Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You must be my newest interrogator.”

Yoongi doesn’t glance at the other man in the room until the door slides shut behind him. He takes a slow breath to steady himself, before he turns fully, gaze finding the man at the table easily. Dark, glimmering eyes lock onto his, before the man tips his head to the side.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” he asks, voice low, not breaking eye contact as Yoongi approaches the table slowly. He sets down his folder, keeping it outside of the man’s reach. He’s handcuffed to the table, but Yoongi isn’t planning on taking risks. “C’mon, pretty thing, tell me your name. I want to know who I’m going to be chatting with for the next few weeks.”

“You first,” Yoongi says, and the man chuckles softly, leaning back in his seat.

“Seokjin,” the man murmurs. “Kim Seokjin. But we both know that you already knew that, gorgeous.” He smirks as Yoongi moves to sit across from him, folding his hands on the table. “What about you? What’s your name?”

“Yoongi.”

“Yoongi,” Seokjin echoes softly, leaning forward in his seat. “That’s a pretty name. A pretty name, for a pretty boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin laughs under his breath.

“Sorry, gorgeous,” he says, as he watches Yoongi pull the folder closer to him. Yoongi swallows, taking a deep, slow breath to steady himself. Everything that he’s been studying for the past nine years has prepared him for this moment. He knows what he’s doing, knows how to handle himself. “What brings you to me, hm?”

“You know what,” Yoongi replies, doing his best to keep his face passive. He doesn’t need to give Seokjin anything, doesn’t need the man across from him to be able to dig under his skin more than he already does.

Seokjin’s head tilts the other way, considering. “Chilly,” he breathes. “Indulge me, just this once, and then I’ll behave myself.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. “I know a little bit too much about what happens to the people who indulge you to let that happen.”

“Is that so?” Seokjin whispers. “What is it that happens to people who indulge me, hm?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Yoongi sighs softly, running his fingers through his hair. Seokjin’s gaze flicks up, following the movement, before a predatory grin curls slowly across his face. “You want to talk about your predecessors, Yoongi? It’s certainly a more interesting approach than anyone else has taken.”

“We can talk about whatever you want, Mr. Kim, as long as you’re talking.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Mr. Kim, Mr. Kim. You’re aging me, Yoongi. Call me Seokjin.”

“I’d rather not.”

“And I’d rather you did. You’re supposed to establish some sort of rapport with me, right? Why don’t we start simple—you call me by my name.” Yoongi doesn’t say anything, staring straight at him, eyes narrow. “If you do, I’ll answer one question. Anything you want to ask, I’ll answer, but only if you call me by my name.”

Yoongi takes another deep breath, then squares his shoulders. “Seokjin,” he says. “You know why I’m here.”

“Senior-level criminal psychology seminar,” Seokjin says softly, and Yoongi nods, jaw clenched. “So, what happened, hm? Draw the short straw?”

“I overslept,” Yoongi murmurs, fingertips tapping softly on the table between them. “Missed the bus. I was late to class, and you were the only option I was left with.” Seokjin hums softly, crossing one leg over the other.

“I’m going to go back to your statement earlier,” Seokjin says, “if you don’t mind. I’d like you to tell me what happens to people who indulge me.”

Yoongi inhales slowly, closing his eyes for half a second, before he meets Seokjin’s gaze again, straight on. “They die,” he says, and Seokjin’s eyes brighten slightly, intrigued. “And you know that - you know exactly what happens to them. You’re the one who engineers it all.”

“How could I be the one killing them, gorgeous? I’m locked up in here.” Seokjin jostles his handcuffs slightly, just to make a point. “There’s no way I could be the one doing it, and we both know that.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow further. “You’re doing it again,” he says, voice low. “Playing dumb. Don’t pretend to be stupid - you’re not stupid.”

Seokjin grins playfully. “Appreciate that, Yoongi.” He considers Yoongi silently for a few seconds, before he exhales softly. “I suppose you have a fair point. I’m not stupid, and I do know exactly what you meant.” He taps his fingers against the table, just like Yoongi was doing, curiosity lighting up in his eyes. “How did the last one do it, hm? What did he do?”

“I’m not going to tell you that—”

“Oh, c’mon, what am I going to do with that information?”

“I’ll get up and leave if you push the issue, Seokjin. Unlike you, I have that option.”

“Well, that’s cold,” Seokjin says. “But if you insist, I’ll let it go.” He tilts his head to the side, thoughtful. “If I’m good, if I tell you what you want to know, maybe you’ll tell me, as a reward?”

Yoongi glares at him. “No.”

“Yoongi,” Seokjin sighs. “Rapport?”

“Rapport is completely different from me telling you the details of a twenty-something-year-old’s suicide, Seokjin, and we both know that. I’m not going to tell you, no matter how well-behaved you are, or profess to be.”

As Yoongi speaks, Seokjin chuckles softly, a playful smirk on his face. He doesn’t interrupt, though, doesn’t say a word until Yoongi’s done, anger sparking underneath his skin. Seokjin leans forward slightly, inhaling; he can practically taste the upset rolling off of the young man, the violence hidden inside of it, tucked away where prying eyes can’t see. “Fine,” Seokjin says, after a long, silent moment. “No details.”

“Can we get back on track, please?” Yoongi asks.

Seokjin grins broadly, and Yoongi immediately regrets his choice of words. This interview is supposed to be happening on his terms, not Seokjin’s—he’s not meant to be asking permission, not meant to be letting Seokjin guide the conversation. And by the looks of things, Seokjin knows that Yoongi knows that he’s misstepped, a soft glimmer of triumph in his eyes.

“Alright, kitten,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi winces internally. “Let’s get back on track.”

“I’ll get up and leave if you push the issue, Seokjin.”

The words echo in Seokjin’s head, the soft curl of Yoongi’s mouth burned behind his eyelids. He can’t keep his own smile off of his face, triumph bubbling up in his chest.

There’s something addictive about the way Yoongi says his name, the way the syllables curl off of his tongue. He’s a gorgeous boy, soft and delicate, and Seokjin wants to get his hands all over him, wants to peel back those dark, heavy clothes and see what he’s got going on underneath.

He’s pale - Seokjin can tell that even when he’s clothed - and pink, and Seokjin has no doubt that that’s true underneath his clothes. He wants to feel Yoongi against him, wants to know how his skin feels, wants to leave bite marks and bruises littered across his skin.

“I know what happens to people who indulge you.”

And he certainly does. They all do, each and every student that gets sent into this facility knows, but especially anyone assigned to interview Seokjin. It doesn’t happen often enough that anyone’s been able to prove that it’s Seokjin’s fault - that’s the only reason they keep sending students to meet with him, to interview him, but everyone knows.

