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he’s delectable, really. yoongi’s legs are stocking-clad—white and semi-sheer up to his thighs, where the socks stop and erupt into intricate ruffles of lace that flare from his skin. garters peek from the edges of them and dart under the skirt of the dress, a bloody red that compliments the pinks dusted over his cheeks and neck. the dress is slim from the waist up, hugs his sides and scoops right under his neck with a white peter pan collar. a red cape stops a bit below his elbows, buttons at the neck, and the large hood covers most of his minty dyed hair from sight.
“oh, my, what large eyes you have.” yoongi’s smile is coy, masks the irritation and faint pride from being leered at with practiced coquettishness.
hoseok is a wolf in sheep's clothing, all hungry eyes and the soft cotton of his t-shirt and boxer briefs, and he licks at his lips. the grin that graces his face is nothing short of predatory, irritating, and his playful tone rings sharply against the walls of the room. “all the better to see you with, my dear.”
yoongi approaches the bed, gingerly, too much air in places that it usually isn't and hair raising on the back of his neck because hoseok smells so strongly, intent clear around him and his instincts are screaming. he's not scared, but settling over hoseok’s hips has never felt this much like settling in the jaws of a wolf before. fuck being the sacrificial lamb, though.
hoseok’s hands find position on yoongi’s waist, slide down to cup his ass and drag him closer. the movement hikes the skirt up an inch or two, and yoongi can feel hoseok fatten up against his inner thigh; he's not centered.
he shifts then, presses their hips together, hoseok’s half stiffy against the fine fabric of his panties, and bites back a noise at the sensation.
hoseok grinds up and yoongi isn't hard, but it doesn’t take long for him to start, rolling down and filling out the front of his underwear. some of his cock peeks over the top, laced edges digging right under the head, and the combined friction makes yoongi want to cry. just a little.
his hands find hoseok’s upper arms, his shoulders, rubs his palms under the shirt and scratches with blunt nails. they’re not as sharp as they should be, but they still leave vivid trails of red beneath the fabric. they move to the front, push over his stomach and up to his pecs. the shirt hitches with his arms, but hoseok doesn’t make any move to get rid of it. instead he eyes yoongi real slow, catches on his lips, his adam’s apple, tilts his head like he isn't doing anything and fucking smirks. the bitch.
“not yet, yoongi-hyung.”
and maybe the deep crescents he gets on the inside of his leg for scratching straight down hoseok’s chest is deserved, but the sting of it has yoongi rocking his hips down anyway, gasping into the side of hoseok’s neck.
“mm, what large hands you have.” it's muffled by skin, and hoseok barks out a laugh, kneads yoongi’s ass in his palms.
“all the better to touch you with, babe.” he's not even trying, he's snickering, laughter light in the thick of the mood and yoongi wants to throttle him blue—hear the whistle in his throat as he strains for breath. but not really, because this is good enough, and he can drive hoseok crazy for air without choking him out.
yoongi kisses him then, soft lips and the hint of sharpening incisors when he jams their lips together. he's quick to make it dirty, swivels over hoseok’s cock and chokes him with his tongue.
hoseok tastes of wintergreen. like he was nervous and brushed his teeth beforehand like he always does, and hoseok being anxious to see him, to touch him, is honestly pretty fucking arousing.
yoongi sighs into his mouth; at the hands that slip under the dress to spread his ass cheeks apart, tug the panties up from the back so they dig into his skin, and then dip under the underwear to tease his hole. and he wasn't wet, but the touch is accompanied by a hot gush of slick, so he takes it back.
hoseok smooths the underwear out then, pinches the lace and tugs it back into place, rubbing the slick into the fabric and sneaking around to snap a garter before his hands come back out.
yoongi’s thigh stings from the contact, and it comes out as a growl, lips parted for breath.
hoseok apologizes with sweet kisses and the slow rotation of his hips, but he's not really sorry, if the playful glint in his eye is any indication. he holds yoongi’s hip with one hand and feels up his chest with the other, thumb rubbing a nipple through the dress, scratching over it with a nail.
the glare yoongi shoots him is pure warning, dampened by the shudder that shocks through him, and hoseok gifts him with laughter out of his nose—a soft huff of breath—and a splotchy series of hickies over his adam’s apple. he comes up to claw at hoseok’s shoulders, tilting his chin up to give more access to his neck, but that's not what hoseok has in mind.
he removes yoongi’s hands, pressing at the pads of his fingers to get him to let go before he shifts forward on the bed. he lays back then, head wreathed in pillows, and asks yoongi to go on with the next prompt. “you know what it is.”
and yoongi looks disgusted, although hoseok can't see him, tired of keeping up an act if hoseok isn’t even going to be properly in character. why did he even agree to this? “oh, my, what a large mouth you have,” is gritted out with a stellar lack of enthusiasm, though he's still lightly pressing his hips down in search of friction, and hoseok’s feathery touches to the side of his stockings have his thighs quivering.
