Work Text:
The apartment was quiet, the lights dim but not fully off, as Namjoon locked the deadbolt to the front door behind himself. The quiet of the house was unsurprising, given the late hour. He’d been called into the museum this morning for some last minute details on a new exhibit, forcing himself up and out of the pile of quilts and pillows adorning the master bed, thus leaving Yoongi with the boys for the day. He’d felt guilty, leaving his husband with their three year old and five year old who were a handful on a good day, but Said husband had waved him off when he’d brought it up during their family FaceTime lunch date.
“Eh, Jin’s bringing Jimin over in a bit, then we’ll go to the pool or park. Jin’s got a new boy toy — a street dancer or something…” Yoongi had waved his hands vaguely around his head, searching for the word while Namjoon was deeply distracted by Yoongi’s long piano player fingers. “A performance artist maybe? I don’t know, he just wants to gossip.”
He’d rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth, then passed the phone briefly to Jungkook who told his papa “he used the potty like a big boy this morning, but did he know that pants were confusing” before he was then chucked at Taehyung who launched into an in depth break down of the latest Sailor Moon episode Yoongi had let him watch during screen time. Namjoon listened as best he could, but Tae had recently lost a front tooth and had a tendency to trip and tumble together his words when he got excited anyways, and Sailor Moon got him going like no other. Namjoon responded in kind, his excitement matching Tae’s in enthusiasm. After finishing his sandwich, Namjoon had regretfully said goodbye to his family and turned back to his work, despite the hollow ache beneath his sternum at the thought of Taehyung starting the Pegasus Arch without him.
Namjoon had ended up swallowed in the work, taking on loose end after loose end, until it was 7 pm and the sun was beginning to dip over the buildings outside of his corner office window. The late May weather was balmy, but still cool when Namjoon had exited the museum, and it was the same breeze that now caressed his arms gently from the open living room window.
Namjoon set his satchel down on the entryway bench beside two bright yellow backpacks Namjoon knew were filled with sticks and cool pebbles from the walk to the pool, before tugging off his work loafers. He didn’t even bother with his at-home slippers — soft blue flannel things nearly worn through at the toe, gifted by Yoongi for an anniversary — before padding off to the kitchen for something fast to eat.
Yoongi had left some broccoli pizza for Namjoon in the microwave, which he hoovered, still cold, directly into his mouth. It was the exact kind of display that would have made the boys lose it in laughter and Yoongi grumble all while watching them all through fond eyes.
After his pit stop, Namjoon closes the window, switches all the lights fully off, and tidies the already clean room and completes small locking up duties. Soon everything was in its place for the night; The door was locked, the lights were off, and the alarm was set — Namjoon felt his shoulders drop as his body relaxed at the idea of his family safe and sound tucked away. Thinking of the boys, Namjoon finally turns down the hall and makes way towards the bedrooms.
Stopping at the first door, Namjoon gently pushes it open. A twin mattress is laid out on the floor, surrounded by a small barricade of stuffies and pillows, mostly variations of rabbits. Jungkook had always resembled the small animal, and it had stuck well into his toddlerhood. They had given up on a crib for the boy when Jungkook was 23 months — he had quickly learned how to climb out of it using the dresser next to the crib to shimmy along the wall to reach the changing table, then using the diaper genie at the end of the table as a step stool to make it to the ground. They had found him on the floor playing with blocks in the morning three times before they installed a camera baby monitor and discovered the entire method. They had both laughed until Yoongi stopped suddenly, eyes wide with horror as he despaired that “if he’s doing this now to get out of his crib, the demon, what’s he going to do when he’s a rebellious teen”!? They had made everything floor level and easy access for Jungkook then. If he was going to learn to do things quickly and so well, he might as well do it safely, Namjoon had argued. Not that it was much of an argument, Yoongi had caved the moment Namjoon brought out the Mommy Blogs and Montessori Method guides.
