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

like everybody else

j-hope/jungkook | nc-17 | 10 085 words
he probably hadn't meant to say it. had he? maybe it had just been a slip of the tongue.

warnings for daddy kink, underage sex, kink discovery, very minor praise kink. jeongguk is mentioned as age eighteen in this fic, but because the relationship had been established earlier, i'm considering it underage.

so this is ten thousand words of daddy kink because fandom has a lack of kink fics that delve behind the relationship and the kink rather than just the sex involving said kink and also because karis and i talk about j-kook too much. jesus fucking christ. THIS WAS ALSO AN EXCUSE TO WRITE A WHOLE LOT OF PORN I'M SO ASHAMED BUT AT THE SAME TIME NOT AT ALL BECAUSE YOU KNOW ME. crossposted to ao3.

He probably hadn’t meant to say it. Had he? Maybe it had just been a slip of the tongue. Rolling his hips up against Hoseok’s as Hoseok had mouthed precariously at his pulse, teeth scraping over his Adam’s apple, fingers curled firmly into Jeongguk’s hair. Breath coming in hard puffs. Jeongguk’s voice, exhaling softly. Daddy.

He’d said it, possibly accidentally. Possibly on purpose. Hoseok doesn’t know. Jeongguk has never—he’s never expressed any sort of interest in anything like this before. Then again, Jeongguk doesn’t tell him everything.

“Sometimes,” says Jeongguk eventually, from where he’s sitting on his bunk, just a little way off from where Hoseok is sitting on his, “sometimes, I just want. I just want to call you that.” He pinches the blanket between two fingers, not wanting to look up at Hoseok, twisting the fabric between his fingertips absently. “God, this is—I’m sorry, hyung.”

“Hey, hey.” Hoseok slides off his bed, and onto Jeongguk’s, laying a soothing hand on his shoulder. His fingers automatically reach to rub along the back of Jeongguk’s neck. Jeongguk leans into the touch almost immediately. “Don’t be sorry.” He watches the way Jeongguk’s hair falls into his eyes when he bows his head, still not wanting to make eye contact. “It’s not weird.”

“It is,” says Jeongguk, voice small, “I shouldn’t want this so much. I don’t even know what this is.” He presses the heel of his palm against his eye, letting out a quiet breath. “Sorry.”

Hoseok cards his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair softly, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Don’t be sorry,” he says quietly, in response. He still doesn’t know what to think of this, mostly. But Jeongguk seems to relax more with each passing second of Hoseok stroking his hair, soothing motions that seem to ease the tension out of his shoulders. “Do you like this?” asks Hoseok, and Jeongguk nods, a minuscule motion that Hoseok barely catches. “Tell me what else you like.”

“I like,” starts Jeongguk hesitantly, “I like it when you tell me I’m good. When you tell me nice things. When you treat me like I’m small. I like it when—when you take care of me.”

“Oh,” says Hoseok, and he shifts closer, running his hand down Jeongguk’s back lightly. Jeongguk shivers under his palm. “Do you,” he says, “do you want me to keep taking care of you, Jeongguk?”

“Yes,” whispers Jeongguk, and that single word flicks a small flame alight at the base of Hoseok’s spine. “I know, this is really messed up, I’m sorry—”

“Hush,” says Hoseok, and he pushes Jeongguk down against the mattress, shifting them around so he can kiss Jeongguk, soft brushes of lips against lips. Jeongguk always kisses back eagerly, but this time, Jeongguk is timid, unsure. “Don’t worry,” whispers Hoseok, against Jeongguk’s skin, “we’ll work up to it, yeah?”

“Hoseok-hyung,” says Jeongguk, eyes widening, because Hoseok has just implied that he’s fine with this, with Jeongguk wanting all of this, and Hoseok would do anything for Jeongguk, really, he should know this by now, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” says Hoseok, and he presses his lips gently to Jeongguk’s jaw, “things will be okay, okay?” He cups Jeongguk’s face in his hands, and gazes at him. Jeongguk gazes back, so innocent, so young, so wanting. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” answers Jeongguk almost immediately, and he repeats the words, this time barely above a whisper, “of course I do, hyung.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” says Hoseok, and he kisses Jeongguk a last time, before sweeping his hand down Jeongguk’s face, thumbing over his neck, ghosting down his front lightly. “Sleep. We have practice in the morning. The others will be coming in soon.”

“Sleep well, hyung,” says Jeongguk, and Hoseok slips back into his bed. But he doesn’t fall asleep until hours later, when Jeongguk has finally drifted off, and the thought falls muted for the moments that follow.

His mind lingers constantly on the thought, during practices, in the car on the way to schedules, in the shower, for the better part of a week. Hoseok will glance over at Jeongguk, maybe some point in the day, and immediately, his voice will flit into his mind, the soft, keening whisper of the same word, almost like a reminder of what Jeongguk’s trusted him with.

This is not something light. This isn’t simple. This is—Hoseok doesn’t know what this is. And he doesn’t know what this feeling in response to it is, this feeling that he hasn’t really addressed prior to this.

Hoseok has always loved looking out for Jeongguk. Taking care of him when he needs it, even if it’s just in the smallest ways. Complimenting him. Hoseok has so many words to say, and so many of them to give to Jeongguk.

Does this—does it translate over to what Jeongguk wants, too? This push and pull, evolving into something a little more bound together, a little more complex than the single string of before?

He’s still not sure. Will he ever be sure, really?

Hoseok watches Jeongguk joke around with Jimin, attempting to balance a half-empty water bottle on his head. It falls, and hits Seokjin in the face. Hoseok can’t help the laugh that bubbles out at Seokjin’s enraged roar, and Jeongguk’s immediate finger-point towards Jimin.

Jeongguk catches his eye, and smiles, a slow-reaching one that catches Hoseok right in the chest.

He’s so beautiful. Hoseok watches him move across the room with ease. So young. Sometimes, Hoseok wonders if he’s the one who’s messed up, falling for someone who’s barely into the summer of his life, still with one foot in spring, the other waiting to hit the ground. Sometimes, Hoseok just wonders if he’s the one who’s fucked up, wanting Jeongguk this much, so much, so very much.

Jeongguk is only eighteen this year, eighteen years old, and it makes Hoseok feel the ache in his limbs a little more. He doesn’t pretend that the gap between the both of them doesn’t exist. It’s impossible to.

But for some strange reason, it had to be Jeongguk. It had to be Hoseok. And it had to be them.

