press play on the track.
Seokjin’s hunch is confirmed— even he knows that this take is damn near perfect. His vibrato is in that goldilocks zone, his pitching is great, and he’s so into the music that he doesn’t care that Namjoon can see him— all the stupid scrunched-up faces he’s making, the way his tongue runs across his teeth because that’s what he does when he’s feeling sexy and that’s exactly how this song is making him feel.
He doesn’t notice that Namjoon is staring at him peculiarly, ardently, and when he finally opens his eyes, he’s too excited about how well the take went to care.
“Yay!” he exclaims, walking over to the computer and leaning over Namjoon’s shoulders to click play and double-check his voice on it. “Right? That was a yay?”
“Oh yeah. It was.” Namjoon pulls the chair next to him and gestures for Seokjin to sit down, and they listen to the completed track together, Joon’s harsh rap and Seokjin’s multi-layered vocals juxtaposing beautifully. Seokjin’s so very glad he changed his mind about this track.
Seokjin smiles wide, shooting up and out of his chair. “I’m happy with it! There’s some polishing up to be done of course, but—”
“Hang on.”
“Wha..?”
“Hang on, I said. Don’t leave,” says Namjoon insistently, dragging his cursor to the beginning of the chorus and hitting play. Seokjin watches as Namjoon listens to it one, two, three times.
“What is it?” He lowers himself into the chair again, slowly, eyes squinted. At long last, Namjoon pulls off the headphones. There’s something mischievous in his eyes, and Seokjin is already worried. “Oh no. Namjoon, no schemes…”
The schemer holds his hands up, making a face of gleeful innocence. “What makes you think I’m scheming, hyung?” He pulls up the original track on YouTube and goes to the closing hook, pressing play. “Listen.”
Seokjin sways along to the music, admiring Bei’s voice once again and its effortless sensuality. He’s so caught up in it that he’s kind of upset when Namjoon hits pause. “Did you hear it?” he asks urgently.
“Hear what?”
“Yah, hyung,” he says with mild irritation. “Listen closely.”
He hits play again, searching Namjoon’s eyes for an answer to the surprise pop quiz that he’s imposed on Seokjin.
I told you not to stare at me like that while I’m performing, Bei sings and for some reason, Seokjin’s brain feeds him the image of Namjoon staring at him open-mouthed as he finished taping that last take. He shakes his head, as if trying to rid himself of that surprisingly vivid picture. Bei’s voice is bewitching him. It’s Bei’s fault. His eyes flicker down from Namjoon’s, as he prays that the dim light of the studio was masking his blush.
That’s gon’ make us— four pants in quick succession— till the early morning.
Namjoon hits pause again, with an expectant expression. “That! Did you hear it this time?”
“What, the dog pants?”
“Yes! Wait, no. Not dog pants. The breathing, the heavy breathing.”
Seokjin’s expression of unadulterated bewilderment only makes Namjoon smile wider. “So, you want me to breathe heavily into the mic.”
“Exactly!” He stands and grasps Seokjin’s hands, limp at his sides, dragging him over to the mic. “Here, just do it.”
“Just do it? Namjoon-ah, I can’t … I can’t just— make those sounds with you around, that’s super fucking awkward!” Seokjin is burning up already; why hadn’t he learnt his lesson from yesterday and worn a damn t-shirt? Namjoon was smart, Namjoon wasn’t wearing a sweater, he was just wearing a loose tee that hung off him and showed off his arms and collarbones and god it’s hot in here.
“Come on, it’s just me, Seokjinnie,” Namjoon says with a patronising, simpering grin and Jin wants to slap the shit out of him. “We’ve been living together for seven years, you really think I haven’t heard you—”
Seokjin plugs his ears. “La la la!” he singsongs, determined.
The worst part is, Namjoon’s probably right. Seokjin’s always been a vocal lay. And it’s not like he doesn’t bring hookups around once in a while. He just always assumes that the loud slow jams playlist he puts on will drown him out.
“If it’s so easy, then you do a big moan for me right now. Go on, moan like you’re coming.” Seokjin crosses his arms and looks on expectantly.
Namjoon makes a sound like a woman achieving the most dramatic climax in the history of time and they both burst into laughter.