Now, Jungkook is sprawled in the middle of his mattress bed, his favorite bunny stuffed beneath his neck, arms stretched high above his head while his legs are cross-cross apple sauced beneath his Iron Man quilt. His black hair is wild, just stepping out of baby thin and into child thick, long enough that Namjoon had jokingly tied it into pigtails a few weeks back. Yoongi had cried trying to hold back his giggles as Jungkook very seriously observed himself in the bathroom mirror before declaring that he liked them and Taehyung had shrieked that they needed to now “beware the double bunny”. The situation had devolved quickly from there.
Jungkook’s night light casts stars about the room, playing a very soft version of Baby Beluga on an endless repeat. The stars gently trail over Jungkook’s closed eyelids and Namjoon’s heart swells a little at the sight of his tiny baby not so tiny nor a baby anymore. He gently tugs the stuffie from under Jungkook’s head, before tucking it against his side. Jungkook smacks his lips lightly before settling again. Namjoon smiles, planting a solid goodnight-sweet-dreams-kiss on the little one’s forehead. He closes the door but doesn’t latch it fully, fatherly worry welling at the bottom of his stomach breifly, as it does every night.
Opening the door to the second bedroom in their home is like opening a door to a portal to somewhere that is indescribable other than clearly the mind of a five-and-three-quarters-old child. Taehyung dabbles in everything, begging Yoongi for both violin and saxophone lessons, slowly mastering both on Tuesdays and Wednesdays respectively. He has a craft corner across from his bed, always in a state of disaster no matter how many times they attempt to organize and label everything. Two book cases of manga and Magic Tree House books sit beneath the window, which has glow in the dark star curtains hung above a windowsill full of action figures. The curtains are deep blue, to match the ceiling of glow in the dark constellations that Namjoon and Yoongi had spent an entire weekend doing the day after they found out that they were gonna have a baby.
Taehyung himself is asleep in the middle of his bed, curled around his massive blue with yellow polka dots body pillow. Tae had always had trouble sleeping, until they realized he was a snuggler to the core. He had coslept with them until Jungkook came, and before that he was Yoongi’s first baby, and he hadn’t wanted to let him out of his sight, and Namjoon had agreed because he had seen the anxiety on Yoongi’s face at the prospect of taking his eyes at the small, wrinkly potato baby that they were suddenly both infatuated with. So he slept with them in their large king until he was three, when Tae had heard he was going to be a big brother, and he suddenly requested a new big boy bed, so that his new baby could use his crib that was going unused in his own room. Yoongi had cried as he put together Taehyung’s toddler bed, but claimed it was dust in his eye — a statement that Namjoon had simply rolled his eyes at before fondly running his fingers through Yoongi’s bangs.
Namjoon sits beside the now almost six year old on the same bed for a moment, gently tugging his alien themed comforter back over his lanky body. Taehyung’s eyes open for a moment. He smiles a lazy square thing, before his eyes are sinking closed again. “Papa home…” he sighs, his grasp on language slipping away along with his consciousness. “Love Papa. Love Jiminie, we went to the pool today.” He smacks his lips, air kissing in Namjoon’s general direction as a goodnight as he slips back into his dream that undoubtedly features one very much loved best friend. Namjoon smiles as he brushes his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, and leans down to kiss his forehead.
Moving down the hall, Namjoon hesitates half a moment before the master bedroom, listening before the doors. He saw light under the white wood, but Yoongi has been known to fall asleep with all the lights on and two children playing lightsabers three feet away, so there are no guarantees he’s actually still awake and waiting for Namjoon. After he hears no sound, maybe the soft rustle of shifting sheets, he pushes in, only to have his breath stolen away.
Namjoon and Yoongi had been married for six years, together over ten, and friends longer. Namjoon will always say he was uncertain when he knew he loved Yoongi more than he thought Yoongi could ever love him. When he knew Yoongi, his best friend, was it for him. That there was no exact moment, that it was a gradual and mutual thing.
But this is the truth:
Namjoon was 17 and Yoongi was 19. The older one had been home from school for Christmas break, or maybe Namjoon was visiting him at his dorm, the details didn’t matter. What did matter was how Yoongi had glanced up at Namjoon over a crate of old records, how the look seemed stunned for a moment, held together like glass and then gone like spider gossamer. Then Yoongi was smiling his normal Yoongi smile, all gum and teeth, and he was so normal and his eyes were so dark and Namjoon’s throat was dry and his heart was hammering and all he could think was “god, how I want this boy’s babies”.