Hoseok drums his fingers along the side of his thigh, still watching as Jeongguk twirls into their choreography with ease, playfully running through his verse while the others get ready to practice again. There’s sweat slicking up the back of Jeongguk’s hair, and his shirt is beginning to stick to his skin. The wide grin on Jeongguk’s face matches the lightness in his step, the cheek in his expression, the readiness that dances through his veins. Hoseok wants to shove him against the mirrors and kiss him until he can’t feel his lungs anymore.

But he cannot. Not now.

“Come on, hyung,” calls Jeongguk, and their eyes meet. “Come on,” repeats Jeongguk, not breaking their gaze, “Hoseok-hyung, let’s practice.”

“Yeah,” replies Hoseok, pushing himself off the floor, letting his water bottle drop. “Let’s.”

They run through their practice again, and again, and again, but never has Hoseok been so distracted. He can’t keep his eyes off Jeongguk, and even though he keeps his composure, inside, he’s a trainwreck. It’s almost a miracle that he lasts till the evening, when the others say they’re going out for a night like the other.

Hoseok doesn’t waste any time. The second the door closes behind them, and he’s made absolutely sure that they’re nowhere near the building anymore, he tugs Jeongguk into the bedroom, closes the door, and presses him up against the door, kissing him hard.

Jeongguk’s fingers scrabble at the door for a moment, before reaching to twist into Hoseok’s shirt, Jeongguk groaning against his mouth. “Hyung,” he exhales raggedly, letting out another soft moan when Hoseok threads his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair and tugs lightly. “I’ve wanted—all week—”

“Me too,” mumbles Hoseok, and he pulls Jeongguk to the nearest bed, straddling his hips to lean down and kiss him. Jeongguk knows his way with his mouth, knows just what to do to make Hoseok moan in return, knows the way he twists his tongue around Hoseok’s will make Hoseok’s toes curl, knows every trick in the book.

The flat of Jeongguk’s palm presses against Hoseok’s growing arousal, through his shorts. Hoseok rocks down into Jeongguk’s grip, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Jeongguk makes a content sound, kissing Hoseok again, before Hoseok pulls away to shift his focus to the rest of Jeongguk.

The thought flashes through his mind again, the recollection of Jeongguk’s voice, and Hoseok wonders, maybe just wonders. If he could just hear him say it again. Maybe it would be less surprising this time. Maybe it would be different, now that he knows, what’s behind it.

Hoseok kisses Jeongguk’s neck, just below his jaw, before moving downwards, tucking two fingers into his collar to pull his shirt to the side. “You can say it,” he murmurs, sucking a hot bruise into Jeongguk’s skin, along his clavicle. Jeongguk tips his head back and lets out a soft sound, from the back of his throat. “You can say it if you want to.”

“I—” begins Jeongguk, a little hesitant, a little scared. Hoseok pulls off and shifts back up to kiss him properly, a long, drawn-out kiss, nipping and licking into his mouth with languid movements. “Are you sure,” whispers Jeongguk, and he curls his fingers into Hoseok’s hair, tugging him back down, “tell me you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” answers Hoseok, indulging him in one more kiss, and another, and another, until their hips are grinding up against each other’s almost mindlessly, hands threaded together, breaths coming faster. “Go on, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk lets his eyes fall shut. “Daddy,” he says, the word slipping from his lips shakily, but it comes hopeful, almost. Wanting to be said again.

Hoseok strokes his fingers over Jeongguk’s hip, toying with the hem of his shorts. “You can say it again, Jeongguk.”

“Daddy,” says Jeongguk, and the word falls easier now, but still with hesitation. Hoseok kisses him, and ignores the burn in his gut that follows Jeongguk’s voice. Jeongguk says it like it’s a prayer, like it’s the most important word in the world to him, cautious and careful, as if it’s something so fragile that he would take a million lengths to keep it guarded.

Hoseok wants to hear it again. “You can say it as many times as you want, Jeongguk.” He watches the way Jeongguk’s mouth falls open a little, as if he hadn’t expected Hoseok to say that. “You can say it as much as you want to. Come on.”

Daddy,” repeats Jeongguk, and he’s so hard, god, Hoseok can feel him rutting up against his thigh, his eyes on the verge of falling shut again from the stimulation, fingers finding purchase in Hoseok’s shirt, “please.”

Hoseok lets out a soft exhale. “Good boy,” he says, testing the waters, words slow, but Jeongguk’s breath hitches audibly in his throat, and Hoseok knows he’s got him. “You’re such a good boy, Jeongguk.” Hoseok holds him steady as he slides down the length of his body, tugging his shorts down to fit his mouth around the tip of Jeongguk’s cock. Jeongguk’s back arches off the mattress, heels digging into the sheets when Hoseok slides his mouth down further, sucking in his cheeks around Jeongguk’s cock.

His grip is tight in Hoseok’s hair. Hoseok fits his hand around what he can’t take and strokes upwards, just as he presses his tongue into the slit the way that always makes Jeongguk’s voice come out a long, keening moan. “Daddy,” whines Jeongguk, the word breaking in the middle, a breath separating the syllables, and fuck, if it’s not the hottest thing Hoseok’s ever heard in his life. It makes him surge forward, hollowing his cheeks further, pulling off to wrap his lips just around the head of Jeongguk’s cock, and Jeongguk makes the best noises.

He really does. Soft, little breathy gasps, that build up, slow and nice, into hiccough-y moans, voice shivering and shaking. The way he says Hoseok’s name is always enough to make Hoseok’s skin tingle. The way Jeongguk says this word now, though, is just as good.

Jeongguk only lasts a little while more, before he’s coming in Hoseok’s mouth, heels curling into the small of Hoseok’s back, fingers pulling taut in Hoseok’s hair. He looks gorgeous like this. Strung-out, wound-out. Jeongguk’s fingers still manage to find their way to Hoseok’s shorts, pushing them down to mid-thigh, hands wrapping around Hoseok’s cock, jerking him off with quick strokes. Hoseok comes with a bitten-back cry, hips stuttering into Jeongguk’s grip. They both take a moment to catch their breaths, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together.

“Good boy,” echoes Hoseok, breathing hard, moving to push Jeongguk’s bangs off his forehead, to kiss the sated, sleepy twist of his lips, to murmur again, “you were so good, Jeongguk. You did so well.”

“Did I, daddy,” breathes Jeongguk, eyes half-shut, and Hoseok nods, smoothing his hair back. Jeongguk seems to have realised what he’s just said though, and he’s already murmuring a rushed apology of, “sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry...”

