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stonepicnicking_okapiTitle: POETS READ EVERY NIGHT AT 2 AM
Fandom: BTS
Pairing: Suga/J-hope
Rating: Teen for language, mild sexual content
Length: 1000
For: GYWO Yahtzee Roll #2
Prompt:
Notes: Kissing, making out/snogging. Inspired by this photo of Seven Arts Cafe in NYC in 1959. Also for the 2022 GYWO Lovely Stroll Day 6 optional prompt: "Love is sharing popcorn."
Summary: Suga has an odd dream and seeks comfort from J-hope afterwards.
Yoongi is walking down the sidewalk at night. Round streetlamps, one, two, three, are lighting his path. It’s just started to snow. There’s a thin coat of the white stuff already on the pavement, and thick, fat flakes clinging to his head and eyelashes. His hoodie isn’t nearly warm enough. His fists are sunk in his jeans, and his shoulders are hunched.
This isn’t Seoul. This isn’t even Korea.
He knows this instinctively.
There is no one on the street.
He doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t even know where ‘here’ is.
All Yoongi knows is that he has somewhere to go.
---
Yoongi makes his way to a down flight of stairs. There’s a sign on the sloping ceiling.
POETS READ EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT AT 2 A.M.
There are two people loitering at the bottom of the stairs. They stop their conversation, look at him, and nod.
Yoongi nods back.
The room is crowded.
The mix of faces tells him it must be the US. They all look at him. There are more nods, words or grunts of greeting or acknowledgement.
Yoongi can’t tell if they are in Korean or English or something else.
There’s a bar along the far side of the room, but there are too many people between it and Yoongi. He’s halfway there when someone steps onto the little stage and grabs the microphone stand.
“All right, it’s time,” says a black man. “Let’s bring back last week’s winner to start us off. Hey, man! Hey! Mister Min Yoongi!”
All eyes are on him.
“Bring your ass up here!”
Yoongi makes his way to the little stage. He steps behind the microphone and—
---
Yoongi stops speaking.
He is completely out of breath and a little sweaty.
There is silence, and then there is applause and cheers and swearing.
Someone is clapping him on the shoulder and saying,
“Right on, man, right on. You said it. Every word. Truth! TRUTH!”
The man grabs the microphone. “A hard act to follow. Who’s got the balls to follow ‘im?”
Yoongi is dropping back into the crowd.
There are slaps on the back and words of encouragement.
He doesn’t know what he said.
He makes his way to the door. He climbs the stairs, stopping only once to glance over his shoulder at the sign.
POETS READ EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT AT 2 A.M.
---
The snow is still falling. Strangely enough, it’s falling just as it was when Yoongi arrived, but the layer of snow on the ground is the same.
That doesn’t seem right.
There’s no one around.
Yoongi buries his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders and walks past the round streetlamps, one, two, three.
It feels like a dream.
Then Yoongi realizes, it is.
---
“Mmfpgh!”
Something’s tipping and spilling.
The bowl. On Yoongi’s chest.
There’s a screen. Credits are rolling.
He’s lying on his back. His neck hurts.
“What the fuck?” he says. “What movie was that?”
“The one you hate.”
The confusion doesn’t fade, but the anxiety about the confusion does.
Hobi.
Nothing too bad can happen if Jung Hoseok is nearby.
“Oh.” Yoongi tries to sit up. He scowls at the bowl. “What happened to my popcorn?”
“Love is sharing your popcorn.”
Yoongi hums.
Hobi moves the bowl to the floor. “Good nap?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “I had an odd dream.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
Yoongi meets his gaze. He nods. He tells him.
---
“Disconcerting,” says Hobi when Yoongi’s done.
“Yeah, it felt like going back in time, too. A different place, too. Maybe New York. I don’t know. Do you think it means anything?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” Hobi sort of crawled towards him, and Yoongi realized he’d fallen asleep lengthwise on the sofa, Hobi’s sofa. “There just random synapses firing. They aren’t omens or signs or portends.”
