A New Routine

The lecture hall was a stifling sea of notebooks and murmured questions, but for Yoongi, the world had narrowed down to one singular focal point in the third row.

Hoseok was leaning back in his chair, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He wasn't taking notes. He was watching Yoongi with a gaze so heavy, so loaded with unspoken intimacy, that it felt like a physical weight. Every time Yoongi’s eyes drifted toward him, Hoseok would offer a slow, maddeningly smug wink—a silent reminder of exactly what happened behind the locked doors of the faculty office.

Yoongi felt a treacherous thrum of warmth deep in his chest. Stop it, he berated himself, his knuckles white as he gripped his laser pointer. You are the authority here. He is a disruption.

But the disruption had become necessary. Over the last week, the "routine" had calcified into a habit as addictive as it was degrading. Every afternoon at 4:00 PM, the knock would come. Every afternoon, Yoongi would sit in his leather chair, trembling and heavy-chested, waiting for the relief that only Hoseok’s capable, warm hands could provide.

He despised the dependency. He despised that he now found himself tracking the scent of cinnamon and cheap cologne that clung to Hoseok like a second skin. Most of all, he despised the way his body now ached for the clock to hit the hour—not because of the pain, but because of the boy.

"Any questions?" Yoongi asked, his voice tighter than usual.

Hoseok’s hand shot up. "Yeah, Professor. I’m having a little trouble with... the practical application of your theories. Think you could break it down for me in private later? I'm gonna need some hands-on guidance."

The class erupted in titters. Yoongi’s face burned, a mask of cold fury hiding the fact that his heart was hammering a frantic, needy rhythm against his ribs. "See me during office hours, Mr. Jung. And pray you’re more prepared than you were today."

"Always, hyung," Hoseok mouthed, his lips curling into a grin that felt like a secret kiss.

By the time 4:00 PM rolled around, the office was a pressure cooker of tension. When Hoseok walked in, he didn't even bother with a greeting. He just locked the door and moved into Yoongi’s space, his presence acting like a magnet for the heat radiating off Yoongi’s frame.

"You look stressed, dude," Hoseok hummed, his fingers drifting to the buttons of Yoongi’s shirt with agonizing slowness. "Let me take care of that for you."

The relief was instantaneous, a flood of sweetness that filled the room. Yoongi sagged against the desk, his head falling back as Hoseok began the rhythmic, firm massage that was quickly rewriting the map of Yoongi’s nerves. It was dark, it was wrong, and it was undeniably, painfully bussin.

Yoongi watched through half-lidded eyes as Hoseok worked, mesmerized by the intense focus on the boy’s face. He noticed the way a stray lock of hair fell over his brow, the steady pulse in his neck, the way his lips parted as he concentrated on the task. Why was he so good at this? Yoongi wondered, a dark, possessive pang of jealousy cutting through the pleasure. Who had taught him to touch with such devastating precision?

"You're tense, Prof," Hoseok murmured, his thumb brushing a sensitive spot that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to Yoongi’s core. "Lowkey think you like the way I take care of you, huh?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Yoongi choked out, though his hips moved involuntarily toward the touch.

"Sure, whatever you say," Hoseok teased, his voice dropping.

Just then, a sharp, authoritative knock shattered the bubble of their private world.

Yoongi stiffened, his eyes flying wide. He scrambled to button his shirt, his chest still damp and sensitive, as he shoved Hoseok toward the door.

"Professor Min?" It was Dr. Park from the biology department, his voice muffled by the thick wood. "I saw your student, Jung, heading in here. I have those lab results you requested, and I wanted to drop them off. You in there?"

Yoongi’s blood froze. He looked at Hoseok, who stood mere inches away, his face flushed, smelling faintly of the warm, milky scent that now defined them.

"I ... one moment, Park," Yoongi shouted, his voice cracking. He turned to Hoseok, his eyes wide with a frantic, silent command to hide.

But as he looked at the door, he saw the handle begin to turn. The door wasn't locked.

"Why is it so hot in here, Yoongi?" Dr. Park’s voice grew clearer as the door swung open, his eyes widening as they landed on the sight of a breathless, disheveled Professor Min and his favorite student, standing far too close to be strictly academic.

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