Archive of Our Own

Yoongi wasn’t one to give notice, nor care, about things that went on around him. That’s not to say he isn’t observant— he just tends to ignore the unimportant. A dog barking in the nearby park, a couple flirting one table over, or the passing stare of a stranger don’t warrant him to drop what he’s doing and provide them with all of his attention. He’s learned to pick and choose, and his concentration was even harder to break when he zoned into his work.

That’s why today, settled at a table in his favorite cafe, he felt weird. He can’t shake the feeling of something watching him. He refers to it as “something” instead of “someone” because there is no way in hell it was a person. The stare felt like cold fingers running over his skin constantly. They curled around his neck and down each vertebra of his spine in an icy caress that left him shivering. Sometimes, it felt like another person was blowing on his ear or whispering nonsense. There was no one there, obviously, but it was too realistic. It was distracting in every possible way and he couldn’t focus. Yoongi was supposed to be writing right now! He’s had his laptop opened to a blank document for the last hour and a half because all he could think about was the creeping chill running over his skin. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Whoever— whatever — was looking at him needed to stop.

Yoongi doubted he was very discreet with the way he snapped his head behind him, eyes narrowed. He scanned the faces of the other patrons, every single adult and child, waiting to make eye contact with the bastard who wouldn’t let him be in peace and—

Oh…

Oh, damn.

He was unbelievably attractive, this guy. The journalist hated to wax poetry, but his beauty was beyond anything on earth. Even in the well-lit cafe where light filled every corner, this man seemed to be in a shroud of shadowed mystery, like shadows were drawn to him. A full-body shudder jolted through Yoongi as their gazes met. The eyes were deeper than any black he’d ever seen, peeking beneath a curtain of dark bangs. The raised eyebrow and curled-lip smirk oozed confidence and only grew more dangerous as the seconds slipped by. He was well aware he had been caught and appeared quite pleased with himself. The stranger threw in a wink for good measure.

With how wide his jaw had dropped, Yoongi was surprised he hadn’t swallowed a fly. What was he supposed to do in this situation? His brain was beyond fried. All he could do was watch as white teeth dug into a full bottom lip. Those sinister eyes appeared to undress him from across the room and Yoongi decided he had to be dreaming. Was no one else seeing this? Certainly there had to be at least one other person seeing this. A quick scan around the tables and booths told him: no. No one else was seeing this.

Fantastic.

Where does Yoongi go from here? Does he just turn around and pretend he doesn’t know the hottest man on Earth is giving him the most intense set of bedroom eyes in broad daylight? Should he just ignore the cold touches those eyes were leaving across his skin? Maybe he could just get up and leave, but this was the only place he could work productively. He had deadlines and couldn’t spare the time! If he left that would be a missed work opportunity. His upper management was already breathing down his neck this month. Unfortunately, with Mr. Dark-and-Handsome around, Yoongi wasn’t going to create any type of output.

This guy had to leave him alone.

Somewhat fearful of what he’d find, Yoongi chanced a glance behind him again. A chant of Go away, go away, go away! ran like a mantra through his head as he attempted to will away his admirer. Much to his surprise, the man was gone from his seat. Unexpected, but welcomed! A part of Yoongi— the horny one— couldn’t help but partially mourn the loss of such a dreamboat, though. You win some, you lose some, he supposed.

“You looking for me, baby?”

“ Jesus Christ! ”

Yoongi clasped at his heart just to make sure it was still beating. Looming over him like death himself, the man’s eyes gleamed in delight at seeing Yoongi so clearly flustered. Long, slim fingers touched delicately at the tabletop as he leaned ever closer. His pretty mouth closed into an amused hum, a chuckle on his tongue as if he heard a funny joke.

“Not quite, darling,” he drawled. Yoongi suspected his jaw was on the floor again. From afar, the man was divine, but up close he was ethereal. His features were practically symmetrical, and his eyes had the longest lashes Yoongi had ever seen on another man. His attire held nothing in color— only black, black, black, black. Yoongi could appreciate a man with taste. It also turns out he checked all criteria to be Mr. Tall -Dark-and-Handsome. With Yoongi sitting, it only made it more apparent. He didn’t know what to do, so his mouth made the executive decision to try talking.

It failed to warn his brain about it, unfortunately. What came out was garbled nonsense.

“Uh- ugh. Um- buh… eugh—” Yoongi wanted to throw himself off the nearest bridge. The man watched on patiently, amused, as this must have been a normal occurrence for him. He simply swept some of his bangs behind his ear as Yoongi collected his thoughts and tried to do away with the heat on his face.

“You were looking… at me,” Yoongi was shocked he sounded stable. The man’s smirk widened into a grin Yoongi likened to a box, reminding him how unfairly beautiful this stranger was. His hand, the one not on the table, slid across the back of Yoongi’s chair, effectively snaring the writer further into his web.

“Mhm, that’s right,” he purred.

Yoongi pulled his lips into a thin line to stop himself from licking them.

“Why?” he demanded. The journalist prayed he sounded confrontational.

The man’s eyes appeared to glow in the fluorescent light as he responded easily, “You are very, very pretty. Was wondering what you’d look like with fewer clothes on.”

Yoongi was absolutely floored.

What was going on? This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. There was no way. Right? Right? Bewildered beyond belief, Yoongi looked desperately at the people around them. Someone had to be seeing this, he thought— someone had to be just as lost as he was. Alas, no one, not a single soul in the shop, caught on to the exchange between them. This drop-dead gorgeous man dressed to-the-nines in black cornering another man, conversing about how pretty he would be without clothes, hadn’t garnered even one stare from the maybe twenty other people in this cramped hole-in-the-wall. Insane didn’t even begin to describe how Yoongi was feeling.

Suddenly, one of those deft fingers was running along his jawline to tilt his chin up. The blonde had no choice but to fall back into those enchanting eyes, a gasp caught in his throat. The fingertip was freezing to the touch.

“What’s your name?”

Yoongi was dazed by the sound of this man’s voice. He hadn’t noticed at first, he didn’t know how he had ignored it, but his voice was deep. Yoongi had a deep voice of his own, yeah, but this was on an entirely different level. It felt like you were drowning in molasses, succumbing to a sleep you’d gladly never wake from. It was hypnotical.

Yoongi barely registered himself offering his name. Those eyes coupled with that voice and the chilled touch on his chin had Yoongi falling somewhere he didn't think he’d want to escape from.

“Min Yoongi,” that voice said, “I’ll remember it. I look forward to seeing you again, baby. I just know we’ll have so much fun.”

Then, those hands and eyes and voice and smirk were gone. Yoongi was caught off-guard when he was forced to inhale sharply, unaware he had been holding his breath. He was left reeling as the mysterious man was gone without a trace. He hadn’t returned to his seat and he hadn’t left. He just vanished.

Fuck.

What the fuck.

Yoongi buried his face in his hands to calm himself as he tried to make sense of what happened. The puzzle was nothing but mismatching pieces. How tired and horny was he to have a fever dream like that in a busy cafe? He released an uneven wheeze.

I need to get laid… he bemoaned to himself. He also needed to get started on that writing piece. He’d procrastinated enough today and he doubted he’d make any progress now. There was always tomorrow, but he could hear his disgruntled boss already.

With a final sigh, Yoongi packed away his laptop and quickly left the shop.

His thoughts were doing circles as he walked. Unanswered questions were cycling around in his head like a neverending carousel. It left him stuck in a daze as he headed for his apartment.

There was no explanation other than he needed more sleep and needed to get fucked. Apparently, jerking off once in a blue moon and sleeping 3 hours a week wasn’t healthy for your mind, body, or soul. All it leaves you with is an eerily real hallucination and a headache.

Why was it so realistic, though? He understood seeing a hot guy to drool over, but he was directly touched by the man. There was still a tingly feeling on his skin. Yoongi couldn’t have been that out of it to have all his senses go haywire. Maybe he was coming down with something. Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised if he had gone and caught a cold this close to his deadline; it wouldn’t be the first time. But he didn’t feel particularly sick…

As he was brooding, Yoongi was found caught like a deer in the headlights, quite literally. He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings and failed to notice he’d walked onto the street just as the sign blinked NO WALKING. A sudden green light meant the traffic was back in full swing. There wasn’t time for the shiny red sports car to hit the brakes—

Except Yoongi was yanked back just as the car blurred by, its blaring horn leaving his ears ringing and his whole body shaking. He wasn’t really sure what happened. He hadn’t moved manually. Frozen in a fit of panic, he should be nothing but a smear on the pavement. A strong grip around his left bicep told him someone had pulled him to safety.

“Are you alright?” a voice kissed the top of his ear. The blonde thought his body wouldn’t have the strength to move, but the sound of that voice had adrenaline rushing through his veins. He propelled himself forward, away from the heat behind him and whipped around so fast he almost lost balance. Good thing the grip on his arm held him upright.

“You—” Yoongi started, but his words got stuck in his throat. He was swallowed whole by the blue eyes gently meeting his gaze. Those long eyelashes were horribly familiar; coincidentally, so were those lips. The soft blonde bangs were new, however, as they framed his face to give him an angelic sweetness. For the second time today, Yoongi knew he was staring like an idiot.

Those beautifully kind eyes searched his face. The longer Yoongi didn’t speak, the deeper the frown carved into that flawless face.

“Are you alright?” He repeated again, this time with a tender carefulness, “you must be in shock. Come, sit down.”

Led by the arm, Yoongi was guided away from the crowded sidewalk and busy street to a bench. They were near the city park. He wasn’t even aware he’d traveled that far while trapped in his thoughts. The man rubbed his back in calming circles as Yoongi was left, once again, to deal with his crisis.

Without a doubt, this was the same man he encountered in the cafe. They would be identical if it weren’t for the glaring differences of hair color, eye color, fashion sense, and demeanor. The man from the cafe exuded sexuality and confidence. The man cooing words of encouragement beside him was attentive and genial.

“Everything is okay,” he said, baritone voice like a lullaby that made Yoongi feel light on his feet. Another thing that was so weirdly alike but utterly contradictory. God, his brain hurt.

“Uh…” Yoongi stuttered, the man perking up in response, “thank you. For saving me, I mean,” he touched his earlobe nervously.

“Oh, goodness!” the man pulled back, eyes widened comically as his hands waved about, “there’s no need to thank me! I was happy to help. It is my life’s duty to keep others safe.”

While his mannerisms and word choices were odd, Yoongi was quite endeared. He pressed on.

“No, seriously. I wasn’t paying attention and almost got my ass—” he didn’t miss the way the man winced, “— squashed like a pancake. I can’t thank you enough. I’m Min Yoongi. Please, let me make it up to you somehow.”

The man took Yoongi’s offered handshake enthusiastically. His palm was warm but not in a clammy, gross kind of way— but a comforting, reassuring one.

“You don’t need to, Yoongi!”

“I insist.”

“No, really! It isn’t necessary.”

He was certainly stubborn. Yoongi retracted his hand and couldn’t stop himself from pouting. It didn’t seem fair that his rescuer was both stunningly beautiful and so humble. He was like an angel straight from heaven. He must have found Yoongi’s sulking amusing as he let out a bubbly giggle. It was lovely.

“You are nice, Yoongi, but I truly don’t need anything. Seeing you safe and sound is reward enough! It certainly doesn’t hurt that you are a very pretty person, too. That’s just the cherry on top, I suppose,” he complimented. Like a switch, Yoongi remembered cold fingers flitting across his throat and eyes as black as tar. He swallowed.

There was no way. He felt like a broken record at this point, but today was absolutely bizarre. He so desperately wanted answers to the questions that just kept piling higher.

“Then, can I ask you something, instead,” his savior must have noticed the sudden shift in Yoongi’s behavior as the pleasant grin was replaced by an unsure, but considerate, raise of the eyebrows.

“Of course.”

“Have we met before? Just earlier, at a cafe? I just feel like— no, God. Nevermind, ignore that,” Yoongi grimaced. He’s so dumb. There’s no way they’re the same person. It wouldn’t make any sense, “sorry, I’m just tired. I’m not having the best day, haha.”

