Archive of Our Own

Namjoon’s hands shake as he punches in the number on the screen. The first ring startles him so badly he nearly fumbles and drops his phone. He suddenly feels ridiculous, idiotic, weird. He hangs up. 

He looks around his apartment. The rest of his Chinese takeout is going cold on the coffee table next to two empty bottles of beer, both his, the light from the glow of the next infomercial glinting off the amber glass. He keeps looking around, feeling a little desperate, now, for any signs of life. 

His ratty running shoes and his pair of leather work loafers are lazily scattered on one side of the door, his briefcase dropped carelessly on the other. Dumbbells are piled in one corner of the living room, next to the beat up gym bag he’s been using since high school. The kitchen counter has groceries that still need to be put up — he’d only bothered with the cold stuff when he’d gotten home. There’s a basket of clean, unfolded laundry that’s been impeding the short hallway to his bedroom for three days now, wrinkles surely etched into the fabrics at this point. He sighs. It’s not even homey enough to be considered messy, it’s just sort of… disheveled, and sad, like the rumpled button down and faded, loosened tie he wears. Like him.

He pulls up his call history, takes one last look at the emptiness surrounding him, and redials. 

He lets it really ring this time. Pushes past the nerves as he follows the automated instructions, enters his credit card details. And then, at the final question, he holds his breath and presses 2. 

Embarrassment floods his system while the call gets transferred, like someone poured something warm on his head and it’s making its way down his body, reddening his cheeks and quickening his pulse and sending his hands back to shaking. His gaze darts to the window next to him, as if someone might be peeking through his blinds in the middle of the night, might see that he picked 2. 

Might see that she was right, after all.

“Hi there.”

The voice catches him off guard, despite the lengths he went to seeking it out. His first attempt to respond is just a breath of hot air, a huffing sound. The voice takes on a shade of concern.

“Hello?” 

“H-hi,” he manages. The voice smiles, he can feel it.

“Ah, there you are,” it sounds pleased to see him, somehow.

“I am — um, here. I mean — oh, fuck…” 

“Don’t tell me you've started without me,” the voice says, that smile still lingering at its edges.

Namjoon rakes a hand down his face. He’s fucking this up. It’s a phone sex hotline — he literally doesn’t have to do anything but enter his credit card information and jack off in his living room, and he’s fucking it up.

“No, it’s — “ Namjoon sighs. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course,” the voice says, like it’s obvious. 

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Mm, a first timer? That’s not a problem, babe. In fact…” the already deep voice lowers conspiratorially, and Namjoon finds himself pressing the phone closer to his ear, despite himself. “Is it wrong that I find it kind of hot?”

Namjoon chuckles, breathlessly, then scrunches up his face, feeling stupid for falling for it so quickly. The voice has to say things like that. He clears his throat softly.

“What, like you’ve got a virginity kink?”

“Well hold on now, you didn’t say you were a virgin. Just that you’ve never called the hotline before.” The voice sounds vaguely impressed. 

“I’m not. And I have — called before, actually.” Namjoon sighs again. He could not be making a bigger fool of himself.

“Okay, then… I guess I missed something,” the voice says. It sounds like it’s struggling a bit to keep up the sexy, coy tone. Namjoon gets it, he’s annoyed with himself at this point too. He sucks in air through his teeth, and —

“It’smyfirsttimepressingtwo,” he says, all in one breath.

“Oh. I see.” Now the voice sounds a bit more interested.

Namjoon clenches his jaw. 

“I don’t know why I was so insistent on telling you that,” he admits.

“Maybe you wanted me to walk you through it,” the voice suggests. “Maybe you’re a scared little boy, and you’re in over your head, and you need someone to come along and tell you what to do.”

The breath leaves Namjoon’s lungs in a rush. He wasn’t expecting it to… start so quickly.

“Wait, can I —? Before we…”

“Yes?” The voice sounds amused now. Perfect.

“Do you have a name?”

“Hm, I do suppose you’ll need to know what name to cry out when I make you come.”

Chills race down Namjoon’s arms. “Um.  Yeah.”

The voice chuckles. The sound of it reminds Namjoon of campfire smoke. 

“Call me V,” it says. V says. 

Namjoon is surprised. He was expecting something a bit more overtly masculine.

“And what about yours?” V asks. 

“You — you want my name?”

“I want to know what you want me to call you — you know, when you make me come. You are planning on returning the favor, aren’t you?”

“S-sure, I mean —“

V chuckles again, the raspy sound skittering down Namjoon’s spine.

“You’re cute,” V coos. “We’re gonna have a good time. I can tell. Your name, love?”

“N— um. Joon. You can just. Call me Joon.”

“Joon it is. Now tell me, Joon, why did you press two?”

Namjoon nearly chokes on his spit.

“Are you — are you supposed to ask me that?”

“Supposed to? There are no rules, Joonie. Just two strangers, getting to know each other. Come on, let’s play therapist.”

“I think you charge more than an actual therapist would,” Namjoon says half-jokingly, wondering if that’s why V wants to ‘get to know him.’ He’s paying by the minute, after all. It’s probably just some ploy to make him stay on the line longer. For some reason he hopes it’s not.

“Mm, maybe so, but I offer additional services that most don’t.”

Namjoon bites his lip. “Like?”

“Unbutton your pants.”

Namjoon huffs out a breathless laugh. “How do you know I’m wearing any?”

“You don’t strike me as someone who was very prepared to make this call.”

A blush reddens Namjoon’s cheeks, making him relieved that V can’t see him. Not that it seems to make much of a difference. He undoes his belt and unbuttons his pants.

“They’re unbuttoned,” he mutters.

