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Coming back from his shower, Taehyung stood in front of the programmer's closet, towel wrapped around his hips and hair damp. He was still taken aback by the single cabinet. How could someone live off an 80 cm wide and 40 cm deep closet, reaching up to the ceiling, filled with just black clothes? The contrast between the white wood and the dark clothes was mesmerizing. He liked how this theme dominated the whole apartment.

The bathroom, he just had his shower in, was all mat, black tiles (accept for the white ceiling), contrasting with the glossy, white ceramics and silver faucets. Since he had seen the bathroom for the first time, he had asked himself if it was a special model; it just did not seem to be standard interior. The kitchen as well showed the black and white theme with its white tiles and black, wooden kitchen front. He liked to touch the wooden doors, for the manufacturers had kept it close to raw. It gave the room a warm touch, softening the hard contrast. Even the mugs and plates, as well as the towels in the bathroom, were black and white. It seemed as if the programmer's whole life was binary.

Namjoon's room though was different, for there was no interior in black, even the gray office chair and couch were nearly white. Namjoon himself was the contrast: his tanned skin and black hair, his clothing, even his damn black eyes. Maybe this was the reason why the room felt incomplete or empty when he was not present.

Taehyung grabbed his jeans and shirt out of the closet (the only two things that had not been black) and closed it with a soft thud. He turned around to see the programmer sit in front of the screens, his nape and shoulders visible above the chair's backrest. Of course, he had already gotten off his clothes. It seemed like he had a disliking on those. What was he supposed to do in winter?

"What are you doing?" the younger asked, putting on a pair of Namjoon's black boxer briefs. He did not understand a bit of the mix of letters and numbers on the screens.

"Getting used to the system," the cold voice of the black-haired answered.

"So, what's the next step?"

"You'll see."

"Aish, Namjoon!"

God, how he hated this sentence, how he hated not being able to see the whole picture. He thought, he could get used to it, but right now it made the well-known rage bubble up inside his stomach. He had just done the impossible, but he still was not allowed to know?

Boiling from anger, he stood behind the taller and grabbed his chin to push the latter's head into his neck and force him to look away from the fucking screens and up to him instead, upside-down.

"You know..." He started but trailed off when he saw the reserved expression and the lightly pouting lips of the other. Why was everyone he worked with or against so damn attractive? And why did he have to get aroused so easily every time he was in rage mode? He tried to get his eyes off the older, but he could not. Those cold orbs held him in place. The black strands tickled his naked chest when he forced the programmer's head further back. Lust-control, Taehyung! he told himself when he came closer to the elder's face. It took him all his willpower to stop some centimeters above from the latter's lips. He would not sleep with a colleague! Damn, from all he knew Namjoon was straight. Well, maybe bi, judging from the boner he had in the car. But the other had not even shown anything close to affection. Though here he was, biting his lower lip to hold back the urge to jump on the older and trying to stop himself from getting hard from just the thought of being fucked by the black-haired. Yes, being fucked. He craved for the rush of being dominated again, being powerless. A moan escaped his lips when a picture of Namjoon hovering over him and thrusting into him crossed his inner eye. The other would give him exactly what his needy brain fantasized about. But it was wrong. He should not give in to this. For once, he wished, he would not be controlled by his sex drive.

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