“Omens, signs, or portends?”
“I read books, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi kisses him softly, then pulls back to lick his own lips, tasting vestiges of the salty popcorn.
“Is this the dream? Or was that the dream?” he asks.
“I can understand your confusion. I am too sexy for reality. Pure fantasy, this body.”
Yoongi snorts. He puts his face in the crook of Hobi’s neck and nuzzles the skin there. “This feels real,” he says softly before licking.
“How ‘bout some skin-on-skin? That usually helps when things get fuzzy.”
“Yeah.”
Hobi slips out of his shirt and divests Yoongi of his.
Yoongi exhales in relief as their chests touch. He wraps his arms around Hobi at once and runs his hands up and down the others back, along his shoulders, up to his nape, ruffling the edge of his short hair.
“You’re here, right? You’re here. I’m here.”
Yoongi is immediately embarrassed at his own words.
“My baby’s got it bad tonight,” muses Hobi. He’s running his hands through Yoongi’s hair and holding his head, then turning it so he can kiss Yoongi’s cheek, then his lips. “I’m here. All yours.”
Yoongi opens his mouth and let’s Hobi’s tongue in. He lets himself sink deeper into the sofa.
After a few minutes of kissing and petting, he sits up, forcing Hobi up, too.
“I want to touch you, Hob-ah.”
Hobi brushes hair from Yoongi’s forehead. “You can touch me anywhere you want, lover.”
Yoongi’s eyes are roaming up and down Hobi’s body while Hobi is toeing off his fuzzy Snoopy-and-Woodstock sleeping socks.
“You don’t want to be touched back, though.”
God bless, Jung Hoseok.
“Not so much.”
“Reality check?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, come on then, check me out. Am I real enough?”
Yoongi bends until his face is at Hobi’s chest. He presses his lips to skin and feels the beating of Hobi’s heart and smiles.
---
Later, Yoongi creeps from the bed, listening to Hobi’s soft snores. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.
He sits down with paper and charcoal and tries to draw the hooded figure in the snow and the round streetlamps, one, two, three.
Fandom: BTS
Pairing: Suga/J-hope
Rating: Teen for language, mild sexual content
Length: 1000
For: GYWO Yahtzee Roll #2
Prompt:
Notes: Kissing, making out/snogging. Inspired by this photo of Seven Arts Cafe in NYC in 1959. Also for the 2022 GYWO Lovely Stroll Day 6 optional prompt: "Love is sharing popcorn."
Summary: Suga has an odd dream and seeks comfort from J-hope afterwards.
Yoongi is walking down the sidewalk at night. Round streetlamps, one, two, three, are lighting his path. It’s just started to snow. There’s a thin coat of the white stuff already on the pavement, and thick, fat flakes clinging to his head and eyelashes. His hoodie isn’t nearly warm enough. His fists are sunk in his jeans, and his shoulders are hunched.
This isn’t Seoul. This isn’t even Korea.
He knows this instinctively.
There is no one on the street.
He doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t even know where ‘here’ is.
All Yoongi knows is that he has somewhere to go.
---
Yoongi makes his way to a down flight of stairs. There’s a sign on the sloping ceiling.
POETS READ EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT AT 2 A.M.
There are two people loitering at the bottom of the stairs. They stop their conversation, look at him, and nod.
Yoongi nods back.
The room is crowded.
The mix of faces tells him it must be the US. They all look at him. There are more nods, words or grunts of greeting or acknowledgement.
Yoongi can’t tell if they are in Korean or English or something else.
There’s a bar along the far side of the room, but there are too many people between it and Yoongi. He’s halfway there when someone steps onto the little stage and grabs the microphone stand.
“All right, it’s time,” says a black man. “Let’s bring back last week’s winner to start us off. Hey, man! Hey! Mister Min Yoongi!”
All eyes are on him.
“Bring your ass up here!”
Yoongi makes his way to the little stage. He steps behind the microphone and—
---
Yoongi stops speaking.
He is completely out of breath and a little sweaty.