“Good boy. Now, relax. I can feel how tense you are through the phone.”

“You’re… pretty observant for someone who can’t see me.”

“Well, I am a therapist after all. So, fess up. Why did you choose tonight to request a man for phone sex for the first time?”

Namjoon blanches. He feels exposed, having it put so plainly like that. Still, though, the strange desire to be honest comes back. Maybe it has something to do with the anonymity, the fact that he’s safe in his own apartment with no one watching. Just the enchanting voice, V, listening.

“I saw a man today, in the supermarket. I w-wanted him.”

“Oh yeah? What was he like? Touch yourself.”

The command comes suddenly, tacked onto the end of the would-be innocent question, and Namjoon’s jaw pops open, just slightly. A second later, he obeys, snaking a hand past the waistline of his boxer briefs and palming himself, not at all surprised that he’s already semi hard. 

“Joonie, I’m waiting,” V singsongs, and Namjoon swallows, hard.

“I-I’m here — um,” his voice is so clearly affected. Already. The humiliation of it wraps around him again, making his skin burn hot, ultra sensitive under the touch of his hand. “What was he like…He-he was small. Smaller than me, at least. His hair was dyed this… this honey blonde, and his lips were so… so, thick, and perfect,” he blushes furiously and cuts himself off, breaths coming faster.

“Keep going,” V murmurs, “tell me about the rest of him.”

“He had th-this button down and it was tucked into his slacks, a-and…” Namjoon feels nervous suddenly. He’s never admitted his attraction to men out loud, not to anyone. Even when asked directly.

“And? What about his clothes did you like, Joonie?” V croons.

“Not his clothes, it was…” Namjoon trails into a whisper. “I can't…”

“Stop touching yourself,” V’s voice rings sudden and commanding, and Namjoon gasps, narrowly avoiding letting out a whine, and pulls his hand reluctantly away.

“I want you,” V’s voice comes back, silky and smoky like before. “To lick the palm of your hand.” 

Namjoon gulps, raising his hand to his mouth, and obeys, his tongue tentatively touching his palm.

“That’s it,” V coaches, as if he can see him, and humiliation burns hot through him again. It’s becoming addictive. “Don’t be shy, baby, get it nice and wet for me.”

Namjoon does whine this time, against his will, and sticks his tongue out further, laving it all over his palm. He can taste himself, faintly.

“God, you sound perfect,” V nearly whispers. “Now, I want you to take that nice, wet hand, and rub it all over the head of your cock. But —” His voice cracks like a whip, and Namjoon freezes, hand already halfway to his pants. “Only if you’re good, and tell me exactly what you liked about the man in the supermarket.”

Namjoon pants, biting his lips before opening them.

“H-his ass. His shirt was…was tucked into his slacks and his waist was so narrow but his ass was so perky and round. And his thighs, they were thick, a-and… he looked so delicate, and soft — can I touch?“ 

V laughs, soft and low. “Go ahead, but make sure you last. Where were we? Delicate? Soft? You could be describing a woman,” he says teasingly.

“No!” Namjoon exclaims, voice going uncharacteristically loud, then melting into a whimper as he lets his wet palm come in contact with his aching cock. “No, he was… masculine too. He looked strong, and his face, it was. It was soft, too, but then there was this… intensity to it. He was muscular, and perfect, and his entire body looked so- so tight, like I could l-lift him up, and…”

“And what?” V encourages, almost sounding like he’s in a trance.

“Fuck him,” Namjoon gasps. “I w-wanted to lift him up a-and pin him to one of the shelves and fuck him until he was c-coming all over me.”

“You think you could fuck him that well? Well enough he would come, ass squeezing tight around you, hm? Right in the middle of the supermarket?” V asks, voice taking on a mocking edge that makes Namjoon’s eyes roll back as an affirmative moan escapes his lips. He works his hand a bit faster.

“You wanna pretend I’m him?” V asks suddenly. Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up.

“O-okay.”

He might feel more self-conscious about asking V to play along with his one-sided fantasy if the other sounded bored, or disappointed, but he doesn’t. He sounds fascinated, almost invested. He’s very good at his job, Namjoon dimly registers.

V moans, low and quick, and there’s a rustling of fabric on the other end of the line almost like he’s undoing his pants. Namjoon’s hand speeds up.

“God, you’re strong,” V pants, and Namjoon realizes that he’s doing the scene Namjoon just described. Like they’re in the supermarket. It should feel silly, but it doesn’t, it feels —

“Yeah?” He pants, trying to control the pace of his hand. Slow it down a bit before this all ends too soon.

“Yeah,” V whines. “Can’t believe you can just lift me up like this — b-but, but what if someone sees?” He’s completely in character, and his voice sounds breathy, higher-pitched than his commanding tone from before. Namjoon almost misses it, but he likes this too.

“They won’t see you past me. Won’t let them,” he grunts. V moans, light and quick.

“Want you so bad. Take my pants down, please — want you inside.” 

“O-okay,” Namjoon says, letting his eyes fall closed as he pictures the man from the supermarket again. Pictures his tight pants sliding down his hips, pictures his own hands replacing them, gripping into the supple flesh, squeezing it —

“God, look at you,” V breathes. “So perfect, gonna fill me up so nicely, oh — “

Namjoon squeezes his fist, tight, around the head of his cock. Like he’s nudging his way in, like he’s fucking up slowly into —

“Yes, right there, fuck me right there,” V moans, and Namjoon snaps. He tugs on himself, fast and harsh, as V’s breaths come erratically across the line, scattered with whimpers and moans.

“You feel s-so good,” Namjoon ventures, feeling silly and deliciously turned on all at once.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop!” V wails, sounding for the life of him like he’s being railed into the next dimension.

