smoothed out slappy hours (teddyescher) wrote in oberyns,
smoothed out slappy hours


j-hope/suga | pg-13 | 1296 words
yoongi looks good in a suit.

crossposted to ao3. this was partly written in the first week that i got into bangtan-- probably about two months ago. my perception of them has greatly changed by now lmao but yeah. just wanted to post it since i'd been listening to eyes nose lips a little too long and it had just been sitting there.

yoongi looks good in a suit, thinks hoseok.

slick and cleaned-up. there go the familiar maroon beanie, the five dollar knock-off t-shirt he’d bought from the night market one time they’d gone to get food for a three a.m. craving. there go the multiple piercings and the ratty old sneakers, kicked to the curb with three years and more of soles skidding across wooden floors, scraping against the tar and the gravel of the streets, worn out.

here come the snazzy two-piece suit, the neat bowtie that sits beneath his chin. here come the pressed dress-shirt and the shiniest pair of black shoes he’s ever seen in his life. he looks good. he looks so fucking good. he looks older, looks more than his age, and the way he carries himself adds to that. confident. knowing. the skeleton of his stage presence standing his backstage-self upright.

they take a picture of yoongi, to upload on their twitter. he sits in this spindly little chair, sets his hands over his lap, and smiles up with that small smile he has sometimes, not a full-on grin and not just a quirk of the corner of his mouth, but somewhere in between. hoseok likes that one, likes that smile. he likes when yoongi smiles, soft and slow. it reminds him of sleepy afternoons and sleepier afternights, after long practices and after longer days, where they’d curled up together behind the couch by the door and slept with their heads nearly bumping.

yoongi looks good in a suit, thinks hoseok.

“you’re staring again,” says yoongi, and hoseok knows he is, and hoseok knows yoongi knows that he is. “i doubt my face is still that interesting, after twenty minutes.”

“you underestimate yourself, hyung,” says hoseok easily. easy banter, easy wit, easy jokes. that’s the two of them. easy living and smooth chatter. they match well. for all that yoongi is blunt honesty, loud comments and general indifference, there has always been a surprising bridge between him and all that hoseok is in turn: bright cheer, teasing jokes and skinship.

but then again, yoongi is never what he seems to be on the surface, and neither is hoseok.

“do i, now.” yoongi leans back, and really smiles this time, open and inviting, that smile hoseok likes to think of as just for him, sometimes, but then again, yoongi smiles like this for everyone. the fans, the other members, his family. but then again, yoongi is smiling at hoseok, right here and right now, and hoseok will take what he can. “tell me.”

“you look good,” says hoseok simply, and it’s the truth. “you look good in a suit.”

“thanks,” says yoongi, “i could say the same for you.”

“then say it,” teases hoseok. here it is. the trading of phrases.

but yoongi says, “i can’t.” there’s a switch of breaths for a moment. a phone goes off, tinkling in the background. it’s probably jeongguk and jimin playing clash of clans again. the focus returns, and yoongi is whispering, “because if i did, i’d probably have to say a few other things to go along with that,” yoongi pauses, “and i don’t think i’d like anyone else to hear those things, right now.”

hoseok’s mouth feels dry. “what kind of things, hyung?”

and yoongi gets up, walks around hoseok to stand behind him, latches his firm fingers around hoseok’s wrist to pull up the hand holding his phone, and he bends closer, closer, closer. the pretense begins here; hoseok is showing a photo to yoongi, a simple motion that they have always done. “things,” comes yoongi’s breath, against the skin of his neck, “like just how much i’d like to take all of it off you.”


“oh,” says hoseok, and there’s a tone of surprise in his voice to go with the tone of complete assurance in yoongi’s, “yoongi-hyung.”

“hoseok-ah,” replies yoongi quietly, smiling in that crooked way again, though hoseok can’t see it. he can still feel it, can feel the way yoongi’s lips curve up in the slightest way, against his ear, before yoongi’s letting go of his wrist, and pulling away, and straightening up as if whatever he’d seen on hoseok’s phone had been enough to keep his attention just for the barest minute but nothing else.

what a dangerous little game, they play.


one would think the danger seeps away once privacy comes into play. but it does not.

everything gets more dangerous, more exhilarating, more breathless, when they are alone to play and it is their game and no one else’s. the trip back to the dorms after the awards show is one full of trembling, taut tension, and determined little brushes of the fingers against wrists, arms, elbows. possessive gazes that hold tight even through the bumpy van-ride, even as they sit on opposite ends of the van, an unknowing seokjin dozing off between them with his earphones in.

and it is better, that nobody knows. it is better that nobody should ever know just how much the urge roars in hoseok’s chest when yoongi turns to glance at him, eyes sharpening and intention clear in his scrutiny. it is better that nobody knows just how much hoseok desires to run his palms down yoongi’s skin, to press their fingertips together and to press his lips against yoongi’s jaw. it is better that nobody knows about hoseok and yoongi.

they barely know anything about themselves, right now.

everything gets more exhilarating, more breathless, when yoongi’s fingers yet again curl around hoseok’s wrist, tugging him away to the tiny shared bathroom before anyone else can follow. yoongi is all heat and want and need when he first kisses hoseok, pressing him up against the door, and hoseok has never wanted anyone else this much before.

every look, and every breath, has hoseok gripping his fingers harder into yoongi’s shirt, pulling him close, every kiss spurring him on. their make-up is smudged across their faces, the product in their hair beginning to fade, their bones aching for sleep and the comfort of their beds, but their hands and eyes and lips only ache for each other.

“turn on the shower,” comes the soft whisper of yoongi’s words, against the soft curve of hoseok’s mouth, and the sound of pattering water fills the small space, hiding the little shuffles that the soles of their feet emit, hiding the slight sounds of tongues twisting together, hiding the quiet sighs that interchange between their lips, even as the water trickles down their foreheads, down their faces, down their necks. and it’s a pretty sight, the way the droplets of water dip into the curves of yoongi’s throat, shoulders, collarbones. hoseok wants to run his tongue along yoongi’s skin, along those little beads of water, hoseok wants to taste every single bit of him.

and he does. he does, he does. he kisses every single bit of yoongi, under his eyes, at the corner of his lips, under his jaw and along the base of his neck, down, down, down his chest and pressing even more kisses to the angles that his mouth finds along the way. yoongi is gorgeous like this, and hoseok just wants to kiss him.

hoseok wants to kiss yoongi until he can’t feel the breath in his lungs. hoseok wants to kiss yoongi until the water runs cold. hoseok wants to kiss yoongi until it’s the only thing he knows anymore.

yoongi might look good in a suit, but he looks even better in absolutely nothing.
Tags: c: bangtan, f: bts, p: fanfiction, r: pg-13, s: yoongi/hoseok
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