Work Text:
Jun-ho can’t forget it.
He hoped recovery would be all-inclusive, that the ointments applied to his injury would eventually seep into his bloodstream and target his treacherous mind as well. Those games, the island, his brother, it’d all be a distant memory. The amount of time spent staring blankly in the mirror would lessen and lessen, and maybe he’d even smile more. He’d be free.
But there is no miracle cream, and even if there were, it’d likely leave just as ugly of a scar. Yet another to taunt him at day’s end about how pathetically he failed.
The resemblance combined with the lifesaving anomaly amongst his vital organs, In-ho was ingrained into his very blood. And while he may have known a life without Jun-ho, once upon a time, he couldn’t say the same. He was born a little brother, destined to be a constant nuisance within In-ho’s life. And as torturous were the days of contemplating tearing out his very kidney as means of severing the family tie, he wasn’t looking to start now.
All the documents, asking around, shelling out his entire paycheck on gas for “leads” that came up frayed ends. At best. Being demoted to a traffic cop, the pay was pitiful, though granted, he was fortunate to still be employed in the first place. Still, he had no excess of time or money, try as he might to cut corners where he could.
It was that neverending, hopeless desperation that caused him to consider an… alternate method of seeking answers, temporarily forgoing the grunt work he was used to. Rather, Jun-ho simply reached for his computer.
Precautions set in place, it wasn’t long until he accessed a forum, one jam packed with sleazy pop-up ads and users with slimy intentions. It was one he became familiar with on the job prior to his demotion through a couple cases, drug deals a vast majority of them.
The website was vermin. No matter how many times it was shut down, a day or two later, a new one would appear in its place. It wasn’t always the same, sometimes the replacement was easier on the eyes or had a few numbers in its name to throw off the authorities, but it served the same purpose, the same kind of people.
Never in its many iterations did it expect one of them to be a police officer, Jun-ho mused.
He submitted a post, nonsensical to the untrained eye, but very simple in its request. He played a character, a man named Heo Chin-Hae, looking for suggestions of a good grocery store near his newest residency. Underneath the wall of text, a phone number and well wishes.
Most would write him off as a jokester, or perhaps even at face-value, some poor guy who strayed too far from his community’s bulletin board.
But to some people, the right people, they'd uncover the message that lingered underneath the surface. The odd, unnecessary ramblings that painted a more sinister tale, interlaced with details that only someone who witnessed the same horrors could understand.
It was needlessly complicated, weaving in his true purpose with such subtlety, but given the kind of people he was pissing off, scanning the internet for loose threads would be child’s play. And eradicating those they deemed as such, probably even more so, Jun-ho shuttered to think.
But as the website disappeared from his open tabs, he assumed Heo Chin-Hae’s story did with it. Disappointment was a feeling Jun-ho knew intimately, enough to call it a friend, while hope became more of a stranger by the day. He didn’t dare look forward to anything, lest the world decided to raise its polished shoe and stub it out.
Yet, as fate would have it, it would be only a few days later that he received a phone call. The vibrations made a speaker of his nightstand, the jingle echoing throughout wood. Blinding white illuminated the barren room and projected a rectangle onto his ceiling, beckoning him. A siren’s call.
Jun-ho shook awake with a groan, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows without any real sense of urgency. His unfocused gaze landed on his alarm clock, the red numbers glowing clearer with each languid blink. A clean 2:00 AM, he couldn’t have been asleep for long.
He reached for his phone, vaguely acknowledging it as his spare through the haze of grogginess. It was only after his thumb hit the green accept call icon, however, that the recognition properly hit him.
This was his spare.
Now cautious, he drew it up to his ear, his bleary mind racing with questions each passing second. There was no chance it was a spam call, surely, who could’ve gotten ahold of this number?
“Hello?” Jun-ho spoke first, surprising himself with how thickly sleep coated his voice. He swallowed hard, massaging at his throat with his free hand.
“Mr. Heo?” A breathy noise came from the other end. Could’ve been a sigh, maybe a laugh. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
It was a man’s voice, sleek, a polite lilt punctuating the end of every sentence. It went down warm, like alcohol, and might’ve carried the same mind-numbing effects if the name didn’t hit Jun-ho like a train.
He wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, flicking on a small lamp, rustling in the drawer of his nightstand for a pen and notepad. “No, I’ve been awake,” he swore those words came out especially hoarse, spotlighting the lie.