Yoongi, especially. There’s something strange about him, something just a little bit off, that Seokjin can’t quite place. Every student that Seokjin’s ever met has been confident, confident that they’ll be the one to get the answers that they want out of him, confident that his words won't get to them, but Yoongi…

Yoongi’s confidence isn’t nearly as deluded as the others.

And it makes Seokjin want to sink his teeth right into him, peel back the layers and see what this pretty little thing is made out of - makes him want to know what secrets are tucked away in that little head of his.

“We can talk about whatever you want, Mr. Kim, as long as you’re talking.”

Mr. Kim.

Mr. Kim rattles around in Seokjin’s head for a few seconds. They all call him that - they all start off calling him that - but all it takes is a little bit of pressure, and they all crack, all slip into calling him Seokjin.

Except for one.

Mr. Kim.

Mr. Kim, Mr. Kim, Mr. Kim.

Seokjin sees Yoongi’s eyes - feline and narrow - behind his eyelids, drilling into him, gaze sharp and piercing, but the voice in his ear, the low murmur of Mr. Kim, Mr. Kim, doesn’t belong to him.

Seokjin’s eyes snap open, a realization crashing through him like a typhoon. He stares up at the ceiling, before a smirk curls across his face, and he laughs to himself, chest shaking with it.

“Oh, you naughty boy,” Seokjin breathes, barely audible even in the silence. “Naughty little minx,” he says, louder this time, before he stands quickly, walking swiftly to the wall, leaning against it for a moment. “I’ve got you now, gorgeous. You’re all mine.”

“Seokjin!” he hears a guard call, and he laughs quietly under his breath, before he stands straight. “You have a visitor.”

As the guards come into view, Seokjin’s face smooths into neutrality, leaning back against the wall. He considers them for a moment, then straightens up, and walks towards them. He behaves - he always does - when they cuff him, when they walk him through the hallways into the same room where he’d met Yoongi for the first time. He sits, lets them cuff him to the table, and waits patiently, watching the door with dark, piercing eyes, until the handle turns and Yoongi lets himself in.

“Hello again, gorgeous,” Seokjin murmurs softly.

Yoongi exhales softly. “Hello, Seokjin,” he says. “You look like you’re in a good mood.”

“I am,” Seokjin breathes, as Yoongi moves to sit across from him. “I got some wonderful news this afternoon, just before you arrived, so yes, I’m in an excellent mood.”

“Care to share?” Yoongi asks, though he looks like he almost doesn’t want to know the answer.

Seokjin chuckles. “I haven’t quite decided if I want to tell you yet, kitten,” he says quietly. “Why don’t you go ahead and get started with your interview, and I’ll let you know if I want to tell you about my good news.”

Yoongi tips his head to the side, considering the proposition. “It has to do with me, doesn’t it?” he asks quietly, and Seokjin smirks at him but doesn’t speak. That seems to be answer enough for Yoongi—and honestly, Seokjin wasn’t exactly trying to mislead him. “That’s a little mean, don’t you think?”

“Mm, you’re the one who wouldn’t tell me about the last student they sent to me. I think this is plenty fair.” He laces his fingers together, leaning forward slightly, almost like this is a business meeting, like they’re negotiating something. “So, if you want me to tell you what I learned, you’re going to tell me what happened to… What was his name?”

“I’m not falling for that,” Yoongi scoffs. “I’m not stupid, Seokjin. You can’t trick me into telling you his name.”

“Worth a shot,” Seokjin says, laughing to himself. “Alright, let’s try it this way. I’ll go first; I’ll tell you my news, you tell me—”

“What about I’m not giving you the details of a twenty-something-year-old’s suicide did you not understand?” Yoongi interjects, and there’s actual heat in his voice this time, something sharp and angry, and Seokjin thrives on it, letting it settle on his tongue, tasting it, getting a feel for the boy across from him. And he is, he’s so young, so small—

Seokjin wants to ruin him.

“I’m not telling you what happened to him. I’m not telling you what he did - absolutely not.” Yoongi stands, pressing his palms into the table. “I told you that if you kept pushing the issue, I’d leave, and I meant it.”

He turns on his heel, and makes to leave. Seokjin watches him go, smirking, waiting until Yoongi has a hand on the door handle, before he speaks, voice soft.

“You sound like your brother when you’re angry.”

Yoongi jerks to a halt, then turns sharply, meeting Seokjin’s gaze again. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear, gorgeous,” Seokjin says. “But just so we’re on the same page, I’ll repeat myself. You sound like your brother when you get pissed.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, his exhale shaky. His fingers curl into a fist, before he lets his hand relax. “You—you know—”

“Who you are? Oh, yes. Yes, gorgeous, I know exactly who you are.” Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Seokjin points at the chair that Yoongi had been sitting in earlier, raising an eyebrow. “Sit. Sit down, and let’s talk about your brother.”

Yoongi swallows hard, staring straight into his eyes. He glances up at the security camera in the corner, then at Seokjin, before he steps forward, lowering himself back into his chair. Seokjin looks…far too pleased with himself, smiling at Yoongi like the cat that had just gotten the cream.

“Where should I start?”

Yoongi exhales shakily, biting at his lower lip. As his teeth drag over it, he watches Seokjin’s gaze fall to his mouth, eyes tracing the movement, enraptured, before their gazes lock again. “How did you meet him?”

“Welcome back,” Seokjin says, as Yoongi steps into the room. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in Yoongi’s outfit, skinny jeans clinging to his hips and thighs, before he meets Yoongi’s gaze. “I missed you last week, sweet thing, where were you?”

“I had an exam,” Yoongi says, as he moves to sit across from Seokjin. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Seokjin hums quietly, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table top. “Did you do well? Study hard?” Yoongi nods, as he sets his notes on the table, eyes patient as he stares at Seokjin. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m very proud of you, sweets.”

“I—thank you, I guess,” Yoongi says quietly, watching as Seokjin laces his fingers together. “I want to talk about Taekwoon.”

“What do you want to know, hm?”

Seokjin’s eyes drop to Yoongi’s neck when he swallows hard, throat bobbing with the movement. He’s gorgeous like this, cheeks tinted pink, lips slightly parted. “You and him,” Yoongi starts, and Seokjin understands immediately what has Yoongi blushing like that. “Were you… you know.”

“I’m not quite sure I do know, gorgeous. Tell me.”

“Seokjin—”

“Use your words,” Seokjin murmurs. “You know how this works, Yoongi - you know that you need to use your words if you want me to answer you.”

Yoongi exhales shakily. “Together. Were you and Taekwoon together?”