He also remembered how he nearly tossed himself headfirst into a panic attack for thirty minutes before Yoongi had taken his hand, run a rough thumb over his knuckles and pressed a kiss to his temple as a scratchy Kermit the Frog sang from the vynl about rainbows and dreamers. How his heart had trip-tumbled over itself, and Namjoon convinced himself he made the look up, that it was all him and that’s all it ever would be.
It would be another year before Namjoon would finally kiss Yoongi in the rain in front of his sister’s wedding venue during their most desperately raw fight — but that was another moment for another time.
This moment, where Namjoon’s breath tumbles from his chest, occurs now. The side lamp is on, casting the room in shades of gold, catching on the way Yoongi moves on their green velvet comforter. His sleep shorts have ridden up, exposing his long legs and soft curve of his ass. He’s on his belly, one knee hitched high by his hip, bare spine dipping before arching up into his ribs, his shirt abandoned some time ago to display sharp shoulder blades sprinkled with a constellation of moles. His hair, recently dyed a honey gold, is matted slightly as though he had been knotting it around his fingers over and over, and knowing Yoongi and his…tastes, he probably had been.
Yoongi whimpers softly, a barely there noise, as he grinds his hips into a pillow.
“The boys could have found you.” Is all Namjoon can say, eyes locked on the way Yoongi’s pale thigh and ass cheeks tighten and clench at his voice.
If Yoongi is startled any more than that at Namjoon’s rumble, he doesn’t show it. “They’ll sleep through the end of- end of the world tonight,” he gasps, grinding a little harder as Namjoon braces himself on one knee at the end of the bed. “Jin really wore them out at the pool today,”.
“Don’t talk about my brother right now,” Namjoon murmurs, catching Yoongi’s delicate ankle in one strong hand —- a warning.
Yoongi’s eyes are closed, but Namjoon can see them flickering beneath his eyelids. He’s got his pink bottom lip held between his teeth, and a divot had appeared between his dark brows at Namjoon’s touch. His voice only made Yoongi grind harder. Namjoon didn’t know where his right hand was, and wondered if it was wedged beneath him to provide that friction he was desperate for.
The hand that wasn’t holding Yoongi strayed to his own waistband. He’s wearing his weekend jeans, worn out and comfy, soft denim beginning to give way, but even they had begun to feel tight against Namjoon’s growing erection. He slid his hand up Yoongi’s leg the same moment he undid them, the pressure on his heavy cock letting up. Yoongi groaned as Namjoon loomed over him and began to press heavy, purposeful kisses along the column of his spine. His lips occasionally caught on Yoongi’s skin, teasing a touch of teeth and tongue.
Namjoon props himself up on his left fist as his other hand begins to knead Yoongi’s ass, the muscle fitting perfectly in Namjoon’s wide palm. Yoongi’s shorts ride up higher, somehow defining the round cleft of his ass even more. Namjoon’s mouth waters and his jaw aches with the desire to sink his teeth into the meat of it, but he holds back, listening for a moment for the sound of small feet or nighttime terrors. After hearing nothing, he stands, much to Yoongi’s noisy disappointment, before undoing his pants and kicking both the jeans and his briefs off. He yanks his tshirt off as he urges Yoongi to get rid of his own shorts.
“Oh, shit,”
Namjoon glances up from where he was busy gazing down at Yoongi who had rolled over, his hard cock now on display and proudly curving up to his soft belly, to where Yoongi’s dark eyes are trained on his chest. Namjoon puffs up a little, knowing what he looks like. He’s recently taken up Pilates in the mornings, and going to the pool with the boys had brought on his yearly sun tan early. He can’t help flexing a bit as Yoongi’s throat audibly clicks as he swallows around nothing.
Namjoon smiles cheekily, tongue between his teeth as he slowly begins working his own cock, zips of golden pleasure causing his thighs to twitch in anticipation. “Gonna call me daddy?” He half jokes at his husband, who has yet to move at all.
“Fuck you,” Yoongi mutters, eyes unmoving from where Namjoon’s hand his working himself to full hardness.