He rubbed exhaustedly at his eyes, willing the frustrating headache away. He needed to get home and rest. First, he’ll bid the saint goodbye and thank him again for saving his life, then he’ll cautiously make his way to his apartment. It was only two blocks from where they were. He could do that without injury. Probably.

Slapping his knees with a solemn finality, Yoongi made to get up when he was stopped. A strong hand sat on his shoulder, refusing to let him up. Yoongi was left confused— and perhaps a few degrees hotter.

“Yoongi.”

The journalist gulped, eyes flickering to see the sweet man burning holes into his very being. That peaceful blue was now sharper than a knife and it was skinning Yoongi alive.

“‘Do not desire her beauty in your heart, Nor let her capture you with her eyelids. For on account of a harlot one is reduced to a loaf of bread, And an adulteress hunts for the precious life.’”

…

What did he just say? Huh?

Yoongi was clueless as to what was happening. Had he fallen into the Twilight Zone? What in the actual fuck was going on? He flapped his lips like a fish out of water, speechless.

“What?” Was all he could say. At the sound of his voice, the man’s gaze lightened and was once again worried. They swirled with so much affection and reverence as Yoongi swallowed the lump in his throat.

Tone so heartfelt, the man spoke one last time, “Stay strong, dear Yoongi. Please, I beg of you. I couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. Resist the temptation, please.”

And, in the time of a confused blink, he was gone. Yoongi fell from the bench with a loud Thump! and a shrill gasp. No way! Not again!

Everything hurt so much. He refused to believe anything that happened today was real.

He went home and passed out on his bed, hip throbbing with a new bruise and his brain burnt to a crisp.

———

Over the course of three months, Yoongi had gained two new constants: Taehyung and Vante. That’s the names of the two twins he met on that fateful day. Well, he says twins because they’re visibly duplicates of each other but neither have confirmed it. He wasn’t really sure how they became so tightly woven into his life.

He supposed it started when they would just pop up out of nowhere when he was in public.

Vante, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, would find him in cafes, bars, and during night walks. He’d steal touches and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.  Yoongi didn’t really know what the other man wanted, especially after they traded numbers and began meeting on purpose. Their conversations became more casual and friendly-like as time went on, but that didn’t mean Vante stopped his advances. Always tempting but never overstepping. Always: Your skin is so pale. Seeing it makes me want to wreck you and Oh my. You look so delectable, Yoongi. Dress up for me? or Stop biting your lip or I won’t be able to stop myself when they are together. Yoongi’s taken to brushing those comments aside, pretending that they don’t make him melt like butter.

On the flip side, Mr. Good-Samaritan Taehyung ran into him whenever Yoongi was in need of help. Nothing as severe as saving him from becoming a hit-and-run statistic, but smaller, more domestic things. Retrieving an item on the top shelf at the store or handing him napkins when he’s spilled a drink on himself. There was even a time where Yoongi was stuck in a stall without toilet paper only to have Taehyung’s hand poke beneath the divider with a wad (Yoongi doesn’t like talking about that one). They exchanged numbers and met up regularly after that. Taehyung was so sweet and kind, but there were moments when he changed. He’d spout some Bible verse— Yoongi googled them after the 5th time— and look at Yoongi like he knew a secret. Yoongi also caught the other blonde looking at his lips a little too much to be considered platonic.

All in all, everything was kind of complicated, but Yoongi just let it be. He was tired of asking questions at this point. Whatever happens, happens.

A sudden, sharp pain in his wrist jolts him from his thoughts. He yelps and glares.

“Ow! V, what the fuck?” his frown is met with a sultry pout. Dainty fingers pulled back from where they had pinched Yoongi.

“You weren’t paying attention to me,” he whined. Rubbing the new sore spot, the writer responded with his own pout and an eye roll.

“You were talking about my ass again. There was absolutely nothing in whatever you were saying that I wanted, or needed, to know.”

And there it was. Vante let his eyes slip into that dark satisfaction, lips curling back into a smirk that made Yoongi shiver. He tilted his head innocently and Yoongi knew whatever he was going to say next would be anything but.

“That’s okay, baby,” he purred, “we can talk about something else. How about the fact you bruise so easily? I barely pinched you and your skin is already so red . Makes me want to—”

“Yeah, that’s enough of that. Next topic, please,” Yoongi was honestly surprised he could keep his voice monotone and his hands from shaking. It was literal torture to have Vante look at him through his bangs and lashes like he could and would devour him alive. With his voice wrapping around him like a vice, it made it so hard to breathe. It made his head foggy.

Luckily, the raven-haired man let him off easy. That smirk melted away while he leaned back in his seat. He took a sip of his hot cocoa while Yoongi moved to drink from his coffee.

“Fine. How’s that article of yours coming along? Didn’t you say you have a big deadline coming up soon?”

Yoongi smacked his lips, “Yeah. Actually, I finished it last night. Stayed up ‘til three in the morning and sent it in. I don’t have any more pressing deadlines in the next couple of weeks so, hopefully, I’ll be able to take a break for a bit… What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

In front of him, Vante had the biggest shit-eating grin he’d ever seen. It was boxy and really cute and he couldn’t stop himself from comparing it to another smile from someone who looked so similar.

“That’s great! Holy shit! Why are you acting like that isn’t a big deal? You have literally been swamped with work for as long as I’ve known you.”

Yoongi shrugged, “I dunno. Normally breaks between work are pretty… lackluster? I spend most of it in bed. Knock it off! I meant like catching up on sleep, you pervert.”

“Well, I’m going to change that, baby,” Vante licked his lips and Yoongi forced his eyes down. He fiddled with his to-go cup even though he could feel the blush burn its way onto his neck.

“Stop that,” he mumbled.

“No, not that— although I wouldn’t mind keeping your bed warm. I meant I want to take you out. You deserve to have some fun after sitting at your computer like a little hermit for so long. Let’s go to the club. My treat! I’ll bring some friends and you bring some of yours.”

Yoongi knew Vante was appraising him. Never could he get used to those eyes drinking him in like a man famished.

“God, what I wouldn’t do to see you let yourself go,” Vante crooned, “Get you on a dance floor. Get you out of those baggy hoodies and sweats and see you in something absolutely sinful. Bet you’d look so damn good.”

Skilled fingertips danced across the back of his hand where it held the cup. There was almost an electric shock where they touched, so Yoongi jerked his hand back. Vante looked irritatingly smug with his actions and words. He got a reaction he wanted for a change. Then, he got a slug to the shoulder.

“Fuck off, Vante. Now I’m definitely not going out with you. Asshole,” Yoongi did his best to damage control. The dark eyes across him begged to differ.

“Oh, baby, I know you’ll come out and play. It’s about time,” and then under his breath, “I’ve waited long enough.”

Before Yoongi could even try to ask him what he even meant by that, the man was standing up and taking his empty cup. A dazzling grin clashed with practically everything about him.

“Well, I’ll text you the details! I gotta get going now. Make sure to keep your schedule open, yeah?”

And then he was gone. He didn’t just disappear this time, either. He actually walked out of the coffee shop. Yoongi thinks he must have been really out of it that day to think a person could just vanish into thin air. Outside of his weird mannerisms, no sense of boundaries, and godlike beauty, Vante was human like everyone else.

Definitely.

Like clockwork, five minutes later, Taehyung was coming into the shop with mirthful eyes and a loveable smile. He quickly ordered a hot chocolate, suspiciously just like Vante, and moved to sit across from Yoongi. His pleasant personality was very contagious and Yoongi could feel his body grow lighter. A smile spread naturally across his face in response.

“‘Morning, Tae,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Yoongi! How are you?”

They fall into the small chit-chat. It was so easy to do with Taehyung. There was something about him that just let you relax and feel safe. Yoongi just felt so comfortable around him. If he thought too much about it, he’d probably call it a crush at this point. They were halfway into a discussion about the upcoming blockbusters when something caught Taehyung’s attention. His brows creased together above his pretty blue eyes as he reached a hand out to touch Yoongi’s right hand.

“Oh, what happened? Did you hit your wrist on something? Does it hurt—”

As soon as Taehyung pressed a gentle finger to the red mark, there was a zap of electricity between them. It was just like earlier with Vante except, this time, Taehyung was the one reeling back. His eyes were wide as something flashed underneath them. He froze for a long moment, stare burning the skin on Yoongi’s wrist as his jaw settled into a stern frown. Unsure of what was happening, Yoongi spoke softly.

“Um, no it doesn’t hurt. My friend just pinched me. My skin can be pretty sensitive sometimes so it’s still red. Nothing to worry about, really.”

Taehyung’s expression remained hard as he studied Yoongi. It was with that look that Yoongi knew, belatedly, that the lecture was going to come. 

“‘Deliver me from my enemies, O God; be my fortress against those who are attacking me,’” a bible verse, Yoongi assumed— like clockwork. The writer squirmed under the unrelenting gaze as Taehyung continued, “Excuse me for overstepping my boundaries, but I don’t think this ‘friend’ of yours is a very good one.”

Yoongi scoffed, “he just pinched me.”

“Regardless, he’s a bad influence on anything around him. I’ve been holding off on talking to you about this because I didn’t want to tell you what to do, but I can’t allow this to continue. You shouldn’t even be near someone like that. You’re good, Yoongi. You don’t need to be hanging out with—”

Yoongi felt something ugly and slimy rear its head in his chest. Vante wasn’t exactly the greatest guy, but what did Taehyung know? Vante had his moments where he could be quite polite and humane. Besides, last time he checked, the two doppelgangers apparently didn’t know each other. They both were very adamant to deflect the conversation anytime Yoongi tried to bring up the topic. Unless…

The smaller blonde cut the other off mid-sentence—

“Do you know him?”

It certainly had Taehyung clamming shut. Maybe it was the way Yoongi’s voice was so cold, or maybe it was because he couldn’t stand having Yoongi look at him like he was the bad guy. Striking cobalt eyes were all of a sudden concealed by straight bangs. Taehyung hung his head.

“Uh—”

“If you don’t know him then stop talking like you do. Really, Taehyung, I would think you of all people would preach about everyone having a little bit of good in them. He’s a bit… rough,” at the word “rough”, Yoongi caught Taehyung stealing a glimpse at his lips through his curtain of hair, “but that doesn’t mean he’s bad, per se.”

Really, the writer wasn’t sure where he was trying to go with that train of thought. What was he defending Vante for? Taehyung most likely didn’t mean anything but goodwill. He cares; and yet, that greasy feeling in his chest was still boiling at the fact Vante was being attacked. It could be he really needed a night to let go. The stress must be building too high. On cue, his phone goes off with several consecutive pings!

Vante: Hey qt ;) i got the plans set! 

Vante: How does fri sound?

Vante: i wanna take u 2 my fav club its called pandoras box

Vante: its where u can release ur demons ;))))

Vante: Haha get it?

Vante: i have some friends joining us dont worry they chill

Vante: if u wanna invite ppl 2 u can bby the more the merrier

Vante: meet u there @ 10 pm yea?

Vante: gonna make this the best night of ur life pretty <33

Yoongi snorted.

“Best night of my life, huh?” he mumbled under his breath. There was a prickling at the back of his neck as he truly contemplated this. He hadn’t gone to a club since his early college years, nineteen and looking to go out with a bang.

What was wrong with one night, anyway? A hidden voice begged him to reconsider, though. It was tiny and gentle and concerned. It told him that there was more to this than he’s aware of. The events in the past several months were suspicious and weirdly linked and leading him somewhere he can never come back from. He’s playing with fire, it tells him, and he needs to stop before he gets burned.

Then again, there was the much bigger voice screaming at him to just fucking do it. He’s 26. He’s still young and he’s letting his days waste away. He needs to drink. He needs to sweat. He needs to enjoy himself. One of the two hottest men he’s ever met invited him out to a night of debauchery and the other sat right across from him. When was he ever going to get this opportunity again?

Those little warning signals were slapped aside as Yoongi steeled himself. He found those ocean eyes looking at him. He might have thought he saw a grimace of uneasiness on Taehyung’s perfect face, but that could just be him projecting.

“Actually,” he drawled, much more confident than he felt, “I have some time off for work. I’m going out with him and his friends to celebrate. He said I could invite anyone! Would you like to come, Tae? You can meet him and decide whether he’s bad for me or not.”