“No, no,” assures Hoseok, “it’s good. It’s fine. It’s more than fine, Jeongguk.” He presses a chaste kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek. “I meant every word of it.” Jeongguk’s expression switches from hesitant to surprised, and Hoseok just wants to make him know exactly how much he had meant it. “You really are such a good boy, Jeongguk,” he says softly, and Jeongguk lets out a shuddering breath, reaching up to thumb over Hoseok’s cheek, “Shower?”

“Too late,” murmurs Jeongguk, “the others will be back soon.” He pauses, before saying, “Thank you, hyung.”

“Mm,” says Hoseok, moving to pull off his stained shirt, and chucking it to the floor, “and you know I meant that, right? That you can say it as much as you want.”

Jeongguk gazes up at him, expression almost wondrous. As if he were wondering what he’d done to have Hoseok allow him these things so easily. Hoseok wonders if Jeongguk knows just how much Hoseok loves him. “Anytime?” he asks, voice quiet. “I mean—when it’s just the two of us?”

“Yeah,” says Hoseok, nudging their noses together, rolling their foreheads together, pressing their lips together, once more. “Anytime,” he whispers, and Jeongguk sighs softly into the kiss. “Even when we’re not doing anything.”

“Okay,” says Jeongguk, and there’s a brief second that hangs in the air between them, before he adds, “thank you, daddy.” And the words—it’s strange, that it doesn’t feel strange, rather, it’s strange how the words just feel so right.

Hoseok runs a hand through his hair again, and whispers, goodnight.

There isn’t much time for them to sneak away, most days. They are constantly swamped with practices, recordings, fan-signs, little schedules here and there, and even when they do get days off, privacy is hard to come by. Hoseok isn’t exactly sure if the others know what they get up to behind closed doors—it is sometimes difficult to conceal the look behind his eyes when he meets Jeongguk’s gaze, even in a room full of people, even when there are a dozen others in the same place. It just cannot be done.

But Hoseok is always grateful for those small moments. The little in-betweens, where the sun shines sleepy upon the city, or the rain patters hard against the sides of the company building, roaring through the walls, still able to be heard even over the sound of speakers blasting the same set of songs, over and over again.

Maybe the others do know, the way they never question how they’re the only two who stay behind, some nights. The only two who stay at home, doing who knows what. Practicing, Jeongguk will say sometimes, snorting, what else? Dancing, Hoseok will admit on others, laughing, what else?

What else, indeed?

Definitely not sliding down onto the couch in the living room, limbs tangled and faces pressed together. Definitely not soft, small kisses, definitely not weary words not meant for the ears of any other. What else, really. Hoseok has a million and one excuses, but none of them can ever come close to what really happens when the lights are off, and it’s just them, together.

They room together at the hotel, this time. Jimin swaps his keycard with Hoseok so he can stay up late with Namjoon, watching the latest episodes of some anime that they’re currently hooked on. It’s a win-win situation, really. A room all to themselves, for the night. The firmaments must be feeling particularly gracious, today.

“Remember to lock the door,” calls Hoseok, setting his suitcase at the foot of his bed, and Jeongguk makes a sound in compliance, hanging back to make sure. There are two beds. But Hoseok figures one could hold them both well enough. “Jeongguk?”

“Mm, hyung?” Jeongguk’s head pops up around the corner, and he drags his suitcase in. “The others are going out now.”

“Did you want to go with them?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, falling back onto his bed, kicking off his shoes in the same motion. It bounces lightly, and Jeongguk hums in satisfaction. He’s always liked beds like these. Soft, springy. Hoseok wonders how much the bed will shake when he fucks Jeongguk on this one tonight. “No way,” he says, voice a mumble, still weary from the long plane ride. Jeongguk always sleeps on the plane. Less of a habit, more of a necessity. “I already told manager-hyung we’re not going. They’re probably halfway down the building by now.”

Hoseok likes watching him sleep, though. So quiet. So still. So calm. The way Jeongguk’s head pillows gently against his shoulder sometimes, when they have seats next to each other. It’s cute.

“You’re sleepy,” notes Hoseok, sliding down onto the bed, shifting so that he’s leaning over Jeongguk, face upside-down from Hoseok’s view. Hoseok strokes Jeongguk’s hair unmindfully, cups his chin, and rubs circles into his neck, soothing little motions. Jeongguk falls even quieter, soaking up the attention. “Don’t stay up too late, okay. You’re going to have a hard time waking up tomorrow.”

“I know, daddy,” comes a mumble, and Hoseok’s chest twists strangely. Jeongguk still hasn’t used the word much, still scared, still worried about what this means, but every time he does, maybe just a little slip into a sentence, maybe just a quiet mention in between words, there’s something that flips in Hoseok’s gut, something torn between excitement and contentment. “I mean... Hoseok-hyung,” says Jeongguk, and he flips over onto his stomach, getting up on his knees to shuffle forward on the bed. He slides his arms around Hoseok’s shoulders, leaning in. “Is it okay if I—”

Hoseok hushes him with a kiss, and the words, “I said,” in a soft whisper, “you can use it if you want. Really.” He takes in the look on Jeongguk’s face, still a little unbelieving, but wanting, and bites back the urge to just kiss him even harder. “Go on.”

“Okay,” says Jeongguk, and he rests his forehead against Hoseok’s, this time sighing, “okay. Thank you, daddy.” He says it with all the care in the world. And to think, Hoseok is the one he means, the one he’s placing all that care in. Hoseok has never felt anything of this weight before.

“Good boy,” says Hoseok in response, and Jeongguk makes a satisfied sound, kissing him. His mouth is warm, so warm, and so soft, and Hoseok chases the taste of the mints Jeongguk had been chewing on during the flight, and the wet heat that comes when Jeongguk lets his lips part. Kissing Jeongguk is one of Hoseok’s favourite things. There is dancing, there is performing, then, there is Jeongguk, and everything about him. “You’re so good, Jeongguk.”

“Can you say that again, daddy,” whispers Jeongguk, leaning in closer, sounding so hopeful, so needy. As if all he wants is to just hear the syllables of praise drip from Hoseok’s lip, as if he could be satisfied just letting them saturate his hearing.

Hoseok will say it until his voice can no longer contain the words. “Good boy,” he says, kissing Jeongguk after each phrase, “so good, my good boy. You’re my good boy, Jeongguk.”

“Yours,” echoes Jeongguk, and oh, Hoseok can hear the tremble, taut behind his words. “Your good boy?”

“Yes,” murmurs Hoseok, and Jeongguk’s smile doesn’t even feel out of place. It’s perfect. “Mine.”

