Archive of Our Own ^beta

namjoon and jungkook are having a totally normal, completely casual conversation when jungkook decides to reach out across the space between them, and - without pausing in what he’s saying - slip his hand inside the space between the buttons of namjoon’s shirt.

and like, not to be hysterical about it, but namjoon has to make himself go utterly still in order to keep himself from throwing himself bodily onto the floor at jungkook’s feet and kicking and screaming.

jungkook doesn’t seem to notice that anything is amiss, goes right on trailing his fingers up and down in the dip between namjoon’s pecs, like this is a routine thing they do, the two of them.

it’s not like namjoon’s body has changed recently. they’ve been in quarantine for months already, and jungkook knows that namjoon has been spending way more time in the gym than he usually would, because jungkook is at least fifty per cent of the time right there next to namjoon, panting softly and drinking water sexily, somehow.

it’s in the bobbing of his throat, namjoon is pretty sure.

and the way jungkook is usually sweating as he tilts his head back to gulp down big swallows from his water bottle.

it definitely doesn’t help anyone or anything that jungkook is blond, now.

namjoon doesn’t know what jungkook wants or expects from him when he offers his bottle to namjoon. he’s usually got his hair tied back in at least a half top knot and sometimes he works out without a shirt on because he hates the damp feeling of his own sweat soaked clothes against his skin, and sometimes namjoon manages to take the bottle from jungkook’s hand without dropping it, but best case scenario he’s looking at it and then putting it down a second later because bringing the bottle to his mouth after it has just touched jungkook’s mouth and making a complicated biological process like swallowing work is just too big an ask for namjoon, right then.

he knows his own limits. he knows that every time jungkook does or says something that crosses a line that very clearly denotes ‘the stuff of pure fantasy lies yonder,’ a blaring siren starts going off inside his head to alert him to the fact that he has to back up or throw in a quick, cute mention of how adorable and very small, so so little, many tiny jungkook had been when they first met.

of course, this only makes jungkook flex a bicep or flash some abs and ask namjoon if he still looks like a kid, and that - in keeping with the theme of all things jungkook - helps no one and nothing, but at least namjoon can count on someone else in the room (usually seokjin. pretty often jimin or hoseok. sometimes, strangely impassionedly - yoongi) to start catcalling and either grinding up on jungkook or offering him obscene amounts of money to dance for them, and in the chaos of all that namjoon can slip away to lick his wounds.

by which he means jerk off. copiously.

it’s worse since jungkook dyed his hair, because literally everything is.

so it’s safe to say that since jungkook started reacting to namjoon’s body the way namjoon reacts to finding small bug friends - his hands all ‘ooh look what i found’ under namjoon’s clothes, his eyes all either big and enamored or very dark and focused, his mouth all ‘pretty hyung’ this and ‘hey come look at this’ that while he’s physically preventing namjoon from pulling on his pants so he can - invite someone else? to come? admire? namjoon’s thighs? - well, namjoon is losing it. just slightly.

he’s pretty sure it’s jungkook’s fault, though.

“i’m imagining it, right?”

namjoon has been awake half the night stressing out about this, so he’s more than justified, he thinks, in barging into hoseok’s bedroom first thing in the morning and then barging into his en suite when he finds hoseok’s bed empty and already made.

“uhm,” hoseok says thickly, around the handle of his toothbrush and a mouthful of toothpaste. he stoops to spit and rinse, and then turns to namjoon once he’s dried off his hands and face. “probably. whatever it is. but if you want a definite answer you’re gonna have to tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”

namjoon fights the urge to throw his hands up in the air. he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and is not surprised to find that his hair is a wreck. he looks wild eyed in a way that even strikes him as alarming. but like, this is serious. this is starting to get really, terrifyingly serious for namjoon.

“jungkook!” he only mostly shouts, because he totally has his shit together and can be a calm, rational adult about this.

hoseok looks at him like he’s a tiny child. a tiny child that hoseok pities, for some reason.