“Come on, I’m being serious!” Seokjin insists between guffaws. “Do it properly, come on.”
Namjoon takes a deep breath as the last few snorts escape, and shuts his eyes. Then he grunts, like a proper, full-bodied grunt of ecstasy and something inside Seokjin’s stomach just flips over. His mind goes completely blank, and so does his face, Namjoon stares blankly right back.
“See, it’s just me. No judgement.” Namjoon’s voice is reassuring, if slightly amused, and Seokjin turns to the mic, and all he can think about is that sound, that grunt.
He exhales into the mic, in and out, four times, just like Bei Major. When he inhales, he sucks the air through his teeth like he’s getting burned or the situation is just a little too hot to handle (not unlike the current one). When he’s done, Namjoon has that thinking look again.
“Yes, you weirdo?”
“What? Nothing.” He shakes himself out of it. “Nothing at all. No thoughts, head empty.”
“Shut up, don’t preach ‘no judgement’ and not share things with me. Come on, what was wrong with it?”
Namjoon cringes. “Nothing. Nothing was wrong with it. I was just wondering…” He makes a face, tacitly implying that the coming sentence is about to be a joke, but Seokjin has trouble finding the humour in it. “Just wondering what it would take to get you to make that sound.”
“Not much, frankly,” Seokjin admits candidly. “I’m a pretty loud lay. But based on what you said earlier, you know that.”
Namjoon is assaulting him with a look that’s making him feel small and yet undeniably powerful— Namjoon is fully checking him out, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, and Seokjin can’t fight the desire to see how far this could go.
“Here’s my take on it,” Namjoon says, all professional, “I think it’s a little forced. Not… how you say… organic.”
“Not organic. Right. That’s bad, real bad,” Seokjin plays along, floating back to the mic as if caught in a hazy dream. “The organic...ness is the key to the song.”
“Exactly, exactly.” Namjoon follows him, and just stands before him like a dumb cluck, blinking and staring at Seokjin’s mouth.
“Here,” Seokjin says, taking over. “Stand here. Make it organic.”
Seokjin grabs Namjoon forearms and drags him to the spot behind Seokjin, so when Seokjin turns back around, he can feel Namjoon’s warmth, his impossible warmth, radiating into his spine and sending shivers up and down it. The sensation disappears momentarily, because Namjoon went to the computer to hit record.
Seokjin slides the headphones on as the sound of Namjoon’s verse fills the space between his ears and he takes his spot behind him again. His fucking voice… Seokjin’s eyes fall shut, and at that precise moment, there were hands on his hips, and a pelvis pressing into his behind, and lips on the back of his neck. He doesn’t moan though.
He doesn’t make a single sound.
He wants to— he wants to, so bad, it’s right at his throat, but he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want the teeth scraping against the side of his jugular to go away. He doesn’t want the hands that have slid into his front pockets to disappear.
“Hnng,” comes out instead, and Seokjin is barely aware of one side of the headphones being shifted away.
“That’s not the sound we need, beautiful,” comes a voice in his left ear, so deep it makes his whole body shudder against Namjoon. “Come on.”
There’s a tongue on his ear, in his ear, and Seokjin’s shudders become more violent, and he lets out a shaky breath, arching against the man behind him. The sheer eroticism of the situation is driving him veritably crazy. Namjoon’s hardness was pressing into the curve of his ass. Namjoon’s hands were dipping into his waistband. Namjoon, Namjoon—
He gives in, exhaling a sharp exhale of pleasure and inhaling one of anticipation, before turning around and crashing their lips together. Namjoon’s eyes are dark, so dark, and his lips are glistening like he’s been licking them and Seokjin wants him so bad. They tumble into the nearest chair and Seokjin sits astride Namjoon’s thighs, sighing freely into his mouth now that their work task is over.
“Where- where was all this a minute ago?” Namjoon demands, pulling Seokjin in closer and squeezing his ass down onto him harder, “All this enthusiasm, hm?”
“Shut up—” is all Seokjin can retort, pulling at Namjoon’s hair to guide his mouth back to his neck. Seokjin’s neck is a treasure trove of erogenous zones and Namjoon’s insistence on finding them all is impressive. He licks Seokjin’s pulse point, earning an actual moan, and when he bites down, Seokjin sobs out his name.