______

Fuck, he can’t do this.

What was he thinking?

Yoongi looked from his phone to the blinking neon sign above him then back down to his phone. Vante had shared his location about an hour ago around 9 p.m. with the caption: waiting 4 u bby. It was a bit of a distance from Yoongi’s place. He wasn’t familiar with the street name nor the area it sat in. He ended up waving down a taxi to take him there instead, but quickly became suspicious when he told the driver the address. The driver gave him a quick up and down, eyes the size of saucers as he sweated bullets. There was no exchange of words as he pulled from the curb and drove towards the destination. Under the lights of the passing street lamps, Yoongi saw the man trembling where he held the steering wheel. 

An uncomfortable feeling was settling in his stomach the further he sat in the taxi. The well-lit blocks and colorful streets morphed into dark alleys and dubious individuals eyeing the vehicle. The sidewalks were grimy and aggressive graffiti littered the majority of the buildings they passed. When stopped at a stoplight, Yoongi watched a scantily clad woman chat idly through a car window just a block away. She climbed inside just as his taxi lurched forward.

He existed awkwardly in the back of that cab for about 20 minutes while they traveled through the dark streets: no talking, no music, nothing. The unpleasant feeling steadily grew even as they whipped around a corner and went down a bright street of XXXs and vivid neons. He was fighting to adjust his eyes to the blinding intensity as the taxi driver practically kicked him out. He was frantic as he shooed Yoongi away, severely underpaid and shaking like a leaf as he peeled out of there. The poor writer was left on the curb with two twenties still in his fist and mouth hanging open mid-word.

And that’s what led Yoongi to where he is now, standing like a fish out of water as he gaped at the glaring green sign daring him to enter. It read Pandora’s Box in a fancy font escaping a red neon box. He had no doubt this was where he was meant to be, and yet every nerve in his body was screaming run! He was rooted to the ground, ignoring the people who eyed him as they passed. Well, he had ignored them until he got shoulder-checked and threatened by a guy who looked like he’d happily carry out his promise.

One foot in front of the other, Yoongi stumbled past the bouncer, who looked a little too skeptical even after checking his I.D., and into the sketchy club.

He had to traverse a skinny hall where people were scarce and light was even scarcer, a distant bass causing the walls to shake where he pressed his hand. The further he went, the further he got from the real world. The drum of the music was settling deep in his bones as the flashing lights came into view. The room was swathed in the red club lighting, making everything look soaked through with blood. People of all shapes and sizes flooded the dance floor and the bar. Most were barely covered. Pecs and boobs— dick imprints and g-strings. They ground against one another like feral animals to the rough, drowning beat of the bass. If it turned out they were actually having sex, Yoongi wouldn’t have been surprised.

This was Vante’s favorite club? Half of him wasn’t surprised while the other half couldn’t believe it. This certainly was more his scene than a hipster coffee shop with those constant sultry gazes and revealing black outfits, that’s for sure. In what way did he think Yoongi would fit in? A magazine article writer whose favorite hobby was napping, wearing the same hoodie five days in a row, and spending hours clicking through cat videos on YouTube. He was completely and totally out of his element. Then, a flash of realization made him gasp out loud.

What about Taehyung?

In what way would Taehyung fit in here? So caught up in the new change of scenery, Yoongi hadn’t thought to regret inviting wholesome, soft Taehyung. He couldn’t survive in a place like this! He’d absolutely be eaten alive, spat out, picked to the bones, and then shit out on the floor. He might just have a heart attack trying to get past the bouncer.

Yoongi should message him and tell him not to come. Fumbling for his phone, the blonde caught the time on his homescreen. Shit, it was two minutes until 10. He could be there at any moment! He should go outside and meet him and send him home. There was no way—

Wait.

Taehyung said he’d meet him there. No questions about an address. He acted like he knew the place as soon as Yoongi brought up the name when he invited him. Just a timid smile and a confirmation that he’d be there. Yoongi had googled “Pandora’s Box” several times and never got any results. Not a bar, not a dance club; there was nothing to find for the general public.

How did Taehyung, the most tender-hearted person on the face of the earth, know about this depraved establishment that just so happened to also be Vante’s favorite nightclub? There had to be lines connecting somewhere but Yoongi felt like he was underwater as the music plugged his ears and emptied his head.

Stuck in his thoughts and unaware of his surroundings— which, in a place like this, was more than dangerous— Yoongi failed to notice he stood out a bit. Multiple pairs of eyes had been drawn to him the moment he stepped into the red illumination. They were hungry and looking to tear apart something soft. They weren’t sure how someone like that had gotten inside, but they weren’t complaining.

Just as Yoongi reasoned he should first notify Vante he was there, heavy hands slithered their way around the writer’s tiny waist. He was pressed back-to-front hard, startled as humid breath crept down his neck. The thick fingers grabbing at his hips were rough and unforgiving. He choked as a scummy voice licked at his ear.

“Damn gorgeous,” it rasped, “you feel even better than you look. Y’make me wanna fucking ruin you. Y’want that, doll? Bet you were just waiting for a nice dick to come along so you can ride it. Wanna bounce in my lap like a good little kitty? Fuck, you smell so good.”

Yoongi was gagging at the filth coming from this degenerate’s mouth and the rank stench that followed. It was like decaying garbage and alcohol-induced vomit. Not even five minutes in and he found trouble. He was trapped as wet lips touched his skin, and clawing at the hands pinning him in place wasn’t helping in the slightest. There was bile in his throat as it constricted in fear.

He couldn’t scream for help because it was impossible to hear over the screeches of the other patrons and the roar of the speakers. People were watching him get molested with either disinterest or amusement. No one cared about his distress.

There was a single name on the tip of his tongue as he struggled; and then, as if summoned, a growling voice cut through his panic like a cool knife.

“Get your grubby fucking hands off him before I slit your throat and piss in it, shitbag,” and, like magic, Yoongi was released. A hand on his forearm, one that was cool and protective, jerked him into a sturdy chest and held him tight. A snarl shook him to his very core and he couldn’t stop the whimper even if he tried. Behind him, a shaky snivel was begging for forgiveness, but Yoongi was more focused on the light touch of fingers carding through his hair and a deep voice in his ear.

“Hey baby,” it cooed, a scathing contrast to just a moment ago, “I didn’t know you were here already. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yoongi was vaguely aware of the gurgling wet noises behind his back, but the hand on his head wouldn’t let him look, “I was just about to but then— but then he… and then—”

He was hushed, a second hand rubbing circles on his back to soothe, “don’t worry, baby, I’ve got everything handled. No one else will touch what’s mine.”

Yoongi sighed, melting just as they separated.

As otherworldly as ever, Vante’s black eyes sucked him in and refused to let him go. His curled hair was pushed back and his lips were twisted into that familiar smirk. Maybe it was because his nerves were hotwired, but Yoongi really wanted to kiss the mole that sat there.

As usual, the dark-haired man was dressed to kill. Black attire, of course, but there was much more tanned skin on show under the harsh red lights. He wore the deepest cut v-neck Yoongi ever had the pleasure to see that hugged every curve in sight. Black jeans shredded to pieces that exposed thick thighs, strong knees, and sculpted calves. The arms wrapped around him were out as well, flexing as they shifted him in their hold. Yoongi felt saliva well up under his tongue.

Hold on, did Vante just say that—

“Fuck, maybe you should have just shown up in that ratty sweatshirt. You look way too good.”

Yoongi blinked, a dusty pink running across his cheeks as he glanced down.

After crossing the threshold of the nightclub, Yoongi was embarrassed to say he’s much too dressed up. Compared to the skimpy wear of the sweaty bodies around him, he looked like a nun. Well, not really, but he digresses.

He had to go excavating through his closet to find his old party clothes. Last time he wore anything eye-catching was two years ago when he was forced to go out for an intern’s 21st birthday. Buried under sweatpants and baggy shirts, Yoongi was able to find something: A black, silk button-up he wasn’t even aware he owned. It was so delicate a feather could snag it and so thin it was practically see-through. It draped over his torso nicely. He had it tucked into an old pair of tight, leather pants that never failed to get him attention back in the day— that certainly backfired tonight. With a tight belt to accentuate his waist, dark eyeshadow, and a little mousse to fluff his hair, Yoongi thought he looked alright.

An absentminded palm was softly running along the curve of his side and Yoongi decided then and there that— yes, he did look good. If it had Vante licking his lips like that then he did a job well done.

“Come on, you horndog! Stop fucking him with your eyes and introduce us,” a whining voice spoke up behind Yoongi, causing him to jump out of his skin. He removed himself quickly from Vante, pretending as if they weren’t just in a slightly intimate embrace for an extended amount of time. He thought he heard an irritated click of the tongue from his side, but it could have been something else.

Before him were three very handsome men all dripping sex appeal and standing in some kind of wet mess on the floor. With everything colored crimson, it was hard to say what the liquid was, so he just assumed it was a spilled beer. They should have someone clean that up.

“Screw off, Hoseok. I was working on it,” Vante, like usual, had a hard time keeping his hands to himself. One of those hands curled its way around the writer’s waist and held him close. Yoongi didn’t protest. He reminded himself that he was going to let loose tonight. Why would he push away a friendly, totally not hot and possessive, arm around his back when it was super innocent?

“Yoongi,” A shudder rolled down Yoongi’s back at the sound of his name. He was so used to the pet names he’d forgotten how attractive his name sounded coming off of Vante’s tongue, “these are my… friends. From left to right: Jimin, Seokjin, and Hoseok.”

Each one introduced themselves personally. The first, Jimin, was his same height with plush lips and a stare that could kill. His outfit fit much better with the theme of the other club-goers; his hips and abs were to die for. The second, Seokjin, was on par with Vante’s, and by extension Taehyung’s, beauty. His image was somewhat shattered by a dad joke and an adorably squeaky laugh, but it made him seem much more approachable. The last, Hoseok, looked both friendly and deadly at the same time. He would have been the exact one-night-stand younger Yoongi would have gladly jumped into bed with. The redhead looked like he knew how to fuck good.

Funnily enough, as soon as Yoongi entertained the thought about Hoseok, Vante dragged him impossibly closer to the point they were flushed side-to-side. A coincidence, probably. Yoongi did his best to act as though he wasn’t affected.

There was tiny small talk amongst them, Vante’s hand never wandering far from its perch on Yoongi’s hip. Yoongi laughed with them but mostly stayed silent. He couldn’t quite place it, but the fleeting looks from Vante’s friends were very strange. It was like they knew something he didn’t. It wasn’t unnerving, per se, but it did make him squirm a bit.

The writer was thinking too much. He needed to stop! Maybe some alcohol would loosen up the tension in his muscles.

A voice was in his ear, “We’re going to go find a seat, baby.”

“Oh, alright. I’ll grab a quick drink, then.”

“Sure, babe. I’ll—”

“No, I can do it alone!”

The hand on him tightened in response. Yoongi looked up to catch the dark glare in Vante’s eyes. Before the taller could even try, Yoongi was stepping out of his grasp and putting several steps between them. Vante’s expression fell further.

“I’m a grown man, V. That was just a fluke earlier, I swear. I’ll be fine. You guys go find a spot, okay? I still have to wait for my friend. I’ll find you after I find him. Promise! So, go. Shoo! Go… go ,” after a couple of half-hearted shoves, Vante gave in with a pout as his friends hauled him off into the crowd, laughing.

Now that Yoongi felt a bit more settled in the atmosphere and knew that he had allies nearby, he was a little less jittery. He was much more mindful, too, as he avoided colliding bodies and grabby hands while approaching the bar. Less people were over on this side of the club and made it easier to watch the entrance for any sign of Taehyung.

There hadn’t been any messages yet, so, hopefully, he hadn’t arrived yet. The time on his phone read 10:22 p.m. Yoongi assumed the other blonde was simply fashionably late. As he sat there, he was quite pleased that there were no more out-of-the-blue gropes. In fact, the few people around him appeared to actively avoid him, constantly looking over their shoulders.

Five minutes had passed and Yoongi was worried. He wanted to call to check on him, but the calls weren’t going through. Shitty service.

Ten more minutes crawled by.

He stress-ordered a couple of shots to get himself to calm down, because Taehyung was fine, right? He was just overthinking. He needed to stop thinking.

