Chapter Text
“Uh hey. Can I borrow your phone?” The tall sweaty seashell man was standing at the edge of their beach blanket. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, both hands clasped together in a weird prayerlike gesture. The bulging rounds of his arms and chest made an upsetting landscape in the bright sun. You could use his tits like a sundial. What the fuck.
“Excuse me?” Yoongi squinted up at the stranger’s face and immediately regretted it. If he was devastating to look at from the back, he was fully impossible from the front. Yoongi glared past him at the waves to calm himself. He attempted to think straight thoughts briefly and unsuccessfully.
“I, well. I dropped mine in the water.” The big guy had the decency to look sheepish, but it wasn’t enough. Yoongi hated this.
“I know. You yelled very loudly when it happened.” He wasn’t supposed to talk. Maybe this was just a horny heat mirage brought on by the stupid novels and margaritas.
“Ah, yeah. Yeah, so. I want to look up what kind of crab this is but I can’t take a picture to do it later. And I guess if I could take a picture myself I’d probably be able to look it up now anyway. Anyway, my friend has my phone in a bag of sand because he said dry sand is like nature’s rice, and I’d ask him but he doesn’t believe in cell phones.”
The man gestured back at his own towel with his clasped hands. It slowly dawned on Yoongi that this guy wasn’t being oddly reverent, he was waving a hidden living crab at him. As though that was a reasonable, conversational thing to do. The poor little thing. That said, the longer he stared, being trapped between those long fingers didn’t sound entirely bad. Also, what? Rice is nature’s rice.
“So yeah, can I use yours? It’ll only take a second, I know a lot about looking up crabs.”
“There has to be a better way to say that.” Yoongi mumbled. He attempted to meet his eyes again and failed again, staring into the guy’s awkward dimple instead. He huffed and pulled out his phone, glad for an excuse to look away. “Whatever, here. But sit down while you use it.”
“Huh?”
“Your legs are too fucking long. If you want to run away and steal my phone I’ll need a tactical advantage.”
“Oh. No, I don’t want your phone. I just want to know what kind of crab this is.”
“Man. Just. Sit down.”
The crab guy struggled to sit down gracefully on the furthest edge of the beach blanket, both hands still occupied with their tiny prisoner.
“Now, how are you planning on typing your crab search? Do you have extra dexterous feet?”
Crab Guy blinked down at his hands, abashed. This part of the plan had clearly not been accounted for.
At the mention of feet Seokjin roused slightly below his sunhat. “You know, I once peeled a banana with my toes for two hundred US dollars.”
“Just two hundred, hyung?” Yoongi gritted his teeth. Impeccable timing, as always.
“Well, obviously more if you count the will and testament he wrote me into later that night.”
“Great. That’s great, hyungie.” Yoongi hoped his face was doing something cool and impassive, instead of flustered and aggrieved.
Crab Guy was still frozen at the edge of the blanket, crab hands raised uselessly, wary eyes on Seokjin’s feet.
“Here, dude. Just give me the crab. We can work together. Easier, hm?”
“You have to be gentle!”
“What? Obviously. Do I look like a sociopath who hates animals? Shh, just trade me.”
Yoongi tossed his phone closer to the sexy crab man, and shuffled after it on his knees. This mirage was getting much weirder (and less sexy) than expected.
"I'm Namjoon," Crab Guy blurted, as Yoongi got within reach.
"Okay? And I'm ready to do this. C'mon." He unlocked the phone to give himself something to look at, then held out his open hands. “Well. Let's get it.” And with that, Yoongi got a crab.
Exchange made, Namjoon leaned even closer so he could peer into Yoongi's hands as needed, pecking away at a couple different university websites on Yoongi’s phone. Pressed next to him, Namjoon was very big. The crab was very small. Yoongi tried not to think anxious thoughts about crushing it by accident.
“So! Do you have all your favorite crab sites bookmarked on your homepage?” He should have tried for a real joke, Yoongi leveled with himself, not whatever that was. He was normally great at small talk, superb, but Crab Man Namjoon and his stupid muscles were fucking with his game. The gravitational pull of him was fucking up the tides in Yoongi's sloshy brain.