Seokjin cocks his head to the side, considering Yoongi for a few seconds in total silence. He can’t decide what the look in Yoongi’s eyes means, can’t decide if the younger man wants him to say yes, we were, or if he would rather hear that they weren’t, that Seokjin and Taekwoon hadn’t been an item before Seokjin had been dragged off to the hospital. He blinks slowly, then clears his throat.

“Not in quite so many words,” he settles on, finally. Yoongi’s eyes narrow, like that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but before he can say anything else, Seokjin speaks again. “We weren’t dating, Yoongi, if that’s what you want to know. Taekwoon isn’t exactly my type.”

“But you weren’t not together.”

“We fooled around a few times,” Seokjin says, letting the memory spark through him, coursing through his blood, and Yoongi swallows hard. “Does that bother you? That I messed around with your brother?”

“He’s a little young for you.”

Seokjin snorts. “You make it sound like I groomed him, Yoongi. Rest assured, Taekwoon was the one who came to me, Taekwoon very enthusiastically consented to everything that happened between us—”

“I really don’t need the details.”

“You’re the one who asked if we were together,” Seokjin says softly. “Why does it matter, gorgeous? I’m locked up here - it’s not like he can break me out.” Yoongi flinches, and Seokjin immediately straightens, concern flashing across his face. “What’s that look about?”

“You—I’m confused.”

“What about, gorgeous?”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly, and he stares into Seokjin’s eyes, like he’s trying to pick him apart. “No one… no one told you what happened to Taekwoon.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks. “What do you mean, what happened to Taekwoon? What happened to him?”

“When you—when the FBI caught up to you,” Yoongi says, a tremble in his voice that has Seokjin leaning forward, eyes unreadable, “when you gave yourself up, Taekwoon—um. Taekwoon got—he got shot. Got killed.”

Seokjin exhales slowly. “I didn’t know that,” Seokjin breathes. “No one told me that - I had no idea. I assumed that he—that he got away. He was supposed to run.” He lets his eyelids flutter shut for a moment, jaw clenching hard, fury working its way through him for a few seconds, before he lets it settle in his gut. “Stubborn boy.”

“What do you mean, he was supposed to run?” Yoongi asks quietly.

“There was a plan,” Seokjin murmurs, fingertips tracing patterns absently on the tabletop. “We had a plan. We—as far as we knew, the FBI didn’t know that he was working with me. I was going to give myself up, let myself get caught, throw them off the scent, and he was supposed to run. We were smart - he would be able to get away without anyone knowing that he had ever worked with me.” His eyes narrow slightly as he glares down at his hands. “I told him not to intervene - I told him to just go, just run, get lost. He didn’t listen, and look where it landed him.”

“I don’t understand,” Yoongi says. “You… you were going to save him?”

“I wanted to. I gave him every opportunity to save himself.” Seokjin makes a low, frustrated little sound. “I should have known that he wouldn’t. He’s so, so stubborn.”

Yoongi quiets, sitting back in his seat, staring at the table between them. He swallows hard, trying not to let the last memories that he has of Taekwoon get to him. He exhales shakily, before his head rises. “You’re upset.”

“Am I?”

“Doesn’t take an expert in body language to know that you’re angry, Seokjin,” Yoongi says. “I can read it all over you. You’re pissed off, because my brother didn’t do what he was told, and he got killed as a result.”

Seokjin doesn’t move for a long moment. His head comes up slowly, their gazes locking, and Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from flinching away from the fury there. It runs deep; Yoongi can see it written in every line of Seokjin’s face, the purse of his lips, the tense line of his shoulders. Fear twists in Yoongi’s gut - not an unfamiliar feeling when he’s around Seokjin - but he tries not to let it show on his face, tries to keep it to himself, tucked away, safe.

He’s not scared of Seokjin.

Taekwoon hadn’t been scared of Seokjin. At least, not in the way that Seokjin’s victims had been afraid of him. Taekwoon and Seokjin had shared something, something that the two of them kept close to themselves, a secret that they kept hidden away from the rest of the world.

“Kitten,” Seokjin says, voice low, and the anger is mirrored there, the word clipped, terse. “It’s your move.”

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face, jaw clenching. “You—two weeks ago, you told me that I sound like Taekwoon when I’m angry.” Seokjin hums, nods his agreement. He remembers it intimately well, remembers the way that Yoongi’s body had tensed up when he’d said those words.

“I did,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows.

“You think that’s all that we have in common?”

Seokjin holds still for a few seconds, then laughs quietly. “I think you two are very different.” His eyes glimmer, as he stares at Yoongi, a smirk curling across his face. “But I think there are some key similarities.”

“Like what?”

“You’re both gorgeous.”

“Seokjin,” Yoongi says, a warning in his voice. “Quit it with the flattery.”

Seokjin chuckles quietly. “I’m sorry, sweet thing, I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty.” Yoongi glares at him for a few seconds, until Seokjin relents. “Alright, fine. Point taken.” Yoongi eyes him for a few seconds, then nods, gesturing for Seokjin to continue. “You’re both dedicated. Intense. Stubborn.” He pauses, then grins at Yoongi, mouthing one last word at him.

Yoongi’s brows furrow for a brief moment, before his lips part slightly. He exhales softly, then leans back in his seat, a thoughtful look on his face. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Seokjin says quietly. “You said you could read my anger all over me, gorgeous. I can read what you are all over you.”

Yoongi swallows hard, then licks his lips. Seokjin’s gaze drops to his mouth, gaze intense and—

And hungry.

“I’m just like him, is that what you’re saying? Just like my brother?”

“No,” Seokjin says, barely audible. “No, you’re not just like anyone, Yoongi.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, nostrils flaring. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Seokjin says again. “There’s something about you, something that draws me in. I want to get inside that pretty little head of yours - I want to know exactly what you’ve got going on in there - I want to know what sweet little thoughts are bouncing around between your ears.”

“Is that right?” Yoongi asks, leaning back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest.

“Mhm,” Seokjin hums, low and thoughtful.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Yoongi says rather suddenly, and Seokjin smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Like you—like you’re going to eat me. Stop that.”

“Scared?” Seokjin asks. “I can’t hurt you, gorgeous.”

“Not scared,” Yoongi breathes. “Intimidated, maybe.” There’s a flush on his cheeks, lips wet with his spit, shiny, that says that maybe he’s a little bit more than intimidated, but Seokjin doesn’t mention it, staying silent as Yoongi stares at him. “How did you convince them to do it?”

“How did I convince who to do what, gorgeous?”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, glancing at the camera again. He lowers his voice slightly, leaning in, quiet enough that Seokjin has to lean towards him, too. “The other students, my… you called them my predecessors. How did you convince them to, you know. Kill themselves.”

