23-Hope
"Hello Marked citizens of the outer sectors, I'm sorry it's been awhile. So much is happening and it's ... forgive me for getting a little introspective, but I've been thinking a lot lately about the nature of hope. I chose it for my name because it represented what I wanted to give you, especially out here where it feels so scare. Where it seems like an impossible thing to cling to. It's so fragile, isn't it? And yet ... it endures. Even now, I can feel the burn of it in my chest..."
- excerpt from a broadcast by underground radio host, Hope
_ _
"No," Yoongi says and the word rips its way out of his mouth, searing the still-torn edges of his skin. He can feel the heaviness of the stunned silence permeating the rest of the room—no one sure how to react to Hoseok's offer.
Hoseok turns to look at him, and instantly Yoongi knows he's going to lose this fight. Beneath the sad compassion in Hoseok's eyes is a layer of steel Yoongi's knocked himself against many times over the course of their long history.
You're like two mountains, Taehyung said once, neither of you is good at yielding.
They've always reached a compromise before—carved out some kind of middle ground where they both could stand without losing face. But this time, it's impossible. There is no space for them to create. Hoseok is going to hand himself over to the crown and Yoongi is expected to let him.
"Hyung," Jimin says, half on his feet.
Hoseok holds up a hand to stop him. "This is my choice," he says, and with his face pulled tight into a frown like this, his features seem sharper—a series of blades mapped onto a pattern of skin. "I've sat around long enough. It's my turn now, Jimin-ah."
Looking at the tense curve of Hoseok's jaw, Yoong is reminded with a stab of both despair and helpless affection, exactly why he loves this man. But none of that can soothe the cracking of his heart in his own chest.
"Hoseok," he says, hating how desperate he sounds. Like a frightened child.
I can't lose you, he thinks and knows that Hoseok hears it in the quiet void trailing after his name, not you.
"Yoongi-yah," Hoseok says with terrible tenderness and determination. "I'm sorry, but this isn't up to you."
"There has to be another way," Taehyung interjects.
Hoseok looks at Seokjin instead, still sitting in silent shock but radiating curiosity. "There's a bounty on my head—a high one. The king wants me in his clutches very badly and if you hand me over, you'll be his friend for life." Hoseok laughs again, just as grating as before. "Maybe he'll even make you an honorary family member."
"Are you...?" Seokjin begins, dubious, but Jimin cuts him off.
"They'll torture you."
"Yes," Hoseok says, measured and calm.
"They'll kill you," Jungkook whispers, a wet sheen to his eyes that Yoongi can't look at for too long.
"Not right away," Hoseok counters. "It'll be public, probably the night of his birthday. So just make sure you kill him before that happens."
"If you're sure about this," Seokjin says hesitantly.
"I'm sure," Hoseok says. "I'll give you coordinates to a spot in Sector 10, I'll be waiting there. The police can come arrest me."
"And there's no other way?" Namjoon asks, with a degree of emotion that startles Yoongi.
"This is the best way," Hoseok insists before Seokjin can speak. "And you know it."
They do, that's why no one is really protesting any further. Hoseok is their easiest, fastest ticket into the palace, especially with only a week before the grand party—but Yoongi's not sure he's going to survive the exchange. The idea of Hoseok in a prison cell, Hoseok at the end of a whip, Hoseok having to bite through his own tongue to keep his screams locked away—it swirls inside him like a gathering storm, clouds stacked so high over the city that he can't tell what might lie on the other side: sunlight or utter devastation.
"Give me tonight," he says, reaching out to clutch Hoseok's hand. "Give me one night before you go."
Hoseok lifts their joined hands and Yoongi shakes at the dry press of Hoseok's lips to his skin. "Of course," Hoseok says, voiced laced with a mixture of love and imminent grief.
"We'll go back to my apartment," Seokjin says, gesturing to himself and the kids. "Give you some space. And it's better if we split up for a while, anyway. We draw too much attention all together like this."
"Thank you," Yoongi says and Seokjin smiles at him with a sympathy that Yoongi hates.
The kids crowd around Hoseok and Yoongi scoots back to give them space as Jimin buries his face in Hoseok's neck and Jungkook rests his chin on the top of Hoseok's head.
"I'll save you," Taehyung says, fierce and furious, and leans up to press his forehead to Hoseok's. "I swear, Hoseokie-hyung."
"I believe you, Taehyung-ah," Hoseok whispers. He touches each of them in turn: Jimin's back, Jungkook's cheek, Taehyung's hair. "All of you. It'll be okay."
There is a lie here, seeded beneath the truth, but no one wants to dig for it. Sometimes, it's easier to just let yourself eat rotting fruit and believe.
"Be strong, hyung," Jungkook says.
"Hold on for us," Jimin adds.
"I will," Hoseok promises, and again they ignore the potential lie. This statement, at least, Yoongi does believe. Hoseok has always been strong.
Reluctantly, the kids untangle themselves and move around the apartment packing up their things. Seokjin, meanwhile, bows to Hoseok—not quite as deep as he did Yoongi but enough to convey his gratitude and respect. Hoseok's eyes widen.
"Thank you," Seokjin murmurs. "For this sacrifice, Hoseok-ssi."
"Just make sure you kill the bastard, Seokjin-ssi," Hoseok says grimly. "It's about to be very personal."
Seokjin nods, and then he's heading for the door, as well. Yoongi watches as he puts on his shoes and holds open the door for the kids. None of them look back, but Yoongi doesn't expect them to. Sometimes a clean cut through is less painful than letting a wound linger.
The door closes, the lock clicks, and suddenly he's alone with Hoseok and Namjoon.
"You should rest," are the first words out of Hoseok's mouth and Yoongi wants to strangle him.
"I'm not going to spend all our time together asleep," he snaps and he thinks his words would have more bite behind them if he could get up off the fucking couch without help, but he's not sure his trembling legs would hold his weight.