“I’m glad we’re still recording,” Namjoon rumbles against Seokjin’s throat. “Some of these sounds are going to come in handy, I think.”
Oh.
Right.
This is for the song.
Seokjin shimmies himself out of Namjoon’s arms and stands, clearing his throat and trying not to get distracted by the hefty tent in Namjoon’s pants that he wasn’t bothering to shield. “I… I think we’ve recorded enough for the song to be coherent, right? And organic, of course.”
His hair is all messed up, and he’s pretty sure he's a kissed-out wreck (he feels like one, that’s for sure), and Namjoon is looking at him all wide-eyed and pressing his lips together and he wants nothing more than to clamber back onto him. But his legs are carrying him out of the studio and he sees a sad wank pretty clearly in the horizon.
-------
Namjoonie
Song’s ready! Come listen :)
Me
oo yay! coming down now.
The message comes roughly a week after the incident, and the leader and hyung of the group have been good about not letting it on to the other members that anything has changed. In many ways, not much has— they still laugh about nothing while slurping noodles, risking another noodles-coming-out-of-Seokjin’s-nose adventure. They still rehearse and practise choreo together late into the night, under the self-imposed pressure of matching up to the rest of the group. They still sit down in the evenings to talk about how the members are doing and how they can do better to guide them along in their journeys.
It makes Seokjin thankful for the strength of their friendship and partnership.
But when he pushes open the door to the studio, it’s a precipitous drop from lightness and excitement into feeling all stuffy and stifled again— not least due to Namjoon’s decision to wear that black turtleneck that makes him look like a sexy evil CEO vampire overlord.
“You can sit down,” Namjoon pats the chair next to his, “Or on me is fine too.”
“Har har,” Seokjin deadpans, choosing not to admit how much he’d actually like that. “You’re hilarious. Really, it’s a wonder BigHit didn’t cast you to do stand-up.”
All Namjoon does is hit play on the track, and peer at Seokjin to assess his reaction. He can’t hear himself till the chorus comes around, and when it does, he’s too busy gaping open-mouthed at the lewd sounds of his breathy moans in the background of the song to admire how smooth and syrupy his singing sounds.
And right at the end, hidden behind layers of sound so only the keenest, sharpest ears would pick it up, he hears himself, clear as day, saying Namjoon’s name. “Namjoon-ah…” he hears himself moaning, and Namjoon has added reverb so it echoes. His heart is pounding wildly, his breath is coming out in short spurts, and he looks at Namjoon like holy shit, you absolute maniac.
“What do you think?”
“I think that you’re crazy. You’re a fucking crazy genius. I sound deranged. I sound actually deranged.”
“Yeah, I had to listen to you do… that… for the past week while I mixed the song. It’s been hard.”
Seokjin winces. “I can imagine, I sound so annoying and… blergh. Ew.” He makes a few more noises of exaggerated disgust, then feigns throwing up.
“No… it’s been hard. Really, really hard.” Namjoon grabs the arm of Seokjin’s chair, dragging it closer to his. “I keep thinking about how good it felt to be able to get you to make those sounds for me.”
“I… I…” Seokjin wants to curl up and die, or maybe he wants to get on his knees and do unspeakable things to Namjoon, it could really go either way at this point. Namjoon’s palm cups Seokjin’s jaw and he’s so close that Seokjin is pretty sure he can feel the banging of his heart against his ribs.
“May I?” Namjoon asks, polite and knowing the answer, because Seokjin’s already kissing him and climbing up on him like the big tree of a man he is and his hands are tugging at Namjoon’s hair and he’s grinding down into him so that it’s Namjoon this time that’s doing the breathing and the moaning and the gasping. “Seokjin…” he breathes into Jin’s mouth, “Oh my god.”
“There you go,” Seokjin whispers back, guiding Namjoon’s palms to his ass and he wastes no time in squeezing, nails scratching against the stiff denim of Seokjin’s jeans. “It’s my turn to hear you, then.”
“Nuh-uh,” Namjoon’s mouth is on his neck now, and fuck he remembers each and every spot he’d discovered the previous week, and the exact latitude and longitude of each nerve ending that gets Seokjin weak in the knees and trembling. “I’m not quite done listening to you yet, Jinnie.”