Seokjin laughs softly, shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter. “Why do you ask, sweet thing? Trying to recreate what I did?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Seokjin chuckles quietly. “You’re the expert on psychology, kitten, you tell me how you think I did it. I’ll tell you if you’re right. We’ll make a game out of it.”

"I don’t know if I particularly want to play a game with you, Seokjin.” Seokjin smirks at him, and Yoongi huffs a soft breath through his nose. “I have a feeling that your games are the reason that my six predecessors are dead.”

“Indulge me,” Seokjin whispers. “Just this once, sweet thing. Indulge me, and I’ll tell you anything that you want to know.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He’s done his research, as best he could with the limited details that he had access to. And Seokjin’s right, he’s more or less an expert on psychology, six months away from his doctorate in the subject.

He knows that this is a bad idea, deep down. He knows that these games haven’t ended well for the students before him. He knows he shouldn’t, knows that it’s a bad idea, but—

There’s something about you, something that draws me in.

Yoongi would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some sort of magnetic pull, deep in his gut. There’s something inside of him, something dark, that’s been dormant for years. But now - now that he’s spent all of this time around Seokjin - it’s starting to blossom, unfurling in his lungs and reaching out for—

“Fine,” Yoongi says, before he can stop himself, and Seokjin’s eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting that answer, Yoongi can read that all over him, wasn’t expecting Yoongi to agree. “This once, and just this once, I’ll indulge you. I’ll play your game.”

Seokjin chuckles, the sound low and rumbling in his chest, and it zips through Yoongi, making him shiver. “Alright, kitten. Just this once, let’s play a game.”

Yoongi startles when someone knocks on his office door, and he looks up quickly, as Hoseok pokes his head in.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, and Yoongi leans away from his desk, pulling his earbuds out and setting them on his desk. “Are you busy? Do you have a minute to chat?” Yoongi nods quickly, frowning slightly at the seriousness of Hoseok’s voice. His advisor has never, in Yoongi’s entire career, sounded quite so serious, has always had a smile tugging on his mouth, a laugh in his voice. Hoseok steps into the room, and shuts the door behind him, pulling up the free chair in the room so he can sit close to Yoongi.

“Did something… happen?” Yoongi asks. “You look… upset. Worried.”

Hoseok considers the words for a moment, then laces his fingers together, leaning against the desk. “It’s about Kim Seokjin.”

Yoongi straightens, full attention snapping to Hoseok. “What?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, like he’s mentally preparing himself for what he’s about to say. “I just got a phone call from the hospital. Early this morning, Seokjin, ah,” Hoseok pauses, considering the words for a moment, “he escaped.”

Yoongi freezes, his muscles tightening as fear floods through him. His heartrate spikes, beating fast and hard in his chest, blood burning hot in his veins as he stares at Hoseok, wide-eyed. “You’re…” he trails off, biting his lower lip, then runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling shakily. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious, you’re not bullshitting me, you’re being serious.”

“I am,” Hoseok says, and Yoongi can see in his eyes that he’s fighting just as hard to stay calm as Yoongi is. “I wish I could say that this was a joke, but unfortunately, it’s not.”

“Shit,” Yoongi whispers.

Hoseok nods his agreement. “Shit, indeed.” He reaches out to set a hand on Yoongi’s arm, squeezing gently, and Yoongi has to fight the urge to pull away, the touch too sudden, jarring, not exactly wanted, not right now. “They need to bring you in for an interview, and probably a polygraph, in order to make sure that—”

“They think that I helped him escape?” Yoongi interjects.

“They need to definitively eliminate the possibility,” Hoseok says. “You’ll be getting a call from them today.” Hoseok eyes him for a few seconds, before he runs his fingers through his hair. “You… didn’t, right? You didn’t help him?”

“Why would I do that? What good would that do me?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “I know that you wouldn’t,” he says quietly. “You’re not stupid.” He leans back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, concern still creasing his face. “Please be careful on your way home tonight, the last thing I want is for you to get killed.”

“I’ll be sure to head out before dark,” Yoongi says. “It’s—it wouldn’t fit his patterns, to come after me, but you’re right, I should be careful anyway.”

“We don’t know that his patterns are going to be the same after fifteen years. You’re the one who was studying him, talking to him, you may very well be wearing a giant target on your back.” Hoseok rakes his fingers through his hair, then gets to his feet. “I’ll let you get back to work. And, ah, don’t worry about your office hours tonight, I’ll send an email to your students to let them know that they’re cancelled.”

“You don’t have to do that, Dr. Jung,” Yoongi says. “I can have them—”

“Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects. “I think that you should finish up whatever you’re working on, and go home. Take half a day off. Your students will be just fine, for one day.” Yoongi has to look away for a moment, fighting to keep his jaw from clenching. He needs to play it cool, just needs to get Hoseok out of his office so that he can be alone, can think this whole situation through. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

“I’ll be watching the news,” Yoongi mutters.

Hoseok huffs out a quiet laugh. “I won’t bother telling you not to do that, I know it’s not going to do me any good to say that.” Yoongi snorts, and Hoseok smiles at him. “I’ll let you get back to work, Yoongi. Take care of yourself.”

Yoongi nods. “Thank you, Dr. Jung,” he whispers quietly, as Hoseok lets himself out of the office, pulling the door shut behind him. Yoongi holds still for a moment, listening to the sound of Hoseok heading down the hallway, towards his own office, before he deflates, sagging down against the desk and putting his head in his hands. “Shit,” he breathes quietly. “Fuck.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, then pulls his computer towards him, navigating quickly to a local news website. Sure enough, there is is, Breaking News, right across the top, and Yoongi has to look away, tipping his head back at staring up at the ceiling above him.

“Fuck.”

The last time that he’d seen Seokjin had been almost two weeks ago; he’s supposed to see him tomorrow, supposed to start finishing up the interviews with him as he starts working on his final paper for the upper-level seminar.

It occurs to him, in the recesses of his frazzled, overwhelmed mind that Seokjin had probably known that he was going to escape, the last time that he’d seen Yoongi, that he’s probably been sitting on that information, smug, as usual. Yoongi closes his eyes, trying to recall if Seokjin had said anything to give it away, to give him any warning.

He looks at his computer screen again, closing out of the news site. He has some of his research pulled up on the screen, but he can’t focus on it right now, not with this new development weighing on him. Seokjin’s escaped, he’s out of the hospital, out of prison, out and about and in the world.

Before today, Yoongi’s always felt safe out here, had been able to keep some sort of barrier between his conversations, his relationship, with Seokjin, and the rest of his life. Now, though, he’s not quite sure that he’ll be able to maintain it, not quite sure that he’ll be able to separate the two. He has a feeling that Seokjin’s going to be weighing on his mind, a constant worry prickling at the back of his neck.