His tongue traced the seam of his dry lips, grasping for more layers to add to this imaginary character.
“I just got home from work.” Jun-ho elaborated, buying enough time to flip to a blank page and hover over where it laid on the bedside table.
Unnecessary detail, sure, but any further divide he could create between the civilian he was playing and the detective he was, the better. He wasn’t Officer Hwang Jun-ho, not here, trying to gauge whether this anonymous caller was friend or foe.
This could still be about grocery stores, for all he knew
“Ah,” there was something in his voice Jun-ho was familiar with: disbelief. “I take it you work rather late? So do I.”
There was something more explicit there, amusement, tightlipped enough to come off as condescension. But with a voice like that, Jun-ho found that he didn’t really mind; a terrible, out-of-place realization that made him shift where he laid.
It was so foreign, so… unlike him. He mentally shoved that thought in a box to collect dust in the crevices of his mind. Preferably to forget entirely.
He chalked it up to exhaustion.
“I do,” Jun-ho regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. It came out a near-whisper, and he hated how unsure it sounded. Was he trying to convince the other man, or himself? He clawed for something to add, anything to keep the information flowing, but came up pitifully empty.
It would be unneeded, as the man on the other line spoke again after a moment of pause.
“Good, this time tomorrow should suffice, then?” It was formatted as a question, but the caller spared no time for an answer. “I’ll send you an address. Goodnight now, Mr. Heo.”
Jun-ho opened his mouth to speak, but the call was already over. He did, however, catch something at the tail end, muffled and rushing into the speaker. Wind undoubtedly, though it was unclear who’s end it came from, given the breeze hit his windows just as hard.
Falling back on the bed, his phone falling somewhere in the rumpled bedding, he reeled from the surrealness of the encounter. The call swirled his mind like a prayer, the man’s voice pounding in his head, syncing with his heartbeat. There wasn’t a spoken word or single breath free from Jun-ho’s meticulous examination, and yet, he always came out understanding even less than he did before.
He knitted his brows and dragged a hand over his face, cursing at himself for his uselessness, then and now. He should’ve been pulling teeth to get the information he needed, and the best he came up with was I do. Fucking unbelievable.
Jun-ho wrote down what he gathered while it was fresh in his mind— pointless as it seemed—before settling down for bed. It was as he clicked off his lamp, however, that a shadow cascaded across his wall. A figure drenched in hues of blue, stretching across the length of the wall before it was out of view, startling him enough to turn it right back on.
What the fuck.
He straightened, breathing heavy, eyes pinned to that same area. True to his nature, every bone in his body ached to investigate, and yet it was this unfamiliar fear that kept him stagnant. Yet another anomaly within that night alone, what the hell was happening?
But as Jun-ho stilled, so did the world around him. There was nothing out of place, aside from him, still awake at this ungodly hour.
Excuses plagued him. Maybe his vision simply smeared with his movement, causing the illusion of a shadow— or his hallucinations were beginning to take different forms, though a more pessimistic view that was.
Whatever the cause, sleep deprivation certainly wasn’t helping. And it felt wrong, just going to bed after that, but usual get-up-and-go would serve no use here. What would waving a gun at and shooting a few bullets into drywall do? Get him evicted, definitely. His unease simply lacked anything concrete to stand on.
Jun-ho repeated his earlier actions of retiring for the night, albeit with great reluctance and a pointed scrutinizing gaze, but there would be no silhouette decorating his wall this time. Only howling wind, the soundtrack for rustling bushes outside, and a gentle lull of sleep that eventually overtook him.
The following work day moved at a snail's pace, exhaustion from the night prior weighing like a ball and chain.
He swore people were being especially obnoxious, if only to spite him. He even got a coffee thrown at him during a stop—iced, thankfully—in front of a trainee, no less. Safe to say that story earned hardly-muffled laughter amongst his colleagues back when Jun-ho returned drenched, further contributing to his foul mood.
Worse than that, he couldn’t shake the sense he was being watched.
He’s felt it in passing ever since his release from the hospital, but not like this, never with such unwavering intensity. In his car, at the station, home, every waking hour, and well beyond that. There was no respite, no place he didn’t feel haunting eyes boring holes into the back of his head.
And without fail, just as the night before, everytime Jun-ho took the bait and glanced over: nothing. The feeling would let up on him for one, two seconds, then return tenfold.