Hoseok clearly knows this, because he sighs and stands, crouching in front of Yoongi to cup his face. "I'll still be here," he promises. "Just sleep for a few hours, jagiya. Please?"
Yoongi has always been weak to that endearment, and to Hoseok in general. He's so goddamn tired, too. Tired down to the very center of him, to the cells lining his bones.
"Okay," he caves in defeat, letting Hoseok lever him to his feet and put a supporting arm around his waist.
His body aches and Minseok whispers in the shadows, waiting to sink his claws in again, but the sheets of the guest bed are soft when Yoongi sinks onto them. Hoseok's fingers tangle heavy and bracing in his hair.
"Stay," Yoongi half-commands, half-begs.
Because in a matter of hours, Hoseok is going to be gone, and Yoongi doesn't know if he'll ever see him again. He can't bear the thought of being separated right now even by the mere distance of a room.
"Of course," Hoseok says again and curls up next to him.
In an echo of earlier, Namjoon hovers in the doorway, uncertainty written on his face, and Yoongi extends a shaky hand in silent appeal. He might only be losing Hoseok, but he needs them both. He wants them both and he's too fucking tired to try to examine what that might mean or if it even matters anymore.
Namjoon comes. Lays down on Yoongi's other side and presses against him. It doesn't feel close enough, but Yoongi can't articulate how to ask for more.
He falls asleep like that, cocooned between them.
_ _
And wakes alone, with the setting sun casting long shadows across the quiet room. Panic stirs in his chest until it's cut off by the sound of voices drifting in from the other room, and the familiar smell of frying vegetables.
He hauls himself out of bed with a low groan, teeth gritted in frustration at his weak, sluggish body. He loathes the indignity of injury far more than he does the pain.
Namjoon and Hoseok are talking quietly in the kitchen while Hoseok cooks, and Yoongi pauses in the doorway to take them in, wondering how he missed the thawing of the ice between them and what exactly the catalyst for it was. It's another thing he doesn't know how to ask, so he just accepts it—grateful that it's happened at all.
Namjoon spots him first and hurries over. "Hyung, you're up. Sorry, we thought it would be good to make some dinner. In case you were hungry again. We were going to wake you after it finished cooking."
Yoongi's not sure he has another meal in him, his stomach already twisting at the thought of more food, but he nods gratefully and lets Namjoon lead him into the living room. Lets Hoseok press a bowl of bibimbap gently into his hands and forces himself to eat at least a few bites before he sets it aside.
Hoseok doesn't comment on it, or try to make Yoongi eat more, just gets up and quietly starts to clear the bowls before Namjoon intervenes and insists on taking over.
"You cooked," he says and takes the dirty dishes into the kitchen.
Hoseok shakes his head, turns back to Yoongi with a smile that does little to ease the haggard expression on his face. Last time, Yoongi didn't have a chance to say goodbye and he's glad for it now. It's easier than this arduous uncertainty—time trickling by too slow and too fast all at once.
Hoseok's gaze drifts to the untouched piano in the corner of the room as the sink starts in the kitchen with a hiss and a rush of water.
"Play me something?" Hoseok asks and who is Yoongi to deny him?
He wobbles over to the bench and sinks down on it, stubbornly ignoring the pull and twinge of his healing wounds. The piano is in good condition, finer than anything Yoongi has ever laid hands on, and something in him trembles as he lifts the lid, a poisonous voice whispering that he's going to tarnish it, that this is above him, that Namjoon will punish him if he—
The bench creaks again as Hoseok sits down, mercifully freeing Yoongi from the sharp-clawed spiral of his thoughts.
"Play me something happy?" Hoseok asks and Yoongi takes a deep breath, forcing his fingers down onto the pristine ivory keys.
He doesn't remember many happy songs. The books stuffed in the old, slowly rotting piano bench in Sector 10 were full of somber lullabies and harsh marches. But there is a song that he remembers one of the few kind matrons at the orphanage humming, and he later converted to music in his head—a bright tune about a celestial rabbit, living in the moon.
Namjoon's piano is slightly out of tune but he makes do, letting his fingers get used to the feeling of playing again. It feels a little like coming home and gradually he relaxes, letting his shoulders slump into his old position and his breathing even out. Hoseok hums along to the tune and somewhere in the kitchen the water turns off. Namjoon doesn't say anything as he joins them, just hovers behind Yoongi radiating a quiet awe that Yoongi doesn't think his awkward playing warrants.
He feels a little like a ghost, acting the rhythms of a life long gone, but when the melody ends and he drops his hands into his lap, Hoseok presses a tender, lingering kiss to his shoulder that soothes the strange pang inside his chest.
"You play really well, hyung," Namjoon says softly.
As a hush settles between them like an old friend, Yoongi suddenly knows what he wants out of tonight with burning clarity. He doesn't give himself time to second guess, to let the doubt and voices creep in—just twists on the bench so he's facing Hoseok and kisses him. He doesn't ease into it, cradling Hoseok's face with one hand while he coaxes Hoseok's mouth open with his tongue and presses inside, swallowing up the stunned sound that Hoseok makes.
"Fuck me," he says when Hoseok pulls back and it's another request he tries to shape into a command but ends up sounding like a plea.
Hoseok flinches, startles, and a part of Yoongi shrivels as a voice that sounds like Minseok whispers don't be stupid, pet, why would he want a ruined thing like you?
From above them, Namjoon sucks in a serrated breath. Yoongi doesn't dare turn his head to look, not yet. If there is disgust on Namjoon's face, it will break him.
"Yoongi-yah," Hoseok says, "you're still hurt, we can't..."
"I don't care," Yoongi rasps and has to stop himself from begging, from getting on his knees for Hoseok like he has so many others. He wasn't sure if he would ever want this again but right now it feels like a need.
"Minseok," he continues, the name sticking like mud and ash to his tongue, "he can't be the last..."