It’s not on-script for Seokjin to come after him, it would be absolutely uncharacteristic for him to do so, but Yoongi can’t help but worry. Hoseok’s right, he has a target on his back.

He sighs softly to himself, then glances at the clock. He’d been planning to go to the library to get some work done tonight - it was Friday night, the library would be empty, all of the undergraduates out and about with their friends - but with this new development…

With this development, it’s probably best if he heads home before dark.

Yoongi jolts awake when he hears someone knock on his front door. He sits upright quickly, scrubbing a hand over his face, and looks around quickly, trying to gather his wits about him. He’s on his couch, sprawled across it, and the textbook that he’d been studying from is on the floor, like he’d knocked it onto the floor in his sleep.

The lights are on, and he squints against them, mind still just a little bit fuzzy with sleep. Another knock falls on the door, and after a moment, Yoongi gets to his feet, stumbling to the door. He looks through the peephole, but doesn’t see anyone on the other side, and after a moment, he unlocks the door, pulling it open.

“Can I help you?” he asks, voice rough. The man on the other side meets his gaze, and Yoongi straightens, a sharp stab of anxiety zipping through him. “What—”

“Yoongi," Seokjin purrs quietly, "let me in."

Chapter Text

“Yoongi," Seokjin purrs quietly, "let me in."

Yoongi gapes at him. It takes him far too long to get his wits about him, shaking his head quickly. “No—”

“Let me in,” Seokjin insists, his smooth voice—a low, familiar timbre—burning through Yoongi’s chest, slightly muffled by the black mask that’s covering his nose and mouth. He’s got a sweatshirt on, hood pulled up over his hair, and if Yoongi didn’t know those shoulders, the glimmer in this eyes, he would have no idea who this was. Yoongi swallows hard, but doesn’t budge, staring into Seokjin’s eyes. “Yoongi, move.”

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi hisses softly. “You can’t—”

“Let me in,” Seokjin repeats, “and I’ll explain. Let me in.”

“You are insane—”

Seokjin’s eyes gleam, and he leans closer. “We knew that, love,” he purrs, and Yoongi swallows. “Now, be a good boy, and let me in.”

“I can’t do that,” Yoongi breathes. “No, absolutely not—”

Seokjin moves faster than Yoongi can follow, fingers curling in the front of Yoongi’s t-shirt, and pulling him close, right up against him, their foreheads touching. “Let me in, love,” he purrs softly, and Yoongi gasps, blinking quickly, trying to process the sudden change in position. “Let hyung in.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” Yoongi snaps at him. He glares up into Seokjin’s eyes for a moment longer, before he jerks away from him, shoving Seokjin backwards. “Fine, you can come in, but only because we can’t make a scene on the porch.”

“Thank you, love,” Seokjin murmurs, then steps past Yoongi, into the house. Yoongi shuts the door behind him, locking it, then turns to look at Seokjin, leaning back against it.

It’s jarring, seeing Seokjin here, in his space, in something other than the hospital’s jumpsuit. He looks almost domestic, dark jeans and a black hoodie, mask still covering the lower half of his face. He examines the room for a moment, then turns to look at Yoongi, reaching up to pull his mask down.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi asks, voice low. “You—if anyone finds out that you’re here, I’m—”

“You really think I’m that stupid, love?" Seokjin murmurs, as he wanders into Yoongi’s small kitchen, leaning against the counter. “No one knows that I’m here. And no one’s going to find out that I’m here.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, sweets,” Seokjin says. “Can I use your shower?”

“I—uh, yeah, I guess?”

“Thank you,” Seokjin murmurs. “I appreciate your help, I really do, and I’ll explain what’s going on after I shower.” He prowls forward a moment later, and Yoongi presses himself flat against the door, as Seokjin comes to a halt a hair away from touching him. “Thank you, love, I mean it.” He presses his nose into Yoongi’s hair, inhaling slowly, and Yoongi shudders, hands curling into fists to keep himself from shoving Seokjin away from him.

Before Yoongi can say anything, Seokjin withdraws. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down that hallway, first door on the left. There’s extra towels on the shelf.”

Seokjin hums his thanks, barely audible. He disappears into Yoongi’s bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and as soon as he does, Yoongi sinks to the floor, leaning back against his door. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to get his wits about him.

He stays there for a few seconds longer, then gets to his feet slowly, pushing himself upright. He walks into the living room, picking up his textbook from the floor. He sets it on the coffee table, then looks towards the bathroom, when he hears the shower turn on.

Kim Seokjin is in his bathroom. Kim Seokjin is showering in his bathroom, inside of his home, and Yoongi let him in. Yoongi let him walk into the house, and if anyone finds out about this, Yoongi will lose everything.

He hadn’t planned for this. Everything else, he had planned on; interviewing Seokjin, Seokjin finding out who he was, all of it had gone exactly according to plan. But this—

There was no way he could have anticipated this. He should have known, probably, that Seokjin had his own plans, that he was engineering his own machinations behind the scenes, but escaping from the hospital and coming to Yoongi’s house had seemed a little rash, even for him.

“What are you thinking about, love?” Seokjin murmurs. Yoongi startles, looking up at him quickly from where he’s standing beside the couch. He stills as soon as he spies Seokjin, the older man still glistening wet from the shower, towel fastened around his waist, hair curling and wet. “You look worried.”

Yoongi tries not to let his gaze linger on Seokjin’s chest, on his tight stomach. “I am worried.”

“About me?” Seokjin asks, coming forward slowly. “About me being here? It worries you?”

Yoongi looks away, then nods. He hears Seokjin hum, the sound low, considering. After a few seconds, he hears footsteps, before Seokjin sets a hand on the small of his back, sidling up alongside him. His hand burns like a brand, and Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut, the memory of the first time that Seokjin had touched him engraved on the back of his eyelids.

“You know me,” Seokjin murmurs, leaning in close, until his mouth is touching Yoongi’s temple. “You know me, probably better than anyone else. You really think that I would rope you into this if I didn’t have a plan?”

Yoongi swallows hard, shuddering. “That’s not… what worries me,” he mumbles. “I’m not concerned that you don’t have a plan, I’m—I’m worried that your plan involves letting me take the fall for this. For any of this.”

Seokjin makes a low, hushed sound. “Oh, no, love,” he says softly. He presses his mouth harder against Yoongi’s temple, and Yoongi shivers. “I came to you for help, you really think I’m going to repay your kindness by betraying you?”