“Oh. That would be smart. But no, there are probably too many.”
What the fuck. Yoongi closed his eyes to roll them.
“Are you a biologist or a student of crab sciences or something?”
“No. I just love how they are.” Namjoon grinned down into Yoongi's hands again.
“How they are...?”
“They’re so cute and careful and small!” He turned his wide brown eyes on Yoongi, hitting him full bore. Yoongi forced himself to keep breathing, out of spite for Seokjin if nothing else. “They’re so delicate and colorful when you get up close, but like, easily overlooked, you know?”
“I’ve um, never thought about them that much, to be honest.” They're crabs not wildflowers or snowflakes, what on earth was he talking about and why was Yoongi the one feeling embarrassed for not noticing?
Thankfully Namjoon found a positive ID quickly after his little speech, and excused himself (along with his crab friend). Yoongi watched them go in a daze. Namjoon tripped over his own feet and then splashed around in the shallows looking for the perfect tide pool to toss the crab into, like some kind of enormous baby-delivering stork dropping crustaceans from on high.
—
Namjoon was back within the hour clutching a new little friend. He smiled nervously, one dimple flickering in and out like a dying lightbulb. Yoongi tossed the novel aside and waved the big idiot forward, wordlessly unlocking his phone and dragging himself off the lounger to meet him on the blanket. Namjoon's smile broadened, threatening to take over his face, then the whole beach, and maybe Yoongi's brain too. What the fuck, Min Yoongi, how are you getting charmed by any of this?
Refusing to think more about it, Yoongi just held his hands out for the new crab and accidentally made direct eye contact with Namjoon's nipples. Under the sunscreen his blush threatened to make an appearance.
“So uh. Do you come here often?” Namjoon asked the side of his head, carefully nudging the blue crab onto Yoongi's palm. His eyes jerked away when Yoongi turned to blink up at him incredulously.
“The beach? No, just once a year, per my contract with the witch who stole my voice.”
“You only come once a year?!" Namjoon, bless his heart, sounded personally pained by Yoongi’s fictional plight. "Man, that’s so sad.”
Yoongi sighed loudly, praying Jin would say something embarrassing enough to kill them all instantly again. As if on spiteful cue, a loud snore left the lounger behind them. Namjoon tapped away unfazed, picking at the keyboard on Yoongi’s (perfectly large) phone like it was too tiny for his hands. Yoongi’s arms ached from being held out and his brain ached from watching the slow typing. He wanted to fling the little animal over his shoulder and fling himself after it.
Away from the safety of his umbrellas, his back began to prickle in the heat. His knees were starting to hurt where he kneeled, and he let himself half imagine tipping over into Namjoon's bulky side for respite before yanking the ripcord on that idea. He just seemed so solid and looked so soft... but where was his fucking shirt? And how did he type so slowly? This was a custom-made ring of hell.
By the time the second little scuttler had been identified, Yoongi had aged a decade and broken out in a hard sweat along the Namjoon-facing half of his body. They traded precious objects again, slightly more gracefully this time, Namjoon cooing down into his hands and Yoongi clutching his phone to his clothed chest like a lifeline. He leaned back on his other hand, trying for effortless and casual but accidentally planting a palm on the stack of slippery magazines and nearly keeling over.
Namjoon looked up from his blue crab, big eyes worried before clouding over with something else.
“Oh. Whoa. Oh no. You actually read that?” Namjoon gestured at Yoongi’s no longer tidy stack of industry magazines. On top was a more recent one he’d been saving until he caught up on back issues. It would be easier to stay interested if they had sex scenes, or just more gear reviews, but you can't have everything. Namjoon looked wide eyed and slightly concerned.
“Yes?” This adorable dolt. “I work with this type of equipment. Is that... weird to you?”
“No! I mean yes. It’s just not a very interesting topic, I mean.” Namjoon had begun to turn a satisfying pinkish color around the ears, similar to when he’d been working out but with a blessed lack of bouncing tits. Yoongi stared back, enjoying the squirm. Namjoon suddenly hucked the tiny crab away from the blanket, needing a free hand to rub the back of his neck. Absently, Yoongi wondered if it had landed safely, unsure whether exoskeletons were well built for that kind of impact.