The rest of the words skitter away into the dark: to have me, to own me, to use me, to touch me. It should be Hoseok, it has to be Hoseok. Yoongi cannot bear the idea of Minseok's claim remaining staked on his flesh. He wants Hoseok to wipe it away before he goes. He wants ...
He finally looks up at Namjoon and there is no disgust or disdain. Sadness, maybe, though Yoongi doesn't know what for. And gentleness, the kind that Namjoon always wears.
Yoong wants him too.
"I don't want to hurt you," Hoseok argues, dragging Yoongi's attention back to him. "You haven't fully healed yet."
"It won't hurt," Yoongi says and Hoseok frowns at him.
"That's not how the human body works..."
Yoongi shakes his head. How to get Hoseok to understand? He doesn't care about any physical discomfort—his body can take hurt, is used to hurt. No, the important thing is...
"It won't hurt here," Yoongi says, pressing a hand over his chest, over his heart. "You won't hurt me."
Hoseok doesn't look convinced. "Hyung," he starts and Yoongi grabs his hand, cutting him off.
"Please," he whispers. "Please erase him, Hoseok-ah. Please."
Hoseok makes a wounded noise but closes the gap between them again. This kiss is harsh, a little desperate—a clack of teeth, the scrape of Hoseok's fingers against the side of his face—and Yoongi feels something in him rattle back to life with a dull roar.
Time shifts into a strange slipstream and he's not sure how long him and Hoseok have been kissing when Namjoon speaks.
"I'll ... I'll leave you two alone," he murmurs, sounding uncomfortable and sad.
Yoongi disconnects from Hoseok, reaching out to snag Namjoon's sleeve and stop him from retreating. He wants them both, gods he wants them both, but...
"Go on," Hoseok whispers gently in his ear, surprising him. "Ask him, jagiya."
Oh, Yoongi thinks, tightening his grip on Namjoon's sleeve. Oh.
He looks at Namjoon, at the hope and uncertainty warring on his face. "You, too, Namjoon-ah," he says softly. "Please, you too."
Namjoon hesitates, because he is a good man with a heart that's so easily bloodied. Yoongi's expecting the fingers that slide down his arm to the tattoos and linger on Namjoon's initials, rubbing over the black, damning ink.
"Are you sure?" Namjoon asks, small and almost scared.
Yoongi could love him, wants to love him, might already love him.
"Yes," he says without hesitation, because right now, in this moment, he is —and he wants to grasp that certainty with both hands and hold on for as long as possible.
Namjoon glances at Hoseok and something undecipherable passes between them before Hoseok's chin dips in a tiny nod. "I think you should kiss him, Namjoon-ah," he says, commanding but still so gentle with them both.
"Yes," Namjoon hiccups and bends down as Yoongi leans up.
It's an awkward position, all of them huddled on this piano bench, but the careful press of Namjoon's lips to his feels like something almost holy. He groans into it, reaching up to fist a hand in Namjoon's hair. Namjoon lets him with another hiccuping sound, deepening the kiss with the hot slide of his tongue into Yoongi's mouth.
Hoseok's fingers brush the back of his neck, featherlight, and Yoongi doesn't think about losing him as Hoseok's lips replace them, pressing against Yoongi's skin in an echo of Namjoon's mouth still moving against his.
Namjoon shifts away from Yoongi lips to kiss a burning trail down his neck. Yoongi's breath hitches. It feels good. He'd almost forgotten that it can.
"We should move this to the bedroom," Hoseok suggests when Namjoon reaches Yoongi's collarbones and pushes the collar of his baggy shirt aside to suck over one of the marks Minseok left, trying to stamp himself there instead.
He pulls away after, straightening, and nods. It takes a moment to untangle themselves, to get Yoongi standing, and then together the three of them shuffle into the bedroom. It must be a pathetic sight—Hoseok's and Yoongi's injuries forcing them to move like old men—but Yoongi doesn't care.
Namjoon supports them both, an arm wrapped careful around each of their backs. Hoseok sinks onto the bed first, perched at the edge of it. He keeps ahold of Yoongi's hand as he nods at Namjoon again. Namjoon's fingers hover over the buttons of Yoongi's shirt, waiting for the answer to an unspoken question.
"Yes," Yoongi tells him through the tremor building in his nerves. They're approaching the edge of the minefield planted in Yoongi's mind and body, but he trusts Namjoon and Hoseok. They'll keep him safe.
Namjoon unbuttons his shirt. Slides it off Yoongi's shoulders to crumple on the floor. There isn't much exposed skin for him to touch, most of it covered by the bandages wrapped around Yoongi's torso. Shame rears its ugly head again, sinking razor teeth into Yoongi's confidence. He feels himself start to hunch in an attempt to cover up his damaged body, but Namjoon slides a hand across his stomach, settles on his hip, and holds him there.
"You're beautiful," Namjoon says, painfully earnest. "I've always thought that."
Yoongi doesn't know how he can be, with his scars, with a fucking brand, with ownership and filth painted in a map across his skin. But Hoseok squeezes his hand and Namjoon kisses him again before he can offer any kind of rebuttal. He seems determined to map out every part of Yoongi's mouth and Yoongi revels in it, tries to stop his mind and just let himself feel.
"I want to see you," he tells Namjoon when they separate again. He looks down at Hoseok on the bed. "Both of you."
Namjoon's shirt comes off first, revealing a swath of golden skin, marred only by the jagged scar on his shoulder—still fading from red to white. Yoongi traces it with his fingers, an apology bubbling on his lips.
"Don't," Namjoon says before he can voice it. "You were defending yourself, hyung."
"You weren't a threat."
"You didn't know that."
Hoseok kisses the back of his hand. "You're so brave, jagiya. And I need help with my shirt."
It's Namjoon who goes, kissing Yoongi's cheek on his way past. Yoongi watches, steadying himself on the bed post, as Namjoon works the shirt up Hoseok's lean torso, revealing a strip of bandages that cover the still-healing bullet wound on his side. There are other smaller scars dotted across his skin—testaments to the harsh life of Sector 10—and he's beautiful too. So fucking beautiful.
