TAEGI SMUTS [ᵃᵒ3]

Blue Espresso

Ao3 by : pleadingly

Summary :

It’s humid between Yoongi’s thighs, still, slick as he slowly unfolds: legs stretched long, pointed toes, all bare under the sheets. Taehyung’s blunt knees press neatly into the backs of Yoongi’s thighs, Taehyung’s breath stirs the hairs at Yoongi’s nape, Taehyung warms the bed.

“Awake?” Taehyung warms Yoongi’s skin, his gut, his cunt. A neat, dry palm slides over Yoongi’s hipbone.

“Again?” He half-jokes, but it doesn’t sound enough like a question. Yoongi’s voice doesn’t work well in the morning. It doesn’t need to.

“Again,” Taehyung agrees, honeyed and prideful. Yoongi can hear the soft click of saliva in Taehyung’s mouth; it prickles hotly along the underside of Yoongi’s dick, zinging from its tip to his hole and back again, glittery.

“Can I fuck you again?”

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Morning slips under Yoongi’s eyelids in one grayish blink: the sharp switch from sleep to closed eyes.

The second stage of waking is a long, deep inhale, made longer and a bit squeaky by Yoongi’s mushed-shut right nostril. He shifts, warm pillowcase rasping over his cheek. Long breath take two, nose unobstructed, notices the absence of morning coffee scent.

He slept over at Taehyung’s apartment, which is bare of bitter drinks, except for Yoongi’s small stash of grounds; in place of a machine with a timer, Taehyung keeps a pour-over carafe on the counter for him, because the glass looks nice.

Taehyung looks nice using it, always making a show out of being a good host. Kettle steam blooming over his face, from Yoongi’s vantage point across the kitchen island; dark-roast scent and Taehyung’s clean smile, passing him a hot mug with a lingering touch.

It’s humid between Yoongi’s thighs, still, slick as he slowly unfolds: legs stretched long, pointed toes, all bare under the sheets. Taehyung’s blunt knees press neatly into the backs of Yoongi’s thighs, Taehyung’s breath stirs the hairs at Yoongi’s nape, Taehyung warms the bed.

“Awake?” Taehyung warms Yoongi’s skin, his gut, his cunt. A neat, dry palm slides over Yoongi’s hipbone.

“Mmh,” Yoongi says. His answer is to make himself easy to move, hips tugged back so the velvet-steel insistence of Taehyung’s erection meets his ass. It leaves a warm little kiss of pre cum on his skin, one smeared raindrop in contrast to the messy gloss between Yoongi’s legs.

“Again?” He half-jokes, but it doesn’t sound enough like a question. Yoongi’s voice doesn’t work well in the morning. It doesn’t need to.

“Again,” Taehyung agrees, honeyed and prideful. Yoongi can hear the soft click of saliva in Taehyung’s mouth; it prickles hotly along the underside of Yoongi’s dick, zinging from its tip to his hole and back again, glittery.

“Can I fuck you again?”

Yoongi evaluates. He’s tired, sticky at the edges of his consciousness, unsure how much time passes between movements. The corner of his mouth drags slick against the pillowcase: he’s drooling, and doesn’t care enough. But they’ve got time, and he’s still wet, and Taehyung wants.

Yoongi’s dick is crushed hot between his thighs and it pulses, when he squeezes them together harder, so he squeezes harder. He knows Taehyung can tell, by the low grunt carried on Yoongi’s sigh, still breathing long and slow like mid-waking.