Namjoon curses, hand moving faster. 

“You look so good like this,” he babbles, picturing the man’s puffy lips bitten raw, his blonde, perfectly styled hair getting all mussed up as it presses against the grocery shelf, items falling off the shelves around them as Namjoon fucks him. 

“Touch me, please— yes, like that,” the other man moans.

“Gonna come soon,” Namjoon admits, voice hoarse.

“Please, want it, want you to come inside me and fill me up, make me all messy and wet, please —“

Namjoon moans weakly. “Want you to come too —“

“I will, I will, I’m so close,” the man chants, and he sounds it too, he sounds like he’s moments away from ecstasy.

Namjoon comes before he’s ready, his orgasm sneaking up on him and making him cry out, the voice on the other end of the line echoing his until they taper off into short, ragged breaths.

A moments passes, and then V’s voice is back — deeper and huskier than the tone he used for the man in the supermarket. Namjoon feels heat flooding his cheeks again.

“Mmm,” he hums, sounding satisfied. “Do you remember my name?”

“Y-yes. It’s V,” Namjoon breathes. “Why?”

“Because next time, Joonie,” V starts, then cuts off, still sounding a bit winded — whether it’s real or faked, Namjoon can’t tell — and Namjoon’s pulse picks up just thinking about there being a next time. Will he ever work up the nerve to call again?  “Next time, go straight to the operator, and ask for me directly.”

Next time does in fact come, exactly one week later. 

“There you are,” V says after Namjoon shyly identifies himself. “I missed you, cutie.”

“Yeah, sure,” Namjoon says, but he’s smiling.

“What is it this time? Supermarket man again?”

Namjoon’s skin flushes as he recalls their last call, the image of a wrecked, fucked out blonde man flashing in his brain.

“No, it wasn’t him. It was… my tennis instructor, actually.”

“Oh, how deliciously cliche. Was he teaching you proper form? Had his arms around you and all that?”

There’s something about that teasing tone of V’s that drives Namjoon a little crazy, in a good way. He chuckles, still a little nervous, but less than before.

“No. I never really thought much about him, like that. But saw him outside of lessons today. He was dancing — he’s part of a street dancing troupe, I didn’t know that until today.”

“Oh, street dancing? Interesting,” V purrs.

“Yeah. He was…” Namjoon trails off. Are they starting? Should he just, go right into it? Is it weird to be turned on by his tennis instructor dancing in the street?

“What was he doing? Describe it to me,” V encourages softly. Namjoon huffs a small breath of relief. V’s words from their first call echo in his head — you need someone to come along and tell you what to do. He shudders.

“It was the way he was moving. It was so… fluid. But sharp, at the same time. He just… his body control was insane. It was like he was… in command of every part of his body, from his feet to his pinky fingers to his neck. It was sexy.”

“It sounds sexy,” V agrees easily. “Imagine what those hips could do in other contexts…”

That’s precisely what Namjoon had spent the rest of the afternoon doing, and why he broke down and dialed this number again. There had been something else on his mind, too, though. Another reason he wanted to call.

“Before we…”

“Yes?” V asks, sounding amused.

“I just wanted to… thank you.”

“Mm? For what?” V sounds teasing, like he thinks Namjoon means to thank him for the sex.

“For giving me my first sexual experience with a man.”

“Oh. That’s — well. You’re welcome.” 

V sounds slightly unsteady for the first time ever, and Namjoon smiles.

“All week I’ve felt… different. Freer. During that call, you helped me… I don’t know. Let go. Acknowledge my desires — accept my desires, and it. It’s already made a difference.”

“Sounds like you did most of the work, sweetheart.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know if I would have, if it weren’t for you being so…just, thanks.”

“Yeah, well. I suppose that psychology degree came in handy after all.” 

Namjoon smiles wider. 

“So back to this tennis instructor,” V says. “You wanna pretend I’m him?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I…all afternoon I kept picturing what it would be like, if he were to…” 

“Ride you?”

Namjoon's eyes go wide. “This is getting a little creepy — how’d you know?”

“Isn’t that what everyone fantasizes about when it comes to dancers? Like I said, those hips. They could take you places, I’m sure.”

Namjoon chuckles, mouth dry. He can hear V’s smile again.

“Get comfortable, sweetheart.”

“Who was it this time? A librarian? A pool boy?”

“A waiter.”

“Of course. You know the drill, baby. Describe him to me. But first —”

“Yeah, yeah, unbutton my pants.”

“No,” V’s voice cuts across his, sharp and commanding. “This time, I want you naked.”

Namjoon shivers, obeys. He’s on his bed this time. He figured the couch routine was a little too pathetic. He lays back on the pillows.

“He was tall, probably taller than me. It was hard to tell since I was sitting. But his face, it was… angelic.”

“Oh, angelic, was it?” V purrs, sounding every bit the demon on a shoulder. “Tell me more. What about his lips? I know you like thick ones.”

Namjoon bites his own at the statement. “I guess — his were big, but it’s not really about the size of them for me. Mostly I just like when they look soft. And his looked… really soft.”

“What else?”

“His shoulders were so broad, I just kept thinking…”

“Kept thinking what.”

“What they’d look like, you know, stretched out over me. Like if he was…”

“Going down on you?” V offers, and Namjoon sighs, shakily. 

“Yeah.”

“… you wanna pretend I’m him?”

“So, when you saw this waiter.”

Namjoon is still catching his breath, but he swallows and hums. “Yeah?”

“I’m curious, was it a business lunch?”

“Does it matter?”

“I want to know whether you’ve been a bad boy, fantasizing about getting a blow job on company time.”