Jeongguk lets Hoseok push him back against the sheets, hair softer now without the usual immense amount of product, fanning out around his head. Hoseok tucks his fingers into Jeongguk’s hair, tucks it back, and kisses him, the easy slide of lips, and the easy brush of skin. It really doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to want more, hips canting up against Hoseok’s, hands skirting under his shirt to press, warm against his abdomen. “Please,” says Jeongguk, “daddy, please, fuck me.”

Hoseok’s skin burns. The words feel like a lighter to his palms. He sucks a kiss into the side of Jeongguk’s neck, and pushes his shirt up with one hand, undoing his jeans with the other, fingers deft. “You want me to fuck you?” asks Hoseok, mouthing over the curve of his hip. Jeongguk mewls when Hoseok brushes his mouth further up, scraping his teeth over a nipple, tugging his shirt up to bite into the curve of his clavicle. “Say it for me again.”

“Fuck me,” breathes Jeongguk, and he tugs off his shirt in a hurry; Hoseok echoing the motion, tossing his shirt aside to the floor in a mess. There’s a minor scramble for Hoseok’s backpack, one leg dangling off the bed as he reaches for the condoms and lube stuffed far beneath all of his things, deep enough in a side-pocket somewhere that none of the other members could notice. “Come on,” says Jeongguk, tugging Hoseok back, jeans already off, underwear slipping down his thighs, and Hoseok has to suck in a hard breath when he sees Jeongguk, already impatient, already aroused. “Please.”

“Patience is a virtue,” says Hoseok teasingly, and Jeongguk snorts, hands busy, tugging Hoseok’s own jeans off, until finally both of them are naked. Hoseok watches the way Jeongguk’s gaze slides downwards, for a good long moment, the way he bites his lip. Eager. Hoseok’s fingers are slick with lube as he presses Jeongguk back against the headboard of the bed, as he slowly pushes a finger in, then two, and another.

Hands tighten into sheets, muscles grow taut. Jeongguk rocks his hips back into Hoseok’s grip, the smallest of moans escaping his throat. He’s tight around Hoseok’s fingers, slick, wet heat. Hoseok wants to feel that around his own cock, him inside Jeongguk, the same feeling. It spurs his actions, makes him bend forward to kiss Jeongguk, and ask, “Now?”

“Yes,” gets out Jeongguk, reaching up to slide his arms around Hoseok’s shoulders, kissing him in return, “yes, daddy.”

And there it is, again. That unmistakable flare of arousal that rises low in Hoseok’s gut. Maybe Jeongguk’s not the only one who’s got something for this, then. Maybe he’d never even realised that he—he wanted something like this. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s Jeongguk.

It’s always been Jeongguk, he supposes.

He pushes Jeongguk’s knees apart wider, rolls the condom on and slicks himself up, teeth set against his bottom lip as he does. Jeongguk watches him with half-lidded eyes, a red flush creeping up his neck, sweat already rolling down his forehead. There’s a quiet moment, before Jeongguk is inhaling sharply, eyes squeezing shut, as Hoseok pushes in, grip bracing steady on Jeongguk’s hip.

His hands slip on the sheets, slippery with lube after adding more. There’s still a stretch, and it still takes Jeongguk a while to adjust, but Hoseok hikes one of Jeongguk’s legs up over his shoulder, and braces himself against the bed-frame, pushing in deeper.

Jeongguk’s fingernails dig into Hoseok’s shoulder. “Daddy,” he moans, “harder,” and he chokes out a little strangled sound when Hoseok pulls out and fucks into him deeper. Hoseok’s entire body shakes. He’s burning up. The noises that Jeongguk makes, in between each thrust, are only serving to further push him off the edge. “Daddy,” says Jeongguk, the syllables all a mess, the desperation in his voice driving Hoseok insane.

“So good,” grits out Hoseok, and he’s so close, so fucking close, but he bears himself down against shaky arms and kisses Jeongguk, all sloppy and teeth and tongue, hand skimming over Jeongguk’s hip to wrap around his cock, the slide even slicker from the lube, and Jeongguk falls apart right before his eyes. “Come on,” whispers Hoseok, against Jeongguk’s lips, “come for me, baby.”

Toes curling, Jeongguk comes with a throaty cry. Hoseok fucks him until his own movements are erratic, until his muscles strain to cope, until he comes too. There is nothing but the sound of the breathing in the room, the sound of their breathing and the sound of skin sliding against skin.

Hoseok pulls out, tying the condom off before dropping it into the wastebasket beside the bed, and shifts to fall back onto the mattress, catching his breath. Jeongguk still has his eyes closed, drawing in slow, long breaths. His hair is all matted against his forehead, sticky with sweat. Hoseok reaches over to gently push it back.

“You called me baby,” comes the first words after, and Jeongguk turns his head to look at Hoseok, some strange expression on his face. “Baby.”

Hoseok licks his lips unconsciously. He hadn’t realised it. It had just slipped out, the same way Jeongguk had first let the word lapse “You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I—” says Jeongguk, biting the inside of his cheek, “I liked it.” His voice drops, softer, more timid. “I really liked it, daddy.”

“Oh.” And maybe Hoseok can’t remember what it’s like to breath properly, with how Jeongguk is looking at him so intensely, but that’s okay. He’ll be okay. They’ll be alright. “That’s good, then. Did you,” he adds, hesitant, “do you want me to call you that more often?”

There’s a pause. “Yes,” answers Jeongguk, eyes not meeting Hoseok’s, “I do.”

“Okay then.” Hoseok flexes his fingers, wipes them on the sheets. They should probably take a shower. “Come on.”

He threads their fingers together, tugs Jeongguk to the bathroom, and they run the water for a good forty minutes. Hoseok presses him up against the cold tiles of the wall and whispers, baby, one more time. Jeongguk pushes him back against the opposite wall, drops to his knees, and sucks him off so hard that Hoseok bites crescents into his knuckles that last for weeks.

Things don’t necessarily change. They’re still the same. Hoseok still nags Jeongguk to do the laundry, to pick up after himself, to check their movement lines during rehearsal, to stop fooling around with Jimin and Taehyung and that skateboard because they’re going to be late and the car is going to leave, and we don’t have time for this. Things don’t really change.

Not on the outside. Jeongguk still smiles, that cute little smile. Charms everyone within a three-mile radius. Attempts dance moves that he shouldn’t, gets too cheeky with the older members, sings way too loud in the morning, when everybody’s ears are still adjusting to the early temperatures. Teases Hoseok the way he always does. Laughs the same way when Hoseok cracks an especially bad joke.

Things don’t really change, until the last two members in the room are them, and them alone; until the sun goes down and the moon waxes across the sky, silent, knowing.