“all the better to eat you out with. come up here, hyung.” and it sounds ridiculous, but yoongi’s still betrayed by the way his face heats up, the way his spine goes rigid at the command.
climbing up to hoseok’s face is nothing short of humiliating, hoseok’s hands pinching at his thighs and the swell of his ass until he's hovering right over his neck. “happy?”
“not really. turn around.”
yoongi scoffs at hoseok’s grin, swinging his leg over and spinning around. the movement is overly awkward (he knicks hoseok in the chin with his knee, but no biggie) and he almost topples, but it’s all okay in the end. no body parts in unwanted places.
“now sit. good boy.”
“shut the fuck up, oh my god.” he does it, however, scared because how much weight is he even supposed to put? the suffocation joke was only a one-time thing. hoseok’s tongue on him, warm and not quite soaking through the panties nearly has him darting up, though.
(not even a heads up or anything, so rude.)
they work up a rhythm quickly, yoongi’s hands having moved to support himself on hoseok’s chest, and hoseok’s fingers aiding him in the tease.
he pulls the panties to the side, smearing lube across his face and spreading the hole with his index fingers. yoongi whines from above, nails digging into hoseok’s t-shirt. he tries not to press too heavily, but it’s hard not to grind down into hoseok’s mouth, get more contact, any contact.
and it feels good, but not good enough, yoongi eventually sneaking a hand up to palm himself under his skirt. it’s not like hoseok has a mouth to tell him no. he only teases anyway, dragging his fingers across his fabric-covered cock. it’s weeping precome, dribbling down the head and soaking through the front of his underwear, and he’s just so wet, all over, that the lace clings to his skin and subtly scratches whenever he shifts. there’s a wet spot on the front of the dress, too, from where his dick was poking at it, and yoongi’s face burns in mortification. not that there’s anyone to see other than himself and hoseok.
hoseok focuses more on his fingers than his tongue and it’s too much from yoongi, has him taking himself out of the panties and palming himself fully because dear lord, he’s not going to make it at this rate.
“hobi. hoseok. fucking shit, i’m gonna—”
the dress catches the bulk of it and his hand gets the rest, cum smearing the inside of the skirt. well, so much for keeping it. it might still be salvageable, but unlikely. yoongi slumps the majority of his weight onto hoseok’s face post-orgasm, to which hoseok, none-to-gently, hauls him up off of. it sends him forward a good amount, level with hoseok’s dick (what a sight), and he grumbles non-committedly in response and wipes his hand on hoseok’s shirt. he wants to suck, he really does, but he’s not in it.
“yoongi-hyung, we aren’t done yet. sit up.”
it sounds bratty, and yoongi doesn’t even have it in him to snap back but he’d probably cry if he saw how slick hoseok’s face is. he’s soaked down to the chin, shiny with yoongi’s self-lubrication, and it’s so gross to look at. especially when he licks it off his lips and sits yoongi up properly so he can take the bottom of his shirt and wipe himself off.
it’s a marvel he hasn’t creamed himself, really. yoongi prides himself as pretty hot shit, so hoseok’s endurance is almost something to praise. not that he’s not properly affected. there’s a nasty wet spot on his briefs that’s entirely pre, and he’s so hard that it nearly hurts, but whatever.
yoongi’s halfway to ‘too fucked out’ to rock in hoseok’s lap, but he manages. hoseok, who runs his hands up yoongi’s stockings and stops his hips from underneath the dress, urging him to hover again. he uses one hand to idly finger yoongi, tugging the panties to the side once more and sticking a digit in. the slide is embarrassingly easy, and yoongi sort of has the decency to pretend to be scandalized, even though he spreads his legs even further and whines in the back of his throat.