“I find it very interesting, actually.” Yoongi smirked. Interesting relative to worse shit anyway.
“Oh, I mean, that’s great. Very good. For you to like that.”
“Ok? And why’s that?” Yoongi could feel himself begin to smile the smile Jin called his panther smile. It was usually reserved for late nights at bars with pretty young strangers, or when Jin drunkenly offered to pay when they went out for meat.
“Because I wrote that one. That middle article I mean. Second from the top in that one there.” Both of Namjoon’s hands were rubbing at his neck now, pectorals and biceps popping and flexing all over like some kind of muscle pinball. What the fuck. This big idiot, this strange bumbling boy, this shiny muscled stranger with crab catching hands. Namjoon was going to give him a real heart attack and he’d need a real lifeguard or he'd really die.
“You. Wrote something in this.” Yoongi echoed.
“I, yeah. Sorry.”
“Sorry??”
“I didn’t mean to like, make it weird! I just, it’s not every day I meet someone who might have seen... my stuff.” Namjoon looked like he'd been caught mooning the teacher and asked to explain himself.
Yoongi blue screened. It was hard to appropriately file this unlikely information. But Namjoon seemed earnest about it. Actually, everything about Namjoon seemed painfully earnest. Underneath the confusion he could feel himself blinking rapidly like some kind of dazed animal. One that doesn’t belong at the beach.
Yoongi took a moment to grab at the magazine and leaf forward to the mentioned article, scanning for clues to help his brain finish buffering.
“You, so. You. You’re a producer?” Namjoon shrugged and nodded, still blushing. “You’re the producer RM? Who wrote this piece on transparent shaping?”
He shrugged again, squeezing at his own thighs.
“Mostly I teach now but yeah yes.”
“Mostly you teach now. Okay. Okay? Namjoon you are a very... unexpected person.” Yoongi was making a headache face and couldn’t help it. What the fuck.
“I hear that pretty often, yeah.”
“God. Shut up.” Yoongi rubbed his face with his hands. He was still greasy with sunscreen. Cool.
“Sorry!”
“Namjoon. If you apologize one more time I’m going to throw this magazine at you, opened to your fancy little article.” What was his face doing now? Was he making a grimace or a smirk? This pretty stupid crab producer was going to think he’s deranged.
“Okay fine! Why are you even reading my fancy little article on the beach anyway!” Namjoon huffed back loudly, waving his big bulky arms at him and pouting childishly. The sight sent a hot little thrill through Yoongi. What was that emotion? Amused sexy intimidation? This was all going extremely wrong.
“I'm reading it because I’m a producer, Namjoon. I read about production methods so I can produce better music at my job, where I am a producer. This is the one day of the year where I let the sun grace my ankles while I do it. Why are you, a producer, writer, and professor, out here catching crabs like they're gonna pay your bills?”
“I told you! Because I like them!” Namjoon had begun looking genuinely distressed—not the outcome Yoongi expected. Standard Seokjin-and-Yoongi-style reparte was clearly not doing it for this big soft hard man.
“No no, it’s cool, that’s cool. They’re cool. I’m glad you have…” Yoongi flapped a hand helplessly, “so fucking many interests and talents. That’s. Nice.” Now Namjoon looked dazed and confused. Still! An improvement! “You seem. Very nice.” Hell yeah, stuck the landing, Min PD.
“I… You too? I mean. I just wanted to do my exercises somewhere with a better view than the living room, but there’s so much to look at it’s harder than I thought. I even saw a lizard earlier and it looked me in the eye, and we were bonding! The beach is amazing.”
“It really is, Namjoon. I’m. Also amazed.”
They stared at each other’s general vicinity (Yoongi at one of Namjoon’s shoulders, Namjoon somewhere around Yoongi’s hands on the magazine). What the fuck, Yoongi’s brain supplied again helpfully.