“we’ve talked about this, joon-ah. literally every time you get drunk you get all panicky and teary-eyed about it, and every single time we assure you that you didn’t make jungkook up - that he really does exist and that yes, the rest of us can see him too, and he looks like that to us as well.”

hoseok speaks slowly and purposeful, soothing almost, the way he does when seokjin works himself into an existential crisis after spending too much time alone, or like when he’d had to talk taehyung through the harrowing ordeal of temporarily getting a sex toy stuck inside himself. why namjoon had had to be there for that too, he still doesn’t know. but he’s very familiar with how hoseok talks to them when they’re in a crisis. which - this is, but not quite like how hoseok seems to think.

“no, it’s not that,” namjoon follows hoseok back out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. when hoseok tosses a criminally luminous backpack onto the bed and starts wandering around the room picking up things to pack into it, namjoon sits down cross-legged next to it and helpfully organizes whatever hoseok lobs his way into his horrible little satchel.

“i’m completely sober and i accept that jungkook exists. like that.” hoseok looks at him sharply, surprised and then proud, and namjoon kind of wants to roll off the bed and then roll under it to die there, but only mostly or whatever. it’s not a big deal. “but the touching, hope-ah. i’m imagining that, right?”

standing at his desk, hoseok doesn’t look up from where he’s flipping through a pile of notebooks.

“you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, namjoon-ah. which touching, exactly? the way you touch him by accident and then blush for a hundred years after, or the way he touches you totally on purpose and you blush for a hundred years after?”

“that!!!” namjoon does yell now, jumping to his feet and pointing at hoseok, who only snorts fondly at him. “the second thing! he does do that, doesn’t he?”

“why does he do that?” namjoon wonders, sitting back down again because he jumped up too fast and he’s kind of lightheaded now. “and why is it so much worse lately?”

hoseok tosses his ipad at namjoon, and then squints at him while he slides it carefully into the laptop pocket of hoseok’s bag and makes sure it’s secure. maybe he struggles a little with the velcro straps, so sue him.

“i haven’t really seen a change, on that front? or any front really. not between you and jungkook. i’m pretty sure there’s something odd going on with taehyung and yoongi hyung, but that’s almost definitely a sex thing so it’s totally fine. you and jungkook, though? same as ever, as far as i can see. he’s always touched you all the time, namjoon-ah. it’s basically his hobby.”

still pottering around his room surveying his various knick knacks, hoseok doesn’t say anything more. namjoon has no clue what to even think, so he’s definitely got nothing to say.

“this has been both illuminating, and mildly horrifying. thanks, hoseok-ah,” namjoon concludes eventually, and gets up to wander off back to his own room, hoping to squeeze in a spot more panicking before he’s due to be picked up to go to the gym. probably with jungkook.

“fuck,” he says, with feeling, but mostly under his breath, and hopes that hoseok didn’t hear.

“that’s the spirit! fighting, namjoon-ah!” hoseok enthuses, waving namjoon out with a huge grin and double thumbs up.

namjoon doesn’t allow himself to fall to the floor in existential defeat and then simply crawl back to his room, but it’s a close thing.

namjoon is almost at the end of his routine, and he has survived thus far unscathed.

jungkook had been waiting for him in the front hall, and he’d had his hoodie unzipped so namjoon could see immediately that he was wearing nothing but a muscle tee beneath it.

and still, namjoon had made it to the gym, and most of the way through all of his planned exercises for today, even with jungkook working quietly, steadily away at his side, looking like all of namjoon’s fantasies come to life at once, somehow. a little voice in namjoon’s head suggests that this is perhaps because all namjoon fantasizes about is jungkook. namjoon tells that little voice to go fuck itself.

he’s so busy arguing with himself in his own head that he doesn’t even realize the danger that’s approaching until it’s behind him, with its hands on his waist.

“wow, hyung. your form is like … perfect.”

why jungkook has to say this - has to do this - while namjoon is bent over into a deadlift, namjoon really has no clue. he has minus clues as to why jungkook has decided that it’s appropriate, or like ... survivable, for him to come up behind namjoon and put both of his hands on namjoon’s hips.

