♔ Working with the Negatives ♔
Title: Working With the Negatives
Rating: R
Pairing: Sugamon
Genre: Romance, Love/Hate, Uber!AU
Summary: Yoongi has anger issues, and Namjoon has a cool car.
A/N: Written for lilacflowers in BTSX2016
------
Yoongi rubs at the sleeve of his suit jacket with a scowl. Clumsy waiters and clumsier clients mean there’s a Rorschach of alcohol staining the light grey fabric. White wine blends with red, amber scotch drawing them together seamlessly. He’ll have to get it dry cleaned, another expense to strain his already meager paycheck.
Event Planning is not as glamorous as his course made it out to be; grandiose delusions of organizing exclusive gatherings for the bourgeois making way for the reality of drunk real estate agents drinking their livers to dust at office parties. Still, it puts food on the table, pays the rent and career progression isn’t so much of a distant dream, so Yoongi sucks it up, sticks on a smile, and caters to the whim of upper middle class professionals who think they’re more important than they are.
His fingers twitch with nicotine cravings; an unfortunate habit picked up from years in the hospitality industry. Smokers get double the allotted break time, so everyone shortens their lifespan to lengthen their time off the floor. Unfortunately for him, he can’t deal with the cravings because his uber driver is about to round the corner, if the little icon displayed on his phone screen is any indication.
The street is devoid of cars, of people in general, the only movement is the steady twitch of Yoongi’s hand and the flickering of the streetlight he stands beneath.
A loud rumble sounds in the distance, some sort of engine Taehyung and his band of car-obsessed buddies could probably recognize by sound alone-- the young waiter always dragging Yoongi into conversations about cars they want to buy when they’ve got a paycheck like his.
Yoongi never quite has the heart to crush their optimism-- he doesn’t drive because he cannot afford a car, and is unfathomably envious of those who can.
Then again, he thinks, watching the mechanical monstrosity that pulls up in front of him, he’d rather have no car at all than drive something so visually and audibly offensive.
“You Yoongi?” The driver of the hideous vehicle pops his head out of the window; his hair stands out against the glittering black paint of his car, engine so loud and thrumming that he has to yell in order to communicate simple questions. Pink lips stretch around a pinker lollipop, the driver the very image of boyish charm.
“Yeah. Please tell me you’re a stalker and not my uber driver.” Yoongi huffs, taking in the car with a sour expression. He lives in a quiet neighbourhood and the sheer noise this car makes will surely upset his neighbours.
“That’s rough man.” The driver replies, pulling the candy from his mouth with a pop, offering Yoongi a not-so-subtle once over. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“Your face is fine. It's your car I'm bothered by.” Yoongi replies with a huff, “Please don't tell me you actually paid money for that thing?”
“I'm going to ignore that jab at my baby because you think I'm hot.” He says, motioning at the passenger door he adds, “Get in the car, Yoongi, let me take you for a ride.”
The drivers grin is downright salacious as Yoongi does as he asks, sliding into the vehicle with a grimace. The seats are surprisingly soft, interior crafted for comfort. It smells like peaches--- real ones, not the artificial ones--- scent wafting from a very expensive brand of air freshener displayed above an equally as expensive sound system. Yoongi, for all his earlier misgivings, is quietly impressed. The driver, on the other hand, does not exude such classic luxury; plain white shirt and grey pants, shoeless feet resting on the clutch and brake pedal.
“I'm Namjoon.” The driver says as Yoongi fastens his seatbelt, car roaring to life and speeding down the main street, “Though you probably knew that already.”
He didn't. While the app does display the name of the driver, Yoongi rarely pays attention to it. His usual Uber experience is to get in the car, make the trip in silence, grunt his thanks when they've dropped him home. Somehow, Yoongi muses, this trip will probably be a little different.
“Sure.” His tone and body language clearly indicative that he didn’t know, but was too polite to suggest otherwise.
“You work late for a young dude.” Namjoon says, unbothered by Yoongi’s silence. “Your girl won't like that, I bet.”
“No girl.” Yoongi mutters. It's obvious that Namjoon will continue to ask questions, he may as well answer politely, yet monotonously; going along with the drivers whims but clearly unwilling to engage in small chat.
“Your boy, then.” Namjoon continues, taking a turn and leading the car onto the highway. Through all the noise his engine makes, Yoongi isn't sure that the uber driver even used his indicator.
“No girl, boy or partner of otherwise undiscussed genders.” Yoongi seethes. It's been a long night, he needs a drink, a smoke and sleep. In that order.
“You’re probably single because you work too much.” Namjoon says, continuing the conversation unknowingly-- or uncaringly-- against Yoongi’s wishes. “What kinda office is open until 2am anyway?”
The last part is muttered, most likely rhetorical.
“I'm an event planner.” Yoongi answers anyway, “It's all night work.”
“And here I was thinking you're an alcoholic.” Namjoon says, gesturing to the stain on Yoongi’s sleeve. Embarrassed, he tries to hide it with his bag.
“You don’t fucking know me.” Yoongi spits, a night full of irritation bubbling over, he’s sick of overly demanding clients, unreliable and lazy staff, uber drivers who don’t know how to keep their mouths shut and let him be.
“Chill.” Namjoon replies, taking his hands off the wheel to raise his hands defensively. He curls his tongue around the lollipop, sliding it from one side of his mouth to the other. He looks cocky, almost amused by Yoongi’s anger.
“Get your hands back on the fucking steering wheel,” Yoongi seethes, reaching out to pull the car back into alignment.
“Don’t tell me how to fucking drive.” Conversation stops, the only noise coming from the engine as Namjoon maneuvers his abomination through the streets surrounding Yoongi’s apartment.
The GPS stuck to the windshield chimes, indicating the end of their trip, Yoongi’s building located but a few steps away from where Namjoon slows the car to a stop, engine running idle as Yoongi pulls the door open.
“Wait!” Namjoon says, rummaging through his pockets, “Take this.”
It’s his business card, and a poor one at that. The white square of cardboard displays his first name and number, no other details no other contact information.
“What’s this?” Yoongi asks with a scoff, speaking for the first time since their argument.
“Call me.” Namjoon says with a grin, the lollipop, that goddamn lollipop, clicking along his teeth as his lips widen. “You work late, and I need regulars.”
“Sure.” Sarcasm all but drips from the word. “Call you. Right.”
Namjoon makes the universal symbol for call me as he speeds off into the night. Scoffing, Yoongi pockets the card. He has no intention to call the number, but for some reason, he does not pause to dump it in the trash outside his house.
He’ll throw it away in the morning, he reasons. He’s got more pressing matters to attend to; a drink, a smoke and sleep.
------
Whoever came up with the idea for free, unlimited spirits to be served at work parties should burn in hell, Yoongi thinks as he pours another shot of whiskey into a glass, topping the spirit with a generous amount of syrupy Coke from the premix hose and ignoring the way the alcohol burns the small cuts on his fingers.
Taehyung seems just as flustered, buzzing around the makeshift bar in attempt to keep the patrons as intoxicated as physically possible.
“Tell me why we don't have more people on?” Taehyung hisses, handing a round of vodka and lemonade to a group of giggling girls, young office workers taking full advantage of the open bar, “This is crazy.”
“Client skimped on the workforce to pay for expensive alcohol,” Yoongi mutters in reply, too busy and too tired to reprimand the bartender over his tone, “He thought his people would behave themselves, and didn't see the need for extra staff.”