Jin’s weird door hinge laugh broke out behind them. They turned in time to watch him rouse himself from his sun-drunk (and drunk drunk) slumber, sweeping the sunhat away dramatically. “Yoongi if you don’t get this nice, stupid boy’s number I’ll tell him all about our tragic marriage and illegitimate children.”
“You’re married? I didn’t-”
“Christ. No, Namjoon, I'm not married, it’s way worse. I was forcibly adopted by a hideous old man who thinks he’s clever.”
“Yoongichi, how could you say such a thing? Did our time in France mean nothing to you?”
Yoongi turned to face Jin fully, fully incensed. “Hyung, you used me for that honeymoon promo then ditched me at the hotel. And then video called me while puking off of someone’s yacht just to brag about a fucking fish you caught!”
“AHH and what a beaut! Six, maybe seven inches long. We could have feasted for weeks.” Seokjin slapped a hand over his heart, reminiscing.
“You’re really not married, right?” Namjoon asked quietly.
“Namjoon, if the two of us got married at least one of us would die.”
“Contractually!” Jin added cheerfully.
“There can be only one,” Yoongi confirmed.
“One what?” Namjoon looked profoundly lost.
“One.” Seokjin winked at him ominously.
Yoongi sighed, and took pity on the pretty man. Again. “One evil twink per relationship.” He thunked a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder (his naked, strong, sweaty shoulder). “It’s a national security policy but I doubt you’ll ever have to worry about that.”
“Oh. Well, I like twinks just fine.”
Before Yoongi could even begin processing a response a low voice interrupted them. “Namjoonie hyung?”
During the fuss the other tall guy had crept up on them, and now he was right on the perimeter of the blanket, all pretty and lean and imposing in his drapey pants and curly hair and deep voice and little pout. What the fuck was up with these boyish supermodel types? Two of them on their old people beach in one day? Gentrification was a nightmare.
“Tae Tae! Done painting?”
“No. I just wanted to come make friends too.” He smiled through the pout, wiggling his eyebrows a bit.
Behind them Seokjin cleared his throat. Yoongi braced for impact.
“Well well. Hello there, stranger. Care for a drink?”
Yoongi and Namjoon watched as the tall boy raked his eyes along the length of Seokjin’s lounge chair behind them.
“Hmm. Y’know, I could go for a tall glass of water.”
It was a pretty great bad line, all things considered, but he struck a strange foppish pose and lapsed into a British-tinged accent to deliver it. Yoongi looked skeptically at Namjoon. Namjoon looked out at the ocean and winced. "Tae Tae" looked at Seokjin. Seokjin had already begun listing off their (non-non-alcoholic) drink options in a deranged accent of his own, possibly aiming for an American southern belle but sounding more like a shrill Disney villain than not.
Still standing in his weird dapper way, Tae Tae squared his shoulders, winked loudly at Namjoon, and strode past them towards Jin’s lounger.
Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged a matching concerned glance before looking away. But as the mismatched accents fell into a rhythm behind them they shrugged it off. Some weird shit felt inevitable.
“So”.
“So.”
On the other hand, sometimes weird shit was not inevitable, just weird.
“So. All that exercising today, huh? Do you do like… cross fit?” Ah c'mon Yoongi, how could you possibly make this weirder than it was?
“'Cross fit?' Who says it like that? Are you eighty? It’s just Crossfit. And hell no, those dudes are super weird. If I was going to join a cult I’d want it to stand for something nicer.”
“Wow, so sorry. Did I claim to be an expert on workouts?”
Namjoon snorted loudly.
“I wouldn’t buy it even if you were. You look like a budget Connor Oberst on family vacation. Do you have favorite bluffs to cry on around here? Is that how you stay so skinny?” He looked incredibly pleased with his little burns, bare feet patting the sand happily.
Yoongi gaped, outraged and delighted. Where had this side of Namjoon been hiding? Well shit, man, let’s fucking go.
He cleared his throat and reached for the magazine, flipping back to Namjoon’s article and preparing to read aloud. “Okay, let’s see what kind of expert you are then, hm? ‘As is obvious to any casual user’—really RM? Negging your readers right out of the gate? Tacky.”