“your leg work is really … uh … paying off,” jungkook says, as namjoon tries to straighten back up without dropping the barbell on either of their feet, and without dropping the barbell literally fucking anywhere so he can put his hands on his knees and grind his ass back against jungkook’s crotch.

the distressing part of this, besides all of it, is that jungkook is standing so close that namjoon knows he can’t see namjoon’s legs from this angle. or his form. all jungkook’s got within his sights is namjoon’s ass. and like, that’s flattering? but also, namjoon is about to lose his mind. so.

“thanks, ‘guk-ah,” namjoon says, and blinks twice, really hard, before he can force himself to turn around and reach out to ruffle jungkook’s hair. jungkook definitely has a lower body fat percentage than namjoon, and namjoon has seen the far too tight, maddeningly defined six pack to know that much, but they’re about as broad and built as one another in the chest and shoulders, these days. so why looking at jungkook standing there with his bare arms out for the world to see makes namjoon want to faint into them like a themsel in distress he really can’t even begin to understand. he also can’t let himself think about it for even a second longer.

“so kind and supportive of your hyungs, our little jungkook-ie,” he forces himself to say, desperate to put any kind of distance or draw any kind of line between jungkook and what namjoon’s traitorous brain wants to do with the way jungkook looks right now.

“i just bench pressed more than your body weight, hyung,” jungkook says, sounding vaguely baffled, but maybe he’s just distracted, because the way he’s looking at namjoon’s thighs now that he can actually see them makes namjoon feel vaguely grimey in a way that he, cursedly, really likes.

“good job!” namjoon says, temporarily so impressed by what he knows is jungkook’s new lifting record that he forgets to be embarrassed about knowing jungkook’s lifting stats off the top of his head.

“did i do a good job, hyung?” jungkook asks, his voice getting fainter as his eyes slowly, very very slowly rise up along namjoon’s body. when he makes eye contact with him, it’s from under his eyelashes. “am i a good boy, namjoon hyung?”

namjoon’s not sure what he shouts over his shoulder as he literally sprints to the showers, but he’s certain it’s nothing in any way coherent.

and naturally, this means he has to take as much time as he possibly can getting washed up and changed so he doesn’t have to head back out and bear witness to jungkook finishing his workout. so although he’s not proud of it, namjoon really has no choice but to spend fifteen minutes in the shower, thinking about jungkook doing a whole different kind of workout.

he is not a perfect man.

jungkook doesn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss, and only smiles at namjoon when he steps out of his own shower, only a small towel around his hips and his hair completely drenched, combed back into a ponytail now.

while they’re in the elevator down to the parking lot, jungkook yawns huge and loud and very obviously fake and then face plants against namjoon’s bare neck.

he makes a soft sound, and namjoon can feel the warm heat of his mouth like a brand pressed above namjoon’s collarbone.

it’s entirely possible, namjoon reasons, as he slouches to curl an arm around jungkook’s waist, that he’s not even a good man anymore.

but again, he will take this opportunity to point out the facts - it’s all jeon jungkook’s fault.

sometimes, namjoon finds, you don’t even realize that you’re in desperate times until you find yourself taking desperate measures.

stupidly, namjoon’s hands start to get clammy as he tightens his grip on his phone. jungkook is softly singing along to bits and pieces of whatever he’s listening to in his earbuds and even all the way across the car, namjoon can smell his shampoo and bodywash. it had been pretty bad, having to talk to hoseok about this. but taking it to seokjin is next level. this has officially become a situation.

namjoon doesn’t have the time to properly process even part of that message before seokjin follows it up with more, in quick succession.

namjoon is almost on the verge of tears. this is too much information for him to process. this is far too much to think about. this is far too much of the exact kind of thing he tries not to let himself think about. and it’s even worse than he’d initially thought.

namjoon blinks a couple times, his eyes feeling like they’re burned by what they’ve just been exposed to, and he must make some kind of sound or otherwise draw attention to himself, because jungkook looks across the backseat at him.

“are you okay, hyung?” he seems genuinely concerned. but he’s also the cause of all of namjoon’s problems. and sitting there in just shorts and his muscle tee, like some kind of honey pot that has studied namjoon’s personal tastes extensively. again, that cursed little voice in the back of namjoon’s mind pipes up that all of namjoon’s tastes are derived from the honey pot in question, and not the other way around.

