Bangtan AO3 Collection (some ABOs)

can't feel my face (when I'm with you) - NamGi

can't feel my face (when I'm with you) – yoonseoktv (mingyu_k)

Summary:

"I was texting manager-hyung," Namjoon breathes. "He left us the van."

Yoongi pauses to look up at him, blinking. A slow grin stretches across Namjoon's face, too sweet to believe. "Okay," he agrees, fulfills a random compulsion to smooth a strand of bleached-dry hair behind Namjoon's ear. "Let's go."

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573512

=================================

When Yoongi lifts his head for the first time in thirty minutes and swipes a thumb over his smudgy phone screen, the time is 2 a.m. on the dot. He cracks his neck and abandons his pen, groaning his way through a full-body stretch. He's been cooped up in the studio with Namjoon and his own—now faltering—inspiration for company for most of the evening. The tension bunched in his shoulders is just as bad as when he can't carve out a second to write in the midst of promotions, only then he's suffocated and now he's drained.

"You've had enough?" comes Namjoon's deep voice from behind, breaking the longtime silence. He'd tapped out a while ago, collapsed onto the settee with his earbuds in, and has since most likely been surfing MelOn or reading Wikipedia pages on the government of Luxembourg or some shit. More than once has Yoongi found him immersed in articles that he must've found in the deepest bowels of the Internet.

The thought makes his lips quirk up, before he flattens his expression out and swivels in his chair to face Namjoon. "It appears so," he says. As it turns out, he can't rein back his stupid grin at the sight of Namjoon spread-eagled on the couch, looking all sorts rumpled and pretty cute, his floppy hat askew.

Namjoon favors him with a small smile of his own, just because. They're being low-key affectionate, and Yoongi could retch. "Wanna let me see what you got?" Namjoon asks, dropping his phone in his lap.

Yoongi snorts. "Tomorrow. This last verse might be shitty." He chances a peek at his lyrics, written in a cramped scribble in his favorite journal with the ragged marbled cover, and scoffs, flicking the notebook away. "Okay, yeah, I've written better shit drunk, probably."

"Nothing can ever beat the time you just wrote out the lyrics to Let Me Know all over again and thought you'd created the Song of the Century," Namjoon says.

"How about you..." Yoongi pretends to think, "shut up?"

"I have a better idea." Namjoon smirks, patting his leg. "C'mere, hyung."

The chair squeaks when Yoongi gets up, boots thumping onto the carpet. "You have something else comin' if you think I'm gonna sit on your lap."

Namjoon chuckles as Yoongi plants his stubborn ass beside him on the couch. The leather is cool against his skin after the unspectacular comfort of his working spot, but Namjoon is impossibly warm.

Even more so when he slides his arm around Yoongi's waist—always so glaringly tiny when Namjoon holds him—and tucks Yoongi into his side to kiss his neck. Yoongi's too quick to heat up. He pulls away from Namjoon's mouth (though he stays glued to him, their thighs snug against each other).

"I'm tired," Yoongi deadpans.

Namjoon snorts. "I just wanted to touch you," he says, timed with his thumb rubbing circles on Yoongi's lower stomach, over his t-shirt. "You're-" he hesitates, breath stuttering, "–really... pretty when you're so concentrated. And I'm 100% sure the verse is flawless and you're being a fucking perfectionist."