“Bed— Bed, now, now—” Seokjin says with heady urgency, because it is categorically imperative that he gets Namjoon onto a bed right the fuck now.
-------
Namjoon’s fumbling with the dorm keys, the security guard outside the door is contemplating both their dishevelled appearances and Seokjin catches his eyes, transmitting a telepathic oh, wait till I get done with him in an hour. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Finally they’re in the dorm, and thank fuck that nobody’s home. Namjoon’s mouth is on him again, and he’s up against the door, a leg between his thighs.
“This — oh— is gonna sound weird, Namjoonie,” he says as Namjoon directs his attention to his ear, his hands snaking up Seokjin’s shirt. “But I always assumed you were straight.”
There’s a rumbly chuckle against the side of his neck as he feels the coolness of Namjoon’s teeth against his skin. “Yeah, uh, no.” Holding Seokjin’s hand, he pulls him over to the couch.
“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be the high IQ one here?” Seokjin says impassively, jerking his hand away. “You really think it’s a smart idea to fuck on the couch. Where any one in 7-member boy band we live with could just… waltz right in, to, oh, their hyung and beloved leader fucking like rabid rabbits—”
“God, shut up, would you?” And Kim Namjoon, fucking Kim Namjoon is picking him up like he’s weightless and bringing him to his bedroom. It’s a blur of getting tossed on the bed and listening to the click of the door shutting and locking. Namjoon is insultingly sexy. “I’m determined now after all your yapping. I’m going to make you fucking scream. It’s all I’ve thought about for a week.”
His shirt is stripped off and Seokjin does the same and then Namjoon is staring at him again, and his mouth is on him again, his suffocating weight pressing him into the bed as his chest and his nipples are subjected to an onslaught of wet tonguing. He lets out a strangled croak, something primal and needy, as Namjoon pinches the one he isn’t lapping at.
“Damn, I wish I got that one for the song. Fuck you’re hot, Jin.” And Namjoon’s pulling down his bermudas and burying his nose in the hard bulge of his cock. “You’re so hot. You’re so hot.”
“Yeah, yeah—” Seokjin says like he’s tired of the repetition but he’s not, he really isn’t. “Shit. Shit, Namjoon, could you just fuck me already?”
Namjoon is teasing Seokjin mercilessly, kissing the curve of his protruding cock and squeezing his ass like it’s putty. “Ok, eager much?”
“I’m not the one that’s been wanking to the sounds of me moaning under the pretense of mixing a track. If I remember correctly, that’s all you.”
“Sick burn. Isn’t gonna make me fuck you any quicker.”
Seokjin doesn’t care— he stretches, opening Namjoon’s bedside drawer, where he assumes his equipment is kept, and sure enough, under a pile of English comics, there’s a bottle of lube and condoms. “Then I guess you can just sit there, watch and listen. Maybe you’d prefer that. Seems like that’s in line with your recent behaviour.”
It’s pleasing when he doesn’t have anything snarky and witty to say in response because he’s transfixed at the sight of Seokjin pulling himself out of his underwear and stroking himself idly, before squeezing a dab of lube into his other hand and pressing two fingers in.
“Ho-ly shit.”
He leans over Seokjin, kissing him everywhere that is available to his lips; neck and chest and lips. Then Seokjin's hands are being moved and replaced with Namjoon's. He's pressing three fingers into him, curling them, propping himself up with his forearm, hovering over Seokjin dangerously, darkly.
Seokjin's eyes are squeezed shut as he chokes back the shriek that’s threatening to force its way out of his mouth. Head thrashing, he presses his left ear firmly into the mattress, looking away as he curses into the ether.
A hand pinches his chin and brings his face back to the centre. “Look at me. Open your eyes. Look at me when you moan for me, Seokjin.”
“Namjoon—” he forces his eyes open as Namjoon's fingers fuck into him harder. “Just fuck me already, god!” He doesn't care that he sounds needy and demanding and onerous right now, because all that matters is that he gets filled up expediently before he throws an even larger tantrum.