Just when he was about to order a fourth shot, a hand ran over his shoulders and scared the shit out of him. He whipped around a little too fast, his intention being to tell off whoever dared touch him but found himself losing balance, instead.

Warm hands and a twinkling voice caught him before he could fall.

“Ah! Careful!”

Enveloped wholly, Yoongi simply just melted into the body holding him up. A sweet smell of lavender and sunny days filled his nose as he pressed his face into pink chiffon. No, wait— it’s probably white. The red lights bouncing off it made it look pink. Either way, it was very soft.

Yoongi hummed in satisfaction as he wrapped his own arms around the body against him. Fuck, what kind of shots had that bartender given him?

“Yoongi? Are you okay?” the voice asked. Strong hands were pulling him back and then running through his hair. It was so comforting and gentle. Slowly, Yoongi’s vision focused. Elegant slope of the nose, flawless lips, bluest eyes tinted purple in the cardinal hue.

“Oh!” he gasped, eyes flickering as they drank in the captivating features so up-close, “Taehyung! You’re safe.”

The fingers scratching his scalp didn’t stop, “Of course I am. Why are you alone? It isn’t good for you to be alone here.”

“I was waiting for you–” Yoongi barely had the willpower to separate from the body heat pressed against his chest. Being tipsy was one thing; being tipsy and in such close proximity to Taehyung was another. That was a deadly combo, “–and I’m not alone! I was with my friend earlier. Him and his friends went to find a place to sit.”

Taehyung looked like he attempted an understanding smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes at all. He was tense and completely on edge. He was wary of every person who walked by or stumbled too close. Yoongi should have known this wouldn’t go well. This just wasn’t Taehyung’s type of place and he had invited him, regardless. He felt guilty.

Just as he was able to fall into his overthinking, gentle hands swiftly pulled the writer out of the way of a woman. She looked as though she definitely had too much to drink. She was fumbling around and flailing her arms to the music. If he hadn’t been moved, Yoongi would have gotten a nice black eye.

“Yoongi, I think we should leave. This crowd really doesn’t look safe. You almost got hurt. I can take you back home, okay? It’s alright if you want to,” Maybe it was hard to hear his voice over the bass, but his face was an open book. Taehyung’s eyes were wide and a crease had formed between his brows. It was almost like he was searching for something inside Yoongi. He looked so uneasy and worried and Yoongi felt that guilt squeeze his heart like a vice.

“I’m fine, Taehyung, really. Do you want to leave? I won’t hold it against you if you do,” he hadn’t even finished his sentence before the other blonde was shaking his head. His eyes had steeled with hard determination. Yoongi knew it wasn’t meant to be attractive, but his tipsy monkey brain had him swooning.

“No!” he yelled over the music, “I won’t leave you alone. I’m staying if you’re staying!”

Well, this was a predicament.

Yoongi didn’t want to go— not really. He promised Vante he’d have fun tonight. He was somewhere in this building waiting for him to return. On the other hand, Taehyung clearly didn’t want to be there, but he won’t leave unless Yoongi went with him. He supposed he could somehow convince Taehyung that everything will be fine. If he could quell the other’s apprehension, maybe Taehyung could enjoy himself. He could use some loosening up, just like Yoongi. Even though he’d always seemed a little prudish, a little push might do him some good! Vante would probably have an idea of how to do that.

They could all still have a good time tonight.

With more bravery than sober Yoongi could ever muster, the writer took Taehyung’s hand into his. The little blonde held it tightly to convey he was there for him, resolution filling his confidence a bit too high. He certainly took the other by surprise as those blue eyes switched between Yoongi’s face and their entwined hands.

“I won’t leave your side, then!” Yoongi decided, fingers squeezing reassuringly. At his words, a darling smile spread across Taehyung’s face. It was the first one of the night, and Yoongi be damned if it was the last one. Tugging lightly, Yoongi began to lead them further into the club. He had absolutely no idea where he was going, but he was sure that with some searching he’d find Vante sooner or later. Even among all these people, he stood out like a sore thumb. Taehyung didn’t protest and went easy enough.

They weaved through the sea of bodies, packed together like sardines in a can. It hadn’t even been five seconds since they entered the thickest part of the crowd and Yoongi felt like he was in a sauna. The shirt that was once so airy was now sticking to him like wet paper and sweat was beading down his temple.

As they moved deeper, it dawned on Yoongi that he was about to have Vante and Taehyung together, in the same vicinity, side-by-side. Cherubic, tender Taehyung and provocative, wicked Vante. Two halves of the same wet dream. If the writer didn’t derail that train of thought quickly, he’d end up short circuiting on the dance floor.

His senses were getting buzzed to all hell as the bumping of the bass grew deafening and the wall of people became too dense to push through. No one was giving an inch, and Vante nor his friends were anywhere to be seen. It would have been so easy to get scared caught in a pool of grinding strangers where another incident could happen, but the warmth of Taehyung’s palm reminded him he was safe. He’d never let something happen to Yoongi.

The alcohol was certainly hindering his inhibitions as he thought this wasn’t that bad of a situation. Vante would find them later, he reasoned, like he had before. They had the whole night ahead of them and he wasn’t going to waste it wandering around like a lost kid. They were literally in the center of the party! Yoongi was going to go all out, damn it! Who the hell was going to stop him?

On unsteady feet, Yoongi swung around to face the other man, and if he tipped over a bit no one had to know.

“Taehyung!” He hollered, “dance with me!”

And Taehyung watched on as he busted into the dumbest dance ever. It should be known that Yoongi knew nothing about how to properly dance and probably will never learn, so he just did what felt right. He did some kind of fancy footwork that looked intricate but was really just a mess as his hands did some kind of knock-off vogue. He was a wreck, but at least he got the reaction he was looking for.

Taehyung stood there like a fish out of water, not really moving but his fond laugh said he appreciated the silliness. What nerves Yoongi had left melted off him, grinning like an idiot as he continued. It went on for a while of goofy antics and giggling until the crowd shifted like a wave. One second, Yoongi was doing the macarena, and the next, he found himself in Taehyung’s arms again. They were squeezed in tight, confined and cramped.

As Taehyung’s guard went up, purposefully shoving back so they could get some space, Yoongi waited it out as comfortably as he could.Their chests and hips were flushed together with no room to spare. There was nothing inherently indecent about it, and neither noticed… until the crowd began to pick up with the energy of the next song.

The bodies surrounding them began rolling and lurching as if possessed by the bass and the two friends fell victim to the current. Their bodies were rocked against each other to the beat. To stay upright, the writer’s hands found purchase across broad shoulders that shifted dangerously under the damp chiffon. Strong arms wrapped around his back protectively as hot breath burned at his pulse. He felt so small and caged in and he couldn’t stop himself from absolutely loving it. The pressure between their lower halves was unrelenting and— to Yoongi’s horror— he found himself reacting.

It wasn’t on purpose! Yoongi wasn’t so easily reactive that a tiny bit of grinding could get him hard, but this coupling of sensations left him defenseless. The sweat, the heat, the barely there gasp that Yoongi would have missed if thick lips hadn’t been pressed to his ear. Taehyung had to feel what was happening as it pressed against his hip. It was humiliating. Yoongi was beyond mortified as the seconds rolled by like honey and it grew harder to control himself. His sensibility had flown out the window as Taehyung, so hot, feels good, don’t stop went on a loop in his head. It expanded in his chest, begging to break free the further this went on. A jostle behind Taehyung had a solid thigh slipping between legs and the dam was broken. A shameless moan was pushed from Yoongi, loud enough to ring in his own head as a shudder racked his body. He indulged, rolling his hips once.

Yoongi expected Taehyung to make a comment, to voice his discomfort, to yell or recite another stupid bible verse– anything at all, but he remained silent. He even stopped fighting against the horde around them, allowing the tide to push and pull through them fully, and Yoongi feared he was done for. No space was left now, barely any room to breathe without taking in lavender and sweat and sun and something else intoxicating.

So intoxicating.

Yoongi tried desperately to conjure up words in his haze. An apology was probably in order for grinding on his friend, but the breath against his throat had escalated, panting feverishly, and Yoongi was distracted once more. Feeling the heat of the breath left Yoongi focusing on everything that touched him. The bodies surrounding them, the arms wrapped around him, the chest shoved against his, the knee between his legs, and—

Yoongi’s breath hitched as someone shoved against his back, rutting their hips together and confirming what he thought he’d felt. Holy shit, Taehyung was hard, too.

His arms constricted around Yoongi, and a gasping whine escaped between his panting. He was just as affected as Yoongi, and it fried the journalist’s brain. His mind ran wild against his permission.

He imagined hands grabbing roughly at his hips, a chest to his back, that same angelically sweet voice moaning in his ear and whispering dirty things, things Taehyung would never say. There was someone who’d happily say those things, though, and suddenly Yoongi was imagining two pairs of hands holding him down, two lips kissing his skin, two pairs of eyes burning into his soul, two cocks—

Without warning, the suffocating crowd withdrew around them, as if a barrier was placed around Yoongi and Taehyung. Immediately, with obscene images still flashing in his mind, Yoongi jumped back from Taehyung. He needed to put some distance between them before he said or did something he couldn't take back, but he didn’t get far before he collided into someone. Frazzled, Yoongi whipped around to apologize or cuss the person out, maybe both, when he met a glare deeper than a blackhole.

“Vante,” he gasped, an arm instantly snaking around his back. The taller man did not look happy, his eyes flitting around like he was checking for something. Yoongi felt shy and embarrassed, a hand quickly moving to cover his crotch. The leather pants weren’t doing him any favors, but there was no hiding the flush across face and neck.

Whatever he saw, Vante didn’t like it. His lip twitched into a snarl, a type of jealousy blazing in his glare as he turned to Taehyung. Yoongi’s heart dropped. While he dreamed of the moment he would catch the two of them in the same room together, this situation was less than ideal. Would things get ugly? Yoongi really didn’t want to have to separate a fight. Especially not here.

Shock replaced whatever heated anger sat in Vante, eyes widening as he took in who, exactly, stood before him. Then, he laughed, loud and triumphant, and that tell-tale smirk returned like a cat who got the cream.

“Well, well, well,” he simpered, voice somehow loud and clear underneath the droning of the music, “I never thought you’d actually show up! I mean, I thought I sensed your lameass around Yoongi, but to think you’d come into my territory,” Yoongi swore he saw a flash in Vante’s eyes, something inhuman and deadly, “you’re infatuated with him, aren’t you?”

Yoongi jerked his head to look at Taehyung, heart climbing into his throat. Vante just implied they knew each other, that was one mystery solved, and while there wasn’t a whole lot of what Vante said that made sense to Yoongi, he did understand that last part.

Barely two feet away, Taehyung was a mirror of Yoongi— out of breath, flushed, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. His blue eyes were filled with both terror and fury, and Yoongi assumed he knew who that stare was aimed at. If Vante’s glare could drown someone in pure, terrifying darkness, Taehyung’s could suffocate them in beautifully lethal ice. They really were so similar, yet so different.

“I’m not here to play these games of yours,” Taehyung replied, fingers twitching at his side. His gaze flickered, down and up, from Vante’s face to the hand on Yoongi’s waist, “I came because I didn’t trust you,” Vante got a kick out of that.

“Me?” he sneered, and reality shifted. The air between Yoongi and Taehyung warped, and with a snap of Vante’s fingers, Yoongi was trapped between two bodies, front and back. That, by no means, was normal. In front of him, Taehyung looked just as surprised for a second, but when he realized what happened, his eyes were deathly cold as he glowered at Vante. Yoongi, unable to turn around, didn’t need to see Vante to know his smile was villainous, “I’ve kept my hands mostly to myself like a good little boy. You, on the other hand…”

The palm on his waist remained, but the other wound itself around the journalist’s neck, cupping his jaw and tilting it up. Yoongi moved willingly, feeling his neck stretch as it was exposed. Even if he wanted to fight, to resist, the cool touch of the fingers tamed his nerves. When he noticed the intense stare from Taehyung, Yoongi couldn’t stop from squirming.