Namjoon chuckles. “It wasn’t a business lunch. I was with… a friend.”

“Doesn’t sound like just a friend.”

Namjoon sighs, searching the ceiling for an answer as to how a random phone sex operator can read him better than his closest friends.

“Okay, you got me. It was an ex.”

“Mmm.”

“The ex, actually. The.. the one that got away, I suppose you could say. At least, thats what I’ve thought for the last eight months. But now, I don’t know…”

“What do you mean?”

Namjoon frowns down at the drying cum on his chest. “Are we allowed to keep talking?”

“What, you mean because you came already?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll stay on if you will.”

Namjoon is so caught up in smiling he doesn’t respond, and V continues.

“I can’t stop the system from billing you for it, unfortunately, but — oh, wait, unless you don’t want to keep talking, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. Um. Until next time then?”

“Wait, wait! Stay. I… we can talk. I’d like that.

“Oh. Good. Right, sooo… the ex? Ex-girlfriend, I presume?”

“Yeah. We were together for three years. I figured she’d be the one I’d settle down with and marry, you know?

“You ‘figured’?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t sound very romantic when I put it like that, does it? And, that was the problem for her too, pretty much. She, uh, she always accused me of not really being interested in her. Just dating her because it was what I was ‘supposed’ to do. The next logical step, you know, after college, career.”

“Were you? Interested in her?”

“I don’t know… I was never really interested in anyone, I thought. She was nice, pretty, smart. She liked me. So I figured, it worked. Before she left, she… she accused me of being gay, and too afraid to admit it.”

“You were with her for three years. You could be bi.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.”

“That’s what I told her, at lunch. That, well. That she was right. I always told myself I wasn’t interested in anyone, but I knew deep down it wasn’t true. I knew that I just wasn’t interested in who I was supposed to be interested in. And I also told her that… that I’m sorry, for the bullshit that I put her through, while she waited around for me to accept that.”

The line is quiet for a long moment, and Namjoon is starting to wonder if he over shared when V finally speaks.

“And… did you tell her about the sexy, mysterious phone sex operator who helped you come to terms with it?

Namjoon bursts out laughing. 

“Come on, that would just be bragging.”

“I went to a gay bar last night.”

“Did you?” V sounds proud. Namjoon hides his grin in his pillow. “And?”

“Annnnd, it wasn’t really my scene.”

“No?”

“I don’t know, it was Itaewon. It was a bunch of young guys and disco-dancing older dudes, and it was loud, and I felt like a total square, parked at the bar all night. But…”

“But?”

“There was this bartender…”

“Wow, you’ve really got a thing for service industry boys, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Only if you tell me about him.”

Namjoon’s cheeks hurt from grinning. He has to hold back a giddy giggle.

“Well. He had this dark, thick hair, it hung down to his jaw. He was short, slight. I could probably toss him around, but…”

“But?”

“I don’t think I would, unless he told me to. He had this aura. Gorgeous face, like a porcelain doll, but intimidating. And god, his hands…”

“Nice hands?”

“Nice hands.”

“What would you have them do to you, if you had them at your disposal?”

“Mmm… trail up my thighs, maybe. Squeeze my chest. Maybe…”

“Yeah?” V sounds a little breathless, or maybe Namjoon’s imagining it.

“Maybe tie my wrists to the headboard, so I can’t move, or touch. So I’m just…at his mercy.”

V lets out a little sigh. “You’re getting good at this. Pretty soon you won’t need me at all.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you look like?”

“Sin.”

“Ha! I mean really. In real life, what do you look like?”

“I mean really. I look like sin, like all your deepest desires rolled into a man.”

“That’s it?”

“What else is there?”

“You always make me describe the men I see in such detail, but you won’t even tell me what color your hair is.”

“It’s brown.”

“Your eyes?”

“Those too.”

“Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing else. It doesn’t matter anyways, I’m nothing special.”

“What? Of course you are.”

“… You think so?”

“Well, yeah. Everyone is something special.”

“Oh.”

“I mean — everyone is something special to someone. And you’re special to me. So, I care. Tell me more about you. I want to know everything.”

“That’s all we have time for, tonight. Next time, Joonie.”

“I don’t need to know what you look like,” Namjoon declares the next Friday night.

“Well that’s lucky, since you don’t,” V says with an audible grin.

“You’re growing fond of me, I can tell,” he shoots back, smiling when V doesn’t deny it. “And I’m fond of you too — that’s why I don’t care. What you look like. I don’t have any expectations when we talk. I don’t have an image of you — it’s just your voice. I just… breathe it in, let it fill up my head. It’s hypnotizing. Did you know that?”

“I’m not sure it’s ever been put so poetically.”

“Do you like poetry? You sound like you like poetry. You sound like poetry.”

“Have you been drinking, darling?”

“… I had an edible. Don’t tell.”

“Marvelous,” V says, his voice thick with laughter.

“Not as marvelous as you,” Namjoon sighs back, dreamily.

“Who was it today, then?”

“You.”

V doesn’t speak for a moment.

“Oh yeah?”

“…and Hoseok,” Namjoon giggles.

V clears his throat, or maybe it’s a chuckle.

“Who’s that?”

“Tennis instructor.”

“Ah, him.”

“He wore a new outfit today.”

“Describe it to me.”

“I saw him again.”

“Which one?”

“Supermarket man.”

“No way. In the produce aisle?”

Namjoon rolls onto his stomach, grinning, but lets out a hiss as his cock presses into the mattress. He may be a bit worked up. He may have…pregamed for this call, but he couldn’t help himself after the night he’s had.

“At a party.”

“Well, of all the gin joints.”

“He’s gay.”

A beat of silence.