It's a little strange: witnessing Namjoon's and Hoseok's first kiss, seeing his lover groaning into someone else's mouth. He's not sure what he expected to feel, but there is only warmth sparking in his stomach—a coil of heat that he hasn't experienced in so long without drugs or forced stimulation. Namjoon and Hoseok are cautious with each other, feeling out the ground between them, but there is tenderness here. The start of something.
They turn back to him together, reach for him together, and he lets himself be pulled in. He has to fight through an engrained flinch when Namjoon's fingers dip into the waistband of his pants. Namjoon pauses, waits.
"Okay," Yoongi says a moment later, when the fear has settled, sinking like sediment back onto a riverbed.
Hoseok squeezes his hand as Namjoon undoes the fastenings on Yoongi's pants, sliding them down his hips. Yoongi braces himself on Hoseok's shoulder as he steps out of them, one foot after the other. His thighs are encased in bandages too, peeking out from under the edges of his loose underwear. He doesn't look at them, doesn't want a reminder of the lashes and the brand that sit beneath the protective wrapping. Focuses instead on the soothing rub of Hoseok's fingers on his hip and the trail of Namjoon's lips across his shoulder.
"You next," he asks them, shivering. "Please, I ... I can't be..."
It's a position he's been forced into so many times: the only one naked, the only one vulnerable and free to touch, to hurt. A year and it's never gotten easier, never dulled the terror and shame in his belly at having his body on display for someone to take from.
They comply immediately. Namjoon first, then Hoseok with a little more difficulty, gritting his teeth as he wiggles carefully out of his pants. There are bandages around his leg too—the same leg as Yoongi, in nearly the same position.
"We match," Hoseok says softly when he catches Yoongi looking.
Yoongi hitches through a wet breath, so much feeling welling inside of him. "Hoseok..."
"Come here," Hoseok says and reels him in with hands on his hips.
He shivers at the hot press of Hoseok's mouth to the strip of his exposed stomach between the bandages and his underwear. Hoseok moves slow and languid, uncaring of the time that might be unspooling away from them as the city lights up outside and the sky grows dark.
"Okay?" he asks as his grip tightens on Yoongi's underwear.
Yoongi swallows, mouth dry, and nods. He can feel Namjoon bracketing him, pressed careful up against his back. "Just ... go slow. Keep ... keep talking to me. Remind me who I'm with."
Namjoon kisses his neck as Hoseok pulls his underwear down, exposing him. He's not hard yet, but he can feel the coil tightening. It won't be long, he doesn't think. Won't take much. His body isn't used to gentleness anymore, or pleasure without a jagged edge to it, and he's sensitive. He whines at the first brush of Hoseok's fingers against his cock.
Slut, a voice snarls and he squeezes his eyes shut to block it out.
"Jagiya," Hoseok says, "remember, any time you say stop, this stops, okay?"
"I know," Yoongi chokes out.
"And you'll tell us if it's too much?" Namjoon asks.
Yoongi nods again. He's not sure where his lines are, might not know until they trip over one, but he trusts them. He's safe, he'll feel good, it'll be okay.
"Good," Hoseok says, kissing his stomach again. He looks up, past Yoongi's shoulder to Namjoon. "And my mouth is about to be occupied, Namjoon-ah, so you keep him anchored for me, yeah?"
Oh. Oh.
"Seok," Yoongi hiccups. "Hoseok-ah, you don't have to..."
He can't remember the last time anyone ... a party maybe? When he was the entertainment and the guests wanted to watch him shake from someone's mouth, oversensitive and drugged up and pathetic.
"I want to," Hoseok says to him. His gaze burns when Yoongi meets it, so much love and fire. "Please let me. Let me give you this. Let me make you feel good."
"Okay," Yoongi whispers.
He swallows again, needles in his throat, when Hoseok takes his hand and firmly puts it on top of Hoseok's head, guiding Yoongi's fingers into his hair. Yoongi's not sure if he can pull, though he remembers distantly that Hoseok likes that—used to moan loud and perfect whenever Yoongi would control him with a tight grip, even if it was only so long before he'd regain the upper hand. Smirk down at Yoongi and pin him to their thin mattress while Yoongi's nerves turned electric.
Now, Namjoon presses a hand to his stomach and Hoseok leans forward and it's Yoongi moaning at the wet heat of Hoseok's mouth as it sinks around him. It turns his legs to jelly and his stomach lurches and he's still soft but oh this definitely won't take long.
"Does it feel good?" Namjoon asks as Hoseok pulls back enough to run his tongue over Yoongi's slit, digging in, and Yoongi whines high in his throat, nodding.
"Good, it's good," he half-babbles. He's getting hard so fast it's making him a little dizzy—Hoseok's mouth so fucking hot and wet and each calculated flick and rub of his tongue sending sparks through Yoongi's body.
Hoseok goes down, down, down until his forehead is touching Yoongi's stomach, until Yoongi can feel himself slip into the tight clench of Hoseok's throat. He gasps, shakes, as Hoseok starts a rhythm, head bobbing beneath Yoongi's slack grip on his hair.
"God," Namjoon breathes, sucking a mark into the side of Yoongi's neck, right over the tattoo. Just like he did all those weeks ago in his apartment, but there is no hesitation now. "You're so gorgeous like this. Look at you..."
Such a slut, the voice chides, a blend of so many different people now, look how eager you are for it.
"Don't," Yoongi whimpers. Hoseok freezes, starting to pull off him again, and Yoongi sinks his fingers in deeper, stopping him. "Not ... not like that, Joon-ah, I..." He doesn't know how to convey what he needs, but maybe Namjoon will still understand..
Namjoon kisses his shoulder in reassurance. "Sorry, hyung. I've got you."
Hoseok does rise back up, but not completely, just cradles the head of Yoongi's cock in his mouth, sucking gently. Another tremor runs through Yoongi. Fuck, he's so hard now.
