"OKAY, Twix. Quit looking so nervous. I'm a painter. I paint. I paint people. I paint Taehyung. Often, in fact. There's no reason to be nervous." Jeongguk tells his cat accusingly as he pours food into his bowl.

Twix doesn't do much responding, since he's a cat, but Jeongguk thinks it's best to make sure he isn't nervous anyway because he's a good owner— not because Taehyung's messaged him that he's outside his building and Yoongi has only just run out of Jeongguk's living room to answer a call from Jimin.

Jeongguk only hopes he doesn't meet Taehyung in the hallway— not that they'd recognise each other, because they've never met before, it's just another thought that crosses his mind and forces his fingers to recede back into his long-sleeved sweater as a force of habit, coping with the seconds that drag on until the dreaded echo of a knock sounds through the apartment and straight into his bones.

The television in his living room hums the soft melody of some smooth lo-fi beat and he makes his way over to grasp the door handle, palms warm against the metal as it gives a slight twist.

Socked feet shuffle backwards against laminate flooring and his timid eyes follow the opening of the door to find another.

"Hiya, Jeonggukie."

And the younger boy melts slightly against his grip on the door, a smile working its way over his features. Taehyung's voice is sweet around the words as though he releases them into the atmosphere as a wish of good fortune. Jeongguk adores the way it sounds.

"Hi, Taehyung," He replies with a hesitant gaze. It's quiet— it's almost nothing —and with eyes this shy and lips this hushed, the words nearly fall short of Taehyung's ears.

"Hi, Jeongguk," Taehyung breaks the awkwardness of Jeongguk's admiration with an amused smirk, waiting for the boy to be pulled back down to earth. "We live extremely close to each other. I'm just down the street."

Jeongguk takes in each word, but somewhere along the way (possibly, if you're forcing an answer, it could be assumed that it's around the words 'close to each other') he loses his concentration and ends up simply watching Taehyung's mouth shape the words with those pretty lips that his pencil can never quite shade right.

If only he could get a bit closer and—

"Are we doing this in the hall? Or is there a password to come inside?" Taehyung's questions manage to penetrate Jeongguk's state of gormlessness just long enough to get him to snap out of his trance.

"Sorry— I, uh, inside is good. There's no password just... just I need to move so you can... can come inside," It's far from intelligible, miles from well-annunciated, and so self-conscious that it's almost laughable, but Taehyung manages to coo at it, replying with something along the lines of 'might be a bit helpful," that Jeongguk's ears are too busy heating up to catch as he steps aside.

Yoongi had done a great job in cleaning the place up. There are no signs of a nocturnal creature walking around like a zombie and crushing pencils on his way to the coffee maker every night. There are no signs of a dysfunctional 23 year old living off of ramen and crisps in the same outfit for months, either. So, Jeongguk reckons his secret is safe for tonight.

Twix isn't so happy about the change, however. He much preferred it when Jeongguk's clothes found their way to the living room and made him a comfy bed. Jeongguk? He doesn't mind either way. If it's messy then he has to be less considerate about chucking sheets of paper, if it's tidy then he can walk across the floor any way he likes and not worry about snapping another pencil.

"Where do you want me?"

Excuse me? Jeongguk's mind hurtles through a million different images of a million different situations these words could fit into context. But in the end, only one catches his attention long enough to stir the features on his face.

"W-want you?" He stutters dumbly.

"Yes. Am I taking this off in here or did you have somewhere else in mind?" Taehyung raises an eyebrow, thumbing at the rich fabrics of his sleeves.

"Oh... My bedroom," Jeongguk's words are punctuated with a heavy blush that communicates to Taehyung the nerves prodding at his rib cage— made of ivory and silver, encapsulating a heart that beats so slow. "I thought it'd be more comfortable for you. My couch is small, and the windows are large."

Taehyung muffles a short laugh. "Windows are the least of my concern, I assure you. But yeah, let's do it in your bedroom."

Needless to say, Jeongguk's blush only worsens. Especially at those big, alluring brown eyes that seem to bore into him as though there were anything to reduce him to past the skin and bones left— hiding nothing. It's all on his face. He's exposed down to his emotions and they haven't even started yet. Jeongguk wonders, would Taehyung go as far as to pull the thread one by one from his skin until his bones should feel embarrassed by all of the attention? Jeongguk wonders, furthermore, would he make an attempt to stop him if he did so?