“no,” namjoon says, more sullen now, than panicked.

his phone hums in his hand again, and he’s glad for the excuse to look away from jungkook.

namjoon locks his phone and closes his eyes, leaving the rest of that message unread. hopefully forever.

when they get home, jungkook literally kicks his own gym bag down the hall so he has both hands free to push the straps of namjoon’s backpack off his shoulders, and then peel his jacket down off his arms to hang it up. he does all of this apropos of literally nothing, without saying a word, and he hangs the jacket up by reaching over namjoon’s shoulders to get at the hook on the wall, leaving namjoon essentially trapped between jungkook’s arms. which still don’t have any fucking clothes on them.

“um. thanks,” namjoon says, instead of ‘fuck you,’ because being the leader has taught him a truly astounding amount about patience and diplomacy.

“you’re welcome, hyung,” jungkook says, his hands free now and both of them coming to rest on namjoon’s shoulders. until he starts to slide them down namjoon’s chest. he’s looking right into namjoon’s eyes, a dreamy sort of expression on his face that seems both almost lost and kind of hopeful. namjoon has no idea what this means, or what jungkook expects or wants of him, in this moment.

“so, good work out,” he says, and then turns away.

“mmmm,” jungkook says, very low and for far too long, as namjoon walks away from him.

namjoon’s feet take him to yoongi’s bedroom instead of his own, which is probably the least confusing thing that has happened to him this afternoon.

“hyungnim,” he says from the doorway, and yoongi turns around to face him instantly, even though the whole room is dark aside from the light spilling in around namjoon and the bright glare from yoongi’s computer screen. he’s got headphones on, but he mustn’t have anything playing if he’d heard namjoon. or maybe he really does have a super ability to know when a dongsaeng is in distress, like taehyung and jungkook claim.

“what is it?” yoongi asks, pulling his headphones off to rest around his neck. he spins all the way around in his chair and makes to stand up, but namjoon flaps a hand at him to tell him to stay where he is. even so, he’s looking at namjoon in clear concern.

“just a quick question, sorry to disturb you,” namjoon says, even though he knows yoongi would never get mad at him for that. he’s never annoyed at any of them when they interrupt him for legitimate reasons. he’s never even annoyed at most of them when they interrupt him for ludicrous and frivolous reasons. case in point: kim taehyung. “i was just wondering - am i in love with jungkook?”

terrifyingly, yoongi relaxes as soon as namjoon has said this. the breath he was obviously holding rushes out of him, and it almost sounds to namjoon like he laughs, a little.

“oh, is that all?” he asks, and it’s incredible to namjoon, how adept his hyung is at saying something the way you want to hear it (and namjoon wants to hear this like yoongi is playing it off as something light, even though really it’s not) while also saying it the way he means it (like it really is something light, something very simple. to him, at least.)

“it’s not really my place or anyone else’s to tell you who you’re in love with, namjoon-ah …”

the ‘but’ is an elephant hula hooping across the room in a sequinned leotard.

“but if i’m asking you, hyung?”

“if i had to answer - if you wanted me to answer truthfully, to the best of my ability -” yoongi winces slightly, but very gently. like he thinks he needs to soften even his facial expressions for this. for namjoon, about this. “then i would say yes. from what i’ve seen, and given that we’ve lived together for almost ten years now, i’m pretty confident in saying that you’re in love with jungkook.”

namjoon nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do. he’s very much at a loss, here.

yoongi realizes this pretty quickly. they have lived together for almost ten years now, after all.

