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Min Yoongi doesn’t enjoy parties.
This is, perhaps, one of his fundamental flaws as a person, but more specifically as a friend. More specifically, as the friend of people who adore parties. People who throw parties for any occasion. People who throw parties as a love language. Party for this, party for that, party for anything even minorly worth celebrating.
One could argue that tonight is more than minorly worth celebrating, and Yoongi will agree that it is. Or at least, the cause for celebration is. Yoongi is getting married to a man who (as far as he’s concerned) is the most wonderful human being to ever grace the planet. In what universe is that not worth celebrating? But the wedding is supposed to be the celebration, the bachelor party is–well, Yoongi will just say he doesn’t see the point of the night as a whole, mostly because he doesn’t understand what exactly they’re supposed to be ringing in right this moment. The fact that Yoongi is unwed for a few weeks longer? And how exactly is that meant to be a good thing?
If Yoongi had it his way, he would have swept Hoseok off of his feet ages ago and taken him to the nearest courthouse to sign their marriage license and get away on a quiet, private vacation for just the two of them. No nightclubs, no DJs, just Yoongi and Hoseok, a jacuzzi, and maybe a bottle or two of the best champagne he can source.
But Hoseok…Hoseok is a tiny bit of a traditionalist, and he’s also a tiny bit of a party enjoyer, and he insisted that the two of them take the classic route when it came to their planning and pre-wedding events.
“It’s fun,” he had insisted weeks ago when Yoongi had asked for the umpteenth time why exactly they were doing bachelor parties when they could be doing something much more exciting.
“Everyone does them. Besides, how could you rob Seokjin and Jiminie of an excuse to throw us both absolutely sickening nights to remember for the rest of our lives?”
Because Yoongi doesn’t remember parties, that’s why. He stands in a corner and has a few drinks until the sides of his vision get a little blurry, and then he sneaks off toward the exit as soon as what can be considered a reasonable time to leave. But, it’s what Hoseok wanted. And Yoongi doesn’t often find himself saying no to his darling, not when he wears one of his smiles that lights up the room and pleads to Yoongi with hearts glimmering in his eyes.
So, of course, Yoongi agreed. And of course, he’s standing here now, checking his watch and wondering if anyone would actually notice if he were to slip out the back exit just now.
Yoongi glances up. Seokjin and Namjoon are occupied playing an animated game of beer pong with one of Yoongi’s coworkers. A nice guy, but definitely not someone Yoongi knows well enough to have gotten an invite to his bachelor’s party, but he’s a good sport, judging by the fact that he showed up with a smile and a gift in hand.
In Seokjin’s defense, the whole night wasn’t a bad party at all. Everyone mingled and laughed, the food was good and the higher-end club he selected as a venue was enjoyable, it’s nothing acute or personal. Yoongi just very simply doesn’t care for parties at all. He’s a little tipsy, and a little bored, and he misses his fiancée like his lungs would miss air if he shut his mouth and stopped inhaling.
Yoongi throws another glance at his watch. 11:30 PM.
That’s a perfectly good time to leave, isn’t it?
~~~
Jung Hoseok loves parties. He especially loves parties when they’re thrown for him. Not because he’s self-centered, but because it makes him feel loved, and who doesn’t want to feel loved? He loves morning parties, brunch parties, mid-afternoon birthday parties, and late-night club parties, and he especially loves the idea of a bachelor party which is why he twisted Yoongi’s arm into both of them having one.
And considering how much appreciation he has for parties he’s beginning to wonder why this one…isn’t hitting him the way he wants it to. Or at least, it isn’t as much as it was an hour ago.
It started strong, he won’t deny that. Jimin’s a great party planner—he knows Hoseok inside and out, he got the exact right snacks, curated the perfect playlist, he even designed the attendees goofy matching T-shirts. Cheesy, but exactly the kind of thing that Hoseok is entertained by, the exact kind of thing a best friend should know. And Jimin did, and Hoseok loves him for that.
But for whatever reason, he also wants to go home, and he wants Yoongi to be there when he arrives.
Only he won’t be, because Yoongi is at his party, the party that Hoseok insisted he have, and he would look like an incorrigible hypocrite if he called Yoongi up now and said, Hey! I changed my mind, will you actually get back to the apartment as quickly as you can so I can take a shower with you and we can cuddle until our arms fall off ?