hoseok busies his other hand with tugging off his briefs and getting them somewhat down his leg, and he doesn't do too shabby of a job. they make it just under his knees before he surrenders, steadying yoongi while he inserts another finger instead.
generally, hoseok’s louder, but right now yoongi is doing more, still sensitive from orgasm and dripping with lubrication as hoseok scissors him. it's got him keening, rolling down onto the fingers and biting at his lip to stop being so damn loud.
hoseok watches him with wonder, alternates pressure and smiles at each reaction. the come on the inside of the dress is starting to dry, dragging against his limp dick, so yoongi tucks himself back in. only marginally less distressing to deal with, cool.
hoseok pulls his fingers out, dragging them along the inside of yoongi’s thigh until they reach the stockings before bringing them to his mouth to remove the remaining slick. it should really be the nastiest thing yoongi’s seen all night, but he feels even wetter instead.
hoseok continues to tease him, coos nonsenses and traces his rim with a finger, a nail.
yoongi wants to cry, kneeling over hoseok, thighs spread and hands on his shoulders. he’d look commanding if he weren’t falling apart (and if he were actually in charge), hood off of his head and pooling over his shoulders, blue-green hair fluffy aside from the bangs matted with sweat. his legs are quivering and he’s halfway hard again, but still stubborn as fuck.
“i’m not saying it.”
“hyung,” hoseok sings, three fingers entering yoongi at once and yoongi nearly howls, eyes wet and expression boiling. hoseok jabs, spreads his fingers and whistles at the slick that drips down over his hand. “look at that, you’re so wet.”
“oh my god, just.”
“just?”
this is miserable, absolutely and fully to the highest degree “can you please fuck me—jesus christ stop teasing i’m gonna skin you.”
“you’re getting warmer.”
“my, what a big cock you have. satisfied? fuck me.”
“all the better to fuck you up with, hyung.” and they both know that this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, but as soon as hoseok’s in line, yoongi sinks down, finally filling himself up.
the sensation is marvelous, fights with the one right after a good meal, and yoongi feels so full that he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. hoseok rubs at his tummy while he meets every downstroke of yoongi’s hips, humming to hide the hitches in his breath. he’s not gone enough to be louder than yoongi, but he’s peaking fast, especially with yoongi whining and digging his nails into hoseok’s shoulder blades whether his thrusts hit home or not.
hoseok knows he’s hitting yoongi’s prostate when he won’t shut up, clenching and swearing up a natural disaster. yoongi’s body is on fire, every nerve yowling, and if his face weren’t sweaty before, it sure as hell is now, perspiration dripping off his nose and chin when he angles his face down to work his hips better.
“fucking hell, hoseok, come already. i’m getting tired. you want me to fall asleep on your dick? go faster.”
hoseok responds vocally in turn, grumbles and tries his best at a frown before he’s grabbing yoongi’s hips and forcing him down onto his cock. he’s not far off, truthfully, knot starting to swell to the point where he can’t really lift yoongi up anymore and he’s just grinding and groaning into yoongi’s neck.
hoseok’s knot is large enough that any movement is bordering painful, but he just keeps twitching his hips up, so, so fucking close and “ah—ah, yoongi-hyung,”
“c’mon c’mon c’mon, come hoseok-ah, i got you,” and really, he’s just playing it up so he can finally sleep, but it sounds good enough and it actually works, hoseok stilling and making the most godawful groaning noise. it’s not even hot, but the way yoongi gets pumped full of cum is actually deplorable, has him shuddering through hoseok’s aftershocks and pumping himself a few short times before covering the front of the dress this time. gotta cover all the bases.
yoongi slumps into hoseok’s chest, loosely wrapping his arms around hoseok’s waist to keep from slipping down entirely.
“i’m never shitty role-playing with you again, you little shit.” ‘festering asshole’ just doesn’t have the capacity to sound endearing, so he settles for the second best.
“c’mon, you don’t mean it. we both had fun, yoongi-hyung.”
“if your knot wasn’t up my ass i’d kick you in the face.”
“love you.” hoseok’s grin is cheeky against the top of his head, warm like the sun, and yoongi doesn’t even have to see it to know exactly which variation it is.
“… love you, too.”
-
peeling yoongi out of his clothes after hoseok’s knot shrinks is collectively one of the worst experiences of their sex life, but at least the cape is still in spectacular condition. (the dress was saved, too).