“How’d you…find that out?”

“He’s dating my friend’s little brother.”

“Ah, I see.”

“It was so strange… I haven’t seen the kid since he was in high school, and now he’s…well, he's all grown up, and gay, and out, apparently, and proudly dating supermarket man. Whose name is Jimin, by the way. Made me feel pretty silly, really. For taking this long to… face myself.”

“We all move at our own pace, darling.” For some reason, the platitude doesn’t sound like one when it’s spoken in V’s soothing tone. 

“I think that might be why my friend invited me, honestly. For me to see them, to see that… that he doesn’t care. That’s he’s okay with it.”

“Sounds like a thoughtful friend.”

Namjoon presses the phone closer.

“I saw them making out, in the corner.”

“Did you?”

“Mhmm… they — can I touch?”

V lets out what sounds like a shaky little breath, and Namjoon drinks in the sound. 

“You can touch,” he says. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Thanks. Jungkook — that’s my friend’s brother — he was, he was sitting in this big armchair, and Jimin was in his lap. Jungkook’s hands were moving, from Jimin’s ass to his waist, and back. And Jimin’s hands were in his hair, all twisted up. I was across the room, but I swore I could hear the moan Jungkook let out, when he tugged on it. Jimin looked… amazing. He dyed his hair again. It’s dark blue now.”

“Tell me more about the other one. Jungkook.”

“It feels weird. He was always just my friend’s little brother, a scrawny guy, I never paid that much attention to him. But he’s… he’s amazing. His body is perfectly proportioned. He’s big now, but he’s got this narrow waist and hips, but then these built thighs, and his arms… and he has tattoos, and his lip is pierced. He and Jimin showed up to the party on his motorcycle.”

“Sounds like a bad boy,” V hums.

“But he’s not, he… he was super polite and kind when he said hello to me. He introduced Jimin. I think maybe his brother told him about me, that I’m just now… exploring all this, that I’m new to it, and he was being extra friendly, and… god, he had that tatted up arm wrapped around Jimin the whole night, it was…”

Namjoon feels heat swirling in his belly thinking about it, about them, about how he’d wanted to be a voyeur and watch them with each other, but also kind of wanted to be wrapped up with them, between them, with either one or both of them —

“Are you still touching?

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you’d do to them, if you had them in a room all to yourself. Maybe a back room at the party, maybe with a door that locks. It could be just you three.”

Namjoon gulps. “I would… I think I would fuck them. Both of them. But I would watch them, first. See what they do with each other when they’re not holding back. See the-the way that Jimin would arch his neck, and Jungkook would kiss him there. The way Jungkook would push his hands up Jimin’s shirt and then pull it off. And then Jimin would do the same, until they were both naked, and then… does it have to just be us three?”

“What do you mean?” V sounds breathless, affected. Namjoon groans.

“Can’t you be there too?”

A beat. Then,

“Of course. I’m there too. I’m standing next to you… touching you.”

Namjoon moans. “Yes. And they… they’re turning around. They see us. They’re looking at us while they touch each other…” Namjoon trails off, and V takes over.

“Jungkook has his hands on Jimin’s round, perky ass. He’s on all fours and it’s in the air, and Jungkook’s kneeling behind him. He’s squeezing him, spreading him apart, smacking him. And Jimin is moaning. He’s moaning your name — ‘Joon,’ — he wants you to come over.”

Namjoon shivers, rutting against his bedsheets. “Come with me,” he moans.

“Yeah, I’m with you, baby,” V murmurs. “We go to the bed, and Jungkook hands you a bottle of lube. He wants you to prep Jimin for him. Can you do that?”

Namjoon’s hips stutter as shame courses through him. “I don’t… don’t know how.”

“That’s okay, baby, I’ll show you. Do you have any lube at home with you?”

Namjoon’s face falls. “No, I- I don’t,” he says, morose.

”That’s okay… do you — do you have any oil? Like massage oil, or even coconut oil?”

Namjoon raises his head from the bed blearily, then blinks rapidly. “Coconut — I have coconut oil! I’ll be right back!” He declares, dropping his phone and scrambling up from his bed to the tinny background noise of V chuckling and calling him cute. He doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed about the fact that he’s rifling through his kitchen cabinets naked before he’s already back on the bed, heart racing.

“Got it,” he says.

“Good. I want you to put me on speaker phone, and then put some on your fingers, okay?”

“Okay,” Namjoon obeys, feeling lightheaded from his rushed trip to the kitchen, maybe a little floaty. His head is spinning with thoughts of Jimin, and Jungkook, and V. Mostly V. 

“Now I want you to get on all fours, just like Jimin. Can you see him, in your mind?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to put my hand on top of yours, the one with the oil, and guide it back. Can you feel my hand? I love touching you.”

Namjoon shivers, drifting his hand back, back. 

“Love you t-touching me too. What now?”

“Now I want you to press your middle finger against his rim, give it a gentle rub, can you do that?”

Namjoon hisses, following the instructions. “Feels… strange,” he whimpers.

“You can stop anytime you like.”

“No, don’t want to stop!”

V chuckles. “You don’t have to. I’ve got you, sweetheart. Keep rubbing, and when it feels good, you can press your finger in, just a bit.”

V guides him, sure and steady, like he always does, until Namjoon has two of his fingers inside his ass, and he’s clenching, reaching, frustrated that he can’t get further.

“It’s so hard to reach,” he whines.

“I know, baby. Next time I’ll do it for you, I’ll make sure you feel good. You can touch your cock now, if you want. We’ve been neglecting it.”

Namjoon huffs, reaching between his legs and pumping himself while his fingers press the slightest bit deeper. He won’t last long.