“You literally kill people, don’t—don’t pretend like you’re the epitome of morality.” He swallows hard, then turns, looking up at Seokjin. Seokjin stares down at him, face totally serious, all traces of humor long gone. “Knowing what I know about you, how am I supposed to trust that you aren’t going to turn on me?”

“Fair enough,” Seokjin murmurs, voice edging towards breathy. He smells good, intoxicating, even just out of the shower, and Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from leaning into him. “You’re going to have to take my word for it, until I prove it to you, love.”

“I don’t—I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Seokjin hums quietly, touching his knuckles to Yoongi’s jaw. “Your brother trusted me.”

“Yeah, and look where that got him,” Yoongi says. He pushes Seokjin away that time, shoving at the older man’s chest, and Seokjin steps away from him. “I’m not my brother, Seokjin.”

“I know that you aren’t, love,” Seokjin says, watching as Yoongi moves around the couch, trying to put space between them. “I would never dream of confusing the two of you.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi says, voice heated. “Sure seems like you’ve gotten the two of us a little bit confused, Seokjin. I’m not your apprentice, you aren’t going to rope me into this—”

Seokjin cocks his head to the side, then began to move, prowling around the couch towards Yoongi. Yoongi moves the other way, not letting Seokjin get any closer to him.

“You got my older brother killed, Seokjin, forgive me if I’m trying to be cautious—”

“Yoongi,” Seokjin interrupts. “You were so confident when I was locked up, when we were in my domain, you were so sweet for me when we were in my territory, what’s got you scared right now?”

“I’m not scared of you—”

“Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of me, sweets, and you’re not an idiot, are you?” Seokjin’s voice is low, so soft that Yoongi’s straining to hear him, as they continue to circle the couch slowly. “I have no problem with you being scared of me, love; in fact, it’s to be expected. But that’s not the only thing that you’re scared of, sweets, and I want to know what else has gotten under your skin.”

“Seokjin,” Yoongi says. “If—if anyone finds out that you’re here, if anyone finds out that I helped you, that I’m helping you, I’m going to end up locked up. I’ll lose everything, I can’t—I can’t—”

As Yoongi speaks, his voice grows more frantic, breath coming shorter, and he cuts off with a short gasp, stumbling over his feet. Seokjin catches him by the waist before he can fall, pulling Yoongi upright, against his chest, setting a hand to the back of his head, holding him close.

“Breathe, Yoongi,” Seokjin murmurs softly, pressing his nose to the top of Yoongi’s head, into his hair, inhaling slowly. “I want you to take a nice, deep breath for me, okay?” He smooths a hand along the curve of Yoongi’s spine, and Yoongi leans into him, pressing his cheek to Seokjin’s chest. The older man is broad, his chest firm, warm, and Yoongi could get addicted to this feeling, easily. “Shh, love, take a deep breath.”

Yoongi finally manages to inhale slowly, shakily. He’s trembling, shaking hard against Seokjin, a high-pitched sound bubbling up in his throat. “I’m scared,” he breathes, and Seokjin hums, nosing at his hair. Seokjin moves slowly, guiding Yoongi to sit down on the couch, kneeling down in front of him. He sets his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders, touch firm, until Yoongi’s head rises, their gazes locking.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs. “Let hyung help.”

“Don’t,” Yoongi pauses, sniffling slightly, like he’s trying to keep himself from crying, “don’t call yourself that—”

“Alright, alright, shh,” Seokjin says, running his hands up and down Yoongi’s arms, trying to calm him down. “Let me help you. I’ll help you, if you let me.”

Yoongi sucks in another breath, then rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing it off of his face. He wipes away unshed tears, looking up to the ceiling like he’s trying to will his tears away, before he looks Seokjin in the eyes again.

“I’m not scared of you,” Yoongi says quietly, holding his gaze. “I’m not—I’m not even scared of what you could do to me, I know that you won’t hurt me, not tonight, anyways.” Seokjin nods slowly, keeping his mouth shut as he watches Yoongi process, watches him try to piece together what he’s going to say. “What happens after this? Where—where do we go from here?”

“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” Seokjin murmurs quietly. “I think you need to go to sleep. You need your rest, you’ve had a long night.”

“What’re you going to do, while I’m—”

“Do you want me to leave? If you want me gone, Yoongi, I’ll go, and I won’t leave behind any sign that I was ever here. No one needs to know that I came here, that you helped me.” Yoongi swallows, then exhales shakily, hiding his face in his hands. “I’ll go, if—”

“Stay until morning,” Yoongi says, probably against his better judgement. “We can—we can talk in the morning.” He wipes his face with his hand, leaning back slightly, tipping his head back against the couch. “Fuck. Shit, you shouldn’t—why did you come here, why would you put me in this situation?”

“Because I trust you,” Seokjin breathes, then wraps his fingers around Yoongi’s wrist, pulling his hand close, so he can press his mouth to the inside of his wrist. “Because—”

“Because you knew I’d say yes,” Yoongi interjects. “You knew that I would—that I would let you in, that I would give you what you wanted, you used me—”

“No, gorgeous,” Seokjin says. “Because I know what you are, because I know what you can be. Because I want to help you become that.”

“Because you need another partner,” Yoongi snaps, jaw clenching, eyes suddenly sparkling with violence. “Because you worked with Taekwoon, because you and Taekwoon were—whatever you were, you think that you can waltz in here and make me into a second version of him.”

Seokjin moves fast, rising up slightly, and pressing a hand over Yoongi’s mouth, silencing him. Yoongi fights back, pushing at him, but Seokjin is bigger, stronger, pinning Yoongi to the couch, knees on either side of his hips, one hand wrapped around both of Yoongi’s small, fragile wrists, pinning them over his head. He leans in, their foreheads pressing together, and Yoongi’s eyes are wide, frantic.

“Kitten,” Seokjin says, voice a low growl. “I’ve told you before, I wouldn’t dream of confusing you with Taekwoon. You’re not just like anyone, you’re special, there’s something about you that I want to get my hands on.” He presses closer to him, and Yoongi shudders, fear holding him perfectly still, paralyzed underneath Seokjin. “I want to strip back this pretty, innocent, sweet little facade that you’ve got going on, I want to see what’s underneath it. You’re dangerous, we both know that you are, we both know that you’re capable of just as much violence, if not more, than Taekwoon was, and I want to see it.”

When Yoongi’s first few tears fall, Seokjin holds totally still, watching him cry, before he moves his hand, thumbing his tears away with a gentle touch. “Oh, kitten,” he murmurs, and Yoongi chokes on a sob. “Did I scare you?”