Jeongguk has starting calling him it more often, now. He sidles up to the couch where Hoseok is sitting, his phone in his hands, and slumps down beside him, resting his head on his shoulder so naturally Hoseok doesn’t even look up to see who it is. “Hi,” whispers Jeongguk, and Hoseok curls an arm around his waist, tugs him nearer, kisses his temple. “Can I sit here?”

“You’re already sitting here, baby.” Hoseok nuzzles his nose against Jeongguk’s ear, placing another light kiss to his neck. “Did you want something?”

“No, I just—just wanted to sit here,” says Jeongguk, gnawing on his lip, “is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” Hoseok settles back comfortably, and so does Jeongguk. He is so warm against Hoseok’s side. He fits right there, under Hoseok’s arm. It fills Hoseok with such a great sense of contentment, with such a great sense of comfort. He doesn’t know what to call it. He guesses there’s really no name for it. It’s just comfort. The strange sense of it being right.

Though, if someone were to ever see them like this, hear them like this, Hoseok knows that their first thought would be far from it being right. He bites back the thought and shoves it far away, into a corner of his mind, and focuses instead on the softness of Jeongguk’s hair, tickling his cheek, as Jeongguk’s eyes threaten to fall shut right there, with his head against Hoseok’s shoulder.

But then, “Don’t you think it’s weird yet,” come the words as a sigh, rather than a question. Hoseok tightens his grip slightly on Jeongguk’s hip, breathes in his scent, and shakes his head. “You don’t think all of this is weird?”

“No,” answers Hoseok, truthfully. “It’s not weird. It’s just. Unusual, that’s all.”

“Unusual,” repeats Jeongguk, dryly, “nice way to put it.”

“I do try.” Hoseok places a knuckle under Jeongguk’s chin, and lifts his head, their eyes meeting. “There’s some stuff you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

Jeongguk’s cheeks flush, just the slightest. “I,” he starts, “there’s some, yeah. I know I’ve been asking you of so much already, but I just. I need. I just need someone to.”

“Tell me.” His fingers rub calming shapes into Jeongguk’s hip. Jeongguk melts back against him. “It’s okay.”

“Uhm,” says Jeongguk quietly, biting his lip, rolling his forehead back against Hoseok’s neck, not wanting to look at him again, “sometimes I just need you to be a certain way with me. I don’t know, I just—like, letting me sit here. Just taking care of me. Things like that. There’s more—there’s a hell of a lot more, but I just—I can’t really—I’m sorry.”

“I told you, you don’t have to apologise,” says Hoseok, huffing in exasperation. Jeongguk should know by now that he’s not going to turn Jeongguk away, no matter what it is. His tone softens, when he sees Jeongguk start to tug away. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t leave.”

“I’m just frustrating you, I know,” says Jeongguk, voice small, “I’m sorry, I’ll just go—”

Hoseok’s fingers close gently over his wrist. “Please,” he says, “don’t go. Daddy didn’t mean it like that.” There is too much going on inside of Hoseok; the thump of his heart against his ribs, and the twisting, tightening feeling that coils around his lungs, because no, no, no, Jeongguk should never be upset, he doesn’t want to see Jeongguk upset, he should never be upset. “I just thought you would know that you don’t have to say sorry for anything, because it’s nothing that I don’t want either, okay?”

Jeongguk shifts back slightly, hesitant. “Oh,” he says softly, “okay.” He presses close to Hoseok again, and Hoseok’s breath hitches in his throat, because everything aches, everything aches and he doesn’t know what to do about it. “Okay, daddy,” whispers Jeongguk, fingers curling into the front of Hoseok’s shirt. He sounds just about as confused as Hoseok feels. “Okay.”

“It’ll be fine, yeah?” murmurs Hoseok, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Jeongguk’s head, pretending that the ache will subside soon enough, if only he just holds Jeongguk for a little while longer. “Just fine, baby. Don’t worry. We’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” echoes Jeongguk, sounding lost. “Yeah.”

“Good,” whispers Hoseok, kissing Jeongguk’s forehead, holding him close, “Good boy.”

They stay like that, until the sun rises and knocks merry on their window, and the others begin to stumble out of the bedroom, sleep-logged and unobservant to the way Hoseok’s arm remains around Jeongguk’s waist for the rest of the day.

Jeongguk falls ill, three days before their comeback. It takes a toll on everyone; the managers scramble to rearrange their schedules, their teachers scramble to rearrange practices. Jeongguk remains in bed for the better part of an entire day, drugged up and feverish, completely out of it. In the end, it’s decided against taking him to a hospital, because they can’t risk too many people finding out that he’s not well. It might affect the comeback, the managers say.

Screw the fucking comeback, Hoseok nearly hisses, but he reigns himself back in, and resorts to curling up against the wall by the door, distractedly tinkering away with his phone, half-recalling lyrics through his mind, and the other half thinking about his little boy, sleeping the day away.

Hoseok stops himself there, and lets out a shaky exhale. Did he just—

“So close to comeback,” mutters Namjoon, nearly pulling out his hair from the stress. There’s only so much you can do without your main singer, and one of your lead dancers. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” says Hoseok, still dazed at his own thoughts. “Shit.”

“Hyung,” says Taehyung, from where he’s slumped across the couch, running lyrics too, “are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling sick too,” says Namjoon, brows furrowing.

“No, no, I’m not,” says Hoseok hurriedly, “I’m fine. Just fine.” He smiles widely, and the others consider him for a moment with penetrating gazes, but then turn back to their own devices. “I’ll just check on Jeongguk for a second.”

The door opens, and Hoseok slips in quietly. The room is dark, curtains drawn. Jeongguk lies curled up on the bed, beneath the throes of sleep.

Hoseok sits on the edge of the bed precariously, hands automatically reaching to tuck the blanket right again, pulling it up under Jeongguk’s chin. He’s shivering in his sleep. Hoseok isn’t sure if it’s because of the fever, or the chill that breezes through the room from the stand-fan in the corner. He sweeps back Jeongguk’s fringe, off his forehead, and rests the back of his hand against his skin for a moment. Still burning up.

He’s seen Jeongguk ill so many times over the years. But now—now it just seems different. There’s a weight dragging Hoseok down just looking at Jeongguk breathe raggedly through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

Hoseok places his palm over Jeongguk’s cheek for a moment, stroking under his eye, still silent.

What can he do, now. What can he say to himself to alleviate this apprehension, this perplexity, this disquiet that makes its home in the chassis of his rib-cage. He falls asleep at night to concurrent warm feelings of adoration and cold fear of discovery. He wakes up in the morning to contemporaneous excited anticipation and hollow self-revulsion.