The magazine was torn out of his hands and tossed over an umbrella with a surprisingly high pitched shriek. Next, Yoongi felt himself picked up, seemingly as easily as the magazine. He wondered if he’d get thrown over the umbrellas too.
“Yoon! Don’t play with your food, it’s disgusting.” Jin’s voice came muffled from behind Tae, who lay draped languidly next to him. They were both treating the beach chair like a chaise lounge, faces inches apart and discussing god knows what in breathy voices. The long, leggy hypocrite.
"You're disgusting," Yoongi spit, face smashed against Namjoon's broad sweaty back.
“It appears we’ll have to disagree to agree.” Tae grinned back over his shoulder. He was wearing Jin's sunhat.
“Tae… Y’know what, sure.”
Yoongi attempted to kick against the big arm wrapped around his legs so he could wriggle off Namjoon’s shoulder. It was as wide as his thigh. All he got was a light wheeze as the jerk hefted him up and away from the blanket, suddenly moving at high speed. Namjoon laughed low and deep. He could feel it in his ribs. Tómas would never treat him like this.
“Namjoon what the fuck, put me down.” No response. “Namjoon. NAMJOON!” Being spirited away by a massive man sounded a lot more comfortable in the novels. His diaphragm felt ready to collapse, his head bounced awkwardly, his face was too close to Joon's ass for a good view, and he was beginning to suspect his captor planned to drown him for his sins. Pretty hot way to die though.
“Yooongi-ahhhhhh!” Seokjin howled from up the beach, “I’ll give the speech at your funeral! But schedule now, I’m raising my booking fees soon!”
Before any more shit could be talked or fists could be waved, Yoongi was set back down hard, feet slapping in the shallow water. Namjoon’s hands were still clenched around his waist, wrapping well around him even over the layers of clothes. Great. That’s great to know and feel and have to think about.
“Uh. Did he just call you Yoongi-ah?” Namjoon was very red again. Probably from shouldering a full grown man across sand at a sprint, but also maybe because of something else. Maybe he saw an exciting seagull or a sexy piece of driftwood. Who fucking knew with this guy.
“Oh yeah. That’s, yeah.”
“Like Yoongi?”
“Dude, you literally just heard him. Like a dozen times, actually-”
“No like, Min Yoongi. Min. Yoongi?” Namjoon shook him very slightly by the waist, like he wasn’t picking up fast enough on his own damn name. It was hot, and infuriating, and infuriatingly hot.
Yoongi glared back, increasingly unsure if he should be concerned. Namjoon would be the shittiest stalker on the planet. This was still extremely weird though.
“You do gear review videos? Online? Maybe?” Namjoon prompted, hopefully.
“Ah! Yeah, sometimes yeah, almost never actually. But yeah, I do.” Yoongi ruffled his hair and sucked his teeth, suddenly very aware that he’d never shown his face on channel and now it was out here in broad daylight, covered with sunblock and inches away from the face of a very pretty very shirtless golden man he barely knew. Also his feet were getting wet. Gross.
“Yoongi. You. Those videos. Your hands? Ah fuck.” Namjoon looked both delighted and ready to walk into the ocean. Apparently they had a bit more to talk about.
—
When they made it back to the blanket the eye-fucking had gotten thick enough to carry pathogens. Namjoon shot a pensive look over Yoongi's shoulder. “Do you think they’re gonna…”
“Mm. Hard to say, hyung’s kinda like this all the time. No offense to your friend.”
Namjoon laughed, light and squawky. “Wow. No offense to yours, but if Tae decides he wants him your friend probably won’t have a choice.” He squeezed Yoongi's hand. Ugh. Nice.
“Ew, that pushy?” Yoongi considered what could happen if this strange pretty boy tried to tell Kim Seokjin what to do. He shuddered.
“No he’s… well, you’ll probably see. It’s more like Tae can unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole, but like, spiritually.”
“Honestly that sounds like exactly what hyung needs. I think he’s tired of doing all the swallowing.”
Namjoon choked. Yoongi smiled. This Suntacular was going great.