|Too much, whimpers a voice in Yoongi's head as he sinks his teeth in Seokjin's skin. This is—this is just too much. Stress hardly ever makes him loose-limbed, 'loose-logiced' if that's even a thing, but he can't think straight right now, not with Seokjin rutting against him in a tiny corner in the fire exit. There's more space up top, in the penthouse suite, in the supply closet, in one of those cubicles in the comfort room near the seminar area, but come on — were they really thinking they'd be able to hold out for much longer when they'd been pulling this shit on each other for years already?|
Yoongi laughs to himself. 2011, the trade coffee expo in Brazil — that was when everything started. He'd tagged along with a group of old coffee enthusiasts-slash-third wave coffee shop owners so he wouldn't get lost in the massive convention center, listening to a 'coffee connoisseur' talk about the different kinds of beans, roasts, how the type of soil they were planted in mattered, and some other shit about coffee he had zero interest in. He liked drinking it, loved sharing it with his friends, but as soon as anyone sprung technicalities on him he'd take a step back before the knee-jerk reaction of tapping out kicked in. That was one of the many reasons he didn't want to get into the family business, even if his uncle hardly felt like family — he didn't want to make the things he enjoyed 'scientific'. There were things that he'd rather not make sense, at least not to him.
Then he ran into this tall Korean dude who looked like he'd been unearthing the secrets of coffee beans for years already. He bumped into a tall Korean guy in Brazil, on a business trip, while he was trying to look interested in the connoisseur's talk about the subtle differences in the color of beans. A small voice in him said this was probably a joke, life was just pulling a prank on him, You're a loser, Yoongi, but another voice in him said, in a tone so bright it was hard to ignore, Look, you're just gonna make friends. You'll walk away from this coffee convention thing knowing more about coffee and having a new friend. That doesn't sound so bad, right?
What could possibly go wrong?
Everything, Yoongi says to himself now, voice hitching as Seokjin wraps his fingers around Yoongi's cock again, rubbing his thumb along his slit after teasing Yoongi by playing with his balls. Everything, from that time they had drinks in Brazil and decided to take the same ride back to the hotel — everything went wrong from that point on. Yoongi ended up wanting to know more about the geeky things about coffee, ended up willingly taking the first flight out of Seoul just to attend seminars, trainings, coffee expeditions, all in the hope of running into the same broad-shouldered man he'd met back in Brazil. And they did, a number of times — there was Guatemala, Indonesia, Vietnam, Colombia, Ethiopia. Japan and Philippines and Malawi and Kenya. In all of those places, they'd discovered new coffee blends with each other, little bits of information they probably wouldn't have learned from just reading articles online or in barista school, but half the time they were mapping out patterns on each other's bodies, sucking each other off, fucking each other with efficient fingers and shuffling out of hotel rooms faster than the other could wake up.
Like you won't go looking for him in the morning, teases a voice in his head, but he brushes that off in favor of grinding against Seokjin's fist, dipping his hands in Seokjin's pants, gripping Seokjin's ass tighter as he thrusts against Seokjin's hand. Trust Seokjin to alternate between soft strokes and hard pumps, to just leave his fist there while he laves his tongue along the shell of Yoongi's ear before sucking marks on the slope of his neck, lewd, noisy. Trust Seokjin to try his hardest to keep Yoongi to just the edge of control.
"We don't have time to—fuck." Yoongi gasps, pressing wet lips on Seokjin's bare shoulder. He likes it when Seokjin starts stretching him in open spaces because that means Seokjin will be dropping to his knees soon and sucking him off, but then that also means having to work with friction, with the heat coiling in his gut, with Seokjin looking up at him with hooded eyes and a small smile curled up at the corners of his lips before he wraps the same around Yoongi's cock. "Warning, please—"
"I did. Tried to kiss you, but you seemed more interested in kissing my neck, so." Seokjin laughs a little. Slowly, he pulls out his finger, slicks it up a little with the precum that had beaded on Yoongi's slit, then slowly makes his descent. He pauses to place a soft kiss on Yoongi's inner thighs; Yoongi's only response is a full body shiver, a string of curses when Seokjin pushes his finger in again, brushes his lips against the tip of Yoongi's dick. "Use your words, Yoongi—"
Seokjin darts out his tongue, the tip just grazing the skin of Yoongi's shaft. Yoongi's thighs shake, a more powerful tremble this time, then he's throwing his head back against the wall when Seokjin tries to work a second finger inside him. It feels like being ripped open, torn apart in the best way possible, but then that's what Seokjin has always been good at — breaking down his walls one quick fuck at a time, and peeling off his many layers from midnight 'til dawn. "Come on. We don't have all day—"
Let me fuck you, Yoongi would say but, realistically, they don't— That takes too much time. Not because it takes forever for Seokjin to get worked up, but because after a good fuck Seokjin gets even better at giving head, like he's determined to suck the living daylights out of Yoongi and make it impossible for Yoongi to walk without his knees feeling too damn weak, or for every part of him that Seokjin had touched burn with a desire to do more. When Yoongi had walked into the training hall that morning, tablet and a mission to cram as much information in head as possible in tow so he would have something to shove in his uncle's face when he went back home to Korea, to the company building, what might as well be his home, he was determined to get work done. He wasn't— He hadn't planned on making a beeline for the seat next to Seokjin's as soon as he'd gotten his name tag, and making himself comfortable there. (He would recognize that figure from meters away, would be able to pick Seokjin out in a crowd just by the sound of his footsteps and the slope of his back.) There were a lot of things he could control, his coffee consumption being one of them, but somehow Seokjin was an itch under his skin too hard, too difficult to ignore.