“No one behaves themselves in the face of free Grey Goose.” Taehyung says, blanching slightly as an elderly woman offers him a flirtatious wink. “That’s like, a universal rule.”
“Tell that to short, fat and seedy over there.” Yoongi spots the client with ease, white suit sticking out in a sea of black. He hasn't spoken to him all night, the man choosing instead to try and ease himself into the conversations of his pretty young staff.
Taehyung makes a short noise of disgust.
Despite the mayhem, the event goes well to the point where many of the patrons refuse to leave the venue at the scheduled 2am finish time. Cradling drinks they hoarded during last call, gaggles of people still fill the floor even as the music comes to a stop and the lights brighten.
Yoongi throws all professionalism out the window, beginning to pack up tables and chairs around the client and his remaining guests, watching in mirth as two muscled security guards all but throw him out on his ear when he, an hour later, still hasn’t vacated the premises.
Sending his staff home with thanks and a tired wave, Yoongi pulls his phone from his pocket and loads the uber app. He’s in a relatively quiet part of town-- the client choosing to host his event in a cheap hall located in sleepy a sleepy suburb in a further attempt to cut costs. It's the middle of the night and it’s a Tuesday; the chances of any drivers being in his immediate vicinity are low, and the number of people willing to drive so far to find him are even lower.
Sighing, he opens his contacts, thumbing over the newest number with trepidation. Considering their last meeting, it’s unlikely Namjoon will drive out of his way to pick him up, but Yoongi doesn’t have enough money to pay for a cab.
“ ‘ello?” Namjoon’s sleepy voice filters from the speakers. Yoongi doesn’t remember tapping on the ‘Call’ symbol, so the break in silence catches him off guard. “Who’s this?”
“Er hey.” Yoongi says, flinching at the uncertainty in his voice, “It’s uh, Yoongi. You dropped me off the other night?”
“Oh yeah, the ass.” Namjoon replies, “I remember you.”
“Could you, um, come pick me up? I’m in the middle of nowhere.” He ignores the insult, figuring his behavior he supposes it’s justified.
“Mmm.” Comes the reply, and in the background Yoongi can hear the rustle of clothes. He must have been sleeping.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” Yoongi adds on, awkwardly.
“You got cash?” A tinkle of keys, the slamming of a door.
“A bit.” He mentally counts the bills in his wallet. There should be enough to pay for the drive home.
“Then it’s no trouble at all.”
Yoongi smokes half a pack of cigarettes waiting for Namjoon, cold and alone outside some random hall in a suburb he’d never knew existed. The familiar sound of Namjoon’s engine is almost welcome, filling the empty streets with a noise that’s not the steady inhale and exhale of smoke drawing into his lungs.
“You can’t smoke in my car,” Namjoon says as he pulls up, yelling over the sound of his engine, “Just so you know.”
Yoongi extinguishes the butt with the heel of his dress shoes, eyebrow raised, challenging Namjoon to comment further.
“Oh gross, now I’ll have ash in my car, thanks for that.” He complains anyway, but without malice. His fingers tap along to the Drake song playing through his speakers.
“You got anything other than Drake?” Yoongi asks, collapsing back into the comfortable seats of Namjoon’s car. He’s tired, but in a notably better mood than their previous meeting. Plus, he’s driving out to the middle of nowhere to collect Yoongi’s sorry ass, so he may as well be nice.
“What’s wrong with Drake?” Namjoon pointedly does not change the song, raising the volume so it can still be heard over the noise of his car.
“Nothing.” Yoongi replies with a yawn, “Just, Kanye is better.”
“You can get out of my car.” Namjoon jokes with a laugh, Yoongi doesn't know if it's infectious, or if sleep deprivation has made him delirious, but he laughs too.
“Woah.” Yoongi looks over to Namjoon, there's an awestruck look on his face, a slight smile. “You get laid or something?”
“What?” He asks in alarm, laughter induced smile falling quickly from his face.
“I mean,” Namjoon scrambles, “You were such a dick last time. Thought maybe getting off had improved your mood.”
“No.” Yoongi replies, staring out the window, willing the angle to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. All he wanted was a lift home, not a dissection of his sex life.
“No, as in getting off didn't improve your mood or no, as in there was no getting off?” Namjoon prods, clearly aware of how uncomfortable the discussion is making Yoongi feel. The asshole.
“Uh. There was no getting off.” Yoongi hopes that snippet of information is enough to appease Namjoon’s curiosity.
“Bad sex is the worst.” Apparently not.
“Bad sex is better than no sex.” Yoongi offers with a small shrug.
Namjoon seems shocked into silence.
“So, uh, thanks for coming out this far to pick me up.” Yoongi says with a momentary lapse into gratitude.
“I wouldn’t have done this for anyone else.” Namjoon replies as he turns onto Yoongi’s street. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”
“What, expecting a booty call along with the fare?” Yoongi teases.
“I mean,” Namjoon starts, hooded eyes trailing down his body, bottom lip pulled between teeth, “If you're offering.”
“No thanks.” Yoongi snorts, throwing a wad of cash onto Namjoon’s seat and closing the door.
He’s got one foot through the door when his phone vibrates, one new text message sitting unread in his inbox.
Remember, orgasams help to relieve tension.
Yoongi ignores it, pulling his sweat and booze soaked suit from his body and stepping into the shower, scalding hot water cascading down his torso and soothing the tense muscles in his shoulder blades.
It's not until he washes the shampoo from his hair that Yoongi addresses his half hard cock; stirring to life unbidden, prompted by Namjoon’s promises.
The driver is cocky, intrusive, offers advice when it's not welcome but oh God is he hot, pretty lips and sharp collarbones and thighs Yoongi wants to feel under his palms. The first touch to his aching length has Yoongi gasping, it’s been too long since he’s done this, each touch amplifying his sensitivity.
He comes almost too fast to enjoy it, slow build replaced by overwhelming pleasure from start to finish; shiny pink lips pull between teeth in his mind, come spilling over his fist and onto tiles.
It’s an almost instantaneous relief, Yoongi slumps against the wall, body shuddering in aftershocks; it really has been too long, a quick round of jerking off in the shower affecting him harder than his last sexual exploit.
Namjoon’s right; he feels calmer, boneless. Less stressed and in an all round better room.
He could reply, tell Namjoon everything that just happened, tease him with the information that he’s come hard with the thought of his lips in mind, but he doesn’t.
The message remains unanswered in his inbox.
------
Cigarette dangling between his lips, Yoongi sits on an empty milk crate in the alleyway behind one of the city’s most prestigious hotels. Apparently they’ve got some sort of ‘No Smoking’ policy for their staff, not wanting them to come back from their break reeking of tar and tobacco, but they don’t pay Yoongi’s paycheck so he feels he’s allowed to do as he damn well pleases.
Skipping through the playlist on his phone, he comes to stop on one of the Drake songs he’d downloaded days prior; repeated rides in Namjoon’s car has given him a newfound appreciation for the Canadian rapper, his entire discography on repeat during the few moments Yoongi has the time to listen to music.
“Uh, hey.” Taehyung’s head peeks out from the doorway, “The client is on a bit of a rampage in there, think you can come and sort it out?”
“Can’t Seokjin handle it?” Yoongi takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, breathing the smoke out through the nose, “I’m on my break.”
“Nope, he’s looking for you.” He ruffles his hair awkwardly, “Goin’ on about how useless you are and stuff.”
Yoongi groans audibly, “Literally nothing has gone wrong, I don’t get his deal.”