After an entire day of looking over his shoulder, meeting some pretentious stranger in the middle of the night was the last thing he wanted to do. Drowning his nerves in the half-full bottle of whiskey in his cabinet, the first.
But just as Jun-ho was eyeing it, eerily close to grabbing it, his spare phone buzzed in his jeans. Brief, certainly not a jingle, so a message.
There was a pause, his hand hovering over his pocket, and it felt like staggering along the edge of a cliff. He knew, moth to a flame, even the slightest pull would have him falling head first. He should have some semblance of self-preservation, some hesitancy, some common sense.
But Jun-ho’s love for his brother hadn’t been based in rationality for some time—he’d let it drag him anywhere, even the very depths of hell.
It was that logic, or lack thereof, that had him in his car, driving to an address of which he was only vaguely familiar.
A man of his word, the stranger sent it exactly an hour prior to their meeting time, his knack for doing things on the dot not lost on Jun-ho.
As he would come to find, it was a particularly run-down area, only dead grass fields, a couple dingy bars, and a singular apartment complex around for miles. Freaky, but his search for In-ho had undoubtedly taken him to worse places.
He decided to park in an alleyway nearby the location to scope out beforehand, an action he quickly came to regret when he heard the unmistakable crunch of what sounded like glass underneath his tires.
He grit his teeth. Of course.
Jun-ho pressed his face against the window and glanced down, but with only a small interior car light, the attempt was feeble at best. He paused, contemplating getting out to properly assess the damage, but the time read 1:55 AM and that was cutting it too close for him.
He had a feeling this wasn’t the kind of guy to be late.
After all, the stranger hadn’t divulged anything that was inessential, everything predetermined and meticulously planned upon his whim. If Jun-ho could spot him out even a second prior to their meeting, to know anything about him, he’d feel more evenly matched in the conversation to come. He was used to entering situations like this well-informed with a thick folder, never empty-handed.
Pointless, the effort would end up, as Jun-ho would be startled out of his sleuthing with a rhythmic tap tap on the passenger side window.
Jolting, his eyes darted to the source of the sound.
Bending to meet him with a perfect fold of his hips, a suited, well-groomed man met his eye. His body was bathed in moonlight, the peaks of his face highlighted by warm hues radiating from the car. On it, a polite smile, matching the voice that drummed in Jun-ho's ears just the night before and haunted him ever since.
The stranger's expression read as a silent request to be let in, but Jun-ho was unwavering. For now, at least.
He let the window down an inch, just enough to let cold air billow in.
“What’s your business here?” Jun-ho probed, just loud enough to be heard over the distance and miscellaneous sounds of night.
He didn’t miss the way the man’s lips pursed, perhaps realizing that Jun-ho might be a bigger challenge than he first assumed. No matter, he must’ve thought, when another tightlipped smile returned to his face soon after.
“You, of course.” He let Jun-ho’s mind wander for one beat, two, then continued. “We spoke on the phone, Mr. Heo. I believe there’s something I have that you want.”
Jun-ho already felt a headache coming on. Damn this guy and his roundabout way of talking.
Soon a faint click echoed throughout the car, the door pin shooting up, indicating it was unlocked.
He knew he should put petty grievances aside. After all, if this guy did know something of value, Jun-ho would owe him his life, regardless of how strange he seemed.
The suited man straightened, opening the car door and gracefully tucked himself inside. Legs bent, posture perfect; so methodical, Jun-ho would be surprised if it wasn’t rehearsed. His staring turned up things of potential use too, namely a briefcase laid snug on his lap, with hands clasped neatly on top of it.
Jun-ho exercised caution, perhaps for one of the first times that night. He kept his hand on his thigh, near the gun holstered on his hip, the other on the center console—his arm reenforcing the divider between them.
“Tell me what you know.”
The other male’s eyebrows raised, presumingly in reaction to how quickly the detective skipped the pleasantries. Count on Jun-ho to subvert everyone’s expectations of him, time and time again.
However, it seemed the stranger was just as quick to roll with the punches. He hovered over the console, his elbow nearly grazing Jun-ho’s arm, teetering just along the edge of his personal space.
“What would you like to know?” He replied smoothly, quieter, tossing the question back effortlessly.
His patience was something Jun-ho prided himself on, even had it listed underneath best qualities on his resume. Drunk people, uncooperative suspects, even rowdy ones, all lightwork, but now he was almost certain he was being fucked with.