He gives another dark chuckle, low and dizzying, but then that's exactly what he's doing— he pushes into Seokjin like he has all the time in the world, watching as Seokjin arches off the bed obscenely. “Mm, fuck, baby— you’re so fucking tight.”
“It’s the— nature— of the— sphincters—” Seokjin yelps each word in time with Namjoon’s thrusts, hard and not beating around the bush. He might cry. He might actually cry from how much he needs to just moan and shriek and cry out but is choosing not to just to piss Namjoon off.
“Fine, you don’t wanna make noise for me? That’s okay. Don’t.” Namjoon grabs Seokjin’s ass and lifts him up, and Seokjin wraps his arms around Namjoon’s neck, unable to hold back a lewd moan as he sinks even deeper into him, as Namjoon fucks up into him, pulling Seokjin down onto his cock with a fierceness and strength and lack of control that Seokjin has never seen in him.
He looks right into Namjoon’s eyes and presses their foreheads together and it’s so unbelievably intense and it feels so damn good. “Fuck, fuck fuck let me turn around for you, fuck me from behind—” he demands and Namjoon, sweaty and drunk on desire dumps him back onto the bed, twisting him around and watching as he gets on his knees and braces himself on the headboard.
Just as it was during the recording, now that Namjoon is behind him, he lets himself go.
“Your body is incredible,” Namjoon whispers, running a hand along the arch of Seokjin’s back before grabbing his waist as leverage to put his cock back inside him. “You can’t even begin to imagine the number of times I’ve dreamt of fucking you like this.”
“Then do it,” he replies, so sultry and needy, looking over his shoulder to lock eyes with Namjoon. “Then fuck me. Fuck me good and hard.”
It’s all the permission Namjoons needs. His hips thrust into Seokjin’s creating a slapping sound that fills the room and it’s filthy and Seokjin fucking loves it. His mouth hangs open as he groans and pants and whines like he’s never groaned and panted and whined before— if there’s anyone home right now, they’d either be severely traumatised for life, or assume he was being tortured to death in here. Namjoon takes his cock into his hand and starts to pump him, unsteady, his forehead drooping against Seokjin’s shoulder.
“You feel so fucking good, hyung. You sound amazing. God, you’re amazing. You’re amazing.”
Seokjin keens at the praise, looking back and connecting their lips as Namjoon’s thrusts get sloppier. They kiss like they need each other, like they’re coming up for air, and Seokjin knows Namjoon is getting close because he’s making a sobbing sort of noise into his hyung’s mouth and mumbling incoherently, his praises now just a mixture of curse words and gasps.
And when he comes for real, the grunt he makes is incomparably better than the fake one he had heard the week prior. It’s a growl— one that makes his arms tighten around Seokjin’s body and hold his back against Namjoon’s chest as he gives his last few thrusts, and that sound, that glorious sound of Namjoon losing control is what gets Seokjin tumbling over the edge too.
He fumbles for Namjoon’s palm and clasps it over his mouth under his to muffle the scream he gives, the scream that Namjoon had been dreaming about, but doesn’t let Namjoon hear it in its purest form. He comes all over Namjoon pillowcase, and when he’s finally done, his scream has died down into a meek whine, and he collapses onto the bed, Namjoon following after him.
“You… didn’t let me hear you…” Namjoon says after a few minutes, somewhere in the real world— Seokjin’s dancing on the edge of consciousness right now, still riding the high of having gotten fucked into oblivion.
He opens his eyes, and Namjoon is looking at him. He’s a wreck— sweaty and pink in the face and Seokjin is very, very proud of himself.
“That way, we’ll have to do it again.”
Namjoon raises a brow, impressed. “You thought I was done with you? Silly Seokjinnie.”
They giggle as their lips find each other’s, moving in sync, lazily and sloppily. Their teeth clack together and for some reason, it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened and they’re laughing into each others mouths and losing their minds at it, and Seokjin’s really, really glad he agreed to do the song.
Oh, right.
The song.
“Namjoon-ah,” he gets serious all of a sudden, interrupting their laughing-at-nothing session. “Please remove the part in the song where I moan your name. People will hear it.”
“And?”
Seokjin smirks, rolling on top of him.
“And, I only want you to be able to hear me moan like that.”
The end 💜