An hour into the seminar, Seokjin's hand had already found its way to his thigh, and Yoongi was having an incredibly hard time focusing on anything but the slow circles Seokjin was rubbing on the material of his pants. Fifteen minutes after, he found himself gripping Seokjin's hand before leaning in to whisper, "I hate you," then he was excusing himself, getting up on his feet, rushing out of the training hall. He could've gotten himself off on his own, but Seokjin was anything but a man who kept his promise, a man who knew how to please — Yoongi was well aware of that. So he waited for Seokjin by the doors, stormed to the fire exit once they'd fallen into step, then backed Seokjin against the rough concrete walls as soon as they'd shut the door behind them.
"Japan," Seokjin had groaned into the slide of their mouths then, at the soft 'click' of the locks. "2015. 25th floor. I think it was November. Pretty sure it was," he went on to say, smiling in between sloppy kisses, but Yoongi didn't need a history lecture right now, a detailed list of all those times they'd run off somewhere to satisfy temporary desires before addressing bigger, more pressing problems later on, deeper into the night. So he sucked hard on Seokjin's tongue, rolled his hips against Seokjin's own, and let out a low moan when he felt Seokjin's tenting erection against his dick. "You wore the weirdest boxers—"
"Shut up," Yoongi had said, then he was kissing Seokjin again. Somewhere between that exact moment and now, they'd managed to discard some of their clothes, Yoongi's pants now pooled at his ankles and Seokjin's polo somewhere on the floor. Yoongi loved—loves that polo, still. Seokjin looks best in a white button up, after all, even if he knows very well he'll be undoing the buttons with his teeth later that night, anyway. "Just— Seokjin, please—"
"Mouth. I need your mouth," Yoongi croaks out, and that's when Seokjin presses his pursed lips to Yoongi's slit. One last lick, then Seokjin is taking him deep, lips wrapping around the length of cock, warmth prickling his sensitive skin. "Fuck, that—"
That feels good, he means to say, but Seokjin gives him no time to think, no time to do anything but to muffle his moan against his fist when Seokjin crooks his fingers inside him and presses his tongue flat on the underside of his shaft before beginning to move. Each thrust in his slow, agonizing; every light rake of Seokjin's teeth against his skin is torture. His hips buck in reflex, earning a choked gasp from Seokjin, but if anything it only fuels Seokjin to go faster, suck him harder, to take him even deeper until Yoongi is hitting the back of his throat every other second.
He's crazy, hums a voice in Yoongi's head when he drops his gaze to where Seokjin is and threads his fingers through Seokjin's hair. Seokjin looks up at the first brush of Yoongi's fingers against his skin, at the first hard tug, and smiles before hollowing out his cheeks. Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. But then, so are you—
Seokjin runs his hands up Yoongi's thighs and grips him tightly, tightly. It nudges Yoongi closer to his release, heat pooling in his gut, crawling to the back of his knees and making him shiver, but it's when Seokjin's pulse quickens, when his fingers tremble against Yoongi's skin and when his breathing becomes laboured, that Yoongi comes in Seokjin's mouth in thick spurts. It's becoming impossible to see through the haze of his vision, with the thumping in his chest growing heavier, louder, but he keeps his eyes on Seokjin, anyway, keeps his hands steady on Seokjin's skin, and focuses on nothing, no one else but him.
"You're not going back the hall with that boner. That's ridiculous," Yoongi murmurs when he comes down from the high, peering at Seokjin through half-lidded eyes. "You're gonna make me look like a prick. Not good—"
"Later. Coffee break. I hear the view from the rooftop's pretty good," Seokjin hums in response, then licks the thin sheen of cum off of his lips. It's gross and unsexy and Seokjin always looks weird doing that when he's trying to play coy, but it makes Yoongi's chest grow tight, just the same. It flushes just enough blood and energy into his system for him to straighten up and find his balance again. And it kicks his brain into overdrive, enough that he can weed out the bad thoughts from the good, then eventually from the really crazy ones. "Or we can try the bathroom. I heard the cubicles are nice—"
Yoongi reaches over and grabs Seokjin by the wrist. His grip is still a bit feeble and his hands are too damn clammy, but he pulls Seokjin close, just he same, slides an arm around Seokjin's waist when he can feel the faint scent of coffee in Seokjin's hair already, then tilts his chin up, kissing Seokjin. Never mind that his business partners might be looking for him already or that he might be missing an important part of the talk; he can look those up online or something, ask for reading materials, figure them out. This — licking the back of Seokjin's teeth, sucking hard on Seokjin's tongue, nibbling on Seokjin's lower lip when he feels Seokjin grinning into the inelegant slide of their mouths — can't wait. Not now, not ever.
"Changed my mind. You're taking responsibility for this," Seokjin grumbles when they pull away, then shakes his head. The smile on his lips is bright, blinding. And his grip when he cups Yoongi's cheeks instead of unzipping his pants, shucking it off, and getting back to the program, is anything but shy — it's steady, certain, remorseless. "I hate you."
"Yeah. Of course," Yoongi answers, coughing out a laugh. He watches as Seokjin wrangles his clothes off of his limbs and takes a deep, shaky breath. Thinks to himself, this guy is too much. "I hate you, too."
yukichumau, you're up!