“No,” Namjoon smiles, releasing his length and leaning over Yoongi on the bed again, forcing him backwards towards the headboard. “Fuck you,” he emphasizes before suddenly licking Yoongi’s pert brown nipple.
“Mhm, yup,” Yoongi nods aggressively. “Yup, please fuck me.” His head thumps backwards onto the pillows, and his hands sink into Namjoon’s hair. Namjoon tweaks the other bud between his fingers before kissing along Yoongi’s sternum, scooting lower and lower. Yoongi’s moan morphs into a laugh and back again as Namjoon playfully blows a raspberry into Yoongi’s side before leaving a trail of goosebumps along his hip bone.
He smells like sunscreen, chlorine, and summer melted into a particular musk that was simply Yoongi.
Simply home.
It isn’t long before Yoongi is sinking onto Namjoon’s cock, having prepped himself in the shower after making sure the boys were asleep. His pretty pink mouth drops open around a moan, and Namjoon holds his breath as Yoongi clenches and unclenches a few times. He’s got both hands braced on Namjoon’s pecs, nipples caught in the V between the pointer and middle fingers of both hands.
God, Yoongi’s got such big hands, Namjoon’s always thought so. They were amazing in middle school, dancing swiftly over the keys of his old brown standing piano, and they were amazing the first time he scissored them in Namjoon’s hole what feels like a million years ago. Now, in this moment, they flex and squeeze, forcing the flesh of Namjoon’s chest to give. The feeling of his hands, large and warm, steadies Namjoon as well as threatens to push him over the edge until the gentle swirl of Yoongi’s hips snaps him back to the moment at hand.
Yoongi smirks, still breathing hard but regaining his control of the situation. Namjoon had sucked him already, almost making him come at the back of Namjoon’s throat, before he yanked him off by his hair, begging Namjoon to get inside him. Now, the desperation appears to have shifted to Namjoon, who braces his feet flat against the mattress in order to knock Yoongi off balance.
Yoongi does tilt with a mild yelp, before catching himself with a gasp as Namjoon rubs hard up against his prostate. His head drops back as one hand reaches and plucks at his own nipple. His cock is hard and straining, deep red at the tip and Namjoon gags for it. He wishes he could fuck and suck Yoongi at the same time, but he’s not that flexible. So he goes for the next best thing and licks up his palm before wrapping his big hand around Yoongi’s cock tightly, mimicking how his mouth would feel.
Yoongi agrees about the accuracy and exclaims “oh fuck me!“, thrusting up into the tight heat before slamming himself back down on Namjoon’s length. Namjoon can feel his balls tightening at the sight of Yoongi quickly falling apart, and makes it his mission to make him come first. He begins working Yoongi over, sitting up suddenly and wrapping his hand in the golden locks at the back of Yoongi’s head.
He forces Yoongi’s head back, snarling filthy words that have Yoongi whimpering his name. With his tongue he licks from the hollow of Yoongi’s throat to his jaw, where he nips hard.
“No marks,” Yoongi hisses, even as he himself is surely leaving scorching red trails with his nails down Namjoon’s spine and shoulders. Namjoon nips one last time, before nodding and thrusting deeper inside of his husband. He braces one hand behind himself and grabs a fistfulof Yoongi’s asscheek, peeking over his shoulder to see where he disappears inside his puffy hole. The sight almost blinds Namjoon, as red hot pleasure clenches in his lower back.
“Oh, fuck, Yoongs, babe, shit-“ he sinks his teeth into Yoongi’s shoulder, barely able to hold it together.
“God, Joon, fuck me, fuh-fuck me!“ Even with his eyes closed Namjoon can taste the sweat on Yoongi and can only imagine the red that is high on his cheek bones. “I’m gonna come, Joon, I’m gonna-“ he chokes out as heat floods over Namjoon’s hand, thick white oozing from Yoongi’s slit.
Namjoon can feel himself hurtling towards the edge, his brain becoming white tv static sooner rather than later. He still somehow as the wear withal to think to flip them, with Yoongi riding out the aftershocks of his climax below him. Namjoon pulls himself out and Yoongi whines at the loss, but pops open his mouth obediently as Namjoon scoots up to kneel over his chest. Namjoon feeds him the tip, praise rolling uncontrollably from his own tongue, resting his dark, straining cockhead against Yoongi’s bottom lip, briefly smearing his mouth with precome.