"We've both got you," Namjoon continues. "It's okay to feel good. It's okay to enjoy this."
Hoseok goes back to his rhythm and the heat inside Yoongi builds like a furnace, an impending explosion. Between this and Namjoon's fingers tracing patterns on his hip and down further to the base of his cock, he knows he won't last much longer. And he can go again, his body's been trained to do that, but with his current injuries....
"Wait," he says, stopping Hoseok this time. "Wait, don't ... don't wanna come like this."
He wants to touch them both, he wants to put his mouth on them, he wants Hoseok to fuck him.
Hoseok pulls off him with a wet pop. His lips look swollen and red and Yoongi rubs a thumb over them, transfixed. He shudders when Hoseok pokes his tongue out to lick over the digit.
"What do you want, love?" he asks and his voice is wrecked, too, from taking Yoongi so deep.
He can see the tent of Hoseok's erection in his underwear and feel the press of Namjoon's against his back.
"I want to touch you," he says. "Both of you."
Which is how they all end up on the bed, Yoongi braced carefully over Namjoon—a hand wrapped around his cock while Hoseok watches with flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. Namjoon's big, so much bigger than him or Hoseok, and so hot as Yoongi strokes him. Yoongi basks in the feel of it, of the awe and pleasure and almost adoration on Namjoon's face as his gaze jumps from Yoongi's hand to Yoongi's face to Hoseok's eyes.
Yoongi thinks he used to be more talkative in bed—there are words on the tip of his tongue, about how good Namjoon looks, about how well he'd fill Yoongi up if Namjoon fucked him, but he can't get them past the wall in his throat that the past year has built. It's strange, having this much control. Being able to pick up speed, tighten his grip, and watch Namjoon's hips jerk in response, instead of just lying back and taking it.
"Oh fuck, hyung," Namjoon groans.
"Is it good?" Hoseok asks for Yoongi. "You like hyung's hand on you, Namjoon-ah?"
"Ah— fuck —yes..."
"You're so close already," Hoseok breathes. "So close just from this."
Yoongi watches the clench of Namjoon's fingers in the sheets, the strained line of his neck, and wonders what it would be like to fuck him. If Namjoon would allow that. Would like it.
"I..." Namjoon whimpers, struggling to answer Hoseok's question. "I ... want him so bad. Want you both." His gaze slides to Yoongi. "You're so good," he whispers like a plea, like a confession. "You're incredible."
Yoongi swallows, not sure what to do with Namjoon's praise. He can feel his cheeks heating up even more, the flush creeping onto his chest. He twists his hand in response and Namjoon half-shouts, bucking his hips up. Yoongi hisses through his teeth as the sudden movement jostles his wounded leg.
"Sorry," Namjoon murmurs, moving one hand to Yoongi's other thigh to steady him. It's so big, too, covering him so easily. "Sorry, hyung. Feels so good. 'M so close."
Hoseok crawls forward and kisses Namjoon. They're both so beautiful, Yoongi thinks, and slows his hand. Namjoon whines in protest, but it quickly turns into another moan as Yoongi settles onto him, pressing their bodies together because he wants to feel Namjoon come against him—feel the wet slide of Namjoon's cock across his own.
It happens fast—just a few jerks of Namjoon's hips, Yoongi leaning down to seal their mouths together, and Namjoon releases between them with a low moan.
"Gorgeous," Hoseok murmurs, almost to himself, as Namjoon collapses back against the mattress with a sigh.
Yoongi takes in his flushed face, the way his silver hair clings to his forehead with sweat, the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he comes down from his orgasm, and is inclined to agree. Namjoon's hand lifts to cup Yoongi's cheek, thumb smoothing across it, and when he smiles it's a tender, painful thing.
"Thank you," he says. "I..." he cuts off whatever he was going to say and slides his thumb down to the corner of Yoongi's mouth, where a small scar from the wife of Second Master still lingers. "You're incredible."
"You keep saying that," Yoongi mumbles, shy.
"Because it's true."
Yoongi huffs, flushing when he feels his cock twitch. He's still so hard and so is Hoseok, who is looking at him with questioning eyes.
"What do you want, jagiya?" Hoseok asks softly, a repeat of his earlier question..
Yoongi puts his hand over Namjoon's, squeezing, and meets Hoseok's gaze with stubborn determination. "I told you."
Hoseok's frown returns, pulling the corners of his mouth into a displeased triangle. "And I said I don't want to hurt you."
"Please, Hoseok," Yoongi begs, pushing through the shame that bubbles up at how easy the plea falls from his mouth.
He knows Hoseok is going to cave, he can see it in the softening lines of Hoseok's face.
"You'll stop me?" Hoseok asks. "If it hurts too much?"
Yoongi nods, not sure if it's going to be a lie or not.
"God," Namjoon breathes, glancing back and forth between them with open desire.
Hoseok takes a deep breath and rises up on his knees, wincing a little from his side and leg. Yoongi reaches out to steady him, lifting himself off Namjoon's lap.
"Your back," Hoseok says with worry, touching the bandages curving around Yoongi's side. "Can you go on your front?"
Yoongi hesitates. His front is less injured but...
(Hands hold him down, pressing him so hard into the mattress he can't breathe and fingers dig into the back of his neck. He whines and the fingers tighten in warning and oh god it hurts so much please make it stop make it stop he wants it to stop but a voice warns him to be quiet to take it like a good whore and he —)
"No," Yoongi says, wrenching himself away from the abyss of memory. "I need to see you. I'll be okay."
Hoseok doesn't fight him on it and together he and Namjoon lower Yoongi to the mattress on his back. Namjoon stays close to him, curling up against Yoongi's side and petting his hair. It feels good, grounding. Gives Yoongi the boost of courage he needs to part his legs and let Hoseok settle between them.
"I love you," Hoseok declares as he runs his hands up Yoongi's legs, stopping at the edge of the gauze on Yoongi's thighs. "I love you so much."
