Two hands were on either side of Namjoon, one gripping the sheets—sheets that had a thread count higher than his bank account balance—and the other sliding down until it stopped at his hip. The down pillow was almost as plush as the lips against his neck, trailing their way to his collarbones where a tongue swiped across the clavicles. A sharp intake of breath catches the scent of lavender and vanilla in his throat and he purges it with a low moan.

“We have two hours,” Jin murmured from his position above Namjoon. “Then the housekeeper has to come in and check up on me.”

“Check up on you?” Namjoon scoffed, twisting his fingers in the cotton of Jin’s shirt.

“I told my parents I was sick, remember?” Jin moved to sit back on his thighs, his pressing against Namjoon’s hips. “Faking illness is the only way to get out of the charity galas.”

“Which is it this month?” Namjoon rolled his eyes and Jin sighed.

“Seoul’s troubled youth, apparently.” Namjoon stiffened. “But we both know most of the money raised is going to go straight into the board of director’s pockets.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathed out, pulling Jin down and back onto his lips. Jin’s hand pulled at his neck, tilting him up for better access as his tongue swiped over Namjoon’s bottom lip. Two hands held Jin’s hips; a thumb moved between the fabric of his sweatpants and his warm skin,  pushing down slightly.

“Namjoon,” Jin broke the kiss, reaching back to take the hand at his hip. Namjoon let him, but leaned up to mouth at his neck and Jin was lost for a moment in the sensation of it. “Namjoon,” Jin almost whined. It wasn’t supposed to sound like that;it wasn’t supposed to be needy, but it came out that way. Jin bit his lip to stop whatever else would try to follow as Namjoon’s tongue traced over his jaw. “Wait—Joonie, hold on—“

Namjoon stopped, dropping back onto the white pillows and looking up at Seokjin with a face that was expressionless. Jin frowned, rolling off of Namjoon to sit next to him and the other made an effort to lean against the headboard.

“You were doing it, right?” Seokjin said it as more of a fact than a question, but he still raised an eyebrow at Namjoon. His mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes lost.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“Cut the crap, Joonie.” Jin gives him a stern look and Namjoon sighs, eyes going to the hands sitting in his lap. “You know I don’t like that.”

“I know,” Namjoon still didn’t try to meet his eyes, his voice becoming guarded. “I know, babe, and I’m sorry.”

“Talk to me,” Jin’s hand softly combed through Namjoon’s bleached hair and Namjoon began to relax. “Don’t use me as a distraction.” His voice was soft, pleading. “Please talk to me.”

“It’s—I’ve never been this happy, Jin. I’ve never had someone I could go to, someone like you, there’s never been anyone.” Jin smiled sadly but stayed quiet. Namjoon sighed, looking away from his hands to meet Jin’s dark brown eyes. “But this won’t work and it’s constantly in the back of my mind. We’re different Jin, you have a maid and Egyptian cotton sheets and a French bulldog with more names than all of korea combined.” Namjoon laughed bitterly, “but what do I have? All I have is you and I can’t hold on to you no matter how much I want to.”

“Joonie,” Jin moved closer, but Namjoon stopped him.
 

“I want to keep you for as long as I can—for as long as you’ll let me.” Namjoon gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But at the end of the day, you’ll be at events set up to sponsor troubled kids,” Namjoon looked him in the eye, “kids like me.” 

Prompt found here