“Hahhh, feels so good, V, feels so good.”

“Yes, love, you look perfect. You know what I wanna do right now?”

”What?”

”I wanna fuck you, just like this. With your ass in the air. Your voice all weak, trembling, because of me. Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Ahhh, please! Do it!”

”Are you sure you’re ready for that, love?”

”I want that… want it so bad, V, please! Please fuck me!”

“Okay, okay, my impatient baby. Here I am. I’m…touching you. Slowly, softly, then harder. I’m gripping onto your hips, squeezing you. Your skin feels so perfect under my hands. I’m naked, and circling your entrance with my cock. It’s so hard, you make me so hard, and it’s so slick and wet, I could just slide right in.” 

Namjoon moans, pulling out and rubbing his fingers at his entrance to match V’s words. He presses in when V says to, and then pistons his fingers in and out as V directs him.

“You feel so good, so tight, so perfect,” V chants, sounding like he’s winded, like he’s worn out from fucking Namjoon. Like he’s right there. Namjoon’s eyes roll back in his skull. 

“I’m g-gonna come, V, please — don’t stop!”

“Come for me, Joon, just like that,”

“Oh!” Namjoon’s strangled moan is the loudest it’s ever been as he jerks himself roughly and spills all over the bed, grateful for the soft towel he put down before he called.

He collapses onto it, spent and heaving, just lucid enough to hear what sounds like V climaxing on the other end of the line.

He just lays there for a few moments, while his head clears from the hazy fog that had descended around it. He startles a bit, when V speaks.

“Do you think we prepped Jimin enough?”

Namjoon giggles, feeling drunk. He’d completely forgotten about their fantasy, with Jimin and Jungkook. He feels a little guilty for mentally leaving them abandoned in the back room of the party.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Namjoon chuckles. “He and Jungkook are probably lying in a bed somewhere right now, perfectly satisfied.”

“Probably,” V agrees. 

Namjoon’s mood suddenly dips as he thinks about it more. He frowns. “What if I never have that?”

“Hm?”

“What if I — what if I never find someone, who cares about me like that? You should have seen them, they were… It was so pure, they were completely wrapped up in each other, and —“

“You’ll find it.”

“But what if I waited too long, I’ve been so scared. And the bar wasn’t my scene, I don’t feel like I fit in with other gay people and I don’t fit in with straight people, and I —“

“Shh, Joonie, honey. Trust me. You’re… wonderful. If you want it, you’ll find it.”

“You.”

“What?”

“I want you.”

There’s silence for a stretch, and then, carefully, V speaks.

“Of course you do.”

“Yes! Because you’re perfect for me!”

“No! Because I’ve designed our every interaction to ensure that you do!”

V hesitates after the outburst, voice clearly regretful but firm when he speaks again. “You don’t even know my real name, Joon.”

Namjoon pauses, breathing heavily until reality descends upon him. And then he feels…oh. He feels so stupid. 

“Oh god.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, it’s —“

“Trust me, Joonie, it happens more than you’d think.”

“That’s worse!”

“No, it —“

“I have to go.”

“It’s really okay!”

“I was about to ask you where you live, V! I was going to-to try and find you, in real life, do you know how fucked up that is?”

“Actually, I do.”

Namjoon is silent as the weight of those words sinks in.

“I’m so, so sorry — I, I crossed the line. I have to go.”

“Joonie, I know you didn’t mean it like that, relax —“

“Goodbye, V.”

“Wait —!”

Namjoon hangs up, flinging the phone away from him on the bed and burying his face in his hands. God, he’s such a fool, of course he would catch feelings for a phone sex operator — that’s like thinking the stripper is into you. Despondency starts to weigh down on him as he thinks about the content of their conversations. It was all about people in the real world who Namjoon would never, in a million years, work up the courage to ask out. Instead of talking to them, he filed them away in his head to discuss with his cyber crush, who is actually a cyber hooker, and Jesus, will Namjoon ever be worthy of an actual relationship?

He drops his hands and closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths and trying to pull himself out of the mental rut he’s digging.

V said it happens a lot. It’s not that big of a deal. It was a momentary lapse, a post-orgasm declaration. He had been feeling all weird and floaty anyways. 

He digs his fingers into his fists, thinking about how V’s voice had changed after Namjoon brought up looking him up — he wondered if V had ever shared personal information by accident before, and then been in danger when some creep used it against him. By the way his voice had sounded, it seemed like yes. Protective anger simmers in Namjoon’s gut, but then just as easily fizzles out.

He has no right to be angry on V’s behalf. Hell, he was nearly one of those stalkers. No, the best thing he can do is leave well enough alone, and focus on himself. 

He looks around his apartment again. His mood has changed for the better over the last several weeks, in part thanks to V giving him something to look forward to every Friday, but it hasn’t really reflected in his apartment yet. 

He gets up, stretching, and setting his sights on a hamper of laundry. 

He has work to do.

Taehyung sighs, removing his headset and stretching his back out where he sits in his gaming chair — which also happens to be his work chair. His fingers are all tingly and achey, they always are after a call where someone requests BDSM elements. His trusty rubber band ball sits on the desk next to him; he uses it to make nice little smacking sounds when he needs them, but his thigh and palm are the good old fashioned go-to for when he needs skin-on-skin sounds, and both of them are nice and red after the call he’s just finished.

He’s about to get up to refill his water, maybe get a cold pack for his thigh, but when he glances at the clock he stops short. It’s midnight on Friday. That’s normally when — well. Not anymore.