“would you like to hold hyung’s hand?”

so yoongi gets back to working on whatever he’d been doing before namjoon interrupted him, but minus a hand now because namjoon is sitting cross legged on the floor next to him, with his head pillowed on yoongi’s thigh and his hand joined with yoongi’s in yoongi’s lap.

he thinks a little, as he sits there. but not a lot. there’s not much more to sort through.

he’s got his answers; a variety of them now, and they all seem to point to the same thing.

so that’s that, then.

and namjoon has absolutely no idea what to do about it.

they’re no strangers to tension, so namjoon thinks they could probably go a few years like this, before anything drastic had to happen.

jungkook still touches namjoon all the time - maybe just as much as he always did, only namjoon never noticed until he had a reason to notice. namjoon still tries to touch jungkook in what he hopes is normal ways, to a normal degree, in so far as anything about them can ever be ‘normal’ and in the meantime, he’s working on accepting his new reality while also trying to understand how he found himself here.

except for when jungkook puts his hands in namjoon’s back pockets, or pushes his knee between namjoon’s thighs when they’re sitting somewhere together, or tries to get namjoon to sit in his lap, or - very memorably - offers to help namjoon take his jewelry off and proceeds to do so with his mouth, instead of his hands.

then, namjoon doesn’t really do any thinking or trying or working at all.

“it’s because you got touch starved,” taehyung says, trying his best to sound sage, even as he’s got his tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration while he uses namjoon’s snow mold to shape rice into ducks for them to have with dinner. namjoon really hopes he washed that thing before he started using it for this, but all things considered, he doesn’t hold out much hope.

“quarantine made your hot bod all sensitive to all the ways people were or weren’t touching it anymore, and when you did a recalibration of who you want touching you and how, your body finally clued your brain in on the fact that you’ve wanted jungkook all up in your business for like … at least a couple years now.”

namjoon thinks about this as he gets down mugs to bring to the table.

“like, your body had just never had a reason to reassess your clearance levels, you know? you automatically programmed jungkook in under the same settings as the rest of us, because he started off as just one of us, to you.”

namjoon doesn’t know if he should be concerned by how much sense this is actually making to him. maybe that’s a sign that quarantine really has done a number on him. but much more likely is the possibility that taehyung’s genius mind has chosen this moment, for some reason, to make another star appearance. namjoon loves it when taehyung gets like this, so he has to make a concentrated effort not to let himself get totally starry-eyed when taehyung continues, still speaking as he’s working on his dts masterpieces.

“and then during quarantine, your systems stopped being able to function like they always used to, so your body had to wipe them and start again. and this time you realized that you’d had jungkook labelled wrong. or like, parts of you realized, at least.”

the arched eyebrow and significant look that accompany this last statement are really not necessary. namjoon knows only too well which specific parts of him have made leaps and bounds on the subject of his proposed and potential proximity to jungkook.

“is the food ready?” jungkook himself asks, appearing out of nowhere to interrupt at what namjoon thinks is the perfect moment, actually. “can i help with anything? will i set the table?”

personally, namjoon thinks the most helpful thing jungkook could do for him specifically right now would be to stand very still and just let namjoon look at him. let him look at him, as he processes this, and give him the time he needs to have it all settle home for him in the way it hasn’t quite been able to, yet.

almost as if jungkook can hear his thoughts - which, perish the fucking thought, or namjoon would simply cease to exist under the heaping weight of his shame and embarrassment - jungkook strolls to a stop standing in front of namjoon, looking right at him like he’s a sims character waiting for further instruction.

it’s only when namjoon has what he thought he needed - jungkook right in front of him, not needing anything from him or giving him anything at all to think about, allowing namjoon both the time and silence he needs to think - that he realizes what he actually needs must be something else.

at a loss and willing to try anything, namjoon reaches out and lets his fingers brush back jungkook’s hair, where it’s falling into his face. who let him be blond, honestly? who is responsible for this? who got a memo about jungkook walking around in the world looking like this, being like this, and said ‘sure, that seems fine, what could possibly go wrong?’

everything, namjoon thinks. everything goes wrong because of jungkook.

but then jungkook dimples a shy smile at him, and namjoon realizes that actually, lots of things go very right because of jungkook, too. his theory, right then, becomes that jungkook is simply a catalyst for change. it’s probably a matter of perspective and personal motivation, whether the outcome is positive or negative.

still musing on this, namjoon lets his fingers trail gently down the side of jungkook’s face.

jungkook stands still for this.

and then opens his mouth as if he’s going to try and suck namjoon’s fingers inside, until taehyung elbows him from behind.

