
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2152914.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      J-Hope_|_Jung_Hoseok/Jungkook_|_Jeon_Jungkook
  Character:
      j-hope_|_jung_hoseok, Jungkook_|_Jeon_Jungkook, Rap_Monster_|_Kim
      Namjoon, Suga_|_Min_Yoongi, jin_|_kim_seokjin, Jimin_|_Park_Jimin, V_|
      Kim_Taehyung
  Additional Tags:
      Daddy_Kink, Canon_Related, Consensual_Kink, Minor_Praise_Kink, Kink
      Discovery, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Developing_Relationship, Age_Play
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-17 Words: 9620
****** like everybody else ******
by shikae_(39smooth)
Summary
     He probably hadn’t meant to say it. Had he? Maybe it had just been a
     slip of the tongue.
Notes
     this mostly came about 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
     but ten thousand words of daddy kink
     fuck
     crossposted to livejournal. thank you bangtan tlist for bearing with
     me for the past four days i know i must have been insufferable
 
 
 
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.”

“And?”

“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.


 
 
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