He shakes his head, ridding himself of the ridiculousness of forming an attachment with a caller, of all things. He knows better. But still, he sits, feeling the seconds creep past as the clock changes from 12:01, to 12:02, and finally to 12:05. He sighs and gives up, toggling his status to unavailable and ambling to his kitchen. Joon hasn’t called the last three weeks. No reason to think he’d call tonight.

On the way there, he avoids the hallway mirror. He never likes to look at himself on nights when he’s on call. It’s not because he’s ashamed of what he’s doing, it’s…

He did, at first. Like to look at himself. He took this job for two reasons: 1) because he needed money, and 2) because he likes the politics and power dynamics of sex. 

Phone sex operating is less about the physical, obviously, and more about the mental, and he loves it. He puts his dusty, shelved psychology degree to use, feeling out in just a few short moments what the tone of the call should be, what the caller needs from him, how he can make them come, and want to call back to do it all over again. It might surprise people to hear it — people who think of sex workers as clinical, detached pleasure bots — but it turns him on.

And so yeah, he used to like to check himself out in the mirror after a successful call. Hell, he used to keep a mirror by his desk and look into it while he spoke. He liked the dark edge his eyes would take on, the shine they’d get, the flush in his cheeks, the peek of his tongue, the red rawness of his lips.

But after so many hours of strangers calling him beautiful, breathtaking, the hottest man they’d ever seen — even though they can’t see him — his reflection had stopped living up to the hype. 

His hair was always a bit greasy and tangly at the end of a long day, his eyes outlined with dark circles since he was on call throughout the night. He’d usually resort to snacking on sour, sugary candies to keep his energy up and keep his mouth from going dry, and so his chin was usually sporting at least one pimple, if not a few, and if he’d gone lax on his skincare routine, his cheeks would be as dull and lifeless as his hair. He’d learned long ago that having consistently visible abs was basically a part-time job that didn’t pay anything, so he didn’t have those, even though his callers, especially the female ones, liked to talk about them an awful lot.

His voice was the only thing that seemed to meet his callers’ expectations, really, which never seemed to be enough, as most of them loved to ascribe physical characteristics to him that even the world’s top models would have difficulty achieving. It weighed on a person, those expectations. The desire to be perfect — even though he knows it’s not physically possible — makes looking in the mirror on nights like this zero fun.

Actually, lately, the only thing that had felt like real fun was talking with Joon. He was so… cute, and somehow innocent, naive despite being a whole, grown businessman. He was gentle, and funny, and something about his voice did things to Taehyung. He’d slowly started to let himself feel hot again as they talked, and while he does find this job to be a turn on (sometimes), he normally fakes everything with his callers, not actually going so far as to get any release out of it. At least, not until his shift ends.

But with Joon… he’d actually started to let himself get affected. He’d even come, once, during one of their calls. Which, coincidentally, happened to be the last time they talked.

On the way back from the kitchen, Taehyung accidentally spots his reflection, and Joon’s words float unbidden to the top of his mind. 

I don’t care what you look like.

Taehyung sighs at himself and trudges back to his desk. 

Taehyung’s eyes are burning. He had to be up at 5 am for his other job. At his old place, he could pick his hours and make them complement his night call shifts, but he just started work at a new shop, and he has to prove himself before he gets his pick of the shifts.

He’s blinking rapidly, about to message his boss that he’s calling off early, when his phone rings with an incoming caller.

He looks at the clock reflexively, and his heart picks up speed. It’s midnight on the dot.

“Hello?” He says, tamping down the timid hope rising in his chest. Before he can finish, it bursts through at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, V, it’s me. Joon.”

Taehyung sits in silence for a moment, fifteen different welcomes filtering through his brain before he settles on a simple, “Hey. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too. You have no idea how much I’ve missed it.”

Taehyung chuckles.

“Shoot, that came out creepy — ignore that, I just meant—“

“It’s okay, Joonie.” He can’t not smile when he talks to him, it’s unfair. “I missed you too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“I. Um. I didn’t call for sex.”

“No?”

“I called to say goodbye — I, I hated how I left things last time. I’m not sure you realize just how much of an impact you made on me these last months, and I owe you a debt of gratitude. And also… an apology.”

“I told you, Joonie, it’s okay —“

“No, it. It isn’t. I got too close, I was putting too much into the relationship. In my head, it was like you were my boyfriend or something, seriously, I — I’m so sorry, if anything I ever said made you uncomfortable.”

V bites his lip, snapping idly at his rubber band ball.

“Is that why this has to be goodbye? Because you take it too seriously?” 

Something about that phrasing feels wrong. Joon wasn’t taking things too seriously, he was just — Joon.

“Yeah, partly. It’s also because…I think I like someone.”

V’s breath catches. Of course. He’s a whole, grown businessman, of course he was going to get a life and stop calling Taehyung every Friday night. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I barely know him, we only said like, three things to each other today, but. It was good. It was kind of bantery, and kind of fun, and he’s gorgeous, and…I’m gonna go see him again tomorrow, and if the chemistry is still there, I’m just going to do it. I’m going to ask him out.”

“Where did you meet him?”

Joon pauses.

“Why did that feel like a guilty hesitation?”

“God, you — can you get out of my head, for once?” Joon exclaims, but he’s smiling. Taehyung can hear it. “I met him at his work, okay?”

“Not another service industry worker — do I have to tell you that they’re required to smile at you?”

Namjoon giggles. “Yeah, I know, but this was different. He was flirting, I swear. He’s the barista who made my coffee this morning, and we had this whole bit about them running out of cup sleeves, and whether the coffee was too hot for me to handle, and I said I could handle it, and he said…”

Joon’s voice fades to static as Taehyung’s heart pounds like a drumbeat in his ears. 

It was him.

Joon is talking about him. Joon is the adorable, extremely well built, bespectacled businessman that Taehyung absolutely was flirting with this morning. 