Yoongi blinks up at the ceiling, eyes blurry. He can feel the time unspooling faster—Hoseok slipping through his fingers. Namjoon kisses his temple and he reaches down to touch Hoseok's sweaty hair.
"I love you, too," he says, chest a knot of love and grief. "Fuck me."
Hoseok pauses, the frown coming back. "Shit. We need ... something." He glances at Namjoon. "Do you have lube? Oil?"
"Hold on," Namjoon says and detaches himself from Yoongi with a faint huff. He stumbles to his feet, still a little punch drunk, and slips from the room without bothering to put on any clothes.
Yoongi's attention is jerked back to Hoseok when he feels Hoseok's tongue slide up his length, lick gently over the head.
"Ah," he whines, legs twitching.
Hoseok hums, soothing, and keeps going, back down, down, down until he's kissing the inside of Yoongi's thighs, his perineum. The door opens again before Hoseok can reach his rim and Yoongi's not sure if he's furious or grateful for the interruption.
"Here," Namjoon says, climbing back onto the bed and handing Hoseok a vial that Yoongi recognizes: the gel-like salve Namjoon used on his wounds once, what feels like a lifetime ago.
"Thank you," Hoseok says, smiling at him.
He settles back between Yoongi's legs, uncorking the vial. Yoongi's back is starting to ache in this position, the press of his body to the mattress aggravating the lashes. He clenches his jaw and ignores it, but Namjoon must catch some of the discomfort flickering across his face, because he says, "wait. Hyung."
He slides an arm between Yoongi and the bed. "Let's try it like this."
Yoongi hisses as Namjoon helps him up into a sitting position, various wounds stinging, but then Namjoon lifts him a little and scoots him backwards, until Namjoon is sitting up against the headboard with Yoongi cradled between his spread legs, back to chest.
"Is this okay?" Namjoon asks.
"Yeah," Yoongi says. He's nervous, having someone behind him, but his back hurts less. "Talking rule stands."
"Okay," Namjoon agrees with soft affection and kisses his neck.
Hoseok slides forward, planting his own kiss on Yoongi's knee, and Yoongi parts his legs again.
"I'll go slow," Hoseok promises as he dips his fingers into the glistening salve. "I'll take care of you."
"I trust you," Yoongi says, and he does, even if he can feel familiar shadows settling on the bed with them—the past stretching out long, clawed fingers.
He knows that Minseok made him bleed, made him tear, and he braces himself slightly as Hoseok's first finger dips in, sinking past his rim. It hurts, he's still so tender, but he breathes through it. Hoseok is true to his word, he goes slow and gentle and he still knows the map of Yoongi's body—the right place to curl his fingers and get Yoongi gasping, pleasure chasing away some of the ache.
"You're doing so good," Namjoon murmurs, lips tracing the shell of his ear. "So good, hyung."
Yoongi exhales, slow and deliberate, when Hoseok adds another finger. Namjoon continues to murmur praise and support in his ear as Hoseok moves in and out, then stays to rub back and forth over Yoongi's prostate, making him gasp. It's enough to undercut the pain, to keep him hard in spite of the pinpricks running through him. Hoseok works him up to three fingers at a steady pace and he's about to add a fourth when Yoongi reaches down and snags his wrist.
"I'm ready," he gasps, chest heaving. He's close again and he doesn't want to come without Hoseok inside of him.
This time, Hoseok doesn't ask him if he's sure—just kisses him and then Namjoon over his shoulder, and lines himself up. Yoongi's teeth clench as Hoseok sinks in slow and careful. God, it still hurts, it burns, but Yoongi doesn't care. He'll bleed again if it means he gets to have this.
The remnants of Minseok and his other masters laugh in his ear, call him filthy, needy, pathetic, and he mentally bares his teeth at them.
Fuck you, he thinks with a snarl, fuck you, I'm taking my body back.
"Yoongi-yah," Hoseok breathes, drawing him away from the lingering shadows. He's fully sheathed now, but holding himself still on trembling arms. They're all so close like this—Hoseok at his front and Namjoon at his back, what feels like every centimeter of their bodies touching his.
"Move," Yoongi says. "Please, you can move."
Hoseok does, still agonizingly slow, but Yoongi's grateful for his consideration, his tenderness.
"You're both so beautiful," Namjoon murmurs in his ear, mouth so hot against his neck. A scrape of teeth that makes Yoongi shudder. Hoseok hums in wordless, gasping agreement.
"You feel so good," he hiccups to Yoongi, swollen lips parted and hair a mess and Yoongi drinks in the sight of him—this Hoseok he'd all but forgotten, buried beneath a parade of horrors.
"So do you," he says and this isn't a lie.
In spite of the pain, he thinks this is the best he's ever felt. He wants to cry, but the right kind of tears, the ones that heal and soothe. Hoseok and Namjoon touch him with such reverence, such love, and just for these few sweet moments he can feel broken pieces of himself knitting back together, giving him a glimpse of wholeness again.
"Jagiya," Hoseok says in alarm, and he realizes with a jolt that he is crying—tears slipping silent down his cheeks. Hoseok stops the rock of his hips, cupping Yoongi's face. "Does it hurt too much? Do I need to stop?"
Yoongi shakes his head. "Good tears," he croaks. "These are good tears. Keep going, Seok-ah. Let ... let me feel you come."
Namjoon draws him closer, cocooning him, and brushes the wetness from his face as Hoseok fucks into him again, a little faster than before. The heat is building, flames licking at his belly, and he knows that he's going to be able to come just from this, just from Hoseok inside of him.
"You first," Hoseok insists, shifting his angle to he's brushing Yoongi's prostate with every thrust, making Yoongi shake. "You first, Yoongi-yah, come on, love..."
He snaps his hips forward again, pushing in so deep, and it's so fucking good, it's enough. Yoongi comes with a loud cry, jolting in Namjoon's arms as his orgasm rocks through him.
"Fuck," Hoseok chokes at the clench of Yoongi's body around him, "oh fuck."