Yeah. Hoseok doesn’t want to be that guy. Yoongi is probably having fun right now, Hoseok isn’t going to mess up his night because the vibes in the room are somehow inexplicably off. It’s probably because he’s drunk. Hoseok never gets drunk, it doesn’t sit right with him, but it’s his bachelor party for fuck’s sake, of course he was going to make some exceptions.
Famous last words. Now Hoseok feels like his face is too hot, and his feet are too cold, and his hands are weirdly heavy, like he has lead weights tied to his wrists, and he’s one dizzy spell from letting them drag him to the ground and keep him there.
He might need fresh air. If Hoseok hopes hard enough then maybe that will fix him up enough to finish out the night.
Hoseok glances over his shoulder. Everyone is mingling well without him, Jimin and Taehyung are arm in arm by the bar top, looking like they might just be drunk enough to start kissing, which is a known occurrence between the two of them. They swear they only do it as friends, but the last time Hoseok kissed someone like that, he ended up engaged to the guy.
And now he’s here wishing he had Yoongi to fall back on.
Air, yes. Hoseok was going to go get air. He tosses one last look behind, making sure no one’s worried eyes are on him before slipping into the disguising throng of people on the dance floor and using the excess of intoxicated, moving bodies as his vehicle to disappear unnoticed. For a moment it’s hot between all the movement, and Hoseok’s vision swims, threatening to topple him over and suck him under a vortex of overzealous dancers. It’s some much-wanted stroke of luck that he makes it to the other side without incident and strides down the techno-lit walkway leading to a pair of broad bouncers checking people at the rotating doors. It’s then that Hoseok thinks rotating doors must be the worst fucking idea on planet earth for a nightclub, because he can barely figure out the timing sober, much less drunk and dizzy while the world is all smudged around him.
He figures, worst case scenario, he’ll trip and one of the bouncers will haul him out by his collar, and with that in mind Hoseok takes a brave step into the doorway, scooped along into its motion and shuffled forward. It’s strangely quiet for a moment, and Hoseok has just enough time to think this isn’t too bad before the doors spit him out again onto the sidewalk just under the wide, neon sign flashing its advertisement for the club onto the street. A street which, despite the late hour, is very much strumming with life, traffic and midnight city-goers.
The air is crisper out here than it was inside, which comes as a welcome relief to Hoseok, who makes a beeline for the stone wall of the club, under the awning but a little ways away from the queue of people lined up for entry. He leans back and shuts his eyes, taking in deep breaths that cool him from the inside out while a ruffling breeze washes over him like waves lapping at the beach.
Better , he thinks to himself in a hum. The room isn’t spinning anymore, at least, but that could be due to the fact that he’s no longer in a room at all. Well, that and the fact that his eyes are closed, he assumes that’s helping too, to some degree.
“Hoba?”
Hoseok blinks back to alertness, casting a wild look around for the source of that voice, laced with sweet familiarity. Never in a thousand lifetimes could he mistake that voice for anyone else.
“Yoongi-hyung?”
He’s standing right there, one foot on the curb and the other on the floor of a garishly colored cab, staring at Hoseok with parted lips and eyes rounded with surprise.
Hoseok gives himself a little shake, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms to make sure his fiancée standing in front of him isn’t the product of a wistful, alcohol-fueled daydream. “Why are–you should be at your party, hyung, what are you doing here?”
Yoongi exhales a chuckle, shutting the cab door and making a beeline across the wide sidewalk for Hoseok. He scoops him up without hesitation, into those full-bodied hugs of his that always strike a feeling of unbelievable luck into Hoseok’s chest. Min Yoongi is not an altogether physically affectionate person, but he is for Hoseok . Which means Hoseok is the only regular recipient of the tenderness which he hugs with. How could he not consider himself extraordinarily fortunate to hold that rare form of endearment?
“I could ask you the exact same thing,” Yoongi murmurs into the shell of Hoseok’s ear. His breath is a warm contrast to the chill biting into the city air, and it settles in Hoseok’s chest like a ball of sunshine, lodging right where it should be and heating him from the inside out.