“Tell me, baby,” Vante’s voice had a heady effect on him, fogging his mind in the best of ways, “who was it you were grinding on, hm? Who’s dick was pressed up against yours on this dance floor? Last I checked, it wasn’t me,” those fingers squeezed incrementally when Yoongi didn’t respond. Yoongi swallowed hard, keeping down the noise that almost escaped, “go on, say who.”

Yoongi couldn’t break the eye contact that ensnared him in icy ocean currents, raging like a typhoon that could rip a weaker man asunder. It was almost like a beast was imprisoned inside. The emotions that swirled in that storm were so many Yoongi couldn’t name most, but it left him breathless regardless. He was so thirsty— thirsty for what was the question. Those eyes flashed with lightning as they snapped up to the dark-haired man.

“Vante, enough! You’re strangling him,” his voice rang with a slight frenzy of panic and outrage, but it was still so soft like the caress of a lover. It was so far away, like Yoongi was actually under his waves, victim to the current.

“No, I’m choking him. There’s a difference,” Vante retorted. Then, the pressure around his airway was lifted and Yoongi realized he actually wasn’t breathing. A torrent of senses rushed back, the strongest a mixture of fear and arousal, and it was nothing Yoongi had ever experienced. As air entered his lungs, a moan ripped itself from his lips— loud, filthy, and unintentional— along with the name Vante was looking for.

Yoongi couldn’t hear himself over the roaring blood in his ears, although Taehyung’s expression said enough of how he sounded. He had half a mind to be mortified, but he was riding on a high and his brain was supplying him with nothing useful outside of begging him to let that happen again. He vaguely heard the conversation going on above him.

“See? Not very chaste of you, Taehyung. For such a goody-two-shoes, you sure like to point fingers. Tell me, what was it like hearing him moan your name like that? I’m half-hard from just—”

“Silence yourself, devil! Yoongi is in distress because of what you did. Look at him! You’re a danger to his health.”

Vante rolled his eyes, “Please, he’s not ‘in distress’, prude, he’s horny.”

“Hold your tongue!”

“How about I let Yoongi do it for me?”

And, just when he caught his breath, Yoongi’s chin was jerked up and he lost his breath once more. Vante kissed him roughly but with a lustful tenderness that caused his hand to curl around Vante’s neck, entangling his fingers in the black waves of his hair. He whined high in his throat at the surge of heat running through his blood. Vante kissed like he planned on eating Yoongi alive, teeth and tongue and the occasional snarl. It should have been a warning sign, he already suspected Vante really wasn’t completely human at this point, but Yoongi wondered if it would really be so bad if it drove him this crazy. The kiss was too short when Vante finally separated their mouths, spit covering Yoongi’s lips like a lip gloss. His thoughts were too scattered to coordinate wiping it off.

“Did you like that, baby?” Vante purred, mouths sliding from the corner of Yoongi’s lips to his jaw to his pulse point, “been holding back for so long, and I didn’t plan on actually making a move tonight, but, well, I also didn’t plan for Mister Wet-Blanket to steal my thunder.”

Yoongi cracked his eyes open, blurry as they drank in Taehyung, and he whined openly at the combination of a hot tongue laving over his throat and the look on the other blonde’s face. He didn’t believe it was possible for him to feel this desired by another person, let alone two— despite the clear bad blood between them, despite the torn expression on Taehyung’s face that made it look like he wished he’d been the one to kiss Yoongi but that he was ashamed for wishing that.

His fingers clung to the back of Vante’s neck as he maintained eye contact with Taehyung, realizing how bad he wanted this, and how bad he’d been wanting it since he’d first met them. The craving was just a simmer at first, unnoticeable, but with both together, the ambience, everything piled onto each other, the feeling finally boiled over.

He wanted to be defiled tonight, like Vante always talked about, and he wanted Taehyung to be there when it happened.

Yoongi found his voice, rough around the edges but still determined, “I like it,” he said, grabbing and yanking Vante from his exposed shoulder so he could look at him. The dark-haired man allowed it, extremely thrilled with where this appeared to be going, “and I want it. Want more, anything and everything you can give me. Tonight. Right now.”

If Yoongi could describe the word eager, it would be the wicked smile that took over Vante’s face. He looked predatory, his black eyes glowing for the first time, no longer depthless. They were a hypnotizing crimson, even more so in the red hue of the club. Not human, certainly not—

“Yoongi,” his attention was jerked from his trance at Taehyung’s voice, catching the frightful tone the other carried, “Yoongi, you do not know what you are saying! He’s dangerous! Please, heed my warnings and save yourself! This isn’t you, he has placed you beneath a—”

With his free hand, Yoongi ran it up Taehyung’s chest to rest teasingly at his collarbone, tempting and begging and hoping he felt what Yoongi wanted, “Taehyung,” Yoongi whispered, deep, magnetic. Even beneath the thundering noise of the music, Taehyung paid all his attention to Yoongi. The writer couldn’t really say what his expression was like, but he prayed it conveyed his desire well enough as he continued, “if you’re so worried, come with and make sure he stays in line. I trust you’ll make sure I’m well taken care of.”

Where this confidence came from, Yoongi didn’t know. Maybe it was contagious from Vante, but Yoongi didn’t want to continue without both of them. Even if Taehyung wouldn’t participate, Yoongi wanted him there. To see— to watch. And, even if it went against everything Taehyung believed in, Yoongi selfishly knew Taehyung wouldn’t deny him the things he wanted. The blown pupils and open-jawed stare, jumping between Yoongi’s lips and eyes, told him all he needed to know about Taehyung’s decision.

Yoongi might be caught in Vante’s webs, but Taehyung was wrapped in Yoongi’s.

“Fine by me,” conceded Vante, “C’mon, I know a place.”

And Vante led the way, Yoongi slipping his hand into Taehyung’s to make sure he followed close behind. The crowd paid them no mind as Vante moved, but they still parted and stepped aside for them. It was almost like before, when Taehyung suddenly appeared right in front of Yoongi without taking a step. If he stared hard enough, maybe Yoongi could see the air around the club-goers warp before they made space for their party of three. He could try and blame it on the alcohol, but it’s barely in his system at that point after everything that happened. Being tipsy doesn’t distort reality multiple times… at least, not usually.

They escaped the mass of grinding and pseudo-fucking and came upon the back of the club. Where a “VIP ONLY” labeled door stood, Yoongi spotted Vante’s friends off to the side. They were huddled into a group together, and when Seokjin pointed them out, it was like all their hackles raised, teeth bared, at the sight of Taehyung. Yoongi was pulled back a little by Taehyung’s hand in his, briefly, in response to the hostility, but Vante stepped between his angelic counterpart and his pack of friends. Yoongi assumed he said something as he watched the tension melt from their shoulders. They remained wary, but they seemed less likely to jump Taehyung if he took another step closer to the door.

They made no moves as Vante opened the door, and then he, Yoongi, and Taehyung proceeded inside. Instantly, the incessant buzzing of the music disappeared as the solid door closed behind them. The only sound left was an addictingly muffled thrum of the bass. Past the door was a small hallway like the one at the front of the building, leading, assumedly, further into the club. They traversed down the dismally dark area, passing by multiple doors and rooms until Vante stopped at one at the very end of the hallway. The hum of the bass was practically miles away now as Vante corralled Yoongi and Taehyung inside.

It was a small hotel-like room, and a voice in the back of Yoongi’s mind questioned if the other doors they passed looked the same inside. He spotted a bed, a chair, a table, an old tv and stand— it was pretty unassuming and dull compared to the seedy club they’d fled from. The room could be a little cleaner, though.

Taehyung’s frown said he agreed with that sentiment.

Vante looked right at home, rolling his neck and shoulders before plopping down on the bed. The mattress creaked with every movement as he kicked off his shoes and spread his thighs easily. Finally, his sharp eyes turned to the two deers stuck in his highlights.

“Well? Make yourselves comfortable.”

Yoongi obeyed right away, remembering shyly why they were there in the first place. He did say he wanted more, and this is where “more” would happen. He pulled off his own shoes, leaving them where they landed before stepping towards Vante; Taehyung’s fingers slipped freely from his hand as he didn’t follow. The smirk playing on Vante’s face as the blonde stood between his thighs made him shiver with anticipation. Those dark eyes consumed every part of him, slowly dragging up and down his body, and his hands didn’t stop themselves from reaching out and touching like they were starved.

The journalist inhaled shakily as a palm caressed him from thigh to waist, slow and deliberate. When Vante tugged at where Yoongi had tucked his shirt into his pants, wasting no time sticking his chilled hands up inside, that’s when Yoongi placed his hands on Vante’s shoulders for stability. They literally weren’t doing anything yet, but Yoongi was already dying from anticipation. Those eyes trained on his facial expression flickered to the side before he released a half-hearted laugh.

“You just gonna stand there?” He huffed, amused. Yoongi, confused as to who he was talking to, turned his head just enough to look behind himself. Taehyung hadn’t moved. The poor guy looked so lost in the middle of the room, hands held awkwardly in front of himself as he fidgeted. Yoongi felt a little guilty— maybe this was too much for him. Maybe he assumed too much.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi spoke softly, understanding, disengaging from Vante’s wandering hands to focus. Vante made a noise of discontent, “you don’t have to stay here. If you really are uncomfortable, you can, like… wait outside?”

Yoongi really didn’t want him to, and maybe his disappointment was noticeable in his tone, but it snapped Taehyung out of his nerves. Resolved, maybe a little petulant, he strode over to the armchair in the corner of the room and sat down. His posture was rigid and proper.

Well, Yoongi would have preferred a closer spot, but that was acceptable, too. Vante, however, didn’t think it was acceptable. He clicked his tongue.

“Killjoy! How are you supposed to participate over there, you virgin?”

Taehyung glared, “I am not here to participate,” to which Vante booed him, “I am here to… supervise. I may not be able to change Yoongi’s mind, but I can protect him if you decide to overstep, demon.”

“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want,” Vante replied, but the way he said those words sounded like he wasn’t really fine with it. Yoongi knew him well enough by now to know he probably had something up his sleeves. Vante’s hands returned to their paths underneath Yoongi’s shirt, so Yoongi decided he didn’t have the brain capacity to worry about that right now. There was a wet dream ready to fuck him now, after all. The hands pulled, enticing him closer and closer until Vante could easily bury his face into Yoongi’s stomach if he so pleased. In fact, he did just that.

He ducked his head under the loose silk, devious eyes and smirk vanishing from sight, and Yoongi jerked as a hot tongue lapped at his navel. The difference between the cold fingers making their way up and down his skin coupled with the almost burning licking left him gasping and a little desperate. He swore he was never this sensitive. This was barely even foreplay! Not seeing where Vante’s teeth and lips would attack next made it all the more intense— a nip here, a hickey there. And with every reaction Vante got, his hands held harder, fingers digging like they were begging to do more.

They both knew Yoongi was getting hard, and Yoongi was almost light-headed by how fast his blood flowed south. Unlatching from his ribs, an insistent hand suddenly cupped him, and he whined, long and unsatisfied. It really didn’t do anything besides tease. It didn’t unzip him, didn’t free him— Vante just used the heel of his palm to press vaguely at where the head of his dick was. The damn bastard was well aware of the effect he had with the way Yoongi’s stomach jumped under his mouth with each hitch of his breath. There was a wet pop, and then an infuriating chuckle. Yoongi was tempted to smack him.

Yoongi enjoyed a little playing, but this felt like it was stretching on for far too long. His leather pants were far too restricting, and he needed more than taunting little touches at this point. If he had to take the reins and speed things up, then so be it. Abruptly, Yoongi stepped back and away from the other man.

Vante’s head popped up, hair a mess and his lips swollen, wet, and cherry red. He looked both a tad bit disoriented and miffed, like he wasn’t too happy to have Yoongi stopping him from his game. Of course, once Yoongi began yanking his shirt off, he relaxed with a knowing grin. With his hands back, the black-haired man leaned back to appreciate the show while the other ran provocative lines along the crease of his thigh like he was debating touching himself.

Teasing, always teasing.

Yoongi finally got his shirt up and over his head, the fabric whispering as it fell carelessly to the ground, when Vante spoke up. He sounded like he was pouting, sarcastically sweet like he was talking to a child.