And then they both walk towards the opposite end of the living room where a grey door stands, the only barrier left to what's unavoidable at this point. Jeongguk opens it, Taehyung follows inside, taking in the monotone colours of the furnishings inside the room, matched well by the drawn curtains and dim, warm glowing of the two lamps inside that do well enough that he doesn't need to turn on the main lights.

Homely, Taehyung thinks. Extremely so. Cosy, like a hug that takes place skin to skin. Honest and humble and mutual.

"I assume you want me on the bed,"

Want me. Those words, why do they linger on the membrane of Jeongguk's every cell? Why do they catch his breath so gently in his throat like the slow realisation that time never stops and everyone is always moving? It's suffocating, yet so pleasurable that they replay again in his head. A question, he's been asked another question.

Focus.

"Please," He manages. God forbid Taehyung should catch the breathiness in his tone as anything worth noticing. It's not worth noticing, he swears. It's not.

And before Jeongguk's eyes, like the motion of brushing a hair from your face, Taehyung begins to unbutton his shirt, honeysuckle skin appearing, begging to be drunken in the faint pink of a blush caused only by the sweetest of gestures.

He moves like a jazz solo in dull lights, sugar plum lips pliant for the taking as he sheds his clothing. Water and roses, spoonfuls of sugar, an angel's choir; all translated from the way it feels to be in this moment. Taehyung steals from Jeongguk his breath like the moon steals the light from the sun. He makes it less painful, breaks it down into something beautiful. White, pure, milk and honey. Untouched, unloved, but beginning. Beginning to form something that can be touched and can be loved and can be understood.

He wants to understand. Jeongguk wants to understand.

He turns quickly away, not wanting to pry— silly as it sounds in context —and busying himself instead with the radio on his desk (that which he hasn't seen in months due to all of the rejected papers that had been crumpled atop it). He selects just what he thinks fits the vibe that Taehyung composes and conducts like the world were his orchestra. Jazz. It has to be jazz.

And when he returns to look upon the masterpiece waiting to be tamed, he is blessed with the sight of subtle curves and soft skin— naked and vulnerable, but confident. A dangerous mix. It could bring him to his knees. It would.

"Do you have a position in mind?" Taehyung's lips draw together words that kill Jeongguk's every brain cell. Scenes rated far from PG flashing behind his eyes before he can get a good grip on himself.

"Whatever you want."

Shameless. Jeongguk is shameless tonight, wanting only to understand the process of Taehyung's mind when it comes to his body. Why shape what shapes itself thoughtfully?

"On the bed?"

"On the bed."

Taehyung smiles softly, wasting no time in kneeling on the plush mattress that has been draped in monochrome comforters. And Jeongguk pulls up his stool and sets it a little way away from the bed as he waits for Taehyung to position himself, sketchbook on his knee and sharpened pencils set back on the desk, one in his hand.

But when he looks back up, Taehyung's looking straight back at him. Quickly, Jeongguk shies away, only taking quick glances up every so often to begin shaping out some lines.

Some time passes before anyone speaks again.

"Do you do this often? Drawing naked boys on your bed?" Taehyung asks with a small smirk, tongue rolling out over his lips as he watches Jeongguk's eyes take the plunge down towards the shape of his thighs, up to the crease where it meets his ass. Watches the way his Adam's apple catches behind his skin just a second before a gulp ensues.

"Only you," Jeongguk near enough whispers. The words ripple out and mix into the mellow atmosphere of the smooth saxophone solo, steady drum beat and glistening skin that beacons the pencil as if it were kissed by Aphrodite herself.

Too tempting. Much too tempting.

He tugs his eyes away and focuses on the sketch pad, thin lines beginning to make more shapely the figure he wants to capture. But with limbs this weak, he's certain to break. To slip back into the garden of Eden, take a bite of the forbidden fruit; baked liquid gold like a summer's evening when the birds fly in arrows and it feels like you'll never grow up. To let loose on the passion that comes with doing something so liberating. To see and to be seen in a manner so exposing and to capture it amongst memories that come and go like an old friend— dipping in, and dipping out of retrospect.

He's cursed to fall for things that his eyes find pleasant, and cursed to have a mind that can never make his desires tangible.