“Got drunk,” Hoseok mumbles. He’s only slightly ashamed at the admission; it is his bachelor party after all, one might expect him to get drunk. But Yoongi probably doesn’t, because Yoongi knows he hates being drunk.
“Drunk?” he pulls back, cupping Hoseok’s rosy cheeks in either hand and studying him with a mixture of concern and amusement. “My Hoseokie doesn’t get drunk anymore, did the hedonism of the night get to you after all? Are you dizzy? Do you want to go home?”
“I want you,” Hoseok all but whines, balling a harmless fist and punching Yoongi’s chest without any real force. “But I thought you’d be having fun at your party, so I came out here to get some fresh air and hope that maybe, if my head stopped spinning, I’d be able to go inside and be normal for a few hours.”
“I was having fun,” Yoongi replies in a careful voice that very much implies he was not having fun. “A lot of fun. All sorts of great…nightclubby…bachelor fun.”
A beat of silence. Hoseok raises an eyebrow. Yoongi crumbles like putty. He drops his head onto Hoseok’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist, tilting them from side to side as he exhales a troubled groan into Hoseok’s T-shirt.
“Okay, I left because it was too loud, and I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, but honey, you know I don’t like parties, I lasted as long as I could.”
“So you left?”
“Of course I left.”
“To do what?”
Yoongi’s head pops up, fixing Hoseok with a bemused look. “To see you.”
Hoseok is quiet for a moment, letting the air between them fill only with the ambient sounds of a city wide awake. The humor of the situation is dawning on him slowly but surely, bathing him in the steady warmth of endearment. “Alright, let me get this straight,” he begins, cupping Yoongi’s cheeks, rosy from the cold, between either one of his chilly palms. “You left your party because you would rather be with me, and I left mine because I momentarily couldn’t handle the fact that I wasn’t with you .”
Yoongi tips his head to the side, feigning the act of contemplating Hoseok’s words. “Yeah, I’d say that sounds about right.”
“We’re ridiculous,” Hoseok groans between his laughter. His tips his head back, letting his body shake with it and knowing full well Yoongi won’t let him fall over. Sometimes Yoongi says he keeps a hand on Hoseok’s waist 24/7 so that he can laugh as exuberantly as he wants without losing his balance.
“Ridiculous?” Yoongi inquires, peppering chapped kisses all over Hoseok’s face.
“ Yes . You’re telling me we couldn’t even spend a handful of hours away from one another?”
“We could ,” Yoongi rolls his eyes and drags Hoseok close again. “But why would we?”
He smells like whiskey and his most favored John Varvatos scent—citrus, woodsy, and a hint of spice that Hoseok has come to associate with the softness of Yoongi’s skin, the brush of his lips over Hoseok’s own, and the soft, ticklish strands of his hair. Hoseok leans into him gladly, always, always grateful to have him nearby.
He tucks his face into the juncture of Yoongi’s throat and exhales a happy breath, murmuring the words he knows Yoongi is perpetually ready to hear. “I want to go home, hyung.”
“Do you really? Promise I’m not taking you away from your party?”
“ Promise , pinky swear,” Hoseok assures him emphatically. Even if he were, Hoseok knows well enough that there have been plenty of times when Yoongi hassled his way through a party a little longer than his social battery would have preferred just for Hoseok’s sake, it would be an easy thing to turn the tables and cut the party short for him for once. But either way, that isn’t the case tonight.
He straightens up, pushing his flyaway hair out of his face and nudging his phone out of his pocket with shaky-cold fingertips. “Let me text Jiminie and tell him I took off with you so no one worries–”
“Don’t bother,” Yoongi presses Hoseok’s hands down, lightly forcing him to lower his phone. “I’ll text them and I’ll call us a car, you just stand there and look pretty for me.”
“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok giggles, but he’s already re-pocketing his phone and leaning into Yoongi like he’s drunker than he really feels. “You’re spoiling me, honey-boy.”
“I know I am,” Yoongi nods and presses a kiss to the crown of Hoseok’s head. “And I should, it’s your bachelor party for god’s sake. Live a little.”
Hoseok lifts a hand and pokes Yoongi’s chest, nothing more than a playful jab. “It’s your bachelor party too, hyung.”
“Yeah, and spoiling you is the absolute most fun a boy can have without taking off his clothes.”