“N-no,” Yoongi lies, and Seokjin laughs quietly, before he presses a soft kiss to Yoongi’s forehead. “I’m not, I’m—”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Seokjin says. “But I need you to know that I do not believe that you are Taekwoon. I don’t yet know what you are, but I very much want to find out, if you’ll allow me.” He smooths his thumb along Yoongi’s cheekbone, soothing him, and Yoongi makes a low, breathless little sound in his throat. “Yoongi.”

“Seokjin.”

“I think you should go to bed. You’ve had a very trying day, and you deserve to sleep.”

Yoongi stands in the archway between his kitchen and his living room, his eyes locked onto the man sleeping on his couch. He exhales slowly, then shoves his hands into his pockets, jaw clenching.

He shouldn’t have let Seokjin in here. He shouldn’t have agreed to let him in, shouldn’t have agreed to let him stay the night, shouldn’t have agreed to any of this. It’s far too risky; Yoongi doesn’t know if anyone saw Seokjin coming here, doesn’t know if anyone knows, but if someone does, then he’s really finished.

He’ll lose everything, and in all likelihood, Seokjin will get away.

He runs his fingers through his hair, gaze finding Seokjin’s face. He’s vulnerable, right now, lost in sleep, all defenses down.

Yoongi could kill him.

He shivers at the thought, the intensity of his reaction taking him by surprise. He could do it, easily; there are knives in his kitchen, he’s seen enough, heard enough, read enough, to know how to do it. He could make sure that Seokjin would never be able to hurt anyone ever again, could make sure that Seokjin never had the chance to betray him.

Yoongi’s moving before he really knows what he’s doing, turning on his heel and walking into his kitchen, grabbing a knife from the block. Almost on autopilot, he returns to the living room, approaching the couch, gaze on Seokjin’s sleeping form, watching for any sign that he might be awake.

He comes to a halt, standing over Seokjin’s sleeping form, knife clutched in his hand. He feels totally at ease, entire body relaxed, ready, anticipating. His eyes trace the curve of Seokjin’s mouth, the slope of his nose, the pillow of his lips; Yoongi can still feel where Seokjin’s mouth had pressed to him, his temple, into his hair, his wrist, the phantom touch setting him on fire.

When Seokjin’s eyes snap open, it takes Yoongi a long moment to process the fact that Seokjin’s awake, that the image that greeted Seokjin when he woke was Yoongi standing over him, with a knife. A moment later, he moves, bringing the knife down hard, aiming right for his neck, but Seokjin moves faster, expecting it. He catches Yoongi’s wrist, and twists his arm away, the blade just barely missing his throat.

Seokjin moves swiftly, sitting up and pulling Yoongi towards him, making Yoongi cry out. It happens fast enough that Yoongi can’t do much to stop him, doesn’t really process anything that is happening until he’s flat on his back, and Seokjin’s on top of him, pinning him there. He has one hand on Yoongi’s wrist, pinning it to the back of the couch, the other on his shoulder.

“That was a good try, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and Yoongi gasps. “Next time, don’t hesitate.”

His hand curls around Yoongi’s, before he peels the younger’s fingers off the handle of the knife, and takes it in his own hand. He considers it for a few seconds, examining the blade, before he meets Yoongi’s gaze again.

“Not bad, as far as weapons go,” he says, leaning down. Yoongi watches him with wide eyes, as Seokjin lets the sharp edge of the blade rest against the curve of his jaw. He swallows hard, throat bobbing with the movement, and Seokjin chuckles quietly. “You were really going to do it, huh? You were really going to kill me, after you welcomed me into your home and let me sleep here.”

“I should have,” Yoongi breathes, and Seokjin smirks at him.

“You should have closed the door in my face, you should have told me to fuck off, you should have called the cops as soon as you went to bed, or this morning. There are a lot of things that you should have done, gorgeous, and you did none of them.” Seokjin laughs quietly, then nudges Yoongi’s head back slightly, to get a better look at his neck. “But that’s alright with me, sweet thing. I’m more than okay with you not doing the things that you should.”

“Get off of me,” Yoongi grits out.

Seokjin chuckles. “What are you going to do if I don’t, hm? Are you going to hurt hyung?”

“Don’t call yourself that,” Yoongi breathes. “You’re not my hyung.”

“I disagree,” Seokjin says. “Go ahead, love, hurt me. If you think you’re capable.”

Yoongi glares up at him, but doesn’t say a word. After a long few moments, he exhales, going limp underneath Seokjin, who chuckles quietly, leaning back slightly. He takes the knife away from Yoongi’s throat, reaching away from him to set it on the coffee table.

When Seokjin speaks again, his voice is low, a quiet murmur that sends sparks down Yoongi’s spine. “I'm almost tempted to gut you with your own knife as a punishment for trying to kill me, gorgeous,” he says quietly, and Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly. “But I’m not a fan of weapons.”

“Seokjin—”

“If I wanted to kill you,” Seokjin interrupts, staring down into Yoongi’s eyes, any trace of humor gone from his gaze, his posture. There’s something cold, calculating in his eyes, like he’s sizing Yoongi up; this is second nature to him, Yoongi can read that in the easy curve of his body, “I wouldn’t use a knife on you.” Yoongi inhales sharply, a moment before Seokjin moves, his fingers wrapping around Yoongi’s neck. “I much prefer to use my hands.”

“Seokjin—”

“It’s much more personal this way,” Seokjin continues, before he presses down. Yoongi lashes out at him on instinct, shoving at Seokjin’s chest to try and dislodge him. Seokjin chuckles, before his grip tightens, cutting off all of Yoongi’s air. “I can really feel it, you know, when life starts to leave someone.”

“Let me go,” Yoongi manages, shoving at his chest, kicking at him ineffectually. “Let—”

“If I were to kill you, gorgeous,” Seokjin purrs, leaning over him, pressing the words against Yoongi’s forehead. “I wouldn’t be cruel to you. You’ve been so good to me, I wouldn’t make you suffer, not much, at least.”

“Hyung—”

Seokjin releases Yoongi a moment later, and Yoongi gasps, shoving at his chest. This time, Seokjin allows himself to fall backwards, off of Yoongi, so that Yoongi can scramble to his feet, backing away from the couch.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“And you still let me into your home. What does that say about you, hm?”

Yoongi glares at him, folding his arms over his chest. “Go fuck yourself.”

Seokjin stands a moment later, and Yoongi instinctually steps backwards, flinching when his back hits a wall. He stays totally still, as Seokjin approaches him slowly, prowling across the room, like a predator approaching its prey. Seokjin’s hand lands on the wall by his head, and Yoongi inhales sharply, but doesn’t blink, holding Seokjin’s gaze. “We both know,” Seokjin says, leaning in close, too close for comfort, “that you are just as dangerous, just as crazy, as I am. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I am nothing like you,” Yoongi spits, bristling, and Seokjin laughs quietly.