“i don’t know if i can eat these. i feel a connection to them now,” taehyung says mournfully, surveying his handiwork as he oh so gently plates them to carry them to the table.

“sounds like a you problem, hyung,” jungkook quips, snapping his teeth at the plate of rice ducks as taehyung passes by.

“oh, we know you’d never have a problem swallowing, jungkook-ah.”

taehyung puts the plate down in pride of place at the center of the table, and then turns back to wink theatrically - except, at namjoon instead of jungkook - before he disappears to gather everyone up to eat.

“uhhh,” namjoon says just to make some kind of noise, because jungkook is looking at him kind of intently now and it’s making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“he’s not wrong, hyung,” jungkook says, nodding and widening his eyes in a way that namjoon thinks is supposed to be meaningful in a way that he absolutely will not allow himself to even attempt to interpret.

“okay,” he says - again, just to say anything - and then a ruckus from the hallway alerts them to the impending arrival of the whole herd.

hoseok is wearing multi-patterned pants that genuinely make namjoon want to cry, when he appears, and he’s got jimin in a headlock for some reason.

seokjin is tugging yoongi along because yoongi is looking at his phone instead of looking at where he’s going, and taehyung has somehow lost a sock since he left the room about a minute ago.

honestly, namjoon has never been more delighted to see them.

“alright, what the fuck?” is definitely not how namjoon planned to finally open this probably long-overdue dialogue.

to tell the truth of it, namjoon had been thinking that maybe when they retire, he could ask jungkook out for dinner, and then propose. logically he knows that somewhere in there he’d have to actually acknowledge his feelings out loud, first, and also maybe ask jungkook how he felt about the whole thing, but yeah. that had been his plan.

and yet.

they’re wrapping up a dance practice for the performance of a song that they never would have written or released if it wasn’t for this whole global pandemic thing, which is really dragging on far too long now, if you ask namjoon, and it’s not exactly unusual for them to collapse into one another in something like a hug, half delirious with exhaustion and relief, but -

“what part of hugging me necessitates you putting both of your hands up inside my shirt, jungkook?”

to be specific, both of jungkook’s hands are cupped up under namjoon’s pecs and namjoon is pretty sure that if he hadn’t said anything, jungkook was about to try and brush his thumbs over namjoon’s nipples.

so, yeah. namjoon thinks his descent into truly hysterical is at least warranted, now that it’s here.

“ummm,” jungkook looks at namjoon like a deer caught in headlights. and doesn’t even pretend to move his hands.

“like, this is not a friendly kind of touching, jungkook. this is not how friends touch each other!” hysterical or not, namjoon’s voice doesn’t really rise all that much. he’s pretty sure jungkook could drop his harddrive into a bath, and namjoon still wouldn’t be able to shout at him. it maybe bears noting that namjoon makes no move to extricate jungkook’s hands from his shirt at this juncture, either.

“well, good,” jungkook says, actually gripping a little harder at namjoon’s pecs, which makes him have to bite back what feels suspiciously like it could have been a whimper. “because i don’t want to touch you the way friends touch each other. i don’t see you as my friend, hyung.”

namjoon has a moment of blind panic.

“oh my god,” it’s only when he has to lift his eyes to meet jungkook’s that he realizes he’s been staring at jungkook’s mouth this entire time. jungkook is very hot, and he’s got his hands on namjoon’s tiddies, so namjoon magnanimously permits himself a moment of sheer idiocy. “do you hate me? do you think of us as enemies?”

and that’s a very dark line of thinking indeed, so namjoon appreciates it when jungkook heads him off at that pass and very kindly reassures him by thumbing over his nipples.

“only in the ‘enemies to lovers’ sense, hyung. and even then, with heavy emphasis on the ‘to lovers’ part.”

“oh my god,” seokjin says, dragging a chair over to sit near them and producing a snack pack from somewhere. “i think it’s happening. everybody quiet, i’ve been waiting like twenty eight thousand episodes for this moment.”

so it’s with an audience that this finally goes down.

jimin has catapulted himself across the room in his wheelie chair, and hoseok climbs neatly into his lap. even yoongi rolls over where he’s lying on the floor so that he’s got a better viewpoint. taehyung, namjoon is pretty sure, is filming this.