Stubbing the butt on the ground, he leaves the litter as an act of protest. What kind of multi-million dollar hotel doesn’t have a smoker’s area, honestly.
The client doesn’t seem happy to see him, storming up to Yoongi in a rage. He opens his mouth to speak, before pausing; leaning too far into Yoongi’s personal space bubble he takes a deep inhale, pulling away with a disgusted look.
“The event is going to hell and you leave to suck on a cancer stick?” His already nasal voice is amplified by the finger and thumb he pinches across his nose. “I was told that you were a professional, that your company is the best there is.”
“I am entitled to a break.” Yoongi seethes, barely composing his professionalism, “And what I do on said break does not reflect my employers.”
“You abandoned---”
“What is the problem, sir,” Yoongi cuts him off, getting straight to the point. “I’ll fix it immediately.”
“Your staff look like slobs.” He sniffs, gesturing to two of the waiters as they scurry past. Yoongi can’t see anything particularly wrong with their appearance, maybe Jimin’s tie is a little askew, but it’s hardly event ruining.
“I’ll tell them to neaten up.” Yoongi says, “Is that all sir?”
“For now.” He storms off, and Yoongi sighs, checking his watch. He’s still got fifteen minutes left in his allocated break time. Barking orders to one of the waitresses as she passes, he storms back to the alley way, determined to smoke as many cigarettes as he can within the limited time frame.
There’s a bottle of Cologne in his bag and a small tube of hand sanitizer in his pocket. Spitefully, he resolves to leave them unused.
“You free?” Yoongi asks, not bothering to greet Namjoon as he answers the phone.
“Uh, hello to you too.” He says in reply, “And no, I’ve got a fare right now, what’s up?”
“Come pick me up when you’re done.” It’s not a question. Yoongi lights up a cigarette and exhales shakily, anger still coursing through his system. The idea to book another Uber doesn’t even cross his mind, even after Namjoon warns a near half hour wait before he comes to collect him. Yoongi is sick of strangers, he doesn’t want to deal with anyone else right now. He feels utterly foul, lingering rage from his shift still pulsing through his system like a poison. Namjoon can deal with his mood, won’t think too much of it if he lashes out.
The client makes his way past Yoongi, coughing obnoxiously despite the fact that his cigarette is dangling in his hand, letting off but the thinnest of wisps. Allergies, asthma, that he can understand, feel sympathy towards. It’s the fake, condescending coughs people feel the need to overact as they walk past him where Yoongi draws the line.
“Have a good night, sir.” He says in his fakest voice, taking a deep inhale and blowing smoke at the man’s retreating back.
“Goddamn,” Namjoon whistles, “Now that I’m more awake, I gotta say. You look fucking hot when you smoke.”
“Shut up.” Yoongi says, suddenly not in the mood for Namjoon’s flirting. He all but rips the door off the car as he gets in, “Just, fuck, get me out of here.”
“Bad day?” He asks with a laugh that only adds to Yoongi’s irritation.
“Do you ever fucking shut up?” Yoongi seethes, folding his arms across his chest.
“Jesus, chill.” He mutters, turning up the volume. It’s Drake. Again. Yoongi slaps Namjoon’s hand away, turning the volume down angrily. Everything is starting to piss him off, grinding his teeth together to fill the silence.
“What happened?” Namjoon allows Yoongi a few moments to simmer down, breaking the silence as the furrow of his brow begins to soften.
“Asshole client.” He replies, picking angrily at his nails, “Found issues in everything. The entire went off without a hitch, but he followed me around for eight hours bitching and whining about every last fucking thing. By the end of it, I think he was doing it just to spite me, you know? He told me the red wine was too warm. You drink that shit at room temperature.”
“You know what helps with bad days?” Namjoon asks, looking at Yoongi from the corner of his eye.
“What, sex?” He sneers, knowing all too well where Namjoon’s train of thought is taking him. He’s not in the mood for this, “You gonna fuck me in the backseat of your shitty car?”
“I was gonna say music, but hey, if that’s what you want.” He’s unphased, the asshole, cool nonchalance rubbing against Yoongi’s already frayed nerves.
“If you start playing Drake I swear to God I’m getting out of this fucking car.” Yoongi says as Namjoon’s hand slowly edges towards the volume on his sound system.
Tires screech as Namjoon slams on the breaks, car coming to a halt in an empty street.
“Then get out.” He says. It’s still a little far from Yoongi’s house, but it’s walkable. “I’m not your personal chauffeur, or your punching bag. Fuck you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Yoongi replies, grabbing hold of Namjoon’s collar. Their faces draw close together, Namjoon’s angry puffs of breath hitting against Yoongi’s lips. “You come running everytime I call, hoping that you’ll finally get it in.”
“You should be a little more grateful,” Namjoon hisses, grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of Yoongi’s head. He’s not gentle, tugging hard to the point of unbearably painful. “I do so much for you.”
“You do what I pay you to.” Yoongi replies, stubborn to the end. The grip on his hair tightens, head snapping back as he tries to ease the pressure. The air has changed, tension more sexual than angry; Yoongi’s still mad, but Namjoon’s so close, looking at him with such intensity. He's embarrassingly hard in his pants.
“All I want is a thank you.” Namjoon says in a low voice, “And yeah, maybe I wanna see your pretty little mouth around my dick, but I'm not pushing it.”
Yoongi sucks in a shuddering breath at his words.
“I wanna eat you out until you cry,” Namjoon continues, nosing up Yoongi’s neck, warm breath hitting sensitive skin, “I wanna fuck you. But I'll deal with you swallowing your pride and thanking me, just one goddamn time.”
All that escapes Yoongi’s mouth is a whine, crying out as Namjoon bites into his skin.
“Say no,” Namjoon says, voice wavering as he bites down again, a little harder. “Tell me no, Yoongi, and I'll stop.”
“And if I say yes?” Yoongi’s hands fly to his shoulder blades, nails digging into the fabric of Namjoon’s shirt.
“If you say yes,” Namjoon says, retracting his hands from Yoongi’s hair, running a finger down the marks he’s made, “I'm gonna park the car, you're gonna get into the back seat, and I'm gonna find out what that mouth of yours can do.”
“Yes,” Yoongi breathes, “Yes.”
The hands are off him in an instant, Namjoon making good on his promise, maneuvering his car to the side of the road, street lamp casting a yellow glow through the interior of the car. Scrambling over the console, Yoongi upholds his part of the deal, unbuckling his belt as he slides down onto padded seats.
“Fuck, you're eager.” Namjoon breathes, killing the engine and regarding Yoongi through the rear view mirror. Palming himself through the fabric of his dress pants, Yoongi smirks.
“God,” Namjoon breathes, crawling through to meet Yoongi, tracing a finger along his bottom lip. “You really want this.”
He sounds so disbelieving, watching with hooded eyes as Yoongi sucks the finger into his mouth.
“I see how it is,” Yoongi whispers, threading his hands through Namjoon’s hair, “You're all talk.”
Their mouths meet in a kiss, sloppy and desperate, last threads of anger lacing through the sexual tension. A kiss to silence Yoongi’s snark, and to ignite the sparks flying between them.
Yoongi finds himself pushed into the plush seats, Namjoon’s hips grinding against his own. Wrapping his legs around Namjoon’s waist, Yoongi pulls their crotches closer together, letting out a keening sigh as the ache of his arousal eases slightly from the friction.
“How’s that for all talk?” Namjoon whispers into Yoongi’s neck, wrapping his hands around Yoongi’s hips and thrusting forwards with desperation, it’s messy, sloppy, mouths meeting again and again in kisses that are more tongue than anything else, lust without emotions attached.
“Still all talk,” Yoongi mumbles, tugging at Namjoon’s earlobe with his teeth, “Less talking more fucking.”
“I'm not gonna last that long,” Namjoon replies, panting into the skin of Yoongi’s neck. He bites down, hard, and Yoongi keens loudly, hips stuttering upwards. He's close too, so close, the build up too much, tension too unbearable.
“You’re still all talk,” Yoongi replies, taking Namjoon’s earlobe between his lips and tugging harshly, “Less talking more fucking.”
“I’m not going to last much longer.” Namjoon admits with a groan, grinding his crotch down against the bulge in Yoongi’s pants.
Truth be told, Yoongi won’t last, either. The tension is too high, and it’s been such a long, long time since he’s done anything like this, climax drawing closer with every thrust.
Teeth push into the skin of Yoongi’s neck and he comes with a whine, delirious with pleasure, sent over the edge by the sharp pain. Namjoon continues to grind against Yoongi’s pliant body; teeth digging in harder with every thrust.
It’s overwhelming, Yoongi vaguely registers Namjoon as he follows him into climax, too consumed by his own thrum of pleasure, the aftershocks of his orgasm ripping through him.
“We should do that again.” Namjoon says, sweaty and panting, hot breath cooling the ache of the marks he’s left on Yoongi’s neck.
Humming non-committedly, Yoongi pushes him off, the fabric of his pants sticking to his thighs as he clambers back into the front seat. He lowers the window of Namjoon’s car, cold night air filtering into the condensation soaked interior, the body heat generated by their exploits fogging the windows something terrible.
The drive back to Yoongi’s apartment is quiet; on Yoongi’s end, the silence is because he just can’t find the words to say, he has no idea what to talk about with the guy who just dry humped him on the back seat of his car.
He’s pulled out of his trance by a pair of lips, Namjoon kissing the corner of his mouth softly, warm palm tilting Yoongi’s head back towards him; they kiss, softly, before it grows in intensity.
Yoongi pulls away first.
“Thanks for the lift.” He says, getting out of the car.
He doesn’t look back as Namjoon drives away.
------
Yoongi vows never to continue what he and Namjoon left off, he’s bigger than that, better than that. What they did was a one-time thing, something never to be repeated.
He thinks this for the third time, corners of his mouth burning as he stretches his lips around Namjoon’s cock. He shifts, changing gears, the movement pushing his length further down Yoongi’s throat. There’s hands pulling at his hair, saliva dripping down his chin; it’s dirty, but thrilling-- anyone could look over into the car, watch Yoongi’s head bob in Namjoon’s lap as he drives, watch as Yoongi palms himself through his work pants as Namjoon takes a fistful of hair and thrusts into his eager mouth.
“I can feel you thinking.” Namjoon says, pulling Yoongi off his dick. Hooded eyes watch as saliva drips from Yoongi’s open, panting mouth.
“Asshole.” Yoongi says in reply, “All you should feel is me sucking you off.”
Namjoon’s dick pushes through his lips again; Yoongi chokes slightly, unprepared for the intrusion. There’s no more conversation, the only noise coming from Yoongi’s mouth as he succumbs to Namjoon’s whims, again and again.
------
Namjoon is a release, someone Yoongi can count on to relieve his stress, ease the tension in his body after a difficult shift. Somewhere along the line, Yoongi’s started looking forward to his time with Namjoon, craving the feeling of lips against lips, Namjoon’s hands as they slide along his body, even the moments before and after wherein they sit in silence, basking in each other’s company.
Yoongi begins faking bad nights at work, noticing that Namjoon is far more passionate, rough, willing when Yoongi seems mad or upset.
He doesn’t want to know what it means.
“Hey.” Namjoon greets as he pulls up on the curb, waiting patiently for Yoongi to buckle his seatbelt before speeding off, the way to Yoongi’s house ingrained into muscle memory. “How was work?”
“Awful.” Yoongi says in reply, leaning over the console to suck at Namjoon’s neck as he drives, hands sliding along thick thighs before playing with the waistband of his pants. “Wanna make me feel better?”
“Not really.” Namjoon pushes his hand away, shifting his neck so Yoongi’s lips can no longer reach it.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Yoongi slumps back into his seat with a pout. They’ve been doing this for so long, it’s not like Namjoon to reject his advances.
“I just--” Namjoon rubs a hand down his face in annoyance, “I just don’t want to do this anymore?”
“You’re sick of me?” He’s offended, face burning with shame. Namjoon was so eager to get into his pants, full of entendre and thinly veiled looks of desire. They haven’t even slept together, yet, most of their encounters ending with rushed hand jobs in the back seat of Namjoon’s car.
“Not at all.” Namjoon sighs. “It’s just, I’m pretty fucking into you, but you’re just after a quick fuck? I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Yoongi asks quietly, mind reeling. The unspoken agreement had him thinking that this was all lust, two people with a mutual attraction and aligning schedules looking for no strings attached fun.
“Both?” Namjoon says. “Look, I get that it’s one-sided, and I’m okay with that.”
He sighs, pulling up in front of Yoongi’s house. “Actually, I’m not okay with that.” His eyes stay fixated in front of him, he doesn’t even spare a glance in Yoongi’s direction. “So I think it’d be best if you didn’t call me again.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?” He asks, familiar anger bubbling up inside him. He hasn’t felt this mad in weeks, relying on Namjoon to soothe his anger, calm him down, look after him.
“I dunno.” Namjon shrugs, still unwilling to look at Yoongi when he speaks, “Whatever it is that you did before, I guess.”
Yoongi slams the door as he leaves, wondering why it hurts so much.
------
Hindsight, Yoongi soon realizes, is a bitch.
He’s positively miserable without Namjoon, days dragging and nights boring. There’s no one for him to talk to, and the loneliness is crippling. It’s not, as he had originally assumed, due to a lack of company in general. He’d tried, on his few nights off a week, to reconnect with old friends, go out to bars, find someone to take home.
But none of them were Namjoon, and thus his unease escalated; he’s agitated and moody, yet so unbelievably stubborn, thumb hovering over Namjoon’s contact on an almost daily basis. He should call, text, anything.
It’s 3am, Yoongi stands on the sidewalk in front of yet another hotel, another mediocre night of work behind him, another cigarette in his mouth.
He lets the temptation get the better of him, tapping the call button before he loses the nerve. He’s had a lot of time to think about this, week of radio silence. Namjoon expressed his interest, outright said he wanted something more. What’s the harm in trying? What’s stopping Yoongi from giving this, whatever is, a try?
“Yoongi?” Namjoon’s familiar voice filters through the speakers of his phone. Warmth spreads through Yoongi’s chest, longing and affection blooming. “Are you alright?”
“I miss you.” Yoongi says, words spilling from his mouth before he can censor them, “Not just-- not just what we did, all of you? Yeah. I miss all of you.”
Yoongi cringes at the awkwardness, the uncertainty of his tone. Namjoon laughs anyway, he sounds so genuinely overjoyed to hear Yoongi’s voice.
“I miss you too.” He says quietly. “Where are you, I’ll pick you up. We need to talk things through.”
It’s a daunting prospect for Yoongi, the idea of a potential relationship. However, in the time he’s spent away from Namjoon he’s realized that whatever this is, wherever it’s going; he’s more than willing to give it a shot.
Rating: R
Pairing: Sugamon
Genre: Romance, Love/Hate, Uber!AU
Summary: Yoongi has anger issues, and Namjoon has a cool car.
A/N: Written for lilacflowers in BTSX2016
------
Yoongi rubs at the sleeve of his suit jacket with a scowl. Clumsy waiters and clumsier clients mean there’s a Rorschach of alcohol staining the light grey fabric. White wine blends with red, amber scotch drawing them together seamlessly. He’ll have to get it dry cleaned, another expense to strain his already meager paycheck.
Event Planning is not as glamorous as his course made it out to be; grandiose delusions of organizing exclusive gatherings for the bourgeois making way for the reality of drunk real estate agents drinking their livers to dust at office parties. Still, it puts food on the table, pays the rent and career progression isn’t so much of a distant dream, so Yoongi sucks it up, sticks on a smile, and caters to the whim of upper middle class professionals who think they’re more important than they are.
His fingers twitch with nicotine cravings; an unfortunate habit picked up from years in the hospitality industry. Smokers get double the allotted break time, so everyone shortens their lifespan to lengthen their time off the floor. Unfortunately for him, he can’t deal with the cravings because his uber driver is about to round the corner, if the little icon displayed on his phone screen is any indication.
The street is devoid of cars, of people in general, the only movement is the steady twitch of Yoongi’s hand and the flickering of the streetlight he stands beneath.
A loud rumble sounds in the distance, some sort of engine Taehyung and his band of car-obsessed buddies could probably recognize by sound alone-- the young waiter always dragging Yoongi into conversations about cars they want to buy when they’ve got a paycheck like his.
Yoongi never quite has the heart to crush their optimism-- he doesn’t drive because he cannot afford a car, and is unfathomably envious of those who can.
Then again, he thinks, watching the mechanical monstrosity that pulls up in front of him, he’d rather have no car at all than drive something so visually and audibly offensive.
“You Yoongi?” The driver of the hideous vehicle pops his head out of the window; his hair stands out against the glittering black paint of his car, engine so loud and thrumming that he has to yell in order to communicate simple questions. Pink lips stretch around a pinker lollipop, the driver the very image of boyish charm.
“Yeah. Please tell me you’re a stalker and not my uber driver.” Yoongi huffs, taking in the car with a sour expression. He lives in a quiet neighbourhood and the sheer noise this car makes will surely upset his neighbours.
“That’s rough man.” The driver replies, pulling the candy from his mouth with a pop, offering Yoongi a not-so-subtle once over. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“Your face is fine. It's your car I'm bothered by.” Yoongi replies with a huff, “Please don't tell me you actually paid money for that thing?”
“I'm going to ignore that jab at my baby because you think I'm hot.” He says, motioning at the passenger door he adds, “Get in the car, Yoongi, let me take you for a ride.”
The drivers grin is downright salacious as Yoongi does as he asks, sliding into the vehicle with a grimace. The seats are surprisingly soft, interior crafted for comfort. It smells like peaches--- real ones, not the artificial ones--- scent wafting from a very expensive brand of air freshener displayed above an equally as expensive sound system. Yoongi, for all his earlier misgivings, is quietly impressed. The driver, on the other hand, does not exude such classic luxury; plain white shirt and grey pants, shoeless feet resting on the clutch and brake pedal.
“I'm Namjoon.” The driver says as Yoongi fastens his seatbelt, car roaring to life and speeding down the main street, “Though you probably knew that already.”
He didn't. While the app does display the name of the driver, Yoongi rarely pays attention to it. His usual Uber experience is to get in the car, make the trip in silence, grunt his thanks when they've dropped him home. Somehow, Yoongi muses, this trip will probably be a little different.
“Sure.” His tone and body language clearly indicative that he didn’t know, but was too polite to suggest otherwise.
“You work late for a young dude.” Namjoon says, unbothered by Yoongi’s silence. “Your girl won't like that, I bet.”
“No girl.” Yoongi mutters. It's obvious that Namjoon will continue to ask questions, he may as well answer politely, yet monotonously; going along with the drivers whims but clearly unwilling to engage in small chat.
“Your boy, then.” Namjoon continues, taking a turn and leading the car onto the highway. Through all the noise his engine makes, Yoongi isn't sure that the uber driver even used his indicator.
“No girl, boy or partner of otherwise undiscussed genders.” Yoongi seethes. It's been a long night, he needs a drink, a smoke and sleep. In that order.
“You’re probably single because you work too much.” Namjoon says, continuing the conversation unknowingly-- or uncaringly-- against Yoongi’s wishes. “What kinda office is open until 2am anyway?”
The last part is muttered, most likely rhetorical.
“I'm an event planner.” Yoongi answers anyway, “It's all night work.”
“And here I was thinking you're an alcoholic.” Namjoon says, gesturing to the stain on Yoongi’s sleeve. Embarrassed, he tries to hide it with his bag.
“You don’t fucking know me.” Yoongi spits, a night full of irritation bubbling over, he’s sick of overly demanding clients, unreliable and lazy staff, uber drivers who don’t know how to keep their mouths shut and let him be.
“Chill.” Namjoon replies, taking his hands off the wheel to raise his hands defensively. He curls his tongue around the lollipop, sliding it from one side of his mouth to the other. He looks cocky, almost amused by Yoongi’s anger.
“Get your hands back on the fucking steering wheel,” Yoongi seethes, reaching out to pull the car back into alignment.
“Don’t tell me how to fucking drive.” Conversation stops, the only noise coming from the engine as Namjoon maneuvers his abomination through the streets surrounding Yoongi’s apartment.
The GPS stuck to the windshield chimes, indicating the end of their trip, Yoongi’s building located but a few steps away from where Namjoon slows the car to a stop, engine running idle as Yoongi pulls the door open.
“Wait!” Namjoon says, rummaging through his pockets, “Take this.”
It’s his business card, and a poor one at that. The white square of cardboard displays his first name and number, no other details no other contact information.
“What’s this?” Yoongi asks with a scoff, speaking for the first time since their argument.
“Call me.” Namjoon says with a grin, the lollipop, that goddamn lollipop, clicking along his teeth as his lips widen. “You work late, and I need regulars.”
“Sure.” Sarcasm all but drips from the word. “Call you. Right.”
Namjoon makes the universal symbol for call me as he speeds off into the night. Scoffing, Yoongi pockets the card. He has no intention to call the number, but for some reason, he does not pause to dump it in the trash outside his house.
He’ll throw it away in the morning, he reasons. He’s got more pressing matters to attend to; a drink, a smoke and sleep.
------
Whoever came up with the idea for free, unlimited spirits to be served at work parties should burn in hell, Yoongi thinks as he pours another shot of whiskey into a glass, topping the spirit with a generous amount of syrupy Coke from the premix hose and ignoring the way the alcohol burns the small cuts on his fingers.
Taehyung seems just as flustered, buzzing around the makeshift bar in attempt to keep the patrons as intoxicated as physically possible.
“Tell me why we don't have more people on?” Taehyung hisses, handing a round of vodka and lemonade to a group of giggling girls, young office workers taking full advantage of the open bar, “This is crazy.”
“Client skimped on the workforce to pay for expensive alcohol,” Yoongi mutters in reply, too busy and too tired to reprimand the bartender over his tone, “He thought his people would behave themselves, and didn't see the need for extra staff.”
“No one behaves themselves in the face of free Grey Goose.” Taehyung says, blanching slightly as an elderly woman offers him a flirtatious wink. “That’s like, a universal rule.”
“Tell that to short, fat and seedy over there.” Yoongi spots the client with ease, white suit sticking out in a sea of black. He hasn't spoken to him all night, the man choosing instead to try and ease himself into the conversations of his pretty young staff.
Taehyung makes a short noise of disgust.
Despite the mayhem, the event goes well to the point where many of the patrons refuse to leave the venue at the scheduled 2am finish time. Cradling drinks they hoarded during last call, gaggles of people still fill the floor even as the music comes to a stop and the lights brighten.
Yoongi throws all professionalism out the window, beginning to pack up tables and chairs around the client and his remaining guests, watching in mirth as two muscled security guards all but throw him out on his ear when he, an hour later, still hasn’t vacated the premises.
Sending his staff home with thanks and a tired wave, Yoongi pulls his phone from his pocket and loads the uber app. He’s in a relatively quiet part of town-- the client choosing to host his event in a cheap hall located in sleepy a sleepy suburb in a further attempt to cut costs. It's the middle of the night and it’s a Tuesday; the chances of any drivers being in his immediate vicinity are low, and the number of people willing to drive so far to find him are even lower.
Sighing, he opens his contacts, thumbing over the newest number with trepidation. Considering their last meeting, it’s unlikely Namjoon will drive out of his way to pick him up, but Yoongi doesn’t have enough money to pay for a cab.
“ ‘ello?” Namjoon’s sleepy voice filters from the speakers. Yoongi doesn’t remember tapping on the ‘Call’ symbol, so the break in silence catches him off guard. “Who’s this?”
“Er hey.” Yoongi says, flinching at the uncertainty in his voice, “It’s uh, Yoongi. You dropped me off the other night?”
“Oh yeah, the ass.” Namjoon replies, “I remember you.”
“Could you, um, come pick me up? I’m in the middle of nowhere.” He ignores the insult, figuring his behavior he supposes it’s justified.
“Mmm.” Comes the reply, and in the background Yoongi can hear the rustle of clothes. He must have been sleeping.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” Yoongi adds on, awkwardly.
“You got cash?” A tinkle of keys, the slamming of a door.
“A bit.” He mentally counts the bills in his wallet. There should be enough to pay for the drive home.
“Then it’s no trouble at all.”
Yoongi smokes half a pack of cigarettes waiting for Namjoon, cold and alone outside some random hall in a suburb he’d never knew existed. The familiar sound of Namjoon’s engine is almost welcome, filling the empty streets with a noise that’s not the steady inhale and exhale of smoke drawing into his lungs.
“You can’t smoke in my car,” Namjoon says as he pulls up, yelling over the sound of his engine, “Just so you know.”
Yoongi extinguishes the butt with the heel of his dress shoes, eyebrow raised, challenging Namjoon to comment further.
“Oh gross, now I’ll have ash in my car, thanks for that.” He complains anyway, but without malice. His fingers tap along to the Drake song playing through his speakers.
“You got anything other than Drake?” Yoongi asks, collapsing back into the comfortable seats of Namjoon’s car. He’s tired, but in a notably better mood than their previous meeting. Plus, he’s driving out to the middle of nowhere to collect Yoongi’s sorry ass, so he may as well be nice.
“What’s wrong with Drake?” Namjoon pointedly does not change the song, raising the volume so it can still be heard over the noise of his car.
“Nothing.” Yoongi replies with a yawn, “Just, Kanye is better.”
“You can get out of my car.” Namjoon jokes with a laugh, Yoongi doesn't know if it's infectious, or if sleep deprivation has made him delirious, but he laughs too.
“Woah.” Yoongi looks over to Namjoon, there's an awestruck look on his face, a slight smile. “You get laid or something?”
“What?” He asks in alarm, laughter induced smile falling quickly from his face.
“I mean,” Namjoon scrambles, “You were such a dick last time. Thought maybe getting off had improved your mood.”
“No.” Yoongi replies, staring out the window, willing the angle to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. All he wanted was a lift home, not a dissection of his sex life.
“No, as in getting off didn't improve your mood or no, as in there was no getting off?” Namjoon prods, clearly aware of how uncomfortable the discussion is making Yoongi feel. The asshole.
“Uh. There was no getting off.” Yoongi hopes that snippet of information is enough to appease Namjoon’s curiosity.
“Bad sex is the worst.” Apparently not.
“Bad sex is better than no sex.” Yoongi offers with a small shrug.
Namjoon seems shocked into silence.
“So, uh, thanks for coming out this far to pick me up.” Yoongi says with a momentary lapse into gratitude.
“I wouldn’t have done this for anyone else.” Namjoon replies as he turns onto Yoongi’s street. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”
“What, expecting a booty call along with the fare?” Yoongi teases.
“I mean,” Namjoon starts, hooded eyes trailing down his body, bottom lip pulled between teeth, “If you're offering.”
“No thanks.” Yoongi snorts, throwing a wad of cash onto Namjoon’s seat and closing the door.
He’s got one foot through the door when his phone vibrates, one new text message sitting unread in his inbox.
Remember, orgasams help to relieve tension.
Yoongi ignores it, pulling his sweat and booze soaked suit from his body and stepping into the shower, scalding hot water cascading down his torso and soothing the tense muscles in his shoulder blades.
It's not until he washes the shampoo from his hair that Yoongi addresses his half hard cock; stirring to life unbidden, prompted by Namjoon’s promises.
The driver is cocky, intrusive, offers advice when it's not welcome but oh God is he hot, pretty lips and sharp collarbones and thighs Yoongi wants to feel under his palms. The first touch to his aching length has Yoongi gasping, it’s been too long since he’s done this, each touch amplifying his sensitivity.
He comes almost too fast to enjoy it, slow build replaced by overwhelming pleasure from start to finish; shiny pink lips pull between teeth in his mind, come spilling over his fist and onto tiles.
It’s an almost instantaneous relief, Yoongi slumps against the wall, body shuddering in aftershocks; it really has been too long, a quick round of jerking off in the shower affecting him harder than his last sexual exploit.
Namjoon’s right; he feels calmer, boneless. Less stressed and in an all round better room.
He could reply, tell Namjoon everything that just happened, tease him with the information that he’s come hard with the thought of his lips in mind, but he doesn’t.
The message remains unanswered in his inbox.
------
Cigarette dangling between his lips, Yoongi sits on an empty milk crate in the alleyway behind one of the city’s most prestigious hotels. Apparently they’ve got some sort of ‘No Smoking’ policy for their staff, not wanting them to come back from their break reeking of tar and tobacco, but they don’t pay Yoongi’s paycheck so he feels he’s allowed to do as he damn well pleases.
Skipping through the playlist on his phone, he comes to stop on one of the Drake songs he’d downloaded days prior; repeated rides in Namjoon’s car has given him a newfound appreciation for the Canadian rapper, his entire discography on repeat during the few moments Yoongi has the time to listen to music.
“Uh, hey.” Taehyung’s head peeks out from the doorway, “The client is on a bit of a rampage in there, think you can come and sort it out?”
“Can’t Seokjin handle it?” Yoongi takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, breathing the smoke out through the nose, “I’m on my break.”
“Nope, he’s looking for you.” He ruffles his hair awkwardly, “Goin’ on about how useless you are and stuff.”
Yoongi groans audibly, “Literally nothing has gone wrong, I don’t get his deal.”
Stubbing the butt on the ground, he leaves the litter as an act of protest. What kind of multi-million dollar hotel doesn’t have a smoker’s area, honestly.
The client doesn’t seem happy to see him, storming up to Yoongi in a rage. He opens his mouth to speak, before pausing; leaning too far into Yoongi’s personal space bubble he takes a deep inhale, pulling away with a disgusted look.
“The event is going to hell and you leave to suck on a cancer stick?” His already nasal voice is amplified by the finger and thumb he pinches across his nose. “I was told that you were a professional, that your company is the best there is.”
“I am entitled to a break.” Yoongi seethes, barely composing his professionalism, “And what I do on said break does not reflect my employers.”
“You abandoned---”
“What is the problem, sir,” Yoongi cuts him off, getting straight to the point. “I’ll fix it immediately.”
“Your staff look like slobs.” He sniffs, gesturing to two of the waiters as they scurry past. Yoongi can’t see anything particularly wrong with their appearance, maybe Jimin’s tie is a little askew, but it’s hardly event ruining.
“I’ll tell them to neaten up.” Yoongi says, “Is that all sir?”
“For now.” He storms off, and Yoongi sighs, checking his watch. He’s still got fifteen minutes left in his allocated break time. Barking orders to one of the waitresses as she passes, he storms back to the alley way, determined to smoke as many cigarettes as he can within the limited time frame.
There’s a bottle of Cologne in his bag and a small tube of hand sanitizer in his pocket. Spitefully, he resolves to leave them unused.
“You free?” Yoongi asks, not bothering to greet Namjoon as he answers the phone.
“Uh, hello to you too.” He says in reply, “And no, I’ve got a fare right now, what’s up?”
“Come pick me up when you’re done.” It’s not a question. Yoongi lights up a cigarette and exhales shakily, anger still coursing through his system. The idea to book another Uber doesn’t even cross his mind, even after Namjoon warns a near half hour wait before he comes to collect him. Yoongi is sick of strangers, he doesn’t want to deal with anyone else right now. He feels utterly foul, lingering rage from his shift still pulsing through his system like a poison. Namjoon can deal with his mood, won’t think too much of it if he lashes out.
The client makes his way past Yoongi, coughing obnoxiously despite the fact that his cigarette is dangling in his hand, letting off but the thinnest of wisps. Allergies, asthma, that he can understand, feel sympathy towards. It’s the fake, condescending coughs people feel the need to overact as they walk past him where Yoongi draws the line.
“Have a good night, sir.” He says in his fakest voice, taking a deep inhale and blowing smoke at the man’s retreating back.
“Goddamn,” Namjoon whistles, “Now that I’m more awake, I gotta say. You look fucking hot when you smoke.”
“Shut up.” Yoongi says, suddenly not in the mood for Namjoon’s flirting. He all but rips the door off the car as he gets in, “Just, fuck, get me out of here.”
“Bad day?” He asks with a laugh that only adds to Yoongi’s irritation.
“Do you ever fucking shut up?” Yoongi seethes, folding his arms across his chest.
“Jesus, chill.” He mutters, turning up the volume. It’s Drake. Again. Yoongi slaps Namjoon’s hand away, turning the volume down angrily. Everything is starting to piss him off, grinding his teeth together to fill the silence.
“What happened?” Namjoon allows Yoongi a few moments to simmer down, breaking the silence as the furrow of his brow begins to soften.
“Asshole client.” He replies, picking angrily at his nails, “Found issues in everything. The entire went off without a hitch, but he followed me around for eight hours bitching and whining about every last fucking thing. By the end of it, I think he was doing it just to spite me, you know? He told me the red wine was too warm. You drink that shit at room temperature.”
“You know what helps with bad days?” Namjoon asks, looking at Yoongi from the corner of his eye.
“What, sex?” He sneers, knowing all too well where Namjoon’s train of thought is taking him. He’s not in the mood for this, “You gonna fuck me in the backseat of your shitty car?”
“I was gonna say music, but hey, if that’s what you want.” He’s unphased, the asshole, cool nonchalance rubbing against Yoongi’s already frayed nerves.
“If you start playing Drake I swear to God I’m getting out of this fucking car.” Yoongi says as Namjoon’s hand slowly edges towards the volume on his sound system.
Tires screech as Namjoon slams on the breaks, car coming to a halt in an empty street.
“Then get out.” He says. It’s still a little far from Yoongi’s house, but it’s walkable. “I’m not your personal chauffeur, or your punching bag. Fuck you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Yoongi replies, grabbing hold of Namjoon’s collar. Their faces draw close together, Namjoon’s angry puffs of breath hitting against Yoongi’s lips. “You come running everytime I call, hoping that you’ll finally get it in.”
“You should be a little more grateful,” Namjoon hisses, grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of Yoongi’s head. He’s not gentle, tugging hard to the point of unbearably painful. “I do so much for you.”
“You do what I pay you to.” Yoongi replies, stubborn to the end. The grip on his hair tightens, head snapping back as he tries to ease the pressure. The air has changed, tension more sexual than angry; Yoongi’s still mad, but Namjoon’s so close, looking at him with such intensity. He's embarrassingly hard in his pants.
“All I want is a thank you.” Namjoon says in a low voice, “And yeah, maybe I wanna see your pretty little mouth around my dick, but I'm not pushing it.”
Yoongi sucks in a shuddering breath at his words.
“I wanna eat you out until you cry,” Namjoon continues, nosing up Yoongi’s neck, warm breath hitting sensitive skin, “I wanna fuck you. But I'll deal with you swallowing your pride and thanking me, just one goddamn time.”
All that escapes Yoongi’s mouth is a whine, crying out as Namjoon bites into his skin.
“Say no,” Namjoon says, voice wavering as he bites down again, a little harder. “Tell me no, Yoongi, and I'll stop.”
“And if I say yes?” Yoongi’s hands fly to his shoulder blades, nails digging into the fabric of Namjoon’s shirt.
“If you say yes,” Namjoon says, retracting his hands from Yoongi’s hair, running a finger down the marks he’s made, “I'm gonna park the car, you're gonna get into the back seat, and I'm gonna find out what that mouth of yours can do.”
“Yes,” Yoongi breathes, “Yes.”
The hands are off him in an instant, Namjoon making good on his promise, maneuvering his car to the side of the road, street lamp casting a yellow glow through the interior of the car. Scrambling over the console, Yoongi upholds his part of the deal, unbuckling his belt as he slides down onto padded seats.
“Fuck, you're eager.” Namjoon breathes, killing the engine and regarding Yoongi through the rear view mirror. Palming himself through the fabric of his dress pants, Yoongi smirks.
“God,” Namjoon breathes, crawling through to meet Yoongi, tracing a finger along his bottom lip. “You really want this.”
He sounds so disbelieving, watching with hooded eyes as Yoongi sucks the finger into his mouth.
“I see how it is,” Yoongi whispers, threading his hands through Namjoon’s hair, “You're all talk.”
Their mouths meet in a kiss, sloppy and desperate, last threads of anger lacing through the sexual tension. A kiss to silence Yoongi’s snark, and to ignite the sparks flying between them.
Yoongi finds himself pushed into the plush seats, Namjoon’s hips grinding against his own. Wrapping his legs around Namjoon’s waist, Yoongi pulls their crotches closer together, letting out a keening sigh as the ache of his arousal eases slightly from the friction.