And then he's toppling over the edge too, gasping into Yoongi's mouth as he spills inside.
For a moment, they stay tangled up together in a mess of sweaty limbs, slowly coming down. Namjoon strokes both of their faces and he's half-hard again, but he shakes his head when Yoongi gives him a questioning look.
"I don't need anything else," he promises. "I'm good. This was so good."
It was, though with it over Yoongi can feel the impending loss creeping back in—a chasm of grief yawning open inside of him. When Hoseok starts to pull out, Yoongi stops him with frantic hands on his shoulders.
"Not yet," he begs. He's sore, but he can't bear the thought of separating from Hoseok so soon.
Hoseok indulges him, settles into Yoongi's arms as he goes soft inside and presses featherlight kisses all over Yoongi's face.
And if there is a wet sheen to Hoseok's eyes, if Yoongi feels a few droplets of tears land on his skin, he doesn't comment on it—too focused on clinging to Hoseok as tightly as he can.
_ _
Namjoon wakes with the dawn, sheets tangled around him and clad only in his underwear. It takes a few breaths for the haze of sleep to clear and memories of last night to rush back in. Yoongi and Hoseok in bed with him, touching him and each other. Getting to watch them both come, then cleaning them up as best he could after, settling them in bed in each other's arms.
Yoongi is still there—asleep on his side, his black hair falling into his eyes—but Hoseok is gone.
Panicked, Namjoon scrambles out of bed and rushes out into the living room. His eyes dart to the empty sofa, the empty kitchen ... and then land on Hoseok at the mouth of the entryway, pulling on his boots with a grimace.
"You weren't supposed to wake up," he says when Namjoon approaches him. He's dressed in some of Yoongi's clothes—all black, hanging loose on his thin frame—with a scarf wrapped around his neck to cover the Mark.
"You're going to leave without saying goodbye?" Namjoon asks, and it comes out more accusing in tone than he intended. But surely Yoongi's owed more than Hoseok slipping away like a phantom.
"Last night was goodbye," Hoseok says softly. "Yoongi knows that. We don't need more pain."
"Hoseok..." Namjoon isn't sure what he wants to say.
What about me? What about us? Did you feel anything last night? All of that seems too selfish, too trite. It was strange, having both Yoongi and Hoseok in his bed—unanticipated. In the light of morning, he's not sure why they brought him into it and where he currently stands with either of them. It makes his stomach knot up, uncomfortable and anxious.
Hoseok stands and he's looking at Namjoon with close to the same tenderness he expressed for Yoongi. Namjoon gasps as Hoseok closes the distance between them and rocks up on his toes to kiss Namjoon on the mouth. It's a deep, fierce kiss—an apology and a goodbye—and with a rush of lucidity Namjoon thinks I'll love him, too, given a little more time.
Time they might never have.
Hoseok pulls away too soon and Namjoon fights the urge to chase after him, keep him here just a little longer.
"Namjoon-ah," Hoseok says, smiling up at him with fondness and awful sorrow. "Do me a favor?"
"Anything," Namjoon promises and means it with all that's left of his heart.
Hoseok's knuckles brush against his cheek. "If I don't make it back alive, love him for me."
Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut against a surge of tears. God, but he didn't expect this to hurt so much.
"Hoseok..."
"Promise me," Hoseok says, half-firm, half-desperate. "Promise me you'll love him for me. Promise me you'll take care of him."
"I will," Namjoon whispers, voice wet. "I promise."
Hoseok's lips press against his cheek. "Thank you," he murmurs.
And then he's gone—the door closing behind him with a faint click that sounds more like a gunshot to Namjoon's grief-stricken senses. He stands there, alone in the entryway, for several long moments, trying to paddle his way back to dry land from the turbulent sea he's currently floundering in. When he doesn't feel like he's going to start crying with every breath, he finally turns and heads not back into the guest bedroom, but his own.
The bed's been perfectly made, leaving no trace of Seokjin or the others. He drifts past it to the bathroom and opens a drawer in the counter, reaching to the back of it for the medication he's kept hidden for years.
Stop taking it, Taehyung said. He turns the bottle over in his hands. It looks so innocuous, like any other prescription medication. He's always been grateful to these pills for keeping him safe and alive, and also loathed them for the way they make him feel. Like there's a hole in him—something vital being shut away. He wonders now if all Marked feel like that, feel the ache of a missing piece of themselves.
He's never missed a dose, not in nearly twenty years, but this morning he takes a deep breath and locks the bottle back in the drawer, unopened. He thinks he should probably be afraid of what might happen, but there is only numb acceptance. Compared to the blood everyone around him has shed for this cause, being the subject of such a small experiment feels like the least he can give.
He blows out one more breath and looks at himself in the mirror, at the messy tangle of his hair and the fading marks on his neck and collarbones from Yoongi's and Hoseok's mouths. His chest feels like a tangled ruin, so many emotions all interwoven together, and he decides not to examine them right now. He doesn't have the strength.
So he leaves the bathroom without another backward glance, steeling himself for whatever waits in the guest bedroom.
When he opens the door, Yoongi is sitting up in bed, staring down at his lap. His long bangs still obscure most of his features, making it impossible for Namjoon to read his expression.
"He's gone," Yoongi says, and it isn't a question.
Namjoon answers anyway. "He is."
Yoongi buries his face in his hands, trembling, and Namjoon wavers, uncertain. Is he allowed intimacy without Hoseok present? Was last night a one time thing? Does Yoongi feel safe with just him, considering the seals they have to be so careful of and the tattoo of ownership Namjoon still can't get out of his mind.
Love him for me, Hoseok said. Perhaps he should start now. Perhaps this love that's been sitting in his chest for so long now isn't as unwelcome as he feared. What overrides all his doubt, though, is the heartbreaking sight of Yoongi curling into himself on the bed, grieving and small and far too alone.