“uuum,” namjoon says, because he’d thought he’d gotten over his stage fright thing for the most part a really long time ago, but it turns out that it’s a different thing entirely, to face someone you have very deep and very horny feelings for and try to figure out a way to voice them eloquently or even just sensibly.

the silence is deafening.

aside from seokjin’s obnoxiously loud chewing.

“maybe it would be less awkward if we kissed?” jungkook suggests, yet again looking at namjoon the way he has been way too much lately - hopefully.

“fuck it,” namjoon decides, and grabs jungkook by both biceps to drag him in.

someone gasps, when namjoon kisses jungkook, and it might be namjoon.

jungkook’s hands fall from namjoon’s chest so he can wrap both of his arms around namjoon’s waist, and when his mouth opens against namjoon’s, namjoon’s spine goes liquid.

in the background, a lot of things seem to be happening, because there’s an absolute cacophony of noise and namjoon thinks he picks up on someone clapping, but he can’t be sure because he’s suddenly very busy bringing one hand up to jungkook’s face so he can get his jaw tilted the way he wants it. he sucks at jungkook’s lip with careful teeth just to feel the way it makes jungkook shiver against him, and then he slants their mouths together properly, the slick pressure of jungkook licking into his mouth making namjoon breathe out a shocked sound and then slide his hand up into jungkook’s hair, cupping jungkook’s skull in his palm to keep him right where he is.

when they finally break apart some moments later, everyone is looking at them with wide, shellshocked eyes. apart from taehyung, who is scrubbing at the camera of his phone with a corner of his tshirt and muttering what sounds like an apology to it.

“well, you seriously whole-assed that,” is yoongi’s assessment, and hoseok nods gravely.

seokjin is holding up a piece of paper that he produced from somewhere, and has scrawled ‘11/10 my favorite melodrama of all time,’ across.

how long were they kissing for?

when namjoon turns to jungkook to ask, jungkook is already looking at him. his smile is something namjoon can’t describe as anything other than punch-drunk.

“we have to get married now,” jungkook says, still grinning, as he reaches for namjoon’s hand.

namjoon gives it to him.

“well, that was my plan, eventually, but uh - what the fuck?” he still has to ask.

“jin hyung said that if i ever let anyone kiss me, they were gonna have to marry me so i wasn’t doomed to a life of disrepute and shame.”

and there’s a lot to unpack, there. like, that sentence is just jam packed with strange and terrible bullshit, and namjoon’s not at all surprised that seokjin is the one responsible for it. but one thing in particular stands out to namjoon as pressing.

“wait. that was your first kiss?”

it’s not like namjoon has ever seen jungkook kiss someone else, but he’s like … offensively attractive? surely everybody wants to kiss him? namjoon certainly does.

“oh, no. that was hobi hyung, but he can’t marry me, he has to marry jin hyung. and also jimin hyung. way too complicated already, so i couldn’t expect him to fold me in there, too.”

namjoon has a lot of feelings about many things that have just come to light, and he’s obviously not the only one because hoseok has just fallen out of jimin’s lap onto the floor, seokjin’s ears are fire engine red as he helps hoseok back to his feet, and jimin is looking between both of them with decided interest.

yet again, namjoon has to lean heavily on his leadership skills and prioritise.

“of course you couldn’t,” namjoon tells jungkook, tugging him in against him with their joined hands and tucking jungkook’s hair back behind his ear with his free hand.

his fingers trail of their own accord down the side of jungkook’s neck, and jungkook’s pulse is jumping under namjoon’s palm when he leans in to kiss him again.

“i’m, uh. happy to take one for the team,” namjoon pulls away to say, before they can get too into it again. "i'd be honored, really."

“fucking finally,” jungkook says, all starry eyed again, and almost going cross eyed when he refuses to look away as namjoon kisses him.