He shifted in his seat, but didn’t back down, pressing his lips into a thin line. His eyes subconsciously darted to the other male’s lips, then back up, if only to better analyze his expression in such close proximity. It could be an innocent question, he thought.
“What’s your name and affiliation to the island?” Jun-ho clarified, clearing his throat. He couldn’t help but feel like he crossed an imaginary threshold for being the first to mention the island explicitly.
“Ah.” The other man clicked his tongue, leaning back against the door, as if to say Jun-ho was being no fun. He reclasped his hands, this time on his chest. “My name? I can hardly see how that matters, unless this is more…personal to you.” His eyes wandered in thought as he spoke, landing on Jun-ho with the word he placed emphasis on.
Jun-ho detected something there, buried underneath the charismatic businessman act and pointed gaze of the suited man. It was an odd combination of things. One venom, thinly-veiled hatred, like the word had been spat instead of spoken with irritating neutrality. And the other…Jun-ho couldn’t quite place it.
Then there was the matter of this being personal to him. What the hell did that mean? Was his yearning for his brother that apparent? Desperation etched so deeply into his very being, even a complete stranger would know just with a look? No, surely not, unless this man’s connections ran further than Jun-ho first suspected.
There was the worse, more treacherous interpretation, coming straight from all the sly glances and almost-touches: it was about the two of them, there in the car.
Every breath the polished man took could warrant individual analysis of its own, but Jun-ho’s racing thoughts would be hushed before any could come to fruition.
“Anonymity would better suit this exchange. You understand, don’t you, Mr. Heo?” It was all so irritatingly coy, so subtle, almost passable as innocent banter. Almost. “Consider me a concerned bystander, a mere messenger.”
With that, he smiled, reaching into his blazer.
But Jun-ho’s reflexes were quicker than that. He unholstered his gun, pointing it at the stranger before his hand could fully disappear behind the fabric. At this point, there was no need to play nice. He knew this man was trouble, certain of it down to the marrow.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” Jun-ho urged.
The suited man stilled, hands lingering mid-action. He regarded the gun aimed at him impartially, noticeably lacking any real shock or fear, before meeting Jun-ho’s eye again. His own were lidded, head at a slight angle downwards, hardly masking his amusement.
That damn grin didn’t sway, in fact, it may have even spread wider.
Jun-ho was caught off guard with the gaze he was met with and faltered, a pitiful, fleeting moment of weakness. He made just as swift of a recovery, readjusting his grip on the weapon and pressed it closer, rougher, if only to combat his own wandering mind.
“Go on.” He demanded. “No sudden moves, or I won’t hesitate to shoot a hole through your chest.”
One of the male’s eyebrows quirked upwards, irrefutably in intrigue, but any complaints or sly remarks would remain unspoken, only manifesting in what Jun-ho theorized in his mind.
He repeated his earlier actions languidly, but was quickly halted at the sound of Jun-ho clicking the safety off the gun.
“I said keep your hands where I can see them.” He emphasized, the threat going unrepeated, though abundantly clear.
Jun-ho loathed the way he could see the man’s tongue trace the inside of his cheek. How his eyes trailed off to the side, pondering how to fulfill the request, before widening in recognition.
Then he grinned, daring to meet his eye again, with that same damn lidded look that made Jun-ho’s grip on the gun loosen.
“I understand.” He drawled, accompanied with a slow nod that came off nothing short of patronizing.
His hands laid flat against his own torso, dragging leisurely down the lavish fabric, drawing the eyes that followed to how it cinched at his waist. Tailored to perfection.
They then curved in, uniting at the center atop one of the buttons, his nimble fingers making easy work of undoing it. Then another, and another, until the blazer was open. His eyes were pinned to Jun-ho throughout, reveling in the way he watched like a man starved.
The stranger proceeded to fold up one side of the blazer, showcasing the expensive satin and small pockets that accessorized the interior, keeping his ministrations in full view.
Two fingers ventured into a thin compartment, pulling out a business card wedged between them, then slid it over the center console with just one, the hiss of paper against vinyl accompanying it.
All so drawn out, deliberate. This bastard was making a show of it.
This was further proven by the way he leaned back afterwards, clearly pleased with himself. His blazer was still wide open, displaying an even tighter fitting white button-up. It was a bit sheer as well, clinging generously onto the curves of abdominal muscles.