Namjoon crawls across the bed to Yoongi's side. Yoongi isn't making a single sound, but he's still shaking, fingers pressing so hard into the skin of his face it must be hurting him. Namjoon wraps him up in his arms, kissing his neck.
He wishes, as he holds Yoongi as close as he can, that he could give more than this. Or that this was enough.
_ _
They may finally be in the grip of Spring, but it's still freezing in this fucking warehouse—cold enough that Hoseok's breath hangs in the air. The wind pushing through the holes in the tin roof rattles the metal rafters overhead, making them creak and groan. He sits on the frigid concrete floor with his radio equipment spread out around him and doesn't think about Yoongi or Namjoon or what's coming—just what he wants to say.
He revived his old underground channels to get word out about an upcoming broadcast, probably his last. It took him the better part of a day to wind his way back into the outer sectors and then he spent all of yesterday wandering Sector 10, saying a strange goodbye to this place he loves and hates. He touched the mural of Suga that someone repaints every time the police order it covered up. He stood in front of their old apartment building. He didn't allow himself any tears.
Now, he feels unshakeable calm settled over his shoulders like a comforting blanket. He's made peace with this choice and he'll make peace with his death, when that time comes. He checks the cracked watch he bartered off a merchant. The police will be here soon, probably, but he should have just enough time.
He adjusts the dials on his makeshift audio processor, double checks to make sure he has the right frequency, and then raises his microphone to his lips.
"Hello, Marked citizens of the outer sectors, I'm sorry it's been awhile. So much is happening and it's ... forgive me for getting a little introspective, but I've been thinking a lot lately about the nature of hope. I chose it for my name because it represented what I wanted to give you, especially out here where it feels so scarce. Where it seems like an impossible thing to cling to. It's so fragile, isn't it? And yet ... it endures. Even now, I can feel the burn of it in my chest, like a fire that refuses to go out.
"You're going to hear terrible things, in the next few days. I'm ... this will be my last broadcast. My time is up. But no matter what happens, please know that this isn't the end of the story. Trust me, for just a little bit longer. Trust Suga, who I promise isn't dead. There is a storm coming, but we're gonna survive it. We all will. There's a brighter future on the horizon, don't give up."
The police scanner crackles to life at his knee. He pauses, listening. They're almost here.
"Don't give up," he repeats. "Don't let them win. All of you are so strong, stronger than you know. Stronger than you can imagine. So keep your heads up. Hold on to each other in the coming days. We're gonna make it. This isn't the end."
Another crackle, a burst of voices. They've reached the warehouse district.
"Thank you all," Hoseok says, clutching the microphone in his aching fingers, "for listening to me for so long. For giving me a chance to speak. For believing in me. Don't let the fire go out." He pauses, swallows around the lump in his throat. "This is Hope, signing off."
He shuts off his equipment and surges to his feet, grabbing the baseball bat he stashed here months ago for protection. He only has a few minutes before they arrive. Swiftly and methodically, he smashes every single piece of equipment into broken heaps, then kicks the wreckage under a nearby tarp.
The warehouse door bursts open. Hoseok drops the bat.
"Hands above your head," a voice snaps, filtered through a police helmet mic.
Hoseok turns around slowly, raising his hands and ignoring the answering twinge of pain in his side. He smiles, razor-edged, at the squad of police that have spilled in through the busted door like ants.
"Hey, assholes," he says, all casual arrogance. "You're late."
What must be the two higher-ranking officers trade a glance with each other and then predictably, so hilariously predictably, one of them stalks forward and raises his rifle. The butt of it smashes into the side of Hoseok's head. A burst of white overtakes his vision and he gasps, swaying on his feet.
The rifle comes down again.
Everything goes dark.
_ _
"Good job, Seokjin-ah," Sohyun declares as she places a gold envelope on the table in front of him, sealed with the royal insignia.
Well, that didn't take long at all.
Seokjin picks up the envelope, turning it over in his hands and watching the gold reflect the light of the chandeliers in Sohyun's dining room. It feels heavier than it should. He thinks he can see blood beneath the veneer of gold—Hoseok's, Yoongi's, Jimin's, his own.
He looks up at Sohyun and grins, triumphant. "It looks like we have a king to kill, noona."
Sohyun laughs and kisses him. It tastes like ash on his tongue.
_ _
It's almost offensive, Jimin thinks, that it's sunny outside right now. It should be raining, storming, something to reflect the rage of his own emotions, Jungkook's bowed head, and the tears in Taehyung's eyes. The city beyond the windows looks too pristine. Jimin wishes it was on fire.
On the coffee table in front of them, Seokjin's radio spits out a broadcast from the crown.
"His Royal Majesty, King Yi Seojun, is pleased to announce that the traitor, Jung Hoseok, alias Hope, is now in custody of the crown."
"We're gonna save him," Taehyung announces. "He won't die. I won't let him."
Jimin fists a hand in the back of Taehyung's shirt, wanting desperately to believe him. Jungkook makes an affirmative noise and squeezes Taehyung's shoulder, steel in his own eyes.
Uncaring, the broadcast continues to play.
"Jung Hoseok has been found guilty of sedition against the crown, treason of the highest order..."
_ _
"...thus he will face public execution, four days from now on the night of His Majesty's birthday. The king invites everyone to witness this event and celebrate the victory of the city police over the terrorist cells that have long operated in the outer sectors. Order has prevailed over anarchy. The crown remains strong, praise to the king and let justice be done."
Namjoon stares at the curve of Yoongi's shoulders as he hunches on the piano bench, fingers stilled over the keys.
"Yoongi," he whispers.
The broadcast ends with a crackle of static. Shoulders shaking, Yoongi weeps, his soft sobs echoing in the terrible stillness of the apartment.
Namjoon aches to comfort him, but nothing he can offer will be able to soothe pain this strong, sorrow that runs this deep—a bottomless canyon carved between Yoongi's ribs. So he lets Yoongi cry, lets him mourn the man he loves.
The man he might, in four days time, have to watch die.
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