What was the name he’d written on his cup? Something -Joon… Namjoon! Taehyung had written Namjoon on his coffee cup and hadn’t batted an eye. How had he not recognized his voice, though? It must have been the context, and the background noise, and —

“V? Are you there?”

“Y-yes, sorry. That. That sounds like a real meet-cute.”

“Yeah, I’m just,” Joon — Namjoon — is smiling again, and Taehyung is breathless. “I’m tired of waiting, and living this… shadow of a life. I’m ready to live, you know? Even if it means getting shut down.”

“Gorgeous.”

“Hm?”

“You — you said he was gorgeous.”

“Oh, yeah. He… yeah, he is. I probably would have just called you about him, and never done anything else, if this had happened a month ago, honestly.”

“You would have? Called about him?”

“Definitely. He was… stunning. I can’t believe he hasn’t been scouted by some talent agency, working at a coffee shop like that.”

“Joonie, would you…”

“Yeah?”

“Describe him to me?”

“I…”

“Please? For old time’s sake?”

Namjoon chuckles, and the sound of it warms Taehyung down to his toes.

“Are you just trying to keep the meter running?”

“No! No, that’s — never mind, I’m sorry —“

“I’m kidding, V. You know that. I’ll describe him. Let me think…he has a really nice smile. Cute, playful. He has… a mole under one eye.” 

Taehyung has to stop himself from audibly gasping. It’s definitely him, then, no question. Joon is still describing him.

“His eyes are big, and beautifully shaped. His hair was a little messy, but I liked it like that, it was this dark brown mop of curls and frizz, and I really wanted to run my hands through it.”

“What else?” Taehyung asks. His breath is unsteady, and he wonders if the other can tell.

“He had the most elegant, sexy hands. Easily replaced the bartender for best hands spotted in the wild… broad shoulders, a nice frame. He had a really cute ass too, it was a good size. Wanted to get my hands on it.”

“What about his lips?” Taehyung whispers.

“Ah, I’m gonna ask him out tomorrow. This feels kind of wrong,” Namjoon groans, clearly starting to become affected.

“We can stop?”

“Nah…His lips…they looked so… buttery, so delectable. They were perfect, not too thin, not too thick, just. Perfect.”

“If the coffee shop had been empty except for the two of you, what would you have done?”

Namjoon moans, softly, and Taehyung can feel the tension through the phone, how he’s holding himself back.

“Touch yourself,” he murmurs, and Namjoon curses. 

“If it had been empty, I would have…”

“Would you have walked behind the counter?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes.

“Pressed him up against it?”

“Fuck. Yeah.”

“What else?” Taehyung can’t hide how affected he is now, he’s palming himself through his shorts, breathing through his mouth. 

“Would have kissed him on those perfect lips, until he couldn’t form words.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, then I would’ve turned him around, bent him over the order counter. Pulled down his jeans and revealed that delicious ass.”

“What would you do with it?” Taehyung goads.

“I’d drop to my knees before it. Spread him open and…”

“And what?” Taehyung demands, his voice throaty and low, even for him.

“I’d… I’d eat him out.”

“You’ve never done that before.”

“No, but I’d try. For him. I’d try to do a good job.”

“You would, I know you would. Then what?”

“Then I’d… when he’s nice and wet and open, I’d… just sink in, just like that. Wrap my hands around him and pull him back onto my cock, watch his curls bounce on his head with every thrust. Make him feel so, so good.”

Taehyung can’t breathe, he’s pumping himself fully now, wishing he had lube close enough to slick his fingers up.

“Don’t stop,” he pants, and Namjoon grunts on the other end like he’s been punched, his breath kicking up faster.

“I won’t, I won’t — I’d make him come just from my cock, nothing even touching his own, just the cold countertop, and I’d smack his ass, put my hands all in his hair — I’d —“

“Oh, fuck —“ Taehyung’s orgasm slams into him, and he cries out as he draws it out, tugging on himself until he’s too sensitive for anything else, slumping in his desk chair and faintly hearing Namjoon’s murmured “holy shit.”

“I’m gonna fucking miss you,” Namjoon says quietly, after a minute or two.

“Joonie, before you go…”

“Mm?”

“If he’s not there tomorrow. Keep going back, until he is. Promise me.”

Namjoon laughs softly. “I promise.”

“Double shot vanilla latte!”

Taehyung drums his fingers on the counter, anxious as he watches Namjoon’s approach. He hasn’t seen him yet; Taehyung had been in the back when he’d placed his order, and as soon as he’d caught sight of the tan trench coat and round glasses, he’d rushed out, stealing the order slip from his confused coworker and getting to work on the drink. Namjoon had taken a phone call right after ordering and hadn’t looked up, hadn’t seen him.

Until now.

“Here you go, sir, one double shot vanilla latte. With an extra cup sleeve.”

Namjoon beams. God, he has dimples. 

“I thought we established that I could handle a little extra heat?”

“Hmm, and I thought we established that I’d go easy on you. You don’t seem all that experienced.”

Namjoon’s jaw drops, just a bit, and he gives Taehyung this look, like —

“What?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s nothing, just...”

“What? Go ahead, say it.” Please say it.

He shakes his head again. “Your voice, just. I didn’t notice before. It reminds me of someone.” 

“Oh yeah?”

Namjoon nods and looks down at his cup to take a sip, then freezes. Looks back up.

“Did you write this?” He demands. 

“Your name? Sure,” Taehyung grins, tracks the pink blooming on Namjoon’s cheeks with a glee he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“So, Joonie. I remind you of someone, huh?” He leans forward. “You wanna pretend I’m him?”