Jun-ho swiped the card with an accusatory glare, perhaps a bit too aggressively, his breathing having noticeably become heavier since the display.
He ached with the urge to bite out a sarcastic remark, to do anything to wipe that smug look off his face, but found he had no real cause to do so. The other man did abide by his orders, theatric and teasing as it may have been.
He blinked a few times to regain clarity while glancing down to examine the card, and when it hit, familiarity rushed over his heated face like a bucket of cold water.
It had a black, pink ribbon-wrapped sleeve, identical in design to the box he found at In-ho’s place.
Jun-ho’s hand suddenly felt clammy, the grasp on it too weak—literally and metaphorically. A complicated expression decorated his face with the realization that this asshole did know something. All things considered, he should be glad, this was the most concrete lead since being released from the hospital, but an awful feeling simmered that something was… just not right.
Jun-ho didn’t have to look over to know he was being watched. He’d know, even without that look of satisfaction imprinted in both his mind and peripheral vision.
The stranger, always finding Jun-ho’s distress the optimal time to act, reached over and gingerly tuned up the radio that had been muted all this time—already pushing the bounds of the no sudden moves clause set in place. Jun-ho’s station of choice didn’t seem to please him, as after protruding his bottom lip outwards to display his distaste, he spent some time clicking through stations.
Classical music eventually came to hum through the small space, and with it came the other man’s explicit satisfaction.
“Hm, I’m partial towards opera, but this will suffice.” He tilted his head toward Jun-ho, so close that the detective’s face cast a shadow upon his. Jun-ho could see the way his thumb loosely caressed one of the volume dials, mindlessly massaging against the ridges. “I take it you aren’t much of a classical music listener, Mr. Heo? You don’t seem the type.”
An innocent observation, but it felt like a seering insult.
Frustration bubbling well beyond its boiling point, now to the tune of fucking classical music, Jun-ho had enough of the games. Nothing shook this guy, not even a gun to his chest or his life on his line, and now he had the nerve to drone on about his favorite music genre.
Shoving the card into his back jean pocket, Jun-ho wielded the gun to cut space between them. It was a useless gesture, earning maybe a couple extra inches and a flash of surprise from the other man, but it felt good. A hint of control in a situation in which he had to fight for it.
“This is going to be the last of it you hear if you don’t start talking. Who sent you?” Jun-ho snapped. “Tell me who you are.” He leaned closer, mocking the way the stranger did prior. He needed to intimidate him, to make him cower and shake.
However, much like all of Jun-ho’s previous attempts, it had the opposite effect.
The stranger glanced at the gun, acknowledging its presence for only the second time since it was brought out, then up again at Jun-ho. He held that gaze, lowering his head level to the weapon, now fully basking in the detective’s shadow.
“Whoever you’d like me to be.” He answered simply, punctuating it with a knowing smile. His words were hot against the gun’s nozzle, fogging up the metal, and Jun-ho swore it caused the weapon to burn in his grasp, searing the scene into his mind.
But that wasn’t enough, of course it wasn’t. The suited man must’ve wanted to ruin him, wanted any moment of respite to be stained with the recurring memory of this night. That had to be the reason Jun-ho watched not only other man’s lips catch against the nozzle when he spoke, but also as he took the weapon past them and down his throat.
And if that really was the motivation, it had the desired effect.
Jun-ho’s mouth ran dry, parched unlike anything he’s experienced before. His hands twitched on his own lap, flexing, grasping at nothing, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to; not when the man was putting on such a pretty display for him
If the innuendo wasn’t clear enough, the stranger drew back, circled his tongue around the tip of the weapon, then took it in his mouth again. Deeper, maybe even to the hilt this time, with no gag reflex in sight, all whilst staring up at Jun-ho with those dilated pupils through his eyelashes.
It was around then that Jun-ho returned to his senses, though barely. He still had to tear his eyes away from the scene to even begin formulating words.
“Fuck.” He cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, propped on the rest attached to his door. The outside mocked him, distant lights a reminder of where he could be, should be. Even one of those dingy bars from earlier sounded real nice about now, and yet, he was here. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Jun-ho turned his head to the other man under the guise of chastising him face-to-face, only to be met with a look that surely did him in.
He only just finished pulling the gun out, judging his proximity to it, revealing lips slightly red from use and glistening with his own saliva. He curved them up into a charming grin when he noticed the detective’s ogling.