“Aw, is baby impatient? So needy,” he wheedled, “I didn’t even get to finish,” as if he wasn’t staring hungrily at the red splotches littered across Yoongi navel and hips, “fuck, I knew you’d look pretty covered in my marks.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi huffed, pretending to be unimpressed, “last I checked, you promised a lot more than giving me hickeys. I would appreciate it if you actually did something about it, now.”

“So demanding.”

Smug asshole , thought Yoongi as he undid his belt, button, and zipper, shimming the damn pants down and off along with his underwear. What need did he have for them? He grunted as his cock bobbed into the air, a little self-conscious when Vante’s gaze immediately snapped downwards. His eyes blazed, and his tongue sweeping eagerly over his lips like he’d be satisfied having it in his mouth and down his throat.

“Oh,” Vante breathed, drawn out and appreciative.

Yoongi feared his reaction to Vante’s eagerness did not go unnoticed as he bent over and fumbled to drag the leather over his thighs and calves, heart racing and teeth biting his lip. From behind, almost going unheard, was a shaky sigh.

“ Oh… ” whispered a voice, quiet. Vante’s eyes cut like a knife to the side just as Yoongi whipped his head around, both staring at Taehyung. He was still sitting in his chair, but he looked just a tad less put together. His posture was still rigid, but his legs were now crossed and his hands fidgeted in his lap like he didn’t know what to do to them. His lips popped open into an “o” shape and his eyes were focused on Yoongi with such intensity.

Well, a specific area of Yoongi. With the way Yoongi was angled, Taehyung had quite the view.

The journalist couldn’t help but both shy away and preen at the attention. He expected that kind of look, dark and hazy, from Vante. There were many fantasies Yoongi imagined, ones he’d never admit to Vante despite his prying, where he allowed Vante to have his way— but when his feelings extended to two men who look incredibly alike, appearances blurred and blended. Like earlier, on the dance floor. Perhaps the chances were higher than Yoongi originally believed.

Only when Yoongi straightened back up and stepped out of his underwear did Taehyung snap out of his trance. He realized he was caught redhanded and ducked his head. Vante snorted.

“You’re so obvious,” the dark-haired man muttered under his breath, accepting Yoongi back between his thighs. His hands wandered with a purpose across Yoongi’s body but didn’t pay him any mind as he spoke to Taehyung. Yoongi, too, was still watching Taehyung as he indulged in Vante’s hand as it wrapped around his cock. It twisted on each up-stroke, cradling the head in a tight grip, and Yoongi needed to hold onto his shoulders to remain stable. He moaned easily, ecstatic to finally get something with a little more substance, “acting like you don’t want to walk over here and bend him over. Listen to him, he’s so desperate for it,” he smacked the back of Yoongi’s thigh to punctuate his point, and that got Taehyung to return his gaze. Yoongi keened, “just get over yourself and give him what he wants, Tae-tae.”

The hand that smacked him grabbed a handful of his ass, groping and spreading for Taehyung’s pleasure. As if he couldn’t help himself, the other blonde’s stare immediately honed in on Yoongi’s hole. Yoongi clenched, unable to stop himself, and Taehyung not-so-subtly gulped. When two fingers rubbed at his hole, dry and with no real intention of entering, Yoongi whimpered and pushed his hips back.

“I’d be happy to stretch him out for you. Get him nice and wet for you to fuck your dick into. I can do with sloppy seconds if it comes from me— well, you,” said Vante.

Yeah, Yoongi was going to ignore that. There was not enough room in his head to theorize what the fuck Vante meant by that while being ridiculously horny. Instead, he concentrated on thrusting up into Vante’s hand and back on his teasing fingers. What he wouldn’t do for some lube right about now.

Yoongi wasn’t aware he closed his eyes until he heard Taehyung respond, venom on his tongue, “enough, Vante. I told you, I’m not playing this game, and Yoongi isn’t a toy you can… just… use against me like that!”

“Isn’t he?” Pouted Vante. Yoongi partially agreed, he kind of was.

“No!” Cried out Taehyung, frustrated, “get on with your… activity and leave me out of it! The quicker this is over, the quicker we can leave.”

“As you wish.”

Then, like before, the air around Yoongi shifted unnaturally before he found himself moved in the matter of a second, kneeling on the edge of the bed facing out towards Taehyung, with Vante at his back. His legs were spread and his back was arched, and Vante’s hands went to work quickly returning to their places, except they both were suddenly wet and slick. It made the handjob so much more pleasurable, and Yoongi moaned loudly. He wasn’t sure how they got in the position or where the “lube” came from, but his thoughts were quickly drowned by the wet noises of Vante’s hand around his cock and his own whining. He almost didn’t notice a finger breaching his ass until a second was added and they were abusing his prostate.

Yoongi was annoyed with the slow pace earlier, and apparently now Vante didn’t want to dick around any longer. Both hands were brutal in their assault, moving like they knew everything about Yoongi and his erogenous zones. A thumb rubbed insistently at the frenulum and the tip, refusing to let up even as precome beaded under its ministrations. It was almost too much, and his dick throbbed as he balls tightened and his hole clenched. He was impossibly close to the edge, and it practically came from nowhere. Vante brought him flush to his body, a punched out grunt loud in his ear as Yoongi watched Taehyung, powerless to the pleasure building like a dam about to explode.

The man in the chair looked ready to burst from just spectating, panting and red in the face. His eyes were glued to the head of Yoongi’s cock as it pushed past Vante’s fingers, filled with blood and spurting precome with each tap from the fingers inside him. God, he looked so starved and desperate, and that alone had Yoongi tilting his head back to expose more of himself. He wanted to look pretty for him, wanted him to keep looking at him like that. His cries of ah, ah, ah! were crescendoing, distracting him from what was going on behind him.

Vante’s movements were certainly growing more aggressive, and his mouth had taken to biting at his shoulder as his own sounds of pleasure had a dangerous growl to them. It was so hot, Yoongi couldn’t stop from babbling.

“Ah, ah— ‘M gonna come! More, ah , more, more! Please! ” And as he came, everything moved in slow motion. Vante’s teeth sank painfully into his throat, threatening to go deeper, before they suddenly unlatched and a gentle hand supported his head. His lax body was encouraged to fall forward into a chest before him and away from the chest behind him. The hands inside and around him didn’t budge, though, continuing to milk him dry as several more waves coursed through his body. He gasped for air as he finally began to wind down, inhaling lavender instead of smoke.

It took a moment, but his swimming vision returned eventually and his mind’s fog lifted a little. He fluttered his eyelids, trying to figure out where he was and what was happening. His eyes flickered up to the man cradling his body, his breath catching in his throat at the sight before him.

Taehyung was even more ethereal than before, if that was possible.

His eyes glowed like the sun, molten gold swimming with its own light. His brows were furrowed and lips pulled into a furious show of teeth, looking to set whoever he aimed his ire at on fire, and Yoongi was certain he could do it. The glean on his skin was enticing alongside the warmth of a red flush, a warmth normally welcomed by Yoongi, but with his own body heat spiked high it felt almost unbearable… almost. Even if it meant burning to ashes, Yoongi would refuse to let go of the man cradling him. Something wet dribbled over his shoulder as he stared in dumbfounded worship of Taehyung. He ignored it, but Taehyung did not.

“You infernal, vile beast!” Rang Taehyung’s voice, commanding and incensed, “I knew you couldn’t control yourself! If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have killed him— would’ve devoured him, correct? Was that your plan this whole time?”

The cool voice behind Yoongi sounded breathless, just a little. It also sounded appeasing, like it was trying to talk down a rabid animal, “Now, now. I didn’t mean to go that far—”

“‘Didn’t mean to!?’” Snapped Taehyung. Yoongi watched as the gold and fire flared inside his irises.

“Yes! You know what he’s like, I lost myself in the moment a little bit. That’s what you’re here for, though, right? To protect him from my ‘proclivities?’”

“I should smite you right now—”

Just then, a hot tongue laved over his wet neck, licking away whatever warm liquid was there, and hummed in satisfaction. Yoongi made a noise at the sensation, his skin throbbing with both pain and a weird sort of pleasure. The hand around his dick had retreated, but the fingers inside him remained where they were, happy to remind him how full he was. Whatever threat Taehyung had on the tip of his tongue was gone, his intense stare looking at Yoongi with so many emotions. It was like Yoongi had entrapped him by the expression written on his face, mesmerized by what he found. Yoongi somehow felt so powerful. Fingers held Yoongi’s chin in place as Vante spoke, his tone conniving and like that of a trickster.

“Look at him, Taehyung, and tell me you aren’t struggling to control yourself right now,” whispered Vante. Taehyung didn’t respond— couldn’t respond as his eyes zeroed in on Yoongi’s lips, plump and wet and waiting.

Vante continued, “I couldn’t help myself. I suggest if you’re that worried for him that you stop sitting in the corner like a cuck and give him what he wants.”

Yes, thought Yoongi, begging for Taehyung to notice the way he’s returning his looks, yes, please, give me what I want . Taehyung, entranced, was only centimeters from the writer, lips so close Yoongi could feel the gentle puffs of air against him, but then the other blonde blinked himself out of the daze. Yoongi swallowed his devastation as Taehyung shook his head determinedly.

“No, I can’t! This isn’t… this needs to end quickly,” the way it was said almost seemed like Taehyung was trying to convince himself as he tried to pull away, but before Yoongi could cling to him and call him back, Vante’s own angry outburst cut him off.

“Leave him again and I’ll take every piece, bite for bite,” he snarled.

Taehyung jolted, arms holding Yoongi once more with a protective strength, practically smothering him.

“You will do no such thing,” Taehyung bit back. As if finally pulling a gag from his mouth, Yoongi found his voice. He returned Taehyung’s embrace, clinging just as tightly.

He begged, “Don’t leave, then. Please, Taehyung, you don’t have to do anything, but stay with me. I want to… I know you’ll protect me, so stay with me. Please!”

Put between rock and a hard place, Taehyung appeared to be debating the choice of a lifetime with how long he contemplated. His frown left deep-set marks that Yoongi wanted to kiss away. He thought for so long Yoongi feared he’d decline, and Vante made a sound like he might jump over Yoongi just to strangle Taehyung. Finally, eyes shifting with uncertainty, Taehyung nodded his head minutely.

“I won’t leave your side, Yoongi.”

Yoongi was happy, and so was Vante if his devious chuckle was anything to go by. The world shifted once more with a snap, warping and blending with muddy colors as they were placed into whatever position Vante deemed perfect. They laid across the bed properly, Taehyung on his back with Yoongi sitting in his lap. As ridiculous as it sounded, Yoongi thought the way his hair splayed out on the pillows below looked like a halo. Yoongi wanted to tell him how pretty he looked, so flushed and nervous under him, but everything still spun. Yoongi actually gagged, stomach lurching at the motion. He swatted a hand behind himself.

“Vante, I swear to God, no more. Do it again and I’ll throw up,” he warned, delighted when his palm smacked the bastard hiding behind him. His hand met with bare skin, however, thick and warm, and the writer almost got vertigo by how quickly he whipped his head to look over his shoulder.

Perhaps during the snap, the demon found it easier to simply rid himself of his clothes, too— no more were the deep-v and ripped jeans. Instead, golden skin replaced the black fabric. Yoongi got quite the view before, but this was far better and far more dangerous. Roving his eyes up and down, Yoongi enjoyed the broad shoulders, soft stomach, gorgeous thighs, and the perfect cock between them. It was rock-hard where it stood proudly, Vante feeling no sense of insecurity as he allowed the other to admire it. A strong curve pointed it upwards, and a thick vein ran up the underside to the glistening head. Long and thick, one could rightfully call it perfect. God, Yoongi really wanted to put that in his mouth.

Vante’s smirk was very self-satisfied, “like what you see, baby?”

Yoongi hoped he gave a glare that told him to shut up. A rough hand grabbed the smaller blonde’s head and forced him to look forward again before Vante ran a marveling palm down Yoongi’s spin to grip at his hip.

“Don’t worry,” he teased in that tone, “I’ll give it to you, just like you want it… but don’t forget our little friend. Gotta give him plenty of attention otherwise he’ll get pouty. Give him a nice show, yeah?”