“we can discuss his dowry at your earliest convenience, namjoon-ssi,” seokjin says from somewhere to their left, but namjoon ignores him in favor of pressing a trail of kisses all along jungkook’s too lovely jawline, and then down along the line of his throat, when jungkook tilts his head back helpfully. imploringly, honestly.

when jungkook lifts his head and makes half-lidded eye contact with namjoon just so he can smirk at namjoon, clearly incredibly pleased with himself, and then wind his arms around namjoon’s neck, namjoon decides that seokjin can name his price.

the journey back home is relatively routine, for them.

or maybe namjoon is just distracted by the way jungkook hasn’t for even five seconds stopped trying to get his hand down namjoon’s pants.

by the time they pile in through their entranceway, namjoon has mostly stopped trying to dissuade jungkook.

“so, about those double ended dildos, hyung -” this time, jimin’s sex toy sales pitch is cut off by seokjin slapping his hand across jimin’s mouth.

“no, let him finish!” hoseok already has the notes app pulled up on his phone, and namjoon truly despairs of all of them.

he grabs jungkook by the hand and starts to tow him out of the room, away from this mess.

“ooh, are we going to have sex? right now? you animal, hyung.”

and like, namjoon had mostly been thinking they could go roll around in his bed and maybe make out for an hour or five, but perish the thought that he’d ever deny jeon jungkook anything he wants, especially now that jungkook has figured out how to just ask namjoon for it.

“if you want,” namjoon shrugs, letting jungkook wrestle his wrist out of namjoon’s hand so he can slide their fingers together instead.

“fuck yes,” jungkook says, mostly under his breath. and then he looks back over his shoulder and raises his voice.

“i have to go figure out how to top for hyung, but send me your notes!!!”

and so it’s to the soundtrack of their best friends and colleagues very loudly discussing their personal thoughts on jungkook and namjoon’s top/bottom dynamics that jungkook and namjoon finally figure out their top/bottom dynamics.

jungkook is still out of breath, when he collapses onto his back next to namjoon.

“that,” he says, with one arm thrown up over his head and his chest and neck shining with sweat, “was fucking incredible.”

and namjoon only laughs, because he’s pretty sure he’s just made it like, super explicitly clear that he feels the same way.

“wanna try it the other way?” jungkook asks him, and namjoon is pushing himself up onto his elbows before jungkook has even finished speaking. “oh. right now? jesus, you really are insatiable, hyung,” he’s rolling over onto all fours as he speaks, though, so namjoon’s pretty sure he’s not all that put out about it.

“there’s no time like the present, jungkook,” namjoon says, because he’s always been committed to the things that are important to him in an absolute and academically thorough sort of way, and this isn’t any different.

when he idly says as much to jungkook, jungkook’s arms give out underneath him and he has to catch himself on his elbows, his face pushed into the pillows now.

“ugh, fuck. talk nerdy to me, hyung. hypothesize on the exact curvature of my ass while you wreck it.”

and namjoon might not agree with people trying to tell him he’s a genius, but this, he’s pretty sure, is going to be one area of study that he’s going to excel at. unparalleled.

after they’re cleaned up and back in bed curled up around one another, jungkook grabs for his phone and reads out the messages detailing jimin’s suggestions for their sex aids.

namjoon listens, but maybe not as intently as he should, because jungkook has his head pillowed on namjoon’s arm, and his hair is still a little damp from the shower, a darker blond this way that really makes the pigment of his lips stand out. although, that might just be from sucking dick.

in the end, it doesn’t matter if namjoon misses out any pertinent details, because jimin himself appears soon after to strip his hoodie off and climb into bed behind jungkook, already talking excitedly about some kind of anal beads that he wants.

“did i hear someone say ‘neon anal beads’?” hoseok pokes his head in the door, and then closes it after himself to cross the floor and climb into bed next to namjoon.

in the middle of the bed, jungkook giggles. at what, namjoon doesn’t know exactly, but it’s a happy sound, and he muffles it by turning his face to press his lips to namjoon’s bicep.

and well, all’s well that ends with a mostly naked and thoroughly sated and expertly sating jeon jungkook in your arms and in your bed.

or however that saying goes.