Everything about this just screams perverse. But then again, has anything else ever felt more right than this?

It’s not wrong to feel like this, the strangers, the anonymous posters say, on the websites he’d browsed one night, desperate for answers. It’s just a different sort of relationship. Most people don’t understand. It’s about care. It’s about trust. It’s about love.

Love. Hoseok looks down at Jeongguk, now stilled in his sleep, looking calmer. It must be the way Hoseok’s fingers are absently carding through his hair, brushing meridians into his skin with gentle fingertips. Is this love? It hadn’t started out that way, he knows that for sure. But is it, now?

He wonders.

Jeongguk stirs slightly, a soft sound arising from the back of his throat. Hoseok leans over, temporarily ceasing his petting, and Jeongguk’s eyes flutter open just the tiniest bit, hands searching for something to hold onto, until they find Hoseok’s arm. “Daddy,” he whispers, and for a moment, Hoseok freezes, because the door is unlocked, and anyone could walk in at any given moment, and what if, what if—but Jeongguk coughs, and all of his attention returns to his boy. “Everything hurts so much.”

“It’ll be alright,” utters Hoseok, and Jeongguk hiccoughs, the beginnings of a sob breaking through his feverish haze. “You’re going to get better soon, okay? I’ll make sure you do.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, shutting his eyes tight again, not wanting the tears to fall. “I—” he starts, shaky, but he coughs again, a loud sound that dissolves into another sob, and Hoseok hushes him, presses his hands to Jeongguk’s face and kisses his forehead lightly. “I—I don’t even know why I’m crying,” says Jeongguk, frustrated, rubbing at his eyes, “everything aches and I just want to stop feeling sick.”

“It’s okay to cry,” says Hoseok, “here, come on, sit up for a bit, I’ll get you some water.”

He gets Jeongguk to sit up, moving to the table to grab a bottle of water, pressing it into Jeongguk’s hand. “Drink,” says Hoseok, wiping away Jeongguk’s tears as Jeongguk does, “hey, shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay, baby.”

Jeongguk coughs, and sways a little, eyes closed. “You’re here?”

“Yes,” murmurs Hoseok, and he gathers Jeongguk into his arms, resting Jeongguk’s head against the curve of his neck. Jeongguk’s arms hang loosely around his shoulders. Hoseok strokes the back of Jeongguk’s hair with one hand, the other running down the small of his back in fleeting, gentle swoops. “Daddy’s here. It’s okay.”

They stay like that for a little while. Just until Jeongguk falls back asleep.

Hoseok lays him back to bed with a single brush of his hand against his jaw, a kiss, and the whispered words of, “I’ll be back later.” The door swings shut behind him, with barely a creak for a notice.

He might not know what this is, wholly, but what he does know, is the impossible fondness that he holds for Jeongguk, and everything he would do, and would give up, just for it. For him.

“Hey,” says Yoongi, when he comes into the kitchen for a glass of water, “we need to talk, now.” Straightforward, blunt. That’s how Yoongi is. “About Jeongguk.”

Hoseok goes tense, but he reaches for a mug all the same. “What about Jeongguk?”

“I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you besides the fact that there is something going on,” begins Yoongi, tentatively, and Hoseok’s grip tightens around the handle of the mug, “but be careful, okay. I just—I need to know that everything is okay because we can’t let anything fuck up the group. You know how much each of us has riding on this. Some of us won’t get this chance anymore if anything blows up.”

Hoseok doesn’t move.

“And,” adds Yoongi, tone sharpening, accent slipping through the edge in his voice, and Hoseok knows what Yoongi is going to say next, “you don’t fuck around with Jeongguk. Whatever this is, either of you get hurt, and no one can fix this. But if he—you better not, Hoseok. He’s eighteen fucking years old.”

“Nothing will happen,” says Hoseok, though he’s having a hard time convincing himself of the fact. “I swear. Just—just leave it between the two of us, okay?” He breathes in, out. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Yoongi’s expression thaws. “Everyone can see the way you look at him, sometimes,” he says, quietly, and he claps a hand onto Hoseok’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

Careful, cautious, wary. Every single second of Hoseok’s life.

“I will, Yoongi-hyung,” says Hoseok, promises Hoseok, swears Hoseok, and Yoongi finally leaves him be, off to grab his jacket to brave the winter winds for a cup of coffee.

Hoseok fills his cup, and stands against the kitchen counter, until both the mug and his face are dry.

No one has been able to lock the bathroom door properly since the time Namjoon broke the doorknob clean off. God knows how he’d done it. It had just come off in his hand. Their managers had promised to replace the doorknob on that end, but it hadn’t happened. In the end, Yoongi had just knocked a bent nail into the door-frame, and tied a string from the inner knob to the nail. Make do, he’d said, trudging to the kitchen for coffee, we’ve all pretty much seen each other naked anyway. Who cares if someone walks in.

Hoseok cares. Well, maybe just a little. Anyone would, in his position. Walking in to see your bandmates attached at the mouth probably isn’t the first thing anyone would expect to see at five in the morning.

He almost doesn’t get the door shut in time. Jeongguk’s hands are already pressing his hips back against the sink. The string loops thrice around the nail before Hoseok gets thoroughly distracted by the way Jeongguk drags his teeth up the side of Hoseok’s neck.

“Hurry,” mumbles Jeongguk against Hoseok’s mouth, nipping at his lower lip, “before everyone else wakes up.”

“Shower,” says Hoseok, biting back the loud gasp that nearly escapes when Jeongguk palms at Hoseok’s cock through the loose sweatpants he has on. “Jesus.”

“Close,” says Jeongguk, and Hoseok muffles his laugh, reaching for the water faucet.

He fucks Jeongguk quick and rushed. They have no time. They never have any time. It’s five and seven minutes now, and he knows people will stir soon. Their schedules start at half-past six, but Seokjin’s always the first one to get up at five thirty, and the rest follow suit soon after. The water streams down their faces but Hoseok can feel nothing else but the drag of Jeongguk’s fingernails down his back, and his breath fanning hot against his shoulder.

“Say it,” comes Hoseok’s voice, resounding off the tiles, and Jeongguk keens when Hoseok hitches his leg up higher around his waist and the angle shifts just enough for it to really start being felt. “Come on,” whispers Hoseok, mouth catching the droplets of water that trickle off Jeongguk’s lip, “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yeah?” breathes Jeongguk, head tilting back against the wall, “yeah, daddy? You—hah, you want me to say it again?” A moan edges in through his teeth. “Daddy,” he repeats, and Hoseok swallows the word, kisses him so hard the next moan comes almost as a sob, “daddy,” wraps his hand around Jeongguk’s cock and strokes up, frictionless with the water, and he’s so close to coming, so fucking close, so goddamn close, “daddy, please.”