Yoongi sort of wanted to keep watching Vante, but he couldn't believe he forgot how good Taehyung looked underneath him. His clothes remained completely on, but the white top clung to his skin and left little to the imagination under it. His chest rose and fell, pace a little quick like he was still trying to catch his breath. As if held there, his hands laid limp beside his sides, but the fingers twitched like they itched to do something. His eyes, blue once more, rove over Yoongi, drinking in every naked inch like a dehydrated man. Yoongi had the sense to feel shy, despite everything. Leaning forward, Yoongi attracted Taehyung’s attention back to his face. They flickered with something like… reverence?

“Tae-tae,” he breathed, and Taehyung appeared to shudder a little, “you doing okay?”

Taehyung swallowed, then he nodded. Yoongi reached outward and placed a timid hand on Taehyung’s chest, rubbing softly. Taehyung’s chest skipped under his palm as his breath caught in his throat. From behind, Vante was doing something, but Yoongi diligently remained focused on the other blonde.

“You’ll protect me, right?” He tried, nervously. This seized Taehyung’s full attention as his brows furrowed determinedly, nodding much more confidently. Yoongi slipped his hand from Taehyung’s chest down his arm and gently tapped at his lax hand, “can we hold hands?”

As soon as their fingers interlaced together, Yoongi’s heart soared, lighter than air. It felt so innocuous despite the situation they found themselves in. He smiled to convey his elation, which Taehyung returned.

Cutting right through, Vante’s voice interrupted their moment, “Alright, ready for the main event?”

And, without warning, Yoongi felt something press against his hole right before it pushed inside. He gasped and arched his back from the pressure, cursing as his fingers gripped Taehyung’s hand tightly. The dick inside him seemed impossibly wet, adding to the lube inside his ass and making it a somewhat easy slide, but adjusting to the intrusion that was both longer and thicker than fingers was still a trial. Yoongi and Vante grunted in tandem, and Taehyung made a noise of his own. Yoongi wasn’t sure when he closed his eyes, but he fluttered them open in time to see Taehyung bite his lip and squeeze his hand back.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” groaned Vante, grinding incrementally as his hips pressed flush to Yoongi’s ass. Taehyung’s eyelids fluttered at that statement.

“Don’t— Don’t move yet,” Yoongi whined. He hated how high his voice sounded. Vante, sounded slightly affected from where he sat inside the other, huffed a breathy laugh.

“I’m a demon, Pretty, not a douchebag.” Yoongi could argue that, but he had more pressing matters to deal with than to playfully banter.

Taehyung’s delicate voice murmured from below after a little bit, “are you hurt?”

“No,” replied Yoongi, taking a stabilizing breath as his body acclimated, “it’s all good.”

He took the chance to clench and shift his hips, pleased with the pleasure that pulsed dully (and pleased with the warning squeeze from Vante’s hands grabbing his hips). Taehyung’s eyes watched his every move as if he were memorizing every reaction, steely blue threatening to burn him, his tongue wetting dry lips. His breathing was growing heavy again.

“Do…” he started, but stopped, scared. Vante was picking up on the cues Yoongi was hinting at, his hips matching the easy grinding Yoongi was coaxing. Yoongi zeroed in on the lips before him as they were licked again, waiting for them to move. His attention was momentarily distracted as the cock inside him was pulled and pushed in a solid thrust, testing the waters, and he felt a soft moan escaping his throat.

As if he were waiting for Yoongi to look at him again, Taehyung’s grip on the writer’s hand constricted as he spoke, “do you feel good?”

On cue, Vante took the opportunity to start a pleasant pace, apparently in no mood to make things end quickly. Yoongi shuddered at the feeling, rocking along with each thrust. Fuck , Yoongi thought to himself, his dick felt just as good as it looked. It filled him completely and provided friction with each pull and push, teasing a tap every once and awhile against his prostate like it knew where it was but it just wanted to taunt him. Absolute bastard.

Yoongi had been made temporarily starstruck, enjoying the feeling, and completely drew a blank to Taehyung’s question. Luckily, Vante was more than happy to answer for him.

“Look at him— that should be answer enough,” he decided to make his point by aiming directly for Yoongi’s prostate for a thrust or two, causing Yoongi to let out a startled moan, followed by a disappointed whine when he went back to the teasing.

“Vante,” fussed the writer, wiggling his behind to try and maneuver him back to that spot.

Vante continued, running his hands all over Yoongi like he was toying with him… or toying with his audience, “come on, baby, tell him. Do I make you feel good? You’re making me feel good, clenching around my dick like you need it inside you.”

Fingers enthusiastically reached around and tweaked his nipples, pinching and rubbing until they stood erect. Yoongi gasped, arching his back and tilted his head up at the stimulation, each pinch and roll shooting a shock of pleasure straight down his spin. Despite just coming a few minutes ago, his cock was hard once again and ready to go another round, twitching and dripping a dollop of pre-cum onto Taehyung’s pristine pants as Vante aimed another thrust dead-center.

Yoongi panted, moans dripping like honey as he tried to answer. It was hard to do when a demon knew every place to touch to turn him into a puddle. It was when Yoongi’s hand was suddenly pulled up and pressed roughly against Taehyung’s cheek that he could pull himself out of the haze just a little.

Taehyung’s eyes looked turbulent as he gazed at Yoongi, lips sore and red from the constant biting. He looked overwhelmed, like he wanted something he didn’t know how to ask for. Holding onto Yoongi’s hand for dear life, the contact where their skin touched burned like lava.

“It’s good,” Yoongi finally got out, words stressed by another punched out moan, “He feels so good inside me.”

It was difficult to tell whether Taehyung liked that answer; he closed his eyes tightly and grunted like he was in pain. Yoongi fell out of the rhythm then, worry overtaking the bliss. He almost told Vante to stop, but a mean laugh echoed in the room as Vante picked his pace up. The sound of skin against skin was loud, and the bed springs creaked and squeaked noisily.

“Did you almost come? God, you’re so pathetic. Getting off while watching your little crush get fucked as if he wouldn’t happily sit on your dick right now if you asked him,” Vante’s words were malicious as he continued to fuck Yoongi, never breaking out of tempo.

“Sh-Shut up,” said Taehyung, although his eyes remained tightly sealed and his voice held no conviction. The demon’s words clicked in Yoongi’s head after a lifetime, his mind flooded with the overflow of ecstasy, before his eyes snapped downwards.

Taehyung’s pants strained from the pressure of his erection, tented and tempting Yoongi. It did appear painful. How long has he been hard? Just now? Since the chair? Since the dance floor ? Imagines flashed again of two pairs of hands, two mouths, two cocks giving him everything he asked for.

He scanned Taehyung’s face as those eyes shot open, wide and wild, when Yoongi reached his other hand down to palm at the tent between the other’s legs. The poor man looked confused and apprehensive, and yet there were other emotions raging in the dark storm— desire, hunger, devotion.

Yoongi hoped his face conveyed what he was feeling inside. He wanted Taehyung to know how badly he wanted him, too. The weight in his hand as he held Taehyung, not really moving but simply feeling, reminded him of his earlier yearning to have something in his mouth.

Yoongi wanted Taehyung to feel good, and he wanted to be the one to make him feel good. As if sensing the shift, and probably looking to make a good time even better, Vante moved where Yoongi needed him to.

Leaning down slightly, Yoongi refused to break eye contact.

“Taehyung,” he said, low and seductive. Taehyung, disoriented, seemed to know where Yoongi was going, but didn’t have it in him to say no.

“Yoongi,” was all he mustered, breathless as he watched in slow motion as Yoongi grew closer and closer to what he wanted. He took to hiding half his face in his unoccupied hand, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the disaster unfolding before him. Yoongi was apt as he removed the layers between him and his goal, pants and underwear peeled away to reveal the prize. It came as no surprise that his dick was the same as Vante’s from thick, curved shaft to wet, mushrooming head. The blonde’s mouth watered.

With a delicate hand, he held it before him and observed the way Taehyung’s breath stopped and stuttered, the cock jumping in his palm.

“Can I make you feel good, too, Taehyung?” Yoongi asked, demure and perhaps a little devilish. As he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, inches from the head of Taehyung’s cock, a defensive switch flipped in the other man’s head. It was basically a knee-jerk reaction, he probably didn’t even know he was doing it, as he began to mumble under his breath.

“‘And as for what fell among the thorns, they are those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life, and their fruit—’”

Cut off with a grunt, Taehyung’s fingers squeezed painfully at Yoongi’s hand as a hot, wet mouth closed around the tip of his dick. Yoongi suckled softly as he laved his tongue across the velvet-like skin. He tasted clean with a hint of something else, something masculine and addicting that left Yoongi wanting more. The noises that Taehyung made certain helped, adding fuel to the fire boiling in his stomach with each timid whimper and gasping moan. He startled as firm fingers curled into his hair and held him there, neither pulling him off nor pushing him forward. Stealing a glance, Yoongi admired the long line of Taehyung’s throat, exposed, as his head was thrown back, jaw clenched as if it were wired shut. He appeared so unbelievably tense, even more so than before. Such careful control snapped into a single, frayed thread that he tried so desperately to keep together. Yoongi feared Vante’s influence was rubbing off on him too much as he thought about breaking that last thread and seeing exactly what Taehyung was like completely unrestrained.

Tired of being forgotten, it seemed, Vante picked his pace back up once he concluded the mood was back on. Yoongi moaned as the thrusts nudged him forward, unintentionally forcing him further onto Taehyung’s girth. He accepted it happily, the feeling of being stuffed on both ends working him up faster and faster. His brain felt fuzzy and his body buzzed with pleasure, and knowing that with each groan from Vante and whine from Taehyung he was making them feel good— he was pleasuring them, giving them what they wanted and pushing them closer to their edges.

Vante was calmer about it, more experienced, but his thrusts would lose their pace for a second as if he was lost in the feeling of pulsing heat from Yoongi, indulging himself before he controlled himself. His hands would grab and squeeze when he loved something, whether it be Yoongi clenching around him or Yoongi making a particularly sexy sound. Of course, he was also very vocal about the things he liked, saying out loud every little dirty thing that popped into his head. It gave the writer a heady superiority complex when he was told how pretty looked, how tight he was, or how hot it was that he could take cock so well.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was erratic with his reactions. It was like he attempted to remain calm, unaffected, but he failed with every slurp and hum Yoongi made around him. His thighs quivered, and his hips shifted like they wanted to move, but Taehyung’s last shred of discipline refused to let them. He whined and stuttered, and Yoongi swore he saw those beautiful blue eyes shine with unshed tears, flashes of golden sun and something else, something just as dangerous as Vante, threatening to escape.

“Ah— aah , Yoongi, don— that’s—” Taehyung tried to speak, but he couldn’t finish even one word with how overwhelmed he was. As Yoongi finally sunk as far as he could down Taehyung’s cock, the head bumping the back of his throat with each thrust from behind him, an unyielding hand grabbed the back of his neck and held him where he was. Even if Yoongi was on the verge of choking, tears from the feeling wetting his cheeks, the hand didn’t want him to move.

“Enough teasing, baby. Make us come like I know you can, yeah?” Vante commanded like it was that easy, as if that was a power Yoongi had in him. If that was what Vante wanted, though, Yoongi would do it.

Vante’s hips ramped up the intensity in a quickened pace, strong and powerful and deep. His taunts, giving Yoongi little tastes, were over. Yoongi’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as each harsh thrust hit him dead-center, purposefully accurate. The cock stuffed in his mouth garbled his shouts, but that was fine for Yoongi. Each vibration made Taehyung’s abs tense and fingers tighten as he was loud enough for the both of them. Yoongi couldn’t really see past the blurring tears, but he’s certain the other blonde looked fatally lewd with face tomato-red, dripping sweat and tears. Taehyung babbled something, but words were useless to him at that moment as all senses were focused on how Yoongi swallowed him down; everything was focused on how he looked, felt, and sounded.

The hands on Yoongi's hip and neck tightened as the thrusts got more brutal, making his whole body quake with each shove. One particular thrust drove him forward a little too much, and Yoongi gagged on Taehyung. He didn’t move, even as Vante’s hand released him to give him some air. No, the burn added to everything, and he loved it. There was a crude, biting curse from behind him, and Vante’s hand came back stronger than before as his speed picked up wildly.