Cursed to have his only meaningful words translate into art that one would have to take time to decipher.

Cursed not to know anyone to have time.

So let the canvas be his microphone, and let his pencil be the brain. Let his words work miracles for those who need a voice and provide happiness for those looking for someone to look down on. Let him fall victim to the hold of those brown eyes, and remain a slave to the body that holds them— forever drawing on and on the same skin, the same bones, the same heart that provides an endless inspiration.

One does not get to pick their muse. Jeongguk would have it no other way.

But his eyes get hung up on Taehyung's lower half once more and God, his cock is pressed right against his bed sheets. The thought makes the words he wants to speak bubble in his throat, cheeks settling on a faint red that the dull lighting just manages to mask.

"Are you okay, Ggukie? Do you want me to move?" Taehyung's voice comes like a sweet, sickly melody that Jeongguk's taste buds cling to like the rush of a good drug.

"It's— You're perfect just there. Just don't... don't move."

"Whatever you want, Jeonggukie." Taehyung's teeth sink into his lower lip and it looks like it's habitual, but there's something about the way his eyes follow Jeongguk's as they move down his body that makes him so sure it just can't be. He's really feeling the heat, the wall of pressure between them in this small space. He's feeling it too.

They don't come to speak much, the two of them. But their eyes, they do all of the talking needed. And it's not just the long drag of Jeongguk's gaze down the length of Taehyung's chest, where his hips twist to lay flat, the curve of his— lord give me strength —the curve of his butt (which looks smooth to the touch, soft, and enticing), and the silky skin of his legs right down to his feet.

Perfect.

Perfect as a model, perfect as an art form, fuck— perfect as a masterpiece. And Jeongguk is capturing it in real time. He wants the sparkle of his eyes and the gloss of his lips to seem touchable to anyone who should look at it.

Not for Jimin, not for himself, simply for the justice he believes it takes. Art must be shared, and where there is beauty there is art. This is his story to tell, and while it may not be entirely his own, he wants to spread the word regardless. Because this is his purpose.

And suddenly, Jeongguk finds himself wanting to get closer.

The main parts are done. So much time, maybe multiple hours, have passed and yet, his eyes are wide open. Taehyung's chest rises and falls comfortably, the temperature of the room rising subtly until it does so all at once, Taehyung's eyes fluttering open alongside the dip of the mattress and when he looks up, Jeongguk is there, right in front of him.

His legs are crossed, eyes focused on the paper, chewing on his lower lip and then the back of his pencil when he takes a moment to look at his work.

Taehyung can't help but grin, watching how quickly his breathing speeds up when he does finally look back at him.

Jeongguk gasps and it's involuntary because he's just so breathtaking, isn't he? Up so close. So touchable. Right there. So different. Gentle. So forward and yet Jeongguk still doesn't have a clue what he wants. Taehyung's lips almost beg to be touched and yet he has no permission to do so.

"Hi," Taehyung breathes childishly, eyelashes beating down against his cheekbones. He's beautiful. He smells like peaches. Like peaches and cream. Sweeter than sweet. Jeongguk wonders... (No, don't think about it) Jeongguk wonders if he tastes like that.

"H-Hi," Jeongguk replies tentatively. He's frozen in place. Can't break the gaze that Taehyung holds him in and it's so warm there. But he has to finish. Has to get the creases in his lips perfect. Has to capture the flecks of gold in his eyes. Has to take this opportunity to do all that he can't when looking at a photo. But there's so much to get— so much to try and remember but it's impossible to catch it all.

Especially when he can feel Taehyung's eyes on him.

He persists, anyway. He goes on with the final details, hands slowly ceasing to tremble when he knows he's being watched so closely. He does so until he is content for the first time with this piece. And he's about to announce this, but this time when he looks up with pleased eyes to tell Taehyung, he sees that he has rocked upwards just enough to unsettle the younger boy, making his heart nearly stop altogether.

"Tae... Taehyung," Jeongguk's almost gormless, because his lips are right there, communicating the desires and questions that the night swallows and refuses to ask, breath colliding and eyes mingling in a dance that never wants to end.

"I do... I do feel a bit cheated," Taehyung doesn't acknowledge Jeongguk's panic. Or, if he does, it isn't noticeable.

"Cheated?" Jeongguk's chest tightens and he feels vulnerable all of a sudden. Taehyung's tone, it's careful and it's reserved, but his expression is so loud.