The water patters around their feet.

Hoseok rests his forehead against the wall, beside where Jeongguk is leaning too, breathing hard. Jeongguk shifts them with a wince, chest heaving with the breaths he sucks in, each second that passes. It should be strange, the thought flits across Hoseok’s mind, it should be strange that some of the best sex he’s ever had with Jeongguk always involves—at some point—Jeongguk calling him that.

Maybe it’s the heat that builds up when Jeongguk says the word, all needy and desperate and almost wanton. His tongue curling around the syllables with so much affection. His mouth forming the word, so carefully, bestowing it upon Hoseok like there’s no other word that means as much to him.

Or, maybe Hoseok’s just insane.

Jeongguk presses a kiss to his bare shoulder, murmurs, “So it’s not just me, anymore.”

Hoseok cards his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, playfully flicks a bit of water into his face, and says, “It’s never been just you, kiddo.”

There’s a shiver. “And this isn’t just temporary?” wonders Jeongguk aloud, “you’re not going to wake up one day and deny any of it?”

Hoseok looks at him for a moment, running his thumb under Jeongguk’s eye. “You can keep asking the same questions,” he says, “and I can keep giving you the same answers.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything in response, choosing instead to lean forward, kissing Hoseok a last time, before he turns the water off.

It doesn’t come as a surprise, when the season of giving rolls around, a winter-white wonderland decked in fifty percent-off sales and headache-inducing amounts of green and red, and they remain locked up in a room full of mirrors, joints aching simultaneously from the cold and the long hours of repeating the same moves over and over again.

They do get their days off, but it comes tinged with the same old homesickness, reflected in the way Taehyung sneaks away once a day to make hour long phone calls to a Geochang line, reflected in the way Seokjin busies himself over recipes that he quietly emails his older sister for, reflected in the way Yoongi shuts himself away in the Bangtan Room the entire day and reappears with scrunched up pieces of paper, scrawled-out lyrics about the arms that wait warm at the door when you stumble back up a porch you haven’t seen in four months.

Christmas in the city is nice, and Christmas in the city is pretty, but really, thinks Hoseok one night, glancing out the window at their dorm, tucking the curtain aside with a hand, nothing compares to the soup his mother only makes when everyone comes home for the holidays. Nothing compares to the wide smiles that match his own, the features that do too. Nothing compares to the smell of the candles that his sister likes to set out on the bookshelves, lavender-purples and strawberry-pinks and orange-oranges.

Nothing compares, except maybe the way Jeongguk melds into his side almost perfectly, earphones in and some trap music blaring that one of the trainees had recommended to him, eyes half-shut. His fingers dance along the curve of Hoseok’s knee as his head bobs. Hoseok has his own earphones, a tangled mess around his neck. It is three in the morning, but neither of them can allow their pillows to claim them.

This is easy. This is comforting. This requires no words, for the time being. And Hoseok is—Hoseok is both glad for that, and left wanting, at the same time.

Moments like these are so hard to come by, these days.

“What are you listening to, hyung?” mumbles Jeongguk, one earphone falling out of his ear as he turns his head to the side slightly. Hoseok tugs his own out, and fits it into the curve of his ear. “Oh,” says Jeongguk, “that’s really nice. Who’s this?”

“Dawny,” says Hoseok, humming along to the soft voice, the synth, the easy guitar. “Good for nights like these.”

“Nights like these,” repeats Jeongguk in agreement, foregoing further speech, choosing to fall silent to listen. They manage half a full album, before Jeongguk asks, “Everyone is sleeping, right?” On Hoseok’s nod, he adds, “Maybe now’s a good time to talk.”

“About the thing?”

“The thing.” Jeongguk doesn’t move from place. “The fact that you’re still here, hyung, after eight months of this thing. The fact that you’re still here even though this could wreck everything.”

Eight months, out of one and a half years.

“You should really be telling me more about why I wouldn’t still be here, really.”

“Honestly? It—doesn’t it just hang over my head all the time? How old I am? About how this looks on top of everything else that’s going on?”

“Of course it does.” A cough. The night’s starting to get colder. “You think I don’t think about it constantly? Because I do.”


“What do you want me to say? That it scares me, all the time? It does. It scares me a whole fucking lot, because there’s four years between us, Jeongguk. So much doesn’t match up. But it doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Hoseok doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, “Okay. Fine. It does,” he admits, “it changes a lot. But not for the worse. Not in the slightest.”

“How can you still say that?” Jeongguk’s brow furrows. “I really—I don’t understand how you don’t think that it’s—that I’m—that everything is messed up.”

“I don’t know,” says Hoseok, and he means it, honestly, he does. He doesn’t know how this is still working between them. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this even though everything around him tells him to cease. But then again, he does know. He knows exactly why. Putting it into words is just a little too far out of reach for him. “But this isn’t messed up, okay? It’s not.”

“But—” says Jeongguk, helplessly, and he makes a frustrated sound. “I just.” He falls silent momentarily, and Hoseok follows suit, waiting for his next words. “I just,” he repeats, after a while, “need to know that it’s okay.”

“It is.” Hoseok can’t help the quiver in his words. “It is to me. It probably isn’t okay to anyone else, and it definitely isn’t okay to anyone we know, but it’s okay to me.” Outside, the snow stops falling. “Is that enough for you?”

Jeongguk fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “Honestly?” He glances up. “It is.”

“Then, stop thinking for a moment,” whispers Hoseok, “stop thinking about it and just let things happen, okay?”

Jeongguk shudders out a breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” says Hoseok, lips quirking up into the beginnings of a smile, “I don’t know either.”

There’s a burst of laughter, and Jeongguk shakes his head. “Really. What the fuck are we doing, hyung,” he says, amusement tinging his voice, and Hoseok snorts, half-wanting to scold him for his language. But then, Jeongguk’s tone drops, and he says instead, quietly, “I really don’t know what to do, daddy.”

Melting. That’s what it feels like, every single time Jeongguk says it. Hoseok melts, and reshapes, and reforms anew. Something born out of the fire that arises in his chest when Jeongguk glances over and presses his face close and whispers for him to care for him the way he wants, the way he needs.

Hoseok brushes a finger over Jeongguk’s cheek, and says, “I really don’t know either. But we’ll figure it out, okay?” He shifts his arm to Jeongguk’s shoulders and folds his fingers easily around Jeongguk, tugging him even closer. Jeongguk welcomes it, tucking his feet under himself, tucking his hands under his elbows, and letting out a soft, satisfied hum when Hoseok rubs that spot below his ear. “We’ll figure it out, baby.”