Hoseok quirks his eyebrow and faces Yoongi with a filthy grin creeping onto his face. “Who said you weren’t taking off your clothes?”
~~~
With Yoongi by his side, the sensation of alcohol clouding Hoseok’s brain turns from hot and disorienting to syrupy-sweet and warm in his veins, making his whole body feel pliable from head to toe. Warm, soft, warm , heeding the guiding touch of Yoongi’s palm around his wrist, allowing himself to be scooped up and carried as soon as they step into the elevator that will take them up, up, up, four stories to the high-rise apartment they started renting at the beginning of the year.
One might think it was their wedding night from the way they can’t seem to keep their hands off of one another, loathing to break the series of slowly-unraveling kisses that Yoongi is pressing to Hoseok’s throat long enough to unlock the door. Hoseok’s hand, clumsily clutching their house-key manages to fumble it open blindly. His feet trip over Yoongi’s as they stumble inside, movements punctuated by breathy laughter against each other’s mouths.
“Love you so much,” Yoongi mumbles. He reaches one around to shove the door shut behind them and uses the other to pull Hoseok’s waist flush against his. “So much I can feel it in my fingertips.”
“I know you do,” Hoseok rolls his eyes, holding back a smile like sunshine that wants to break free. “That’s why you’re marrying me.”
“I’d do it tonight if I would,” Yoongi tells him earnestly, and there’s a trace of seriousness in his gaze that informs Hoseok his words are only partially a joke. “No one but me and you and some courthouse witness.”
Hoseok drags his face close, holding Yoongi’s head in his palms and kissing him in a way that’s just slightly disproportionately filthy to the way they’re standing fully clothed in the center of the front hallway. “I would too,” he promises. “But then the payments to the florists and the caterers would be for nothing, so let’s hold on a few more weeks, ‘kay?”
Yoongi groans. “You know I’m not patient.”
Hoseok takes a step backward, creating just enough space between the two of them to shrug off his coat and drag Yoongi’s away afterward. “Just be glad I’m not saving myself ‘til marriage.”
“God, then I would have married you that first night, no hesitations,” Yoongi drags him close and kisses him again, warm lips on cold skin, wandering touches yearning for more.
Hoseok suppresses a smile at the reminder, their ongoing mutual jabs about the way they both gave out on the first date. It wasn’t the first time they’d met, in both of their defenses, they’d seen each other around during their time spent at the same company, though in very separate divisions. Jimin knew Yoongi better than Hoseok did, and their initial date was mostly by chance with both of them resigning to their respective friends’ urges to live a little. And, well, they were certainly living when they ditched the nice restaurant after three glasses of wine and caught a taxi back to Yoongi’s apartment where he leaned Hoseok against the wide windows overlooking the nighttime city and fucked him slow and gentle.
Hoseok thinks that’s part of why he fell for Yoongi that night. The perfect juxtaposition between being intoxicatingly filthy and unbelievably tender to a man who, by all accounts, he barely even knew. It’s so god awful and corny that Hoseok never says it, but even that first night as budding strangers it felt more like making love than some hookup.
“Do it again,” Hoseok breathes, lower lip catching Yoongi’s earlobe and he nips at it, more affectionate than anything.
Yoongi hands are working at his button up, visibly eager to shed the unnecessary layer. Hoseok knows he hates formal-adjacent wear anyway. “Do what, baby?”
“Fuck me again. Exactly the way you did the first night.”
“Oh, you’re filthy tonight,” Yoongi chuckles breathily, pulling off the slippery silky sheath of his shirt and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder and out of sight. “What if the neighbors see you? This isn’t a one night hook-up with a stranger from work, you know, you’ll have to wake up in this apartment and get dressed again and wave to them in the lobby and everything.”
“We live in a high-rise, hyung,” Hoseok rolls his eyes in between peppering Yoongi’s jaw with hungry kisses. “You lived in a high rise back then, we live in one now, no one is going to be able to see us.”
“Or, everyone is, you mean,” Yoongi corrects. His hands find Hoseok’s hips and spin him around at the waist, shuffling them both forward to press against the sprawling glass pane that makes up the hall leading into their living room. From this high the thousands of cars cluttering the streets look no bigger than ants, bright lights that blur together along winding freeways, and buildings lit from bottom to top, dozens of far off windows that all peer into distant apartments, different lives. None of them have an inkling that Hoseok and Yoongi are here, the whole city spread beneath them at their fingertips.