Even worse, there was still a strand of saliva connecting his bottom lip to the gun’s nozzle—proof his earlier ministrations were reality and not just some fantasy derived from the darkest parts of Jun-ho’s mind. He hoped it was the latter.
“Nothing comes to mind.” The stranger replied, the movement causing the strand to snap. Cheeky.
Jun-ho grimaced, vivid pictures of all the other man’s suggestive, erratic behavior still fresh in his memory.
“...I can name a couple things.” He countered as he reholstered the gun.
It was made clear that, while this guy was definitely a freak, he probably wasn't an immediate threat. After all, Jun-ho gave him more than enough opportunities to grab the gun while he was deeply regretting his own life choices.
“But you won’t.” The other man retorted, newfound certainty lacing his words. It carried authority, like an order.
He draped himself further across the center console like silk, stomach laid flat against vinyl, now fully hovered over the driver’s seat. It appeared to be his favorite pastime, intruding upon Jun-ho’s space, but this time quickly set itself apart from the rest with its intent.
“You would rather me help you take care of that, wouldn’t you?” He whispered hot against the shell of the detective’s ear with a voice low, intimate, and now fully explicit in its sultry.
With his words, his gaze fell, and once Jun-ho followed it, he understood why.
There, at the crotch of his pants, was a noticeable tent, one not even the thick fabric of his jeans could conceal.
Fuck.
Worse than that, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened. He was so focused on dissecting the man’s words, mulling over his actions, handling the threat, his body reacting to the terrible places his mind wandered wasn’t even a consideration.
But now it was as clear as day, as filthy as the suggestion in the air and faint breathing burning his skin.
Jun-ho shifted upward in his seat, the movement causing the other male’s lips to brush against his ear, the lustful proposition made more poignant than ever on his skin. That thought earned a twitch of interest from the half-hardness in his pants.
“Right, you’ll help me.” Jun-ho mimicked in disbelief under his breath, almost mocking in tone. “That would be the first time.” He chuckled bitterly.
His hands clenched at nothing against his thighs, willing himself to walk away, to leave and never come back. This was a terrible idea, mixing play and business—if you could even call it that—hell, he didn’t even know this guy’s name.
But the stranger, ever-so-intuitive to the inner workings of Jun-ho’s mind, sensed his contemplation and decided to put the final nail in the coffin.
He didn’t have to do much either, only a quick mumble about the car feeling too warm, loosening his tie, and exhaling shakily, presumingly in relief. All directly in Jun-ho’s ear.
It was then he realized the concept of declining was a performative effort.
Jun-ho froze, every nerve in his body feeling like it was suddenly set aflame, before exploding into movement, acting on all the treacherous fantasies that had been simmering since the night before.
He grabbed the tie dangled tantalizing by his face and tugged the other man down into a brief, searing kiss before shoving him back, gauging his reaction. Testing if this was really what he wanted.
The other male however, much more pent-up than Jun-ho recalled him being, was having none of it.
With a wild look in his eyes, he returned the kiss with such craving, you’d think he was trying to consume him whole. His hands laid decisively on Jun-ho’s shoulders for balance, manicured fingernails laying claim to the muscle underneath.
It was hasty on Jun-ho’s end after the stranger drew him in, perhaps too hasty, as he theorized the initial collision was probably the reason he tasted metal intermingling with their saliva. From who? He couldn’t quite decipher, but the stranger didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it only served to spur him on.
If the detective was under the impression he was over-eager, the suited man was on an entirely different plane of passion.
He traced the seam of Jun-ho’s lips, effectively lapping up the blood and requesting access to his mouth, of which he was quickly granted. From there, the kiss, or kisses, were nothing short of messy. A mere outlet for the pair to pour the manifestation of their shared want and unspoken sexual tension.
And God, did Jun-ho want, it felt like all he ever did these days. It was so long since he did something for himself, too many years by now. Always working, always searching, always dissatisfied. He knew this was a terrible time to act, leisurely spending time he didn’t have caressing skin in place of prodding for information. Not just prodding; demanding, threatening him.
But he did all of that, and it still ended with the other man panting against his lips. Perhaps it was fate.
“Com-” Jun-ho began, breathless, but was quickly interrupted by another heated kiss. He resisted the urge to smile, loathing himself for finding that charming. Leaned just barely out of his grasp, which he was much too hesitant to do, he patted his thigh. “Come here.”