Namjoon can barely think, or do much of anything really other than work his shaft and gasp Yoongi’s name.
Yoongi, for his part, suckles Namjoon like a lollipop. He licks at the head for a few strokes, while pressing a dry finger at Namjoon’s asshole and perineum. The double sensation is too much, and a rush of liquid fire explodes outward from Namjoon’s core. He paints Yoongi’s lips, nose, and collar bones with come. A stripe of it lands directly on his tongue, a lucky shot that Yoongi swallows down before running his pink tongue through the mess on his lips.
Namjoon can only collapse sideways at the sight of his husband wrecked and painted with his come, marked like he belongs to Namjoon. He huffs as he hits the bed, and Yoongi laughs a breathless thing that threatens to arouse Namjoon all over again.
A few minutes later, they’re cleaned up, the dirty sheets have been pulled off and dumped in the hamper for future Yoongi and Namjoon to worry about. They’ve replaced the soiled blankets with new ones from the spare closet in the hall, and are now curled around each other. Namjoon rests his head on Yoongi’s broad chest, feeling Yoongi’s hand twirl his dark strands around his fingers.
Namjoon sighs. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Yoongi’s sternum. Yoongi’s hand doesn’t stop in his hair.
“What for, Joonbug?” He asks, his voice rough and soft.
“Leaving you with the boys this morning. I know it was supposed to be a family day.” Despite the warm welcome home this evening, Namjoon can’t shake the guilt of going to the museum on a Saturday, and then losing track of time as well. It weighs on him heavily, along with the terror that the boys will resent him for not being there.
He feels Yoongi shake his head and laugh. “Joon, it’s okay. Your brother ended up coming by, and the boys wouldn’t stop talking about you. You’ve got three to four new drawings from Jungkook today, he thought about you so much. Taehyung got a hold of my phone and took so many pictures for you, just so you could feel like you were there with us, did you know that?”
Namjoon hid his smile in Yoongi’s chest, and playfully bit his nipple in embarrassment. Namjoon did know that, as every photo that was taken on their phones was saved to the cloud. There were lots of pictures of Taehyung and Jimin’s feet and nostrils, but it made Namjoon happy all the same.
“There will be a million more pool trips,” Yoongi continues, after batting Namjoon away from his nipple with a yelp. “A million more hikes, and parks, and soccer games, and naps, and tantrums, and everything. You won’t miss any of it. I promise.” Yoongi squeezed Namjoon tight, centering him in the way only Yoongi could, bringing him back to the present moment rather than the what if’s his brain liked to throw at him.
Yoongi drops a kiss on his head and they were quiet for a few moments. “I love you, Yoongi.” Namjoon whispers, kissing his bare chest softy. He hears Yoongi hum back at him, already nearly asleep.
Namjoon has just begun to drift as the door slowly creaks open. Namjoon lifts his head, craining his neck to see Jungkook and Taehyung hovering in the doorway.
“Papa home?” Jungkook whispers, his wide eyes blinking in the soft light.
“Duh he’s home, Kookie,” Taehyung rolls his eyes before pushing the door the rest of the way open. He drags his little brother along with him to the edge of the bed where they stare expectantly at their dads.
Yoongi huffs a sigh, resigning himself and apparently done pretending to be asleep. “Get up here,” he grunts, slapping the space beside him.
The boys don’t hesitate, clambering up and using their elbows and knees to land a few unaimed but accurate blows. Jungkook wedges his small body between his dads, grabbing Namjoon’s arms to drape over himself as a makeshift weighted blanket made from his favorite person. Taehyung has somehow draped himself over their heads across the pillows sideways, until Yoongi grabs him and blows a raspberry in his tummy. After a cackling fit and a solid child foot to the forehead, Tae is resettled between them, next to his baby brother. Soon both boys are asleep, and Yoongi follows soon after.
Surrounded by the warm wreath of his collected family, Namjoon smiles into the dark. He drifts off to sleep under the heavy and warm weight of their love.