“Are you okay with that?” Yoongi murmurs, teasing a ticklish bite against Hoseok’s earlobe. “Everyone watching me pick you apart, won’t you get stage fright?”
“I don’t get stage fright,” Hoseok giggles, dropping his forehead against the cool glass. They both know, between the two of them, Yoongi is the much more likely one to clam up and become shy before an audience, Hoseok is a born performer, whether it be the karaoke stage at their nearest dive bar, or a speech at a work event, or something infinitely more risqué like the moment they’re sharing now, Hoseok is more than happy to put on a show. And, at any rate, he knows when it comes down to it, no one can actually see them, they’re too high up and the weather is too fogged and drizzly for it, but that won’t hold Hoseok back from the taboo delight of pretending, a false scandal he draws out in his mind where neighbors from the building across the way can see the way Yoongi’s hands are creeping to his waistband, unbuckling the belt at Hoseok’s waist and doing away with his jeans. He pretends he’ll see them in the corner store tomorrow night or this weekend, and they’ll pinken at the memory of catching glimpses of his pleasure through the condensation on a panel of glass that peers right into their lives, their most private moments.
“God, you really do like that, don’t you?” Yoongi’s voice is an affected murmur over Hoseok’s shoulder, and his hand comes down, brushing over the low hem of Hoseok’s oversized shirt serving as his only remaining clothing and grazing his hardening cock under the cottony material.
Hoseok nods, a little fevered in his enthusiasm. His skin is warming up, flushed-hot against the jarringly cold glass, which only adds to the intoxicating cocktail of sensations coursing through him. “Like it,” he murmurs, shivering at Yoongi’s touch. “Like you, love you.”
“Love you,” Yoongi replies, the soft sound of his smile seeping into his voice, and he punctuates the words with a collection of kisses against the nape of Hoseok’s neck, all ticklish breath and the nipping corners of his teeth. He squeezes Hoseok’s waist, beckoning his attention before the former dissolves completely. “Will you let me blow you?”
Hoseok groans, a drawn-out sound that turns into a whine halfway through. “ Let you?” he repeats incredulously, turning, so his back falls against the window, and he’s facing Yoongi once again. “I would pay you to.”
“Right,” Yoongi barely manages to disguise his laughter as he sinks to his knees, kissing his way down Hoseok’s body with an air of worship as he does so. He flips the soft hem of Hoseok’s shirt up, high enough that he can exhale breaths that aren’t quite kisses onto the tip of his cock. “But that would be prostitution, which isn’t nearly as romantic, so we can skip the monetary compensation.”
“Just saying,” Hoseok lifts a shoulder in a half shrug that mirrors the way the corner of his mouth quirks up, though he has to put an extra ounce of effort into not shuddering and melting the second he can feel Yoongi’s hot breath on his skin. “With your talent, you could be a professional. Tongue Technologist, if you will.”
Yoongi pats his hip, looking up at him with those sleepy, heavily lidded eyes of his, bright with a mixture of entertainment and adoration. “I won’t, but thank you for your vote of confidence either way.”
“Of course, any day, I’m always happy to - oh.”
Hoseok breaks off, pleasure blooming deep in his stomach when Yoongi dips lower, taking his length into his mouth without warning.
“Yeah, that’s - unnhhg, ” Hoseok tips his head back against the condensated window pane, unable to come up with much more than that as Yoongi’s hot tongue explores the places he knows are most sensitive, throat working around Hoseok like it’s his full-time job, and language, as Hoseok has come to know, is a difficult thing to remember how to do when Yoongi has him like this.
Mostly, everything he says, everything he needs to say and everything he can say is reduced to the same incoherent babble of words Yoongi is very used to hearing, but Hoseok never feels the need to say it more than when he’s this lightheaded and warm.
“Mm, love you,” he mumbles, moving his hand blindly to find the crown of Yoongi’s head and threading his fingers through his thick, glossy hair to hold them both steady. “So much, I love you, you’re so hot and gorgeous and - hyung .”