“You,” Seokjin murmurs, hand coming up to cradle Yoongi’s jaw gently, “are more like me than you will ever know, I think.”

“I’m not, you’re a—”

“Monster?” Seokjin fills in, then grins. “Yeah, I guess you could call me that. But you are, too, just as much as me, even if you haven’t killed anyone yet.”

“Yet,” Yoongi sneers. “You make it sound inevitable.”

Seokjin laughs quietly. “It is,” he murmurs, smoothing his thumb along Yoongi’s cheekbone. “You’ll crack one day. You can feel it, can’t you? Like an itch, under your skin, burning you up from the inside. You know that I’m right, don’t look at me like that. You can feel it.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to deny it, but can’t quite form the words, the lie sitting like acid on his tongue. His face flushes red, and a smirk curls across Seokjin’s face slowly, before he leans in even closer, their foreheads pressing together.

“You know I’m right,” he murmurs, holding Yoongi’s gaze. “I’m right, and you know that I’m right.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Yoongi breathes. “What does it have to do with you?”

“I can help you,” Seokjin whispers, and Yoongi can’t help the way that his breath hitches, the way that his gaze drops to Seokjin’s mouth, suddenly so close to his own. “I can help you, I want to help you.”

“Seokjin—”

“Fuck,” Seokjin breathes quietly. “You’re so pretty when you get violent, I want to know what you look like when you’re killing someone.”

Yoongi brings a hand up, like he’s going to shove Seokjin away again, but hesitates, staring up at him. “You…”

“I told you,” Seokjin murmurs. “You’re gorgeous.”

“And what does that have to do with you wanting to watch me kill people?”

Seokjin hums, tipping his head to the side and considering Yoongi for a long moment. After a moment, he bites his lip, dragging his teeth along the plush curve of it, and Yoongi stares, wide-eyed, at his mouth. His heart’s beating fast, too fast, and he can’t quite place the strange feeling fluttering in his chest.

“I want you to know what it feels like,” Seokjin says, breathless, excitement gleaming in his eyes like wildfire. “I want you to bloom and blossom and flourish, I want you to feel what I feel.”

When their gazes lock again, something snaps in Yoongi’s chest. He sucks in a sharp breath, hand coming to rest against Seokjin’s chest, fingertips pressing into the even thud of his heartbeat. “Seokjin…”

“You’re dangerous,” Seokjin whispers. “Or, at the very least, you could be. If you let me show you how.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Let me show you,” Seokjin says again, and Yoongi shivers, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He licks his lips, pressing them together to try and clear his head. “What do you say, hm, love? You wanna let hyung take you into the wild side?”

Yoongi swallows, opening his eyes slowly, fixing his gaze on Seokjin’s chest. “What if… what if I say yes? What happens then?”

“We lay low for a little while,” Seokjin murmurs, voice dripping through Yoongi like a liquid inferno. “Keep our heads down. Let the cops think that I’ve left town, let them think I’m not here anymore.”

Yoongi snorts quietly. “That’s going to go out the window as soon as you kill someone again.”

“It won’t,” Seokjin says quietly. “Because I’m not going to be killing anyone.” Yoongi’s head snaps up, their gazes locking, and Seokjin grins at him, the look almost wild. “It’s going to be all you, gorgeous.” He tucks a curled finger underneath Yoongi’s chin, tipping his head back, before he strokes his finger down the length of Yoongi’s throat. “Your signature. Your murder. And my expertise, to make sure that it doesn’t fall back on you.”

Yoongi stares a him for a moment longer, before he moves. His fingers curl in Seokjin’s shirt, seeking an anchor, something to ground him. For the first time since he’d met Seokjin, he can read the look in his eyes, can read the honesty, the violence, the danger there.

“Tell me yes, sweet thing,” Seokjin murmurs. “Tell me yes.”

“What’re you going to do if I say no?” Yoongi breathes. “Are you going to kill me?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dare,” he murmurs. “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you ask me to do, but I’m really hoping, gorgeous, that you don’t ask me to do that. I’d really like to take you hunting with me.”

“Is that what you call it? Hunting?”

“Mm, isn’t it?” Seokjin says softly, leaning in closer, running the tip of his nose along the bridge of Yoongi’s. “They’re the prey, we’re the predator. We have to pick the best prey, take it down. Hunting. Are you going to hunt with me, sweet thing?”

“I should say no,” Yoongi breathes, staring up into his eyes, his free hand coming up to curl in Seokjin’s shirt. He pulls lightly, and Seokjin smirks, then braces his forearm on the wall beside Yoongi’s head, gaze darkening slightly.

“Maybe,” Seokjin murmurs. “But do you really want to?”

Yoongi takes a deep, slow breath, then exhales, watching as his breath makes Seokjin’s hair flutter slightly. “No,” he says, barely audible, like he’s scared of admitting it. “No, I—that’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want to say, love?”

Yoongi blinks slowly, thoughtfully. “I—yes. I want to say yes. I am saying yes.”

The smile that curves across Seokjin’s face is shark-like, dangerous, and it makes Yoongi tremble. He feels his knees go weak, a moment before Seokjin slides an arm around his waist, pulling Yoongi up against his body.

“Well, then,” Seokjin says softly. “Let’s get the fledgling killer ready to go hunting.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi calls quietly, pausing in the kitchen, backpack slung over one shoulder. Seokjin is sitting on the couch, his back to Yoongi, but his head rises when he hears Yoongi call. “I’m back.”

“Welcome home,” Seokjin says, voice low, not looking away from his phone. “How was the lab, love?”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Yoongi says, but there’s no heat to his voice as he steps into the living room, tossing his backpack onto the armchair. “I’m not your love.”

Seokjin smirks at him, leaning back on the couch, eyeing Yoongi playfully. “Oops,” he says, sounding like he’s not sorry at all. “I’ll be better, love, promise.”

“Liar,” Yoongi says quietly. “You just did it again.”

Seokjin cocks his head to the side, before he uncrosses his legs. “How was class, gorgeous?”

Yoongi exhales slowly, like he’s mentally trying to prepare himself for this conversation. He folds his arms over his chest, then sits on the arm of the couch, holding Seokjin’s gaze. “It was fine,” he says softly. “Everybody’s freaked out, because you… you know, because you escaped.” Seokjin hums quietly, cocking his head to the side, considering. “That’s all they wanted to talk about. The running joke is that I helped you escape.” Seokjin’s mouth twitches into a tiny smile, and Yoongi huffs out a breathless laugh. “Hits closer to home than I care to admit.”

“I would imagine so,” Seokjin murmurs. “Ah, