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Hoseok disliked Seokjin the minute he met him.
It’s irritating because it’s irrational, and Hoseok hates being irrational. Seokjin didn't do anything. Simply stood there tall and broad-shouldered, cutting a sharp line in his formal court attire, a bland smile on his face, looking for all the world like the picture-perfect prince.
Hoseok decides within seconds that Seokjin is either too good at his job, which means he absolutely cannot be trusted, or he’s plain thick, too stupid to do anything besides follow his advisors’ orders to smile and look good.
He just doesn’t know which yet.
“Your Highness,” he says, offering his hand to shake.
“Prince Hoseok,” Seokjin replies, dipping into a short bow as he shakes Hoseok’s hand. Everything perfect, from the angle of his back to the pressure of his grip.
“I look forward to your stay here,” Hoseok says. Their nations have always been friendly, but they recently signed an official economic treaty that would hopefully lead to even better relations. Hence why they’re hosting Seokjin for six months, before Hoseok will be shipped off to spend time in Seokjin’s country for the rest of the year in exchange. Also, Hoseok is pretty sure his father is trying to marry his sister Dawon off to Seokjin. He represses a shudder and keeps his face as neutral as possible.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Seokjin replies with a sweet smile.
*
Three weeks later, and this is what Hoseok has found out:
- Seokjin’s smile is not sweet; it is sly.
- Seokjin is not probably not interested in Dawon.
- Seokjin is definitely not thick. (Well. Except for his thighs—)
Said thighs are now clamped around Hoseok’s waist as Seokjin bends over him, lips sucking at his neck. When Hoseok lets out a small sound, he can practically feel Seokjin smirk against his jaw, pushing his hips down even harder.
“Jesus,” Hoseok hisses, fists clenched by his side. He wants to touch so badly, but whatever this is happened so fast, in the seconds between his bleary-eyed tenth toast at the Midsummer’s Night celebration and the hot bolt of arousal when Seokjin made eye contact across the table as he simultaneously licked mulled wine off his lips and ran his foot up Hoseok’s calf. He doesn’t know where the lines are yet.
Seokjin pulls back so he can look at Hoseok, their noses almost touching. He winks. “You can call me Jin, actually,” he says, hips bucking forward, and when Hoseok’s mouth drops open indignantly, he casually pushes his thumb in, eyes daring Hoseok to shy away.
A part of Hoseok wants to – the sane part, the part that keeps quiet when his father says he has to stop dancing because it’s undignified for a prince his age to do something so feminine, the part that pretends to be interested in all the dukes’ daughters that fawn over him during dinners – but then Seokjin, leaning even closer, curls his thumb into the side of Hoseok’s cheek, shoves his other hand into the front of Hoseok’s pants, and whispers, “Come on, little prince. Let go for me.”
And Hoseok, who has always been a boy too bright and big for the strictures of his position, closes his eyes against Seokjin’s gaze and closes his mouth around his finger and comes with a quiet whimper.
“Fuck,” Seokjin breathes, as he withdraws his come-covered hand and reaches down to touch himself. Hoseok, feeling as stretchy and soft as a piece of dough, curls a hand in his hair; sighs when Seokjin says “Fuck,” again and collapses on top of him like a warm, heavy blanket.
It takes Hoseok a while to realize what they just did. What he just did. There is come cooling crusty and damp in his pants, and the prince of another country is currently sprawled on top of him. Seokjin’s thumb slipped out at some point, leaving a wet smear of saliva across Hoseok’s cheek.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” Hoseok says into the silence, alcohol and adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Please get off me.”
“Why not? It was fun.” Seokjin obliges easily, rolling away to lie on his back with his hands behind his head.
“Because we’re both princes, and at least I still care about my royal duties,” Hoseok snaps. He feels flushed and exposed, jittery all over now that the solidity of Seokjin’s body against his is gone and he has enough distance to see clearly.
“We can have fun and perform our royal obligations,” Seokjin says. “Aren’t you just supposed to bring me around and have me sit in on your day? We can do that, and then we can come back here for something more pleasurable than meetings with the minister of agriculture.”
“You’re a huge distraction, so no,” Hoseok says firmly. “This is never going to happen again. Now get out.”
“This is my room,” Seokjin points out.
Hoseok lifts his chin, trying to appear more authoritative than he actually feels, sitting half-naked and sex-rumpled on someone else’s bed. “Just take a walk.”
Seokjin shrugs and pulls on his clothes as Hoseok watches, tense, from the bed. He’s just about to settle down, glad that Seokjin seems to agree after all, when he pauses by the doorway, one eyebrow raised rakishly.
“So you think I’m distracting?” he muses. “Good to know, little prince.” And with a wink, he’s gone.
*
Of course it happens again.
How can it not? Kim Seokjin is a fucking demon.
Hoseok’s on high alert for the next few days after their drunken, regrettable dalliance (not entirely drunken or regrettable, his traitorous body likes to remind him in the middle of the night), but Seokjin is perfectly professional and polite, always ready with an attentive arm for the queen and her entourage of ladies or a charming grin for Hoseok’s younger cousins when they pester him for tales of his own country.
For Hoseok, Seokjin only has a soft smile and the stock reply, “Yes, of course, Prince Hoseok.”
So he can behave when he wants to, Hoseok thinks unkindly. He hates this brittle formality, when the knowledge of what they’ve done together hangs in the air between them thickly. You would think that kind of intimacy would bleed through the cracks in the princely façade, but maybe Seokjin is just that good an actor.
Nothing happens for a week, and Hoseok relaxes, a little disappointed but mostly relieved.
That’s the wrong move.
The first time Seokjin sits down too close to him at dinner, Hoseok squints at him and says, “Excuse me.” Seokjin demurs and moves away and spends the rest of the evening ignoring him in favor of conversation with the minor lord seated on his other side.
The second time it happens, Hoseok – rather rudely, he has to admit – knocks his shoulder against Seokjin’s. Seokjin doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move away either.
By the third time, Seokjin doesn’t even bother with adjusting himself, just leans in close to Hoseok so the entire lengths of their legs are touching even as he chats merrily with everyone else except Hoseok, who grits his teeth and tries not to swat Seokjin’s hand away when it “accidentally” brushes against first his knee, and then, brazenly, his inner thigh.
“What are you doing?” he finally demands after yet another tortuous night of Seokjin’s wandering limbs. This evening he was seated next to the notoriously flatulent Lord Park on the other side so Hoseok had no choice but to press up against Seokjin to avoid the fumes.
From the cream-puff curl of Seokjin’s lips, he thinks Seokjin rather enjoyed his suffering.
“What are you doing, Prince Hoseok?” Seokjin feigns ignorance, putting a limp hand against his chest. “Cornering your guest in the middle of a dark hallway?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Hoseok says. “You keep—touching!” His face flushes, but hopefully Seokjin won’t be able to see, so far from the lamplight.
“I’m not playing at all,” Seokjin says, and suddenly he’s moving forward and backing Hoseok up against the wall. “I do keep touching, and I think you like it.”
Hoseok pauses, and when Seokjin licks his lips, convulses into laughter.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok gasps in between his wheezing. “It’s just—you looked so serious, like some sultry male lead in a romance drama.”
“This is certainly the first time someone’s laughed,” Seokjin complains in mock offended tones. He doesn’t move away, though, Hoseok notices, just drops his head closer to Hoseok’s and huffs out a small chuckle. “I won’t deny my penchant for theatrics.”
When they make eye contact, Seokjin’s gaze is light and full of mirth. He’s biting his lip with what looks like embarrassment dusting his cheeks pink. He looks kind of goofy and oddly shy, and Hoseok has never feel more attracted to him. He swallows audibly.
Something changes in the air between them.
Seokjin notices.
“I think you like me,” Seokjin teases, and Hoseok rolls his eyes.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Seokjin adds, more serious now, and Hoseok can’t tell if he means right now or forever, but he does not tell Seokjin to stop.
When Seokjin pauses a hair’s breadth from his mouth, so close that Hoseok can feel his breath on his lips, Hoseok knows that glib flirtation aside, Seokjin is letting him choose what to do now.
And it’s been so long since someone asked Hoseok what he wanted.
Their first kiss is soft, in contrast to the hard thigh that Seokjin pushes between Hoseok’s legs. For a second Hoseok thinks about how absurd it is that he’s had Seokjin’s digit in his mouth before his tongue, and then Seokjin’s tongue is in his mouth and he stops thinking completely.
They get each other off quickly and hungrily in that hallway, and afterwards they hunch over each other and giggle like schoolboys playing truant. Seokjin brushes the hair back from Hoseok’s face and kisses his temple, gentle as a breeze. “Can I come over?” he murmurs against Hoseok’s forehead. Hoseok freezes; he means his bedroom.
Sensing his immediate discomfort, Seokjin pulls back, eyes surprisingly kind. “Don’t fret, little prince,” he says, and it should have been condescending, but Hoseok knows it isn’t meant to be. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Left alone in the dark, Hoseok thunks his head against the brick wall and wishes he had said yes.
*
Over the next month, Hoseok and Seokjin spend a lot of time together. Well, officially, they have to anyway – the whole point of this endeavor is to have the two princes become friends and strengthen the bonds between their nations.
Bonds are strengthened, all right; most of it just happens at night.
Hoseok decides that instead of having to clear his room for Seokjin, he can just go over to Seokjin’s room instead. Seokjin doesn’t complain.
One night, Hoseok simply knocks on Seokjin’s door (after the rest of the palace is asleep, of course) until a squinty-eyed Seokjin opens up. Hoseok is taken aback for a moment; Seokjin is in a thin sleep shirt and loose pants, his hair unkempt and flopping in his eyes, and he looks like just another boy. His heart thuds weirdly in his chest, and he has to squash it down.
“What are you doing here?” Seokjin asks, yawning.
Hoseok just raises his eyebrows.
“Oh,” Seokjin finally says, almost gasping with clandestine delight. “Someone’s eager.”
“Are you going to let me in or not?”
“Don’t sulk, it’s unattractive.”
(Later, when they are sated and curled up like commas together, Seokjin confesses that he finds Hoseok’s little frowny-face cute. “Your dimples appear,” he explains, and Hoseok buries his head in his pillow to hide his smile – and his dimples.)
So, they spend most nights together, Hoseok slipping away at dawn’s first blush, sometimes before Seokjin wakes up but more often than not only after Seokjin has planted morning kisses all over him. It's easy and fun and makes Hoseok the happiest he’s been in a while. It's also just incredibly sexy, when Seokjin makes eye contact across the room as he laps at a sweet tart, or when he presses down just right on the bruise that he left on Hoseok’s thigh yesterday, a mark that nobody else knows is there.
In the day, they go about their activities with fraternal vigor, competing in archery and going out to the forests on horseback, meeting with petitioners and townsfolk who just want to pay tribute to the royal family. These are things that Hoseok always did diligently but detachedly – he’s not interested in politics or sporting events; he just wants to dance. Somehow, though, listening to a bristly butcher explain a convoluted conspiracy theory about his neighbor poisoning his pigs’ feed to starve them and ruin his livelihood is a lot more fun when Seokjin mutters from the corner of his mouth, “Maybe our butcher here has been helping himself to some of his pigs’ meals; that would explain the size discrepancy between owner and livestock.” Hoseok almost spits out his water and has to clear his throat multiple times while the butcher looks askance at him.
Afterwards, Hoseok kicks Seokjin in the shin; the other prince just makes a spectacularly ugly face, which is very immature. Hoseok has to hide his smile.
Even Dawon notices the change in his mood. “You’re looking chipper these days, Hobi,” she says over breakfast. Seokjin had been dragged away by their mother for a piano recital, and Hoseok, no matter how much Seokjin bugged his eyes out pleadingly at him, did not offer to tag along. He knows enough of what his mother’s taste in music is like to fear for him.
“Am I?” he says, cutting through his egg. “Maybe it’s the good weather.”
“I think it’s the foreign prince,” Dawon says loftily. “Seokjin. You two are awfully chummy.”
The yolk spills out, warm and yellow. “Well,” Hoseok says. “He’s nice.”
(Last night, in Seokjin’s bed—“Will you be good for me?” Seokjin breathing hotly in his ear as he pushed him down into his mattress, fingers finding his way between Hoseok’s legs to wrap around his length. “I’m not going to play nice.”)
“Is he? He’s handsome, but seems pretty boring to me,” Dawon says. “He never has an opinion on anything.”
“That’s not true,” Hoseok says, maybe a tad too defensively. “He’s plenty interesting.”
And the thing is, Seokjin is interesting. He isn’t just some perfect royal copy, though he is very good at putting on that face when he has to. For instance, Hoseok knows that Seokjin always leaves dinner hungry because he tries to be a polite eater and not ask for seconds, and ends up sneaking into the kitchens to nibble at leftover meat pies at night; he knows that Seokjin’s favorite color is pink, a fact that made Hoseok snort with laughter until Seokjin slapped his ass and he stopped laughing altogether; he knows that Seokjin, for all his good looks and golden boy image, can be whiny, scheming, silly, and completely, devastatingly enthralling.
“Sure, I guess,” Dawon says, Hoseok’s words washing off her easily. “You know him better anyway.”
I do, Hoseok realizes. Somewhere along the way, what started out as animosity turned to lust turned to affection, and now, dangerously, real understanding. A genuine connection.
And yet. There are things Seokjin doesn’t know about Hoseok. One thing in particular, actually. His most well-guarded secret.
*
Five years ago, when Hoseok turned eighteen, his father banned him from dancing. “It’s time for you to grow up,” he said, “and put away these silly gowns. A prince wears armor, not skirts.”
Hoseok stopped himself from retorting that his robes weren’t skirts, and even if they were, what was the problem, because he knew his father better than he knew himself sometimes, and so he understood that there were more efficient ways of getting what he wanted.
Where King Jung saw strength in iron and steel, Hoseok knew that even the strongest swords and the hardest shields could be eroded by time.
Four years ago, Hoseok finally convinced his father that he’d become the prince he was always meant to be, and the king dismissed the personal guard that used to stay by Hoseok’s side all day. The next night, Hoseok donned the disguise he’d kept in the hidey-hole in his room – a rough-spun cloak, something a traveling merchant would wear; a clean but well-worn linen set he’d bought off the cook’s son; and a truly ugly beret, squished on one side and lumpy on the other, something that fashionable Prince Hoseok would never be caught dead wearing. In his bag, his precious dancing silks.
Heart in his mouth, he slipped past the guards and ran light-footed all the way into town, where people knew him as an abstract concept and not as a flesh-and-blood man. He made his way through crowds of people just starting to let loose for the night, weaving in between stringy old men roasting sugared nuts and plump, sweaty ladies dicing onions for fried rice bowls. The market center was loud and redolent with smells and full of people who pushed past him without even looking at him, and Hoseok fell in love for the first time.
The first few weeks, he visited almost every drinking establishment in town just to see what kind of vibe they had going on. The ones that allowed, or even encouraged, dancing ranged from scandalous to dangerous; there was nothing like the kind of artful sequencing he’d mastered as a student on the royal grounds. Here, women sank onto the floor with hips boldly turning, and men weren’t afraid to do the same. Most of them went almost completely naked; his silks would probably be considered modest. The first time he saw someone dance with a pole, his jaw dropped. Afterwards, the dancer, a small, cat-footed man named Jimin, padded over and asked, “You dance?”
“How did you know?”
“I saw you looking,” Jimin said, and added when Hoseok blinked, alarmed, “Not like that. I could tell you were admiring more than just my ass. Though there’s nothing wrong with that, too.” Instead of winking, he smiled, a big bubbly grin that was so at odds with his slinky stage persona that Hoseok laughed in pure surprise.
That was how Hoseok met his first friend.
Jimin introduced him to his dance partner, Jungkook, a sweet-faced boy who looked like he still had to grow into his body, and Namjoon, who owned the place (café in the day, heaven at night, is what he described it as – nobody ever called it anything except “Namjoon’s”), and asked if Hoseok was interested in showing them his routine. Hoseok admitted it was nothing like what Jimin could do, but after he finished Jimin said, “We can work with that. The way you move your body is beautiful,” and Hoseok went home the next morning feeling like he carried the entire universe in his chest.
He goes by Hobi in town. Nobody pries, and though he thinks Jimin might suspect he isn’t exactly who he says he is, they hang out in the smoky light of the bar and Jimin never questions why he keeps silent about where he lives, or what he does when he isn’t dancing, and he is grateful. He goes into town about four nights a week, and sometimes during the day, too, just so that people don’t think he’s some kind of ghostly specter, and because it’s fun to watch Jungkook eat his weight in breakfast foods and tease Namjoon about his huge crush on the blue-haired florist next door.
Hoseok does this for years, and then when Seokjin arrives, he stops spending time in town and starts spending time in his bed instead.
It’s about time he go back, before Jimin thinks he died in a ditch somewhere. He misses moving his body in ways that don’t conform to the curve of Seokjin’s palm or the heat of his lips. He has to get some air, some clarity, away from the headiness that Seokjin induces in him. Away from the voice that says, tell him! If he does, he will really have given Seokjin everything. And Hoseok doesn’t entirely know how to feel about that.
So that night, after dinner when Seokjin normally goes upstairs first and waits for Hoseok, he pulls him aside and says, “I’m kind of tired today, I’ll just see you tomorrow morning?”
Seokjin says, “You know we don’t always have to have sex when you come over. We can just sleep.” It’s tempting, with Seokjin’s fingers running up and down his arm, but Hoseok needs to do this. He shakes his head and fakes a little yawn and murmurs, “I know, but it’s okay. Tomorrow," and darts away.
When Jimin and Jungkook see him a while later, they hug him tight and scold him for not giving them a head’s up.
“What, did you meet a man?” Jimin teases, and when Hoseok splutters, he crows triumphantly while Jungkook begs him for details. “I love love,” he sniffles.
“You’d like him,” is all Hoseok will say. Jimin buys him a celebratory drink and they dance and drink and dance until day breaks and he has to practically sprint home, lungs burning with exhilaration and the sun’s fingerling rays stroking down his back.
*
“Take me to town,” Seokjin says one day as they finish up with lunch. “We have to have seen every inch of the palace by now. Surely there’s more to your country than this.” He grins a little, daring.
“Okay,” Hoseok says, heart starting to beat a little faster.
They decide to take the scenic route, walking into town down the side-lanes instead of taking horses. Seokjin says he wants to approach like a normal person, not a prince, but Hoseok thinks that’s just an excuse for them to idle on the road so that Seokjin can push him up a tree occasionally and kiss him senseless. Not that he minds.
By the time they reach the town, it’s late afternoon, and the wealthier residents – those that are idle by four and preparing to retire – are taking tea and desserts. Hoseok purposely navigates them towards the better part of town, as it were, disinclined to run into any of his acquaintances with Seokjin in tow. It’s safer to be seen in this area where the rich reside, where he is sometimes recognized by the more influential merchants and politicians that dine here regularly. Seokjin doesn’t seem to notice as he is gently tugged down certain streets and away from others, too busy exclaiming over airy confections in bakery windows and the yappy poodles that are currently in fashion being cradled by their equally yappy owners.
Hoseok should have known better, but he lets his guard down. That's his first mistake.
One moment Seokjin is cooing over a man selling exotic fish, the next he’s grabbing Hoseok’s hand and twirling him down an alleyway, and then suddenly they are in familiar territory; across the street is Namjoon’s café and almost right in front of them is the lady who sells Hoseok fried squid balls.
“Uh, this isn’t really a nice part of town,” Hoseok stammers, trying to edge back the way they came. It really will not do for his years-long secret identity to be unraveled by Auntie Song yelling at him to come have some crispy seafood.
“Oh? I’m intrigued,” Seokjin says, eyes dancing with delight. He pulls Hoseok close, cocks his head to the side. “Why do you look so nervous? Surely you’re not scared of muddying your princely frock a little.”
If only you knew. Hoseok bites back his sharp retort, but something must show on his face – since when did Seokjin get so good at reading him? (he’s never been bad, his brain supplies unhelpfully) – because Seokjin’s playful smile grows contemplative.
“You look awfully worried,” he says, hand curling around Hoseok’s waist with deceptive lightness. “Perhaps you’re familiar with what this area has to offer?” His fingers dip beneath Hoseok’s waistband, never mind that they’re out in broad daylight in the middle of the street.
Oh, Hoseok suddenly realizes. Seokjin saw the darkly tinted shopfronts and the slightly shabbier clientele and made an assumption. A very wrong one, so much so that Hoseok really has to furrow his brows to keep from laughing and hope that he looks anxious instead of utterly tickled.
“I am not,” Hoseok says huffily, lifting his chin up. And he isn’t – not with what Seokjin is hinting at.
“Maybe since I’m here we can—”
“Hobi?”
Hoseok freezes. Second mistake. Should have just acted like nothing happened.
He turns around and smiles politely at Jimin, who is in all black and probably headed to Namjoon’s to get ready.
“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” Hoseok says.
Jimin’s gaze darts from Hoseok’s wide, guileless eyes to Seokjin’s narrowed ones, up and down their well-tailored outfits and luxurious capes, and then he ducks his head, bashful. “Ah, sorry, sir, I must have gotten you mixed up with one of my friends. Have a good night.” And then he is off without a second look back.
A pregnant pause. Suddenly the limpid evening air feels too stifling, too soupy, especially with Hoseok’s laced-up formal wear.
“That was strange,” Seokjin says. He sounds amused. “Did he not recognize you?”
“Well, I don’t come down here that often,” Hoseok lies. “Can we go now?”
“Whatever you say, little prince.”
*
Hoseok is quiet the entire way back, and at the entrance to the palace proper he’s about to tell Seokjin that maybe tonight would be best spent separately when Seokjin catches him by the sleeve and says, “Hey. Before you scuttle away”—at Hoseok’s indignant huff he insists, “I know that look, you’re definitely about to run off—wait. May I interest you in some wine by the garden?”
“Um,” Hoseok hedges. “I don’t really drink.” He thinks of what had happened the last time he had, of Seokjin’s warm palm around him and his whisper in his ear, and flushes.
“How about just the garden, then?”
Hoseok’s about to beg off, but Seokjin is looking at him. That in itself isn’t unusual, to be honest, but this isn’t any look Hoseok has seen before. There is no glamor to it – no purposeful pouting of those bee-stung lips, no exaggerated bugging-out of his eyes to make him laugh. It’s open, and frank, and Hoseok thinks he even sees a glimmer of fatigue in the set of his jaw.
So he nods, both curious and cautious, and lets Seokjin lead the way to the royal gardens.
They sit down on the stone bench beneath one of the trellises, the smell of honeysuckle perfuming the air. It’s getting dark by then, the sun just beginning to set in the distance, turning the sky marigold.
“I really enjoyed myself today,” Seokjin starts, one leg crossed over the other. He’s sitting up very rigidly and if Hoseok didn’t know any better he would have thought the other prince was nervous. “Thank you for showing me your town. I’m excited to become better acquainted with it.”
“Of course,” Hoseok replies, equally formal. “I hope I was an adequate guide, and that you were satisfied.”
“Oh, I was more than satisfied.”
They stare at each other for a while, both of them straight-backed and somber. Hoseok’s mouth twitches, and then they both burst out laughing.
“Wow,” Seokjin says, one hand gripping Hoseok’s knee as he bends over shaking with laughter. “Don’t sell yourself short, dear prince. You’re more than adequate—”
Hoseok groans. “Please don’t make a sex joke,” he says, but he has to stifle his giggles with a fist between his teeth. He can’t really say what's so funny, but the idea of the two of them gently flirting under the guise of diplomacy when just last night Hoseok had sat his entire ass down on Seokjin’s face is hilariously surreal.
“Since you asked so nicely,” Seokjin says. “I’m serious, by the way. Well, mostly. I did have a very nice time today.”
“Good,” Hoseok says. “I’m glad.” He smiles, knows his dimples are showing.
“I can’t wait to show you my city,” Seokjin says, returning his grin. “You’ll love the crab-cakes we do over there. And the honey pastries. Did I ever mention we’re famous for our honey?”
Hoseok leans back against the bench, content to let Seokjin talk excitedly about his favorite speakeasies and shops, how the seaport gets pretty at night with the ships’ lights twinkling like stars in the black sea, how old Uncle Hong, who owns the antique shop Seokjin worked at as a teenager, only hired him because he’s half-blind and didn’t recognize the prince until one day the king himself came to drag his son back to his political theory class. Seokjin’s voice is soft and private, like what he’s telling Hoseok is secret knowledge that will cocoon them in this moment, this quiet night where there’s nobody else around and they can just be.
At some point, Hoseok must fall asleep, because the next thing he knows he’s lying on something soft – his bed – and Seokjin is pulling his blanket over him, hands gentle and light over his body.
Something like panic spikes momentarily in the back of his head—did he put away his dance clothes, did Seokjin see?—but everything feels too warm and hazy for him to want to investigate that reaction. There is a light pressure on his forehead, and then Seokjin is closing the door behind him and leaving Hoseok to fall slowly into sweet darkness.
*
Hoseok always knew his nights dancing in town wouldn’t last forever; sooner or later, he figures, his father would talk to him about his career prospects, what he’s going to do for the country. Diplomat or general? Those are the two options. If anything, Hoseok sometimes entertains somewhat masochistic fantasies about how he would like his secret to be dramatically exposed, maybe through a vice raid, or a busybody maid tattling to the king.
He doesn’t expect Seokjin and his predilection for malt beer to do him in.
It was a normal day: the two of them sat through a bunch of boring meetings, followed by a not-so-boring afternoon siesta, and, after dinner, Seokjin murmured something about exploring the liquor basement for some refreshment; Hoseok left him to it, and slipped away to town.
At Namjoon’s, there’s the usual crowd, except this time there’s a noticeable blue-haired addition by the bar. Namjoon flitters around the florist, alternating between puffing out his chest, batting his eyelashes demurely, and saying very loudly, “This is great. Isn’t this great?”
“This is a disaster,” Hoseok comments to Jimin, who sidled up beside him to observe Namjoon’s mating display.
“Oh, I think so too,” Jimin agrees. “But Taehyung’s surprisingly into it. He hasn’t left the bar all night.”
As they watch, Taehyung leans over the counter to whisper in Namjoon’s ear, his hand on Namjoon’s arm; when he leans back, a small smile of satisfaction on his lips, Namjoon’s eyes are as big as twin moons.
“Lovely,” Jimin commented drily.
“Aw, Jiminie,” Hoseok says. “Let’s go get changed; tonight, we’re going to make sure everyone in that audience looks at you like that.”
And they do – tonight is a special show, a Jimin-and-Hobi double performance, with Hoseok donning some of Jimin’s snakeskin leather accessories and Jimin softening his usual shiny black hardware with Hoseok’s bright drapes. The crowd, densely packed up front and around the tables at the back, loves it. The lamplights pulse red and blue under their colored shades, and Hoseok can’t see anything except the blur of faces and Jimin’s own knife-sharp grin next to him.
It’s exhilarating.
“That was one of our best ones yet,” Jimin says after the show is over and they’re finally making their way back to the bar. Along the way, they smile and accept small tokens of appreciation from the audience members – which Hoseok sneaks into Namjoon’s tip box at the end of the night – and skirt around problematic regulars who always try to cop a feel. “God, I’m thirsty.”
“Find Jungkook and get a table,” Hoseok says. “I’ll get you a drink.”
“Thanks, Hobi,” Jimin says. “You’re the best.”
Hoseok waves him off, turns around, and immediately bumps into Seokjin.
For a solid ten seconds, all Hoseok can do is stare. Seokjin blinks once, twice.
And then: “You followed me?” Hoseok is furious.
“I’m actually here for the beer.” Seokjin raises his half-full glass.
“What?”
“Namjoon-ssi brews the best booze in town. Didn't you know?”
“Again, what? So you didn’t know I was going to be here?” Hoseok demands, confused and alarmed and getting increasingly sweaty.
“Well, no. Seeing you here has definitely improved my night, though.”
Hoseok suddenly becomes acutely aware that he’s still in his stage outfit: a silk slip with silver chains looped around his body, leather gloves and knee-high boots, and a smoky eye and curled hair. He feels uncomfortably exposed.
“Did you see me dance?” he whispers, not sure which answer is worse.
Seokjin tilts his head to the side. “I did,” he says.
Hoseok bites back his question; what does he care what Seokjin thinks? This – the dancing, the performing, Namjoon’s bar – is supposed to be his. He ignores the part of him that insists but you want to share it with him.
“You were beautiful,” Seokjin continues. “I swear I had no idea this is where you were dancing. I was going to look for you after, but then you found me instead.”
Something about what Seokjin said stuck out to Hoseok—
“Wait, you knew I danced?”
Seokjin looks vaguely offended. “Of course,” he says calmly. “I’ve known about your dancing for a while now.” When Hoseok blinks in shock, he tuts. “I’m more observant than you think. I suspected something when I heard that man on the street call you Hobi, which I know only Dawon does. And then tonight I saw him—Jimin—here. Also, you have a terrible poker face.”
“Oh,” Hoseok says, slightly deflated.
Seokjin isn’t done. “You always stand with your feet facing out, you know that? Classic dancer’s pose. That, and the way you relax every time we have one of those interminable dinners and the troupe comes on at the end. Your eyes never leave them.” Seokjin pauses and grins. “Of course, I’m also intimately familiar with how well you move your body. So, there’s that.”
“Ugh,” Hoseok says reflexively, but his face feels even warmer now and he knows Seokjin can see it too.
“Don’t feel too bad,” Seokjin says. “You’re very good at hiding. Just not from me.” He takes a sip from his beer and pats the seat next to him. Hoseok sits down gingerly, still trying to process everything.
“I can’t believe I got caught by pure chance,” he finally says, head in his hands. “Because of Namjoon’s fucking beer.”
“Poetic justice, after all the times you’ve slandered alcohol.”
“It makes me lose control, it’s expensive, and it tastes bad.”
“What’s so bad about losing control?” Seokjin winks exaggeratedly and hooks a leg around Hoseok’s ankle.
“Don’t even start,” Hoseok warns. He’s trying to stay serious but Seokjin just looks so damn amused it’s hard not to smile too.
“I’m simply pointing out the facts of the matter,” Seokjin says. “Anyway, it helps you relax. All loosey-goosey. I like that. I like you.”
Early on in their friendship Hoseok often found it incredulous that Seokjin isn’t just a real-life human being, but also an actual prince. Who said stuff like that with a straight face? Who said stuff like that at all? Much less a royal? But now he’s much better at reading the cues. He sees, for example, the minute shiver that runs down Seokjin’s thigh and the way his lips are slightly pursed. He knows Seokjin’s tricks now, so he knows that Seokjin is nervous, and he’s nervous because he’s telling the truth.
Hoseok wants to say it back so badly. He’s not stupid enough to think that what they’ve been doing for the past few months is anything as casual as just two boys blowing off some steam, but that’s still a way off from anything that is of consequence. This, though – the two of them sitting in the middle of a crowded, dingy bar, so close together their words stay trapped in the air around them – this feels reassuringly real.
“Anyway, now that you know I’m not going to spill the beans, how about you show me around town?” Seokjin asks when Hoseok doesn’t reply. “For real this time. No more small dogs that look like rats, please.” When Hoseok hesitates, his voice softens, loses that gilded-honey edge of sarcasm. “I would like to see your town. The people and places you love. If you care to show me.”
“I can’t promise there won’t be rats that look small dogs,” Hoseok says after a pause.
He expects Seokjin to laugh, and he does, but it’s a small one, and then he puts his fingers to Hoseok’s chin to gently tilt his head up.
“That’s not all I want to see,” he says.
Hoseok tries to brush his hand away, but Seokjin’s grip is firm. “You don’t need to seduce me,” he scoffs, slightly embarrassed. “We’ve had sex, I’m not some virgin bride.”
“I know,” Seokjin says. “I’m not interested in seduction, though. I want to woo you.” And then he leans down and kisses Hoseok.
They’ve kissed before. Wet kisses, sloppy kisses, sneaky kisses to the side of the mouth behind a droning groundskeeper’s back.
This is something else.
This is Seokjin pressing forward with intent, slow and sensuous, one hand coming up to cup Hoseok’s jaw, fingers in his hair and thumb resting on his cheek, and the other curving around his waist almost completely. Hoseok feels so small right then, but not in a scary way; Seokjin feels like home.
When they break apart for air, Hoseok’s eyes are wide and he isn’t sure what to say. He’s never been wooed before. “Um,” is what comes out. His knees feel weak in a way they didn’t when Seokjin did far more intimate things than kiss him.
Seokjin smiles, soft and small. His thumb is rubbing circles into the side of his head. It’s reassuring; Hoseok leans into it, closes his eyes.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Seokjin says. “I know it was all fun and games before, but now I want to do it right—”
“I like you so much,” Hoseok blurts out.
Seokjin blinks. Hoseok thinks, this is the first time I’ve seen him surprised. Then: did he think I didn't like him?
“Really?” Seokjin sounds skeptical.
“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?” Hoseok asks, snorting. “I’ve had a really annoying crush on you since I met you.”
“Really?”
“Yes! Look at you!” Hoseok waves a hand at him.
“Ah, I see what you mean,” Seokjin says lightly. “True, how could anyone resist this handsome face?”
Hoseok frowns. “No offense, but your face is the least interesting part of you.”
Seokjin’s mouth parts into an o-shape. “I can’t tell if that’s meant to be a compliment,” he finally says. Hoseok squints; is Seokjin blushing? His ears are turning an alarming shade of red.
“Why are your ears turning an alarming shade of red?”
Seokjin yelps and claps his hands over his head. “Don’t look! They get nervous when people stare!”
“Oh my god,” Hoseok laughs. “Did you think I only liked you for your looks?”
“Well,” Seokjin hedges. “Yes?”
“Oh,” Hoseok says, surprised at the uncertainty on Seokjin’s face. He’s never seen him look so…vulnerable before. Slowly, he reaches out to pull Seokjin’s hands down and replace them with his own.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I really, really like you. All of you. Especially your very annoying personality.” And then he bites down gently on Seokjin’s ear.
The noise Seokjin makes can be described as somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Whatever it is, it’s very attractive, and Hoseok wants to hear more of it.
“I’m not annoying,” Seokjin argues weakly.
“Yes, you are,” Hoseok says. “You’re annoying, and funny, and kind, and smart, and yes, very pretty to look at, but quite frankly if you weren’t all of those things first, I wouldn’t have cared how good you looked.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever says to me,” Seokjin says.
“Don’t get used to it,” Hoseok says, baring his teeth playfully. “I show my affection through meticulously planned dates and interpretive dance. Only on special occasions will you receive verbal affirmation.”
“I’m pretty sure I can get the kind of verbal affirmation I want,” Seokjin teases. He pokes his tongue into his cheek.
“You’re so vulgar.”
“You enjoy it.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“Can you two please take this somewhere else?” Namjoon says, sounding completely dead.
Hoseok squeaks a little.
Seokjin squints into the darkness behind the bar. “Have you been here this whole time? And who is that next to you?”
“Hi,” Jungkook says, chewing with his mouth full.
“Why are you both just standing there like two ghosts?” Hoseok says. “Namjoon, shouldn’t you be necking Taehyung in the dark somewhere?”
“Already did,” Namjoon says, going dopey-eyed. “He just left, but we’re meeting again tomorrow.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Hoseok deadpans.
“I tried to leave when you two started sucking face but then I got kind of invested in the emotional reconciliation,” Jungkook admits.
“Okay, we’re leaving,” Hoseok decides. “Will you tell Jimin sorry I didn’t get him his drink?”
“I think he’s fine,” Jungkook points out, nodding towards the front of the bar where Jimin is caged in by three beefy man and looking very pleased about it.
“Love is truly in the air tonight,” Namjoon says, sounding awestruck.
“Good night, the two of you are ridiculous.” Hoseok grabs Seokjin’s hand instinctively. To drag him away. Not because of any other reason.
“Thanks for the beer,” Seokjin says.
“Congratulations,” Namjoon shouts at their backs.
“Let’s get it,” Jungkook echoes after him.
They stumble out onto the streets after Hoseok grabs his coat, nervous and giggly like two boys on a first date. They go back via the main road, which isn’t as nice as the winding backroads they used the last time, but Hoseok isn’t in the mood for dallying. Seokjin seems content to follow, and he doesn’t let go of Hoseok’s hand.
The palace grounds are silent, everyone already retired to their rooms for the night. Before Hoseok can do the same, he’s being crowded up against the door, Seokjin’s hands low on his hips and his mouth hot by his ear.
“I need to open the door,” he says, trying not to sag back into the firm bulk of Seokjin behind him.
“In a minute,” Seokjin murmurs. “Just want to hold you for a bit. Been waiting all night.”
“You’re so cheesy,” Hoseok says, but he doesn’t argue, just lets Seokjin nose along his neck and wrap his arms around his waist. He feels warm all over, like he can just let go and Seokjin will catch him. Almost unconsciously, he feels his head loll over against Seokjin’s shoulder, feels his breath come a little heavier when Seokjin makes a noise of appreciation and starts sucking gently on his jaw. It’s a little wet, which should be disgusting, but Hoseok just shudders with delight; he’s almost delirious with pleasure, and they haven’t even done anything yet. Some small part of Hoseok’s scolding him to get a grip, but the rest of him is enjoying this too much to care. When Seokjin’s hands dance even lower, a delicious heat curls in his belly; when Seokjin rubs once, firmly, over his hard-on, he gasps.
“Let go of me,” he forces out, straightening up.
Seokjin’s eyes widen a little with concern.
“So I can open this door,” Hoseok says, with emphasis, “and we can go fuck on my bed.”
For the second time that night, Seokjin is happily rendered speechless.
They tumble into Hoseok’s room, which is dimly lit by the lamps outside shining in through his windows. The faint light paints Seokjin in soft shadows and muted yellows, and Hoseok, pushing him down onto his bed to clamber over him, has never seen anything so beautiful.
They’re still almost completely dressed, and Hoseok is so fucking hard.
When he settles down in Seokjin’s lap, he can feel Seokjin’s length against his own, hot and heavy through Seokjin’s pants and his own flimsy silks.
“Hyung,” he gasps, and Seokjin groans.
“Say that again,” he whispers, palms slipping up Hoseok’s shift to grip his thighs hard enough to hurt.
“Hyung,” and this time it comes out in a long, drawn-out moan, Hoseok’s head dropping to rest on Seokjin’s shoulder as he grinds his hips forward.
“Fuck,” Seokjin says. “I want you so badly.”
“You like that, don’t you?” Hoseok grins. “Hyung.”
“Yeah, I do,” Seokjin says. “I like it a lot.”
“Come on, then,” Hoseok growls. He struggles to unbuckle all the straps keeping his silks in place, Seokjin laughing and fumbling at his own shirt buttons, until Seokjin is topless and Hoseok naked. Hoseok pauses to run his palms over Seokjin’s chest, his touch almost reverential.
“Like what you see?” Seokjin preens.
“Yeah,” Hoseok replies simply, and bends down to lick Seokjin’s nipple.
Seokjin jolts, pushing his crotch harder against Hoseok’s own. His hands come up to rest in Hoseok’s hair, gentle compared to the way his legs are tense against Hoseok’s body. “You’re too good at this,” Seokjin says through gritted teeth, tightening his grip when Hoseok nips cheekily in response. By the time Hoseok moves on to his other nipple, Seokjin is biting down hard on his lip, one hand reaching around Hoseok to palm his ass.
Then Seokjin tugs a little on Hoseok’s hair to bring their faces together for a kiss, establishing a rhythm as Hoseok rocks back and forth in Seokjin’s lap until the both of them are barely kissing anymore, just panting into each other’s mouths. “You’re so hard,” Hoseok whispers in awe, reaching between them to brush a finger over the bulge in Seokjin’s pants.
“And whose fault is that?” Seokjin hisses. A wet spot is forming as Hoseok continues working his hand over Seokjin’s clothed erection with the barest of touches. He looks almost childishly delighted, pressing down just a little harder with the heel of his palm.
“Is this for me?” he asks.
“Fuck, yes,” Seokjin pants, thrusting upwards into Hoseok’s hand. “All for you.”
While he continues rubbing Seokjin through his pants, Hoseok places his other hand over where Seokjin is gripping his ass. “I want your cock,” Hoseok says very deliberately. “Here.” He presses Seokjin’s hand in between his cheeks.
Seokjin’s eyes go wide, and Hoseok feels a thrill of satisfaction that he managed to surprise him. Twice in one day. Not bad at all.
“Are you sure?” Seokjin asks, swallowing. His fingers trail lightly over Hoseok’s naked hole, not yet pressing in. They already did everything with hands and mouths, and Seokjin likes to be on the receiving end (lazy, Hoseok accused; Seokjin just pointed out that Hoseok loved to work to attain his goals anyway, so it was a win-win), so this is something they haven’t tried before. Truth be told, Seokjin just assumed it wasn’t something Hoseok was interested in, and that was fine by him. It’s a pleasant surprise to be mistaken.
“Yes,” Hoseok says, deftly unbuttoning Seokjin’s pants and pulling them down with his underwear. Seokjin lifts his hips up to wriggle them all the way off, and then Hoseok’s hand is around Seokjin’s bare cock and it’s all Seokjin can do to not sink into the warm pressure of it.
“There’s, ah, oil underneath the bed,” Hoseok says, trying to keep his voice steady as Seokjin rubs back and forth with the pad of his finger. It’s slightly too dry, but the promise of more when Seokjin’s fingertip catches against the edge of his rim sends a fission of pure desire shuddering through him.
“Someone’s prepared,” Seokjin observes, reaching down to search for the oil.
“Yes, actually,” Hoseok answers primly, hand tightening around Seokjin’s cock. “Don’t you want to hear about how I fuck myself open every night we aren’t together, wishing it is you?”
“Jesus,” Seokjin says, fumbling.
“Call me Hoseok,” Hoseok says, and they both grin, remembering the first time they ended up in bed together.
It’s so much easier now, Hoseok realizes. He looks at Seokjin and sees not the haughty blankness of a stranger or the aggressive flirtation of a hot-blooded prince, but the familiar warm smile and the relaxed, open planes of a face he’s come to know and love.
Yeah, love.
Not very romantic, to come to such a revelation with Seokjin’s finger half up his butt, but Hoseok never enjoyed conventional romances anyway. For a brief second, he considers telling Seokjin right then and there, but he thinks he’d like keeping it a secret for now, something to be held close to his heart.
“Do the honors?” he says instead, unstopping the bottle to pour liberally over Seokjin’s hand, then his dick.
“My pleasure,” Seokjin replies.
The first push of Seokjin’s finger has them both groaning. He starts off slow, kissing Hoseok’s neck at the same time, until Hoseok complains, “I’m ready, come on. I can take it.”
“Mhm, be patient,” Seokjin says, fitting in another finger slowly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Are you kidding?” Hoseok glares. “If you don’t fuck me right now—”
Seokjin thrusts in, hard.
“Fuck,” Hoseok chokes out.
“You were saying?” Seokjin smiles against Hoseok’s shoulder, two fingers rubbing insistently over that soft spot inside. “Does it feel good?”
“Yeah,” Hoseok breathes. “Now use your dick.”
“Say please,” Seokjin purrs.
“No,” Hoseok says.
Seokjin adds a third finger, pushing in deep.
“Maybe I should just make you come on my fingers,” he says, sounding as if he’s trying to decide what to have for lunch. “Since you can’t ask nicely, not even when it’s waiting right here for you, all hard and ready.” As if for emphasis, he takes his free hand to grip around the base of his cock, slapping it against Hoseok’s stomach. It leaves a wet trail, and Hoseok feels his abs constricting with need.
He’s unconsciously bouncing by now, trying to fuck himself back on Seokjin’s hand, but it isn’t enough, Seokjin is right – he just has to ask for what he wants.
“Please,” he finally says, dropping forward to mouth at Seokjin’s neck, arms around his back as he works his thighs up and down in Seokjin’s lap. “Please fuck me with your cock. I need it.”
“Whatever you want, little prince,” Seokjin says softly, and it sounds like he’s talking about something besides sex, but then he’s pulling his fingers out and rubbing the head of his dick, wet and smooth, across Hoseok’s hole. When Hoseok shudders out a breath, Seokjin finally, finally pushes in.
They both groan, and then Seokjin’s hands are coming up to hold onto Hoseok’s waist as he draws back and slams his hips upwards. A whimper escapes from Hoseok, high-pitched and needy, as he feels Seokjin thicken up inside him. “God, you’re so good for me,” Seokjin pants. “I want to hear you. You make the nicest sounds, I could listen to you all day.”
“Why are you talking like you’re in a romance novel?” Hoseok still has the wherewithal to demand, even as his eyes almost roll back into his head with how amazing Seokjin feels.
“Why do you always accuse me of playing the fool?” Seokjin retorts, and then stops moving. Slides his hands up to cup Hoseok’s face, and Hoseok realizes that it isn’t a rhetorical question, that Seokjin is pausing in the middle of fucking him to ask him this.
His mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
Seokjin gives him a pointed look. “Yes, actually.” He gives a slow, languid thrust, as if to prove his point, and Hoseok’s eyelids flutter.
“I just—how can you say those things,” Hoseok says. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Five minutes ago you were literally describing how you masturbated thinking about me.”
“That’s different! That's just—” Hoseok gestures at his body, sweaty and trying to squirm out of Seokjin’s grip to move. “Body stuff, but it’s harder when it’s—”
“Feelings?”
“Well—I mean—” Hoseok sputters, surprised and nervous and still so horny. “Yes, fine, now can you please fuck me?” He starts to lift himself off Seokjin’s cock so he can sink back down, but Seokjin holds him firmly above his dick, so that only the tip is inside.
Hoseok whines, trying to get it deeper inside him, wanting to be full and fucked into another dimension, preferably a dimension where he doesn’t have to think so much, but Seokjin will not give in, even as Hoseok’s thighs tremble with the effort of holding himself up.
“I will,” Seokjin says, and how can he sound so calm? Hoseok doesn’t know whether he should be impressed or offended that he can still hold a rational conversation with half his dick in Hoseok. “I just want to hear the truth from you for once.” He lets Hoseok drop just a little, lets him feel his length opening him up. Leans in close so that Hoseok, eyes screwed shut, is breathing harshly against his face. “I’m not being insecure, Hoseokie. I know your body likes mine. I know you like me. I just want you to trust me.”
Something tight in Hoseok’s chest loosens at that, like a clenched fist finally relaxing. He opens his eyes to see Seokjin looking at him with a mix of tenderness, lust, and hope in his expression, and maybe Hoseok will never be able to fully believe in himself, in his own dreams and how he fits into this world, maybe there will always be that instinctive wariness that comes with putting up a palatable front all the time, but in that moment Hoseok feels – seen.
Seokjin is looking at him and seeing him and not running away.
“I do,” Hoseok says, and he realizes he’s tearing up a little. “I was going to tell you, you know. About the dancing. It’s my one big secret. But you beat me to it. So, yes, I do. Trust you. I—more than that, I have all these big feelings for you that are scary, and I’m not ready to talk about them now, but. I really, really like you, hyung.”
Gentle fingers reach up to brush his tears away, and then Seokjin is pulling him down and hugging him close, holding him so tight he can’t tremble anymore. “I love you,” Hoseok thinks he hears Seokjin say as he fucks into him terribly slow and deep and hot; Hoseok bites down on Seokjin’s shoulder, one hand around his aching cock, and comes onto both their stomachs with a muffled cry.
“Come inside me,” he gasps, using his palm to continue rubbing his oversensitive cock, smearing white all over Seokjin’s flexing abs. “Fuck, I want to feel you for days—”
“Yeah,” Seokjin says, thrusting faster now. “Can’t wait for tomorrow when you’re aching from getting fucked; nobody will be able to see it, but you’ll feel it, you’ll feel me dripping down your legs. Little prince, all wet and sticky just for me. God, I want to ruin you.”
“You already have,” Hoseok says, unable to stop himself from moaning as Seokjin’s words make his spent cock twitch. He pushes down and clenches at the same time as Seokjin thrusts upwards, and then Seokjin is coming, gripping Hoseok tightly as he shudders through his release.
They stay there like that for a while, Seokjin silent and still quivering periodically until Hoseok pulls back and gingerly lifts himself off his softening dick. He retrieves a damp washcloth from his bathroom and wipes Seokjin down.
Seokjin hums appreciatively, looking blissed-out and pink against the headboard, and Hoseok is suddenly overcome with the compulsion to bend down and press a dainty kiss to the tip of his freshly cleaned cock. When he looks back up, Seokjin’s face is scarlet and his mouth is open.
“What?” Hoseok asks, amused.
“I—you just—” Seokjin stammers, hands pressed to his hot cheeks defensively. “That is so unfair. How are you this cute?”
“I’m just that talented.” Hoseok winks and does a little twirl, ignoring Seokjin’s whine for him to come to bed. Instead, he picks up the pieces of their discarded clothing and folds them, then places them in neat piles on his chair. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabs two sleep shirts and two pairs of underwear from his closet and hands one set to Seokjin.
“What, now you want me to cover up?” Seokjin raises his eyebrows.
“I just don’t like sleeping naked,” Hoseok says. “And I would like you to stay. To sleep, I mean. If you want.” He squints at the clothes. “You’re bigger than me but they should still fit.”
“You think I’m bigger, hm?” Seokjin teases, giving his cock a casual stroke.
Hoseok, heaven help him, feels his own dick give an interested jerk. He shoots Seokjin a withering look, but he can tell Seokjin isn’t falling for it. “Enough,” he scolds, pulling on his own shirt and briefs and batting Seokjin’s hand away from his crotch. When Seokjin pouts, he smiles. “Sleep now,” he says casually, “and tomorrow morning you can show me how big you really are.”
Hoseok doesn’t miss the way Seokjin’s eyes darken, and that in itself is attractive, makes him think he can go again actually, but then Seokjin is yawning and tugging at Hoseok to pull him closer, and Hoseok is more than happy to close his eyes, wrap his limbs around Seokjin, and go to bed.
*
The next morning, Hoseok wakes up to movement under the blankets and a brief jolt of panic that the childhood monster under his bed was real after all. Then he feels something hot and wet around his sleep-soft dick, and Seokjin’s hand reaching up to thumb over his nipple, and he lets himself sink into the buzzy pleasure of Seokjin’s mouth.
After Hoseok returns the favor and they clean up, Seokjin catches him by the arm before they go to the dining hall.
“Let’s skip breakfast today,” he suggests. “Or at least, breakfast downstairs.”
So Hoseok slips the both of them out through the back door of the kitchens and down into the city, where they are greeted by Namjoon and Taehyung, both looking very pleased with themselves, and Jimin, who affects a look of mild disgust at the four of them.
“You all look so fucked-out,” he says. “The bar for pleasure is low these days.”
“You’re just jealous,” Taehyung says, sticking a tongue out at him.
“I operate on a completely different erotic plane, Taehyungie,” Jimin says archly, examining his nails. “Those three men you saw me with last night?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Let’s just say they didn't make it home unscathed.”
“Okay,” Hoseok says, drawing the word out as a charged silence falls, everyone thinking. The possibilities are endless, and, frankly, endlessly terrifying. Then Jimin breaks out into a big honking laugh, flapping his hands dismissively. “Should have seen the looks on your faces,” he giggles. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything too crazy. Just some standard rope bondage and felching, you know.”
“I concede,” Hoseok says. “You win. Please stop.”
Taehyung and Namjoon both look like they want Jimin to continue. Hoseok tries not to read too much into it.
Seokjin says, “Rope bondage? I would love to discuss further with you, Jimin. Maybe we can share some tips.” When Jimin’s eyes light up with genuine delight, Hoseok can’t help but shake his head despairingly.
“Come on,” he says. “If I’m going to have to hear you two talking about lewd sex acts before nine in the morning, I’m going to need some of Jungkookie’s breakfast platters.”
They spend the rest of the morning together after Jungkook shows up just in time for the food, laughing over the dancers’ stories of backstage mishaps and too-eager customers, teasing Namjoon for how his clumsiness in the kitchen somehow transmutes with some unfathomable alchemy into surprisingly delicious dishes, and peppering Seokjin with questions about where he’s from. Hoseok didn’t know that his friends knew Seokjin wasn’t from here, but then again, somewhere in the easy conversation he realizes he slipped up and mentioned his sister, the crown princess, by name.
No one said anything, and the only hints that Hoseok have that they all know is when Jungkook winks and pats him on the head and Namjoon very unsubtly suggests that royal funding for the local arts should be increased.
Hoseok is strangely touched. So this is what friendship is, he thinks, a curious ache in his chest. Seokjin slides him a look and then takes his hand in his.
After lunch, the two of them part ways with the rest and go to one of Hoseok’s favorite places in town: the market center where they bumped into Jimin that evening. In the day, the food stalls are open, but customers and merchants alike move slowly, like they haven’t quite woken up fully yet; the fountain in the middle of the square spurts out water periodically while kids scream in delight and try to dodge the unpredictable jets.
Auntie Song is there at her usual spot, next to Old Man Jun-hee who makes the best peanut and black sesame pancakes.
“Hobi!” she yells when she spots him across the square. “Come here, you skinny boy.”
Seokjin’s shoulders shake with laughter as they both trot over obediently.
“Who’s this?” she demands suspiciously, looking Seokjin up and down.
“Stop shouting, woman,” Jun-hee says calmly from where he is crushing peanuts.
Auntie Song ignores him with the practiced ease of a perpetually harassed sibling. (Hoseok doesn’t know if they really are siblings. It would certainly explain a lot.) “You a friend?” she asks Seokjin.
“A special friend,” Seokjin says easily, slipping an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder. “I hear from Hoseok that you make the best fried seafood. He talks about it constantly. I’d be honored to try some, Auntie.” Smooth as a fish, he turned to face Jun-hee too. “And Uncle, may I say, I’ve only had pancakes with honey where I’m from, but sesame? Genius.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Hoseok mutters under his breath, even as both stall-owners brighten up and start fussing over preparing a serving for Seokjin.
“Squid balls,” Auntie Song says firmly, pressing a paper boat of crackly fried balls into Seokjin’s hand. She squirts a generous amount of dark sauce over them and even sprinkles some fish flakes over the top. Auntie Song never volunteers fish flakes; it’s something you have to know to ask for, she says, because why should she waste money on a customer who doesn’t know the right way to eat?
“Pancakes,” Jun-hee offers. “Sesame and peanuts.” Seokjin has to let go of Hoseok to cradle the steaming hot mounds of fluff that are liberally covered with toasted peanuts and black sesame paste. Hoseok can’t believe this; Jun-hee normally charges double for both toppings.
Seokjin turns to him, loaded with food, grinning like a kid who just got his birthday presents. “Some help?”
Between the two of them, they manage to finish everything, making enthusiastic noises under the watchful eyes of Auntie Song and Jun-hee. The food is amazing as usual, but before Hoseok can open his mouth to say so, Auntie Song interjects.
“Hobi-ah, I like him,” she says definitively. “Bring him back, yes? He’s handsome.”
“And he has a big appetite,” Jun-hee adds mildly. “Bodes well for you in the bedroom, boy.”
“Thank you,” Seokjin says politely, though Hoseok knows he’s holding back laughter. Meanwhile, it’s all Hoseok can do to choke out an affirmative while he desperately tries to banish the image of the two of them standing over him and Seokjin in bed, critically evaluating their efforts and declaring that they both need to eat more.
They’re just about to leave when Jun-hee clears his throat and gestures at Seokjin to step forward. Hoseok, he waves away.
Seokjin tosses a curious look at him and goes.
A few minutes later Seokjin comes back over. Hoseok frowns when he doesn’t say anything and asks, a little anxiously, “What did they say? Did they tell you about the time I—”
“They told me to take care of you,” Seokjin cuts in, looking partly impressed, partly traumatized, and all fond. “To make sure you eat regularly, sleep well, and are happy. Otherwise,” he pauses. “Auntie Song will turn my balls into street food.”
“Oh my god,” Hoseok says.
“It was actually Jun-hee who delivered the threat,” Seokjin says. “Very effective, in that quiet voice of his. I’m pretty sure my bits shrunk a little.”
“Looks like you just have to do what they say, then,” Hoseok says, smiling cheekily. “Shouldn’t be very hard, right? If you want your jewels intact.”
Seokjin throws his head back and laughed, loud and squawking like a duck. It is horribly adorable. “Not hard at all,” he says, dropping a kiss onto Hoseok’s forehead. “In fact, I think it’ll be the easiest thing in the world.”
*
Two months later, Hoseok stands before Prince Seokjin in his formal royal attire. Next to him is Dawon and his father the king. They’re here to send Seokjin off; his six months sojourn in their country is over, and he is to return that day to bring goodwill, the promise of their friendship, and some street food recipes back home.
Seokjin, as usual, looks picture-perfect, hair neatly curled and shiny, a polite smile perched on his lips. He bows to Dawon and the king, thanks them for their hospitality, and moves down the line to Hoseok.
“Your Highness,” he says, holding out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure. I look forward to hosting you in my country soon.”
“Prince Seokjin,” Hoseok says, taking his hand. His fingers curl tightly, and he dares to rub his thumb over Seokjin’s knuckle, just for a moment. “The pleasure is all mine.” He thinks about last night, when Seokjin made him come three times, with his plush lips and strong thighs and all the generous, loving, enthusiasm in his body. He knows Seokjin is also thinking about how Hoseok coaxed him to orgasm with just his dick; it was the first time Seokjin ever came untouched and he complained incessantly about having to wait to experience it again.
He thinks about afterwards, when they sprawled on his bed, easy as anything, like they had been together for years instead of only months, talking quietly about the future. “You have to meet my best friend Yoongi,” Seokjin said. “He’s like a grumpy cat, but I’m very sure you’ll charm him.” He also mentioned offhandedly that Hoseok might want to pack his silks, just because his country is well-known for its dance troupe. “They travel the nation putting on performances,” he said. “And sometimes their route coincides with the royal tour. Just something to think about.” Hoseok said, “I’d like that,” and kissed him.
Now, Hoseok flashes him a quick smile, private and dirty, then steps back in line.
Seokjin doesn’t look back as he walks across the docks to board the ship that will take him home. He doesn’t need to; he knows Hoseok will watch him until he becomes a tiny dot on the horizon. And then, just a month and an ocean voyage later—
*
Seokjin, Hoseok will find out later, liked him the moment he laid eyes on him.
It was completely irrational, because Seokjin didn’t know anything about Hoseok other than the fact that he was a fellow prince of a country his father wanted to be friendly with, and that he was supposed to woo Hoseok’s sister while he visited.
Imagine the pleasant surprise, then, of seeing the princess’ brother standing ramrod straight in his stiff uniform with hair that looked naturally fluffy slicked back tight with wax, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else. He had dimples, Seokjin realized, that appeared when his mouth was downturned in a distressed moue. He assumed that they would pop up when he was smiling too and wondered what the happy ones would look like. He realized he wanted to know.
Seokjin came to the quick conclusion that he would not be spending much time with Dawon on this trip, no matter that she was very pretty and seemed nice enough. He would much rather get to know Prince Hoseok, who buzzed like a happy honey-drunk bee around his family and the servants he treated like friends, but, when met with Seokjin’s gaze, turned sulky and jutted his chin up like he was issuing a challenge.
He didn’t know what he was going to discover in Hoseok – an ally, perhaps, or maybe a friend; if he was lucky, someone who could share his bed – but he’d been excited to find out.
When he sees the blue-and-white sails of Hoseok’s ships on the horizon, he can’t help but break formation and walk out to the pier to meet them. He stands alone, waving eagerly even though he’s probably just a speck on the shore. Behind him, Yoongi snorts. His friend already knows all about Hoseok, obviously.
Seokjin stands still as Hoseok’s crew drops anchor and puts out a wooden plank for disembarking. A familiar silhouette appears, and even though it’s only been a month and a half since he last saw Hoseok, something bright and beautiful blooms in his chest in that moment.
Hoseok once commented that Seokjin was intimidatingly handsome and laughed when Seokjin got embarrassed. It’s not like Seokjin is oblivious. He knows he is, for all intents and purposes, princely, whatever that means, but he always feels like his outsides and insides never match up – or, at least, that people are always disappointed when they do. He didn’t ask to look like this, after all, and though now he is grateful to his face for doing the heavy lifting when it comes to public displays of royal grace, he always has to remind himself that this is not who he is – that there is a Seokjin that is more real beneath what everyone else sees and wants to see.
He never had that problem with Hoseok. From the first time they met, he’d seen right through him. Back then, Hoseok’s sharp-sightedness thrilled and scared him in equal amounts. Now, when Seokjin finally understands that when Hoseok says things like “you’re so lovely,” he means all the other parts of him that make him who he is, it delights him.
“Hi,” he says, when Hoseok is in his arms again. “Did you see me waving from your ship?”
“I did,” Hoseok says, laughing. “I wasn’t sure at first, but then I thought, who else would be as silly as to start waving from so far away? And I knew it was you.”
So, Seokjin will later tell Hoseok, after showing him around his home and introducing him to Yoongi and his parents and, shyly, the stuffed alpaca he had since he was a baby, even though Seokjin liked Hoseok from the start, it wasn’t like he knew what he was getting into.
He hoped for Hoseok to view him as a friend. Everything else - the laughter and the love? He never saw that coming.