Taehyung’s fingers in Yoongi’s bangs pulled in alarm. Yoongi thought it might be because of worry, like Vante, but when Taehyung’s whines pitched higher, desperate and urgent, he realized it was the opposite. Knowing Taehyung liked having Yoongi gag on his big dick, knowing Vante loved watching Yoongi be a little cock slut, finally made that fire boil over. Whole body locking up, Yoongi came for the second time that night as he’s filled from both ends. He couldn’t remember the last time he let a guy come inside his mouth, let alone his ass. Having it happen almost simultaneously— Taehyung a few thrusts before Vante— broke something in Yoongi.

He soared in the feeling of engulfing pleasure, flying high. He wanted more. It wasn’t enough, somehow. Whatever these two could give him, he wanted it however he could get it even if he lost his mind in the process.

The two bruising hands, now gentle, pulled him off and away from the dicks inside him. They allowed him to rest back against a solid chest as he got a gulp of air for the first time in a hot minute, rubbing at his muscles and to relax him. A sweet tongue coaxed his lips to open, licking at the mess around them before dipping inside to engage a soft, intense kiss. Yoongi recognized the confident, intimate touches as Vante.

He weakly wiped at his eyes, clearing his sight. Vante’s perfect face was the first thing he saw, only inches from his face. His swept back hair had fallen into his face— it looked as though it had been combed through by fingers many times. They frame those dark eyes that glittered with that familiar mischief and… something else. As it comes with exertion and sex, his face was beaded with sweat and colored pink, but his overall appearance was still well put together. Like he knew Yoongi was appraising him, his handsome face spread into that wicked smile. Then, his eyes flashed red as they flickered to the side, catching the sight of something he very much liked. It wasn’t Yoongi that excited him, but it was something he wanted Yoongi to see, too.

Somewhat lethargically, Yoongi turned his head to where Vante’s attention was drawn. His breath caught in his throat, heartbeat almost stopping painfully. Vante’s chuckle was in his ear, provoking and wicked, as they admired Taehyung where he laid.

He was the vision of sin. His blonde hair was skewed every which way, ravished by moving his head back and forth constantly. His bangs clung to his sticky forehead where his eyes were trained on Yoongi and Vante. It was as if he was both the predator and the prey with the way his eyes concentrated on them. His shirt had popped several buttons in the process to expose his red chest that rose and fell quickly. As Yoongi’s gaze continued to trail further down, his body ached. The heated fire still alight inside sparked through his limbs slowly like a wildfire.

Yoongi’s mouth popped open, eyes wide, as he stared unabashed between Taehyung’s legs. His cock stood tall in all its glorious details, framed by his open fly while still messy with a combination of saliva and come. Its head was a furious red that bled down the shaft as if it were still rearing and ready to go, balls heavy where they hung beneath. As he studied it, it jumped and oozed from the tip as though it was begging him to come back, to touch it more. Long, slender fingers slid around the girth and played with a vein that popped on the underside of the cock. Yoongi swallowed the lump in his throat as Taehyung hissed, sensitive, and Vante cooed at him.

“Look at you, dove, still so hard,” mocked the demon, his hand pumping lazily around Taehyung’s cock, “not satisfied? I guess even a bomb blowjob can’t get rid of a millennium of blue balls.”

“L-L-Let go, I don’t—” Taehyung tripped over his words as the sensitivity of his dick sent shockwaves through him; Yoongi can only assume how painful that kind of pleasure felt. Despite his words, he never reached down to slap Vante away, and Yoongi wondered if the demon knew something that Taehyung refused to admit to himself. He needed to talk to them later about what the fuck they actually were, because he could only make so many assumptions.

“Yoongi, baby,” purred Vante, deep and hypnotizing. Yoongi shuddered, the fire’s flames billowing.

His eyes refused to stop watching the way Vante’s hand touched Taehyung as he nodded. He was listening.

Vante continued, honeyed and enticing, “Taehyung needs more. Think you can do that for him?”

Yoongi somehow knew exactly what he had in mind. It was all he could think about as Vante’s thumb rubbed at the slit and then slid the mess down in a solid pump. With a hand on his back encouraging him, Yoongi shuffled forward on his knees to position himself above Taehyung once more. Taehyung’s eyes flew open, jumping around as he looked at Yoongi. He must have caught onto Vante and Yoongi’s plan, because he attempted to say one more Bible verse. Yoongi wondered if that will be a recurring thing if they keep fucking around.

Taehyung’s body didn’t move as he mumbled to himself, “F-, uh, flee from sexual immorality. Every sin… um, every sin a p-person commits is against— no, outside the body—”

Yoongi maintained eye contact as he shifted his legs, lowering himself enough so Vante could press Taehyung’s tip to his dripping hole, more fluids adding to the mess. He’d already begun to feel empty. Excitement bubbled in him at the idea of feeling full again.

That flash of something lit up in Taehyung’s eyes as his reciting grew quicker, more frantic, “— but the s-sexually immoral person, h-he sins— sins against his own body…”

Taehyung slid inside much easier than Vante, Yoongi sitting in his lap quicker than the writer expected, his thoughts interrupted by an abrupt Oh fuck! Jesus— slipping from Taehyung’s open lips. Yoongi looked at him like he grew two heads, but Taehyung was apparently preoccupied with the tight ass sucking him in and wringing his sore member for all he’s worth. Yoongi, too, was maybe too tender to be penetrated so soon, but he didn’t care. It was worth the way Taehyung whined his name, deep voice high and urgent.

“Yoongi,” he cried, “I-I can’t!”

Like a dream come true, two pairs of hands found his thighs and hips: Vante’s assured hands moved his hips in figure-eights, grinding him down while Taehyung’s hands dimpled his thighs as he clung on for dear life. Yoongi threw his head back and moaned.

The position allowed Taehyung to hit deeper, to press everywhere all at once and provide pressure on his prostate one hundred percent of the time. His dick twitched and oozed dribble with each grind, but he doubted it would get hard again anytime tonight. It was overwhelming in an addictingly sore kind of way, like stretching overworked muscles.

The grinding Vante set was dirty, purposefully targeting that spot because he knew Yoongi tightened up with each tap and that it was torture to the poor man below them. Taehyung scrambled for something, anything, to anchor him, but it was like he was losing himself. Every circle of Yoongi’s hips left him even more breathless, even more crazed, and that thin twine was threads away from finally snapping. Yoongi wanted it to happen so badly. That hunger he’d caught glimpses of was there, like a cage tiger, and he wanted to let it loose.

He made up his mind as he panted, leaning forward onto Taehyung’s chest to catch his attention. Two stormy seas, the color of blue and gold and red , locked onto him within a nanosecond, always ready to focus on any and everything about Yoongi.

He breathed softly, whispering only for Taehyung, “Please…”

Taehyung’s teeth dug into his lower lip as a zap of pleasure zipped up his spin, but he did his best to listen.

“Please, Tae, I wanna make you feel good. Am I doing a good job?” Yoongi used his thumb to pull Taehyung’s lip from where it was trapped. Taehyung just looked up at him in awe, mouth open where Yoongi held it.

Yoongi switched his grinding into small shifts back and forward, adding friction between them by barely pulling off before sitting back down. Taehyung jerked and moaned as his finger nails dug into Yoongi’s thighs.

“Wanna, hmm, wanna be good for you, Taehyung. Am I? Do I feel good around you? Please, tell me, ah , how good I am.”

Yoongi noticed the tidal wave before Taehyung did. His breathing escalated, his body shook like a leaf, and his sounds crescendos despite Yoongi’s constant motions. With each roll of his hips, Taehyung’s back arched like a drawn bow. When Yoongi leaned down, using his fingers to hold Taehyung’s chin in place, and kissed the corner of his mouth, that thread finally broke with a resounding crack. Taehyung let out something between a cry and a snarl, his hips kicking up twice to bury himself as deep as he could into Yoongi.

Yoongi gasped as he was jostled, but he didn’t stop Taehyung; he let him ride his climax, feeling Taehyung add to the mess inside him. Yoongi grimaced at the thought of cleaning it all out later, but that was for future Yoongi to worry about. His dick did, in fact, find it in itself the strength to harden again, although Yoongi was happy to ignore it in favor of prioritizing Taehyung at that moment. Before Yoongi’s heart rate could regulate, his back was shoved to the bed and a pair of vibrant crimson eyes stared directly into his soul.

He wanted to scold Vante until flaxen strands fell into his vision, and he realized the body between his legs never changed. Taehyung was still nestled inside him, deep and solid, leaving Yoongi perplexed beyond belief.

“Taeh—” Yoongi was cut off by his own squeal as, suddenly, Taehyung was holding him down and fucking him with firm, lightning-fast thrusts. They were more brutal than Vante’s, who worked with precision; Taehyung didn’t care as he seemed to be running on instinct only. His teeth were clenched tightly as he huffed, his stare intense as he refused to look away from Yoongi. This wasn’t the shy, nervous Taehyung from before— he’d shifted into a beast.

As Yoongi was fucked within an inch of his life, mind barely able to produce even one coherent thought, Taehyung pushed his face into his throat, mouth centimeters from his ear. He spoke, hushed and with a fervor that left flames licking down Yoongi’s spine.

“You feel amazing a-around me,” he punched out, broken by his enthusiastic thrusts, voice still somewhat holding onto his soft demeanor, “you make me go— go crazy . Wanted you so badly! Hah , I can’t… I want…” whatever he planned on saying was forgotten in a second as his brain focused entirely on his harsh pace. He whimpered and groaned and whined like an animal, and Yoongi imagined he sounded the same with how angry and raw his throat felt.

As Taehyung’s thrust grew more unstable, a demanding but tender hand grabbed his jaw and pulled his head back. There, he caught a second pair of red irises worshiping him and a heavy cock blocking his sight.

Vante panted as he fisted his cock, smirking at Yoongi’s blissed-out expression, “close your eyes and open your mouth, Yoongi.”

Yoongi obeyed, and a grunt of appreciation was heard beside the moans. His body was working on its last batteries of energy, drained from coming twice and being fucked hard multiple times, but it had enough juice to survive one lat pulse of ecstasy.

A harsh bite dug into his shoulder, right next to the throbbing pain left there earlier, as something hot splattered on his face, tongue, and throat and his hole took another load.

Then, everything went black.

———

Yoongi came to as though he were stuck underwater, his limbs sluggish and weighed down. His body hurt, and with the adrenaline and pleasure gone, it didn’t feel so nice. His bones felt numb and his muscles were puddles of goop. His one shoulder was sore, and as memories flashed back through his brain, he hoped it didn’t look as bad as it seemed.

He groaned, but his throat barely uttered a sound— he’d lost his voice, and anything that tried to come out was hoarse. He sounded like he was on his deathbed; maybe he was, because last night was aberrant… certainly an average human doesn’t survive an encounter where he gets fucked by two ethereal beings.

As his head came above water and he could control his arms with relative efficiency, he reached for the weight holding his middle. It was a naked arm gripping him around the stomach, locking him in place to a solid body. From his position, chest-to-back, Yoongi couldn’t figure out whether it was Vante or Taehyung. Luckily, the person attached to the possessive arm was awake, too. It moved Yoongi’s useless body enough so he was laid on his back with someone gazing down on him.

He was greeted not by endless blue or black or gold or red; instead, he found warm brown. The wavy hair that hung around the person’s face was neither black nor blonde, but a soft brunette color. The expression on the man’s face, too, was not filled with a cocky sort of devilishness nor a tender kind of love. It was careful, like he was waiting for Yoongi’s reaction first. Raising an unstable hand, Yoongi caressed his cheek gently. The man accepted the touch, closing his eyes in contentment as he pressed his cheek into his palm. His familiar lips yielded a sigh, as if relief washed over him by the simple contact. Yoongi had the urge to kiss that sigh away.

Clearing his throat, Yoongi urged the man to look at him once more.

“So,” he started, voice so wrecked he almost felt embarrassed, “what am I supposed to call you now?”

The smile he earned made his heart flutter, so maybe he took the chance to close the gap and kiss those lips like he always wanted to.