"You're fully clothed and yet... here I am naked."

Silence.

And then Jeongguk gulps. He doesn't mean to. He never means to. It's embarrassing as anything, but this all feels like a test. A test to see where Jeongguk stands and that would be okay because then they'd know if they were on the same page but Jeongguk's so bad at tests. He's not headstrong like Taehyung asked him to be, he just wants to please everyone.

But he can't. So be headstrong, do as you please and find out what Taehyung thinks after.

Where is his head when he speaks no words and his nimble fingers locate the hem of his shirt and he tugs it over his head? Where is his heart when he sits there, breathing heavily from the adrenaline? From the sensuality. It's thick. Everything's so thick. The air, Taehyung's body, Jeongguk's heart. Thick, hot, heavy, humid. And close.

It's all too close.

And, oh God, where is his self-control when Taehyung reaches out to place a warm hand over Jeongguk's chest? Where does his breath go when he flinches under the touch, skin prickling, chest tightening evermore until he's sure he's got heart burn?

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe.

Taehyung's hand slips down to his abdomen ever so slowly, eyes following his own hand as he does so, looking completely captivated by the sight of Jeongguk's skin. And the younger boy feels so exposed because he's not supposed to like this— no one's supposed to know that he likes this.

"Better," Taehyung finally breaks the silence. Gives Jeongguk his answer, and yet, gives him plethoras of questions that seem more important than the last.

Jeongguk becomes increasingly aware of his own awkwardness— limbs placed stiffly at his sides as he refuses to look anywhere else but the bed. What does he do in this situation? Is he allowed to touch as well or would that be weird? And even if he were allowed to, where would be appropriate?

"Here," Taehyung swoops in at the right moment, taking Jeongguk's jaw in his hand and guiding it down so they're millimeters away from brushing lips. And Jeongguk's world is speeding by but this moment is so slow— they take their time, right there beside each other as lips come into contact and eyes close and butterflies bloom and tummy's twist and chests contract and hearts stop— just for a second. It stops.

It all stops.

Taehyung's hands find either of Jeongguk's cheeks and he sits up, on his knees and leans forward into Jeongguk more— Jeongguk, who has no clue what to do with himself when Taehyung's fingers slide down to his neck, warm and sensitive. Everything is overwhelming.

He can't think about what to do with his hands when there's another tongue in his mouth and it tastes so sweet— can't think of how to stop needing oxygen when one of Taehyung's hands returns to his chest and they're so close to each other because Taehyung just can't seem to get enough of what he wants.

He's trying so hard to act naturally in fact, that he doesn't even think about how naked Taehyung is until their chests press against each other and his hands finally move from his sides onto Taehyung's— skin sweaty and hot.

That's when he pulls away.

"Gguk..." Taehyung breathes, lips looking all the more delectable after being kissed. "I'm sorry if you didn't want me to—" he begins but Jeongguk's eyes catch his again and they share this sort of look and Taehyung simply can't stop himself from shutting himself up with Jeongguk's lips back against his own.

This time Taehyung pushes the younger boy back onto the bed, takes Jeongguk's hands into his own control and puts them firmly on his lower back before returning to catch a taste of what is fast becoming his new favourite flavour.

Their lungs bloom roses of need— aching for oxygen inappropriately at a time so raw and candid. Breath is the least of either boy's worries until it's all too much and they have to part. Swollen lips, swollen hearts, and sensitive lungs. The gentle music playing in the background now the soundtrack to that one scene in the movie where everything was okay because it was everything every character had wanted and even though it didn't come in the way you expected, it came in the way you needed.

More kisses are stolen, guilt building in both minds with every swallowed moan (because Jeongguk is more sensitive than any boy Taehyung has worked under his fingertips before) and it doesn't stop— won't stop until the clap of thunder sounds and rain wages a war against the thin glass panes in the modest apartment.

Taehyung squeaks, cowering away from Jeongguk (like Twix when he opens a door too fast) and all of a sudden having to acknowledge everything occurring in the moment.

Another sleepless night.

Jeongguk watches Taehyung become less and less confident under his gaze thanks to the noises and his mouth moves without thought— brain thinking bomb-like —gathering every bit of will-power in his slim frame until the words slip out.

"What if— What if you stayed the night?"