Goading to the bitter end, he drawled, “So soon? I wouldn’t want this to be over before it’s even begun.”
Jun-ho paused, his hazy mind momentarily buffering, before the realization hit him. He was joking. This motherfucker was still toying with him, even with lips moistened with his saliva.
Before he could consider tossing him out again, the other man continued, this time with a new proposition. “Play a game with me, Mr. Heo.” He insisted, presenting it not unlike how one would a business proposal.
A pit formed in Jun-ho’s stomach, the unease settled right next to the preestablished arousal, making for a complicated mix of emotions. He’d already witnessed more than enough games for one lifetime. Reluctantly, he waited for the man to proceed.
And proceed he did, maneuvering skillfully over the center console, stalking, much like an animal would its prey. Jun-ho had never felt so cornered, so vulnerable, and yet, every inch of him ached for it to go on. Even with every way of exit at his disposal, some less pretty than others, there was no place he’d rather be. Thrown into the lion’s den.
The man's actions were slow and precise, bordering the edge of seductive and unnerving, which is accurate to how the detective would describe him. With a pointed look aimed directly at him, he eased into his lap, straddling, his hands splayed atop his own thighs.
“Whoever finishes first, loses.” To emphasize the challenge part of their little game, he settled his full bodyweight down at that moment, flush against Jun-ho’s erection.
Jun-ho groaned, the friction against his long-neglected hardness too damn good. His hands twitched, finding the other male’s hips on instinct. Relief intermingling with the pleasure, he loosely considered the idea. He wasn’t one to be experimental in bed—hell, he rarely had anyone sharing his bed at all—but the thought of taking the man down a peg, to have him gasping and whimpering in his hold, was too good to resist.
“And if I win?” Jun-ho challenged, feigning nonchalance, willing himself to focus on anything but the weight on his clothed cock. He decided on his face. “What are the stakes?”
The suited man cracked a smile. Clearly those were the right questions.
“If you win, I’ll allow you to finish inside of me.”
With that, he rolled his hips, prying another groan from the man below.
Jun-ho grit his teeth, his chest heaving with each heated exhale. It took everything out of him to contain the urge to buck his hips upwards. “That just seems like a win for you too.” He asserted, furrowing his brows.
“Mm.” The other man hummed, but didn’t argue it. No, he seemed amused at his rebuttal; fond, if Jun-ho squinted. It was almost patronizing, like he was letting Jun-ho tire himself out. Just toying with his food before devouring it whole. “Tell me, Mr. Heo, what is it you would consider a suitable reward?”
There it was again, that condensation, mirroring the kind he caught on the phone last night. A stroke of distant familiarity in an otherwise completely unfamiliar situation.
“Your name.” Jun-ho bit out, projecting his voice strong to combat the feeling of being talked down to. “You’ll give me your name. No tricks, no changing the subject, no bullshit excuses.”
He figured that was a safe bet. He could look it up in the database later, see what they have for this guy on record, while simultaneously satiating Jun-ho’s horrible fascination. The perfect medium between treacherous curiosity and lingering suspicion.
The male above seemed to be in agreement as his smile widened, flashing perfect teeth. “I’ll tell you what.” He began.
Jun-ho quickly doubted the no changing the subject part would be followed. Getting information out of him was like pulling teeth, an option he was quickly beginning to consider.
“You make me come like this,” an emphasizing roll of his hips, “and I'll give you much more than that.”
Jun-ho gulped. He was fucked. God, he was beyond fucked.
Challenge accepted.
Pecks turned into kisses and kisses turned into increasingly urging laves of tongue and teeth. An ancient act of passion quickly became a battle ground for dominance, a status in which Jun-ho grew increasingly further from as gentle rocks became rapid humping
“I-I don’t have a condom,” he managed, his voice raw and ragged. It wasn't relevant, not with how things were looking. Why would he anyway?
“We don’t need one. The pinnacle of his desire refuted effortlessly. “I’m clean, and so are you.”
He traced his jawline, his nail leaving a red line in its wake, sending shivers down the detective’s spine. His finger dragged down his neck and chest, eventually landing atop his heart—like emphasizing what he planned to steal.
“I know quite a bit about you, Mr. Heo.”
Clearly not enough if you’re still calling me that, Jun-ho thought.