The clock that hangs on the wall strikes four. Beside him, Jeongguk lets out a tiny yawn, and burrows closer, seeking the warmth that Hoseok exudes. “Daddy,” he says, voice just as small as the yawn he’d just let escape, “it’s cold.”

“Do you wanna go to bed, sweetheart?” Jeongguk only stirs slightly to the new word. Hoseok isn’t even surprised, anymore. He’s been referring to Jeongguk as so many things other than Jeongguk in his own head for months. It only seems natural, now, for these names to slip out. And, besides. It’s worth it, seeing the way his little boy’s face tinge red with surprise. “It’s warmer there.”

“You’re warmer, daddy,” whispers Jeongguk. “It’s okay.”

“If you’re sure,” says Hoseok, kissing his forehead, resting his head against Jeongguk’s. The night is beginning to rear up upon them from behind, the sleep they thought they’d evaded slowly creeping back towards them. “Go to sleep. Daddy won’t go anywhere.”

“Okay,” says Jeongguk, the word cracking into half, split by another yawn. “Mm.”

Jeongguk doesn’t fall asleep for another half an hour. Hoseok takes another one more, to do so.

It is in the morning that they wake up, still leaning against each other on the couch, that Hoseok gently prods Jeongguk awake and whispers into his ear, “Merry Christmas, baby,” and Jeongguk blinks, rubs his eyes sleepily, and smiles so widely that it’s almost like both Christmas and New Year’s come, both at the same time. That fond smile that’s reserved only for Hoseok, and no other. It is the greatest gift of all.

And if Hoseok doesn’t get to go home this year, it’s fine. Because here is home, too.

Jeongguk is home enough.

Their fingers curl together, tight.

The sound of skin against skin, and their breathing, are the only things they can hear in the room. Everything else, every other noise, every other sound has been canceled out by the intensity of the pleasure that begins in the base of their ankles, flooding their bodies, dissipating into the tips of their fingers with each and every single moment that passes.

“Christ,” swears Hoseok, limbs shaking all over, when Jeongguk’s knees slide even further apart on the bed and he bottoms out with a loud groan against Jeongguk’s shoulder-blade, “oh, god, Jeongguk.”

Sweat and lube slicks everything, makes the sheets slippery. Hoseok nearly loses his balance for a second when Jeongguk shifts underneath him; the angle makes everything hit five times harder, and Hoseok can’t help the soundless sob that practically fights its way out of his throat when Jeongguk rolls his hips back against his.

“Please, please,” stutters Jeongguk, breathless, the words all crashing together, “daddy, please, harder, please,” and there’s nothing holding Hoseok back from making Jeongguk feel so fucking good right now, nothing holding him back, and Jeongguk looks so gorgeous like this. He looks absolutely wrecked. Absolutely destroyed. Absolutely perfect.

Hoseok catches him when he falls, catches him and breathes, “I’m here.”

He will probably never fully understand this.

He doesn’t really have to.

There is a certain satisfaction garnered from the affection that Jeongguk grants him, each and every morning. The quick, stolen kisses they share. The hidden touches that slip unnoticed by the others, hopefully. The tenderness in the curve of Hoseok’s hand when he brushes a finger over Jeongguk’s cheek and whispers the words he knows Jeongguk wants to hear.

The others seem to not question anymore, the way Jeongguk clings to him more and more each day, especially when they’re at home. Curled up on the couch, or someone’s bed. Sitting beside each other at the little knee-level coffee table in the middle of the dorm when they eat. Hoseok supposed they know. Not the full extent of it, but they do know. If Yoongi knows, then it’s only a given that the rest do too.

But it’s fine.

“It’s fine,” he will always say, whenever either of them doubt, kissing Jeongguk long and drawn-out, his fingers clasped loosely together against the back of Jeongguk’s neck, “we’ll be fine.”

“I know, daddy.” And as the months have passed, Jeongguk has shed his initial fear, his early jitters of things being too strange, too weird, too unusual. He’s grown into it now, he supposes. So has Hoseok. Both of them—now, both of them find it a regular part of their day. Hoseok supposes this was what everything had been leading up to from the start. Accepting it as what they are. The two of them.

It doesn’t change them as people. It only changes what they have between them.

And, besides. Hoseok guesses he rather likes having someone to take care of, like this. To devote all his attention on. To shower with adoration. Someone who can receive all of that, and give it in return. It’s not perfect. But Jeongguk is, to him.

“This is nice,” murmurs Hoseok, and Jeongguk makes a sound in agreement from where he’s got his head on Hoseok’s lap, just lying down across the floor, absently playing with his phone. “You gonna fall asleep there, baby?”

“No,” says Jeongguk, but his fingers are already faltering, and his eyes threatening to fall shut. They’ve had multiple practices stretched across the day, and Jeongguk has taken all of them in stride. Now, all he wants to do is lie here, exhausted and boneless, just lie here with Hoseok’s fingers gently petting his hair.

“Sure,” says Hoseok teasingly, and he pats Jeongguk’s cheek lightly. “Come on. Up you go.”

He hoists Jeongguk up until he’s on his feet, one arm around his shoulders. Jeongguk slings his own arms around Hoseok, and mumbles sleepily, “Carry me.”

“You’re way too heavy,” laughs Hoseok, and he settles for tugging Jeongguk along to the bedroom, where everyone else is already sleeping, knocked out past the point of awakening, thanks to their day. “In you go,” he whispers, settling Jeongguk onto his bed.

Jeongguk doesn’t let go. “Sleep with me, daddy,” he says, somewhere between a question and a demand. It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to decide on that, after a quick glance around the room. Hoseok will always indulge him. How could he ever say no, anyway. And if the others wake up in the morning wondering? Let them wonder.

The bed feels cramped with two people, but Jeongguk shifts back against the wall and tugs Hoseok impossibly close, letting the blankets tangle around their limbs. “Goodnight,” says Hoseok softly, and he presses a kiss to the back of Jeongguk’s neck, sliding one arm around his waist. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, daddy,” whispers Jeongguk in return, and he turns for a moment to just smile, the tiniest little smile at Hoseok. “Thank you.” And even in the darkness, his smile is blinding. Hoseok has never known anything else much like it.

His heart aches in that impossibly fond way again, that good ache that he’s never been happier to know.

Hoseok kisses his temple, tucks the blanket back up, and lets the night fall.

They will be just fine.

Tags: f: bts, p: fanfiction, r: nc-17, s: hoseok/jungkook, w: dk
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