A Little Slice of Heaven [Namjin]

Chapter Twenty-Three: Le Soup

AN: When I originally created this story idea, I was intending to put full-on smut into it.  Somewhere along the lines, things changed.  This story became less of a guilty pleasure and more of a labor of love.  What was originally supposed to be a much shorter story turned into the tale we now have, a much more serious story than ever originally intended.  It has come to be that it just doesn't feel right to put the full descriptive sex scenes into this story.  I hope no one is terribly disappointed by that.  If you really need to read some smut, go read my book "Six."  

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Yoongi cracked an eye open at the sound of his phone buzzing. With a groan, he made to roll from his back toward his nightstand to grab the device but realized quickly that he was, more or less, pinned in place by something heavier than the weighted blanket he usually slept with.

The unknown something shifted and murmured in sleepy incoherency. Reality snapped back into place as Yoongi's sleep-addled brain woke up. The weight belonged to Jimin, and the other was presently curled around the redhead. One of the dancer's legs was tossed over Yoongi's hips, an arm was draped diagonally across his chest, and there was a pink-haired head on his shoulder.

When they'd gone to sleep the night before, it had definitely been on opposites sides of the bed. At some point in the night, Jimin had crossed the center point and koala'ed all over the chef.

Yoongi took a moment to contemplate the position he was in, ignoring his phone as it started buzzing again. His right arm was pinned uncomfortably to his side, and Jimin's leg was putting pressure on his bladder. He would need to move the younger man soon before it became painful.

He really didn't want to wake him, though. Yesterday had been hell on the younger man. Between confessing the trouble he'd been in and then having to face the source of that anxiety head-on, Jimin looked practically broken by the time they'd reached Yoongi's apartment.

Before bed, Yoongi had insisted the masseur call in sick so he could take a day or two to rest. If Yoongi didn't have his responsibilities to the Ciel, he would have done the same so Jimin would not be forced to spend the evening alone. The older had made it a policy, though, that he wouldn't call in unless he was actually ill.

The phone buzzed incessantly again and Yoongi groped at the nightstand with his free hand, trying in vain to reach it. All he managed to do was knock his glasses onto the floor, though. Swearing under his breath, he carefully lifted Jimin's wrist to try and move his arm enough to allow at least the chef's top half to squirm sideways.

Jimin responded with an unintelligible grumble, tightening his arm and leg around Yoongi's body, pulling the older man as close as humanly possible. Yoongi licked his lips as the phone's insistent vibrations shimmied the device off the nightstand and onto the carpet.

If it had been anyone else, he would have shoved them off him in order to snag his phone and visit the toilet. But this was Jimin, and Jimin was far more special than any other person in the stoic man's life. With a deep sigh, Yoongi knew that the only way to escape the other's grasp was going to be to wake him up.

With his free hand, he reached across to brush Jimin's candy-hued hair back from his forehead, carding his long digits through the surprisingly silky strands. Dyed hair tended to feel brittle or coarse if done too often. As Jimin's hair had been pink for the last year, Yoongi knew the younger had to dye it often to keep the sable roots from showing. It should have felt like week-old straw. If the bottles of shampoo the younger had brought with him was any indication, the dancer took haircare seriously, and it showed.

Knowing he couldn't lay there petting his friend forever, Yoongi ran his fingers down along the side of Jimin's face, rubbing at the other's cheek gently, but with enough force to hopefully rouse his friend. Long, dark lashes started to flutter as Jimin came to.