Hoseok is sure the way Yoongi’s throat constricts in a rapid series of flutters is the laughter that he’s trying valiantly to hold back. It won’t be the first time he’s been filled with adoring amusement at how easily Hoseok dissolves under his touch, and Hoseok is confident it won’t be the last. It’s one of those ongoing bits they share, tossing back and forth. The kind of fond antagonism that builds between lovers and friends, and Hoseok holds dear - after all, if they can’t laugh at themselves, who can they laugh at?
He inhales deeply, grounding himself at that deep point buried under his naval, and loosens his initial death grip on Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi’s hair is far, far too pretty to have strands of it torn out in Hoseok’s heady reaction to pleasure.
“Are you c-comfortable?” he stutters, breath hitching when Yoongi’s teeth make their careful graze along the underside of his shaft. Maybe doing this at the window was more for Hoseok’s sake than Yoongi’s, maybe their hardwood flooring isn’t the ideal place to drop down. “Do your knees hurt? We can always-”
“Hoba,” Yoongi pops off with an obscene, wet sound, gazing up at Hoseok with dark, feline eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. “Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I’m geriatric. My joints aren’t giving out on me yet, you know.”
Hoseok isn’t quite able to suppress his smirk at that. “Just trying to be considerate of my elders, hyung, don’t you appreciate that?”
“Aish,” Yoongi grumbles but parts his sinful, pink lips to mouth at the head of Hoseok’s cock, dipping his tongue onto the electrified-sensitive nerves there as if the conversation isn’t carrying out between them. He’s probably doing it on purpose, knowing Hoseok can’t carry out a conversation if he’s too far gone to process a single word being said.
“You have an attitude, you know,” Yoongi hums his observation, almost to himself more than Hoseok. “I could punish you for that.”
“Oh, Yoongi-hyung ,” Hoseok giggles, arching his back while he lets one hand toy through Yoongi’s silky locks. “We haven’t talked about that, tell me more.”
“In front of the window?” Yoongi suggests, flicking his gaze up to Hoseok. He looks pornographic this way, knelt before Hoseok, intermittently stuffing his mouth full of cock every time he dips low to take Hoseok down again like the punctuation to his every few words. “Where everyone can see you?” he eggs still further, a glimmer creeping into his own eyes. He’s enjoying this, Hoseok knows. There are few things Yoongi likes better than catching him unawares with dirty talk that comes out of left field and sets them both on fire with want.
“That would be - nnhhhg, that would be-“ Hoseok tries bravely to fight his way to the end of that sentence, but after a few struggling seconds he raises his other hand to Yoongi’s hair and curls a steady grip there. “Baby, I won’t last, I’m gonna-“
“Yeah,” Yoongi slides off, the slick mixture of saliva and precum glistening on his chin, wearing a smile that makes him look like the cat who ate the canary. “Hyung knows.”
Yoongi picks up his pace with renewed vigor, a delight painted all over his face that would lead Hoseok to believe he’s nothing short of thrilled to have once again led Hoseok to the brink of an orgasm with nothing but his tongue, a few words and some dedication.
When Hoseok finishes, his head jerks back without his permission, knocking against the thick pane of glass behind him none too gently, but he’s more concerned with the bobbing of Yoongi’s throat as he swallows, the pearlescent dribble of cum leaking from the corner of his mouth despite his best efforts to catch it all. His movements soften, but they don’t stop entirely until Hoseok is just bordering on the edge of being overstimulated by the feeling, and it’s then that Yoongi pulls off with a satiated grin.
“Good?”
“The best,” Hoseok pants, scratching his fingertips through to ruffle Yoongi’s hair. “Always.”
“Well, good, because we have an audience,” Yoongi suppresses a smirk and gestures toward the window.
“ What?” Hoseok whips around, jarred, only to find…a pair of doves. Perched on the bird feeder that Yoongi hung last month after finding it on top of a trash can on his commute to work. Four beady, black eyes, cocked heads watching Hoseok as if they’re well aware of what they just saw and they aren’t pleased.
“ Ugh, god,” Hoseok straightens up, helping Yoongi to his feet and tucking himself back under the hem of his T-shirt in a hurry. “I don’t like the judgment in their eyes.”
Yoongi snorts and bends at the knees to scoop Hoseok up in one swift motion, turning them both down the hallway. “Yeah, that was fun, but I’m thinking we’re better off wrapping this up in the bedroom.”