“How’s that for all talk?” Namjoon whispers into Yoongi’s neck, wrapping his hands around Yoongi’s hips and thrusting forwards with desperation, it’s messy, sloppy, mouths meeting again and again in kisses that are more tongue than anything else, lust without emotions attached.
“Still all talk,” Yoongi mumbles, tugging at Namjoon’s earlobe with his teeth, “Less talking more fucking.”
“I'm not gonna last that long,” Namjoon replies, panting into the skin of Yoongi’s neck. He bites down, hard, and Yoongi keens loudly, hips stuttering upwards. He's close too, so close, the build up too much, tension too unbearable.
“You’re still all talk,” Yoongi replies, taking Namjoon’s earlobe between his lips and tugging harshly, “Less talking more fucking.”
“I’m not going to last much longer.” Namjoon admits with a groan, grinding his crotch down against the bulge in Yoongi’s pants.
Truth be told, Yoongi won’t last, either. The tension is too high, and it’s been such a long, long time since he’s done anything like this, climax drawing closer with every thrust.
Teeth push into the skin of Yoongi’s neck and he comes with a whine, delirious with pleasure, sent over the edge by the sharp pain. Namjoon continues to grind against Yoongi’s pliant body; teeth digging in harder with every thrust.
It’s overwhelming, Yoongi vaguely registers Namjoon as he follows him into climax, too consumed by his own thrum of pleasure, the aftershocks of his orgasm ripping through him.
“We should do that again.” Namjoon says, sweaty and panting, hot breath cooling the ache of the marks he’s left on Yoongi’s neck.
Humming non-committedly, Yoongi pushes him off, the fabric of his pants sticking to his thighs as he clambers back into the front seat. He lowers the window of Namjoon’s car, cold night air filtering into the condensation soaked interior, the body heat generated by their exploits fogging the windows something terrible.
The drive back to Yoongi’s apartment is quiet; on Yoongi’s end, the silence is because he just can’t find the words to say, he has no idea what to talk about with the guy who just dry humped him on the back seat of his car.
He’s pulled out of his trance by a pair of lips, Namjoon kissing the corner of his mouth softly, warm palm tilting Yoongi’s head back towards him; they kiss, softly, before it grows in intensity.
Yoongi pulls away first.
“Thanks for the lift.” He says, getting out of the car.
He doesn’t look back as Namjoon drives away.
------
Yoongi vows never to continue what he and Namjoon left off, he’s bigger than that, better than that. What they did was a one-time thing, something never to be repeated.
He thinks this for the third time, corners of his mouth burning as he stretches his lips around Namjoon’s cock. He shifts, changing gears, the movement pushing his length further down Yoongi’s throat. There’s hands pulling at his hair, saliva dripping down his chin; it’s dirty, but thrilling-- anyone could look over into the car, watch Yoongi’s head bob in Namjoon’s lap as he drives, watch as Yoongi palms himself through his work pants as Namjoon takes a fistful of hair and thrusts into his eager mouth.
“I can feel you thinking.” Namjoon says, pulling Yoongi off his dick. Hooded eyes watch as saliva drips from Yoongi’s open, panting mouth.
“Asshole.” Yoongi says in reply, “All you should feel is me sucking you off.”
Namjoon’s dick pushes through his lips again; Yoongi chokes slightly, unprepared for the intrusion. There’s no more conversation, the only noise coming from Yoongi’s mouth as he succumbs to Namjoon’s whims, again and again.
------
Namjoon is a release, someone Yoongi can count on to relieve his stress, ease the tension in his body after a difficult shift. Somewhere along the line, Yoongi’s started looking forward to his time with Namjoon, craving the feeling of lips against lips, Namjoon’s hands as they slide along his body, even the moments before and after wherein they sit in silence, basking in each other’s company.
Yoongi begins faking bad nights at work, noticing that Namjoon is far more passionate, rough, willing when Yoongi seems mad or upset.
He doesn’t want to know what it means.
“Hey.” Namjoon greets as he pulls up on the curb, waiting patiently for Yoongi to buckle his seatbelt before speeding off, the way to Yoongi’s house ingrained into muscle memory. “How was work?”
“Awful.” Yoongi says in reply, leaning over the console to suck at Namjoon’s neck as he drives, hands sliding along thick thighs before playing with the waistband of his pants. “Wanna make me feel better?”
“Not really.” Namjoon pushes his hand away, shifting his neck so Yoongi’s lips can no longer reach it.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Yoongi slumps back into his seat with a pout. They’ve been doing this for so long, it’s not like Namjoon to reject his advances.
“I just--” Namjoon rubs a hand down his face in annoyance, “I just don’t want to do this anymore?”
“You’re sick of me?” He’s offended, face burning with shame. Namjoon was so eager to get into his pants, full of entendre and thinly veiled looks of desire. They haven’t even slept together, yet, most of their encounters ending with rushed hand jobs in the back seat of Namjoon’s car.
“Not at all.” Namjoon sighs. “It’s just, I’m pretty fucking into you, but you’re just after a quick fuck? I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Yoongi asks quietly, mind reeling. The unspoken agreement had him thinking that this was all lust, two people with a mutual attraction and aligning schedules looking for no strings attached fun.
“Both?” Namjoon says. “Look, I get that it’s one-sided, and I’m okay with that.”
He sighs, pulling up in front of Yoongi’s house. “Actually, I’m not okay with that.” His eyes stay fixated in front of him, he doesn’t even spare a glance in Yoongi’s direction. “So I think it’d be best if you didn’t call me again.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?” He asks, familiar anger bubbling up inside him. He hasn’t felt this mad in weeks, relying on Namjoon to soothe his anger, calm him down, look after him.
“I dunno.” Namjon shrugs, still unwilling to look at Yoongi when he speaks, “Whatever it is that you did before, I guess.”
Yoongi slams the door as he leaves, wondering why it hurts so much.
------
Hindsight, Yoongi soon realizes, is a bitch.
He’s positively miserable without Namjoon, days dragging and nights boring. There’s no one for him to talk to, and the loneliness is crippling. It’s not, as he had originally assumed, due to a lack of company in general. He’d tried, on his few nights off a week, to reconnect with old friends, go out to bars, find someone to take home.
But none of them were Namjoon, and thus his unease escalated; he’s agitated and moody, yet so unbelievably stubborn, thumb hovering over Namjoon’s contact on an almost daily basis. He should call, text, anything.
It’s 3am, Yoongi stands on the sidewalk in front of yet another hotel, another mediocre night of work behind him, another cigarette in his mouth.
He lets the temptation get the better of him, tapping the call button before he loses the nerve. He’s had a lot of time to think about this, week of radio silence. Namjoon expressed his interest, outright said he wanted something more. What’s the harm in trying? What’s stopping Yoongi from giving this, whatever is, a try?
“Yoongi?” Namjoon’s familiar voice filters through the speakers of his phone. Warmth spreads through Yoongi’s chest, longing and affection blooming. “Are you alright?”
“I miss you.” Yoongi says, words spilling from his mouth before he can censor them, “Not just-- not just what we did, all of you? Yeah. I miss all of you.”
Yoongi cringes at the awkwardness, the uncertainty of his tone. Namjoon laughs anyway, he sounds so genuinely overjoyed to hear Yoongi’s voice.
“I miss you too.” He says quietly. “Where are you, I’ll pick you up. We need to talk things through.”
It’s a daunting prospect for Yoongi, the idea of a potential relationship. However, in the time he’s spent away from Namjoon he’s realized that whatever this is, wherever it’s going; he’s more than willing to give it a shot.