Perhaps at a time where he was a little less pent up and not absurdly turned on, he would’ve stopped to wonder what he really meant by that. His mind would retrace to earlier that day, the night before even, where everything felt so much simpler. The iced coffee, the shadow on his wall, the feeling of being watched.
But the fantasy of unraveling this irritating man ran rampid in his hazy, lust-blown mind, and he wasn’t sure it was just revenge anymore.
Cautiously, Jun-ho glanced out the window to ensure their privacy, mindlessly thumbing at the man’s hip, before catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection.
He looked even more a mess than he felt; hair mussed, flushed, clothes wrinkled. Had the image not mirrored his movements, heaved with every breath he took, he would’ve doubted it was himself at all.
It was then felt that tale-tell guilt creeping in. For indulging, for letting his goals seep through his fingers so easily, and he knew this would have to be quick. Fast, dirty, and unattached, he could work with that. Chalk it up to a one-time thing. Maybe that way he could eventually learn to live down this night.
Though one thing was for certain, if this was happening, he wouldn’t want it as the other man was moaning an alias.
“Sir.” Jun-ho corrected, settling on a safe alternative, regardless of how desperately he wanted it to be his name it’s place. He played up an air of authority, though he hardly felt like the one in control. “Turn around.”
“Yes, sir.” The suited man mirrored in a way that should’ve been docile, being an explicit display of submission, but felt mocking above all. He obeyed despite it, rubbing against his cock perhaps a bit more than the process would require, earning a half-hearted glare.
It took some adjusting. Their long legs collided at awkward angles underneath the steering wheel, but they eventually settled with Jun-ho’s spread and the other man’s in between them.
The detective’s head peeked over a padded shoulder, breathing hotly against the other male’s neck. Returning the favor. His fingers toyed with the suited man’s belt, but made no moves to remove it until he got explicit permission.
“Stay quiet.” He panted idly, mouthing at the skin against his lips. He thought about biting down, leaving a mark just as nasty as the mental scar the male left on him, but swallowed the urge.
Unattached, Jun-ho, a one-time thing.
There was a hum of acknowledgement before the man made quick work of his own belt. He tugged it off and away, unzipping and unbuttoning of his pants, clearly an homage to the previous shows he put on for the detective. This one, however, was a cheap intimation. His hands trembled, giving away his own arousal and hurry to get this somewhere substantial.
“Touch me, sir,” he pleaded, an infuriating contrary to all of Jun-ho’s insistent reminders. “Touch me, please- please-”
“Quiet,” Jun-ho hissed, following orders in perhaps the cruelest way by giving the others slick tip a harsh squeeze. “Tell me, do you want someone to hear us? Hell, while you're at it, why not give them a show, huh?”
He bounced his leg mindlessly, stroking the other's cock at an obscene pace. The squelch elicited was damn-near disgusting, a grotesque result of friction and fluid found enticing only in the midst of pleasure. Jun-ho rutted circles into the man’s ass, less chasing his own release—God forbid—and more so weaponizing it as a stance to be proven. The stranger may have lured him here, manipulated, schemed, landed himself snugly within his lap. He may think he won, and yet, he's still the one taking Jun-ho’s cock. Inviting it sweetly, obediently, against the roughness of his dress pants.
“Let go,” Jun-ho grunted. It wasn't sweet—none of this was. Dirty talk invited the simmering frustrating to come to a roaring boil, exhibited beautifully through a pumping hand and a filthy mouth.
“I-” The man above hesitated, may be for the first time in his life, the question conflicting with fickle orders. “I can't.”
“You can.” And, with one, conclusive squeeze of the hand: “You will.”
And, with a metaphorical flash of light, he did.
Victory came in the form of a near-unnatural wave of exhaustion, leaving Jun-ho out until the early hours of morning. When he came to, it would be to an empty car in a familiarly empty lot, all warm lighting and broken glass and all.
On the brink of consciousness, panic overran him. Where was the hell was the guy? Where'd he go? Why couldn't he remember the…
He found himself cleaned, tucked nearly into his pants with little sign of scuffle, doted on as though just a boy. In the absence of company, a note, concealed snug within his jacket pocket. The script read:
“You win.
The name is ▇▇▇▇▇▇.
Let's play again, Detective Hwang Jun-ho. ♡”
Jun-ho stared at the page, mouth left slightly ajar, fingers wrinkling printer
paper.
Fuck.