There is silence, and then there is applause and cheers and swearing.
Someone is clapping him on the shoulder and saying,
“Right on, man, right on. You said it. Every word. Truth! TRUTH!”
The man grabs the microphone. “A hard act to follow. Who’s got the balls to follow ‘im?”
Yoongi is dropping back into the crowd.
There are slaps on the back and words of encouragement.
He doesn’t know what he said.
He makes his way to the door. He climbs the stairs, stopping only once to glance over his shoulder at the sign.
POETS READ EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT AT 2 A.M.
---
The snow is still falling. Strangely enough, it’s falling just as it was when Yoongi arrived, but the layer of snow on the ground is the same.
That doesn’t seem right.
There’s no one around.
Yoongi buries his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders and walks past the round streetlamps, one, two, three.
It feels like a dream.
Then Yoongi realizes, it is.
---
“Mmfpgh!”
Something’s tipping and spilling.
The bowl. On Yoongi’s chest.
There’s a screen. Credits are rolling.
He’s lying on his back. His neck hurts.
“What the fuck?” he says. “What movie was that?”
“The one you hate.”
The confusion doesn’t fade, but the anxiety about the confusion does.
Hobi.
Nothing too bad can happen if Jung Hoseok is nearby.
“Oh.” Yoongi tries to sit up. He scowls at the bowl. “What happened to my popcorn?”
“Love is sharing your popcorn.”
Yoongi hums.
Hobi moves the bowl to the floor. “Good nap?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “I had an odd dream.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
Yoongi meets his gaze. He nods. He tells him.
---
“Disconcerting,” says Hobi when Yoongi’s done.
“Yeah, it felt like going back in time, too. A different place, too. Maybe New York. I don’t know. Do you think it means anything?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” Hobi sort of crawled towards him, and Yoongi realized he’d fallen asleep lengthwise on the sofa, Hobi’s sofa. “There just random synapses firing. They aren’t omens or signs or portends.”
“Omens, signs, or portends?”
“I read books, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi kisses him softly, then pulls back to lick his own lips, tasting vestiges of the salty popcorn.
“Is this the dream? Or was that the dream?” he asks.
“I can understand your confusion. I am too sexy for reality. Pure fantasy, this body.”
Yoongi snorts. He puts his face in the crook of Hobi’s neck and nuzzles the skin there. “This feels real,” he says softly before licking.
“How ‘bout some skin-on-skin? That usually helps when things get fuzzy.”
“Yeah.”
Hobi slips out of his shirt and divests Yoongi of his.
Yoongi exhales in relief as their chests touch. He wraps his arms around Hobi at once and runs his hands up and down the others back, along his shoulders, up to his nape, ruffling the edge of his short hair.
“You’re here, right? You’re here. I’m here.”
Yoongi is immediately embarrassed at his own words.
“My baby’s got it bad tonight,” muses Hobi. He’s running his hands through Yoongi’s hair and holding his head, then turning it so he can kiss Yoongi’s cheek, then his lips. “I’m here. All yours.”
Yoongi opens his mouth and let’s Hobi’s tongue in. He lets himself sink deeper into the sofa.
After a few minutes of kissing and petting, he sits up, forcing Hobi up, too.
“I want to touch you, Hob-ah.”
Hobi brushes hair from Yoongi’s forehead. “You can touch me anywhere you want, lover.”
Yoongi’s eyes are roaming up and down Hobi’s body while Hobi is toeing off his fuzzy Snoopy-and-Woodstock sleeping socks.
“You don’t want to be touched back, though.”
God bless, Jung Hoseok.
“Not so much.”
“Reality check?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, come on then, check me out. Am I real enough?”
Yoongi bends until his face is at Hobi’s chest. He presses his lips to skin and feels the beating of Hobi’s heart and smiles.
---
Later, Yoongi creeps from the bed, listening to Hobi’s soft snores. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.
He sits down with paper and charcoal and tries to draw the hooded figure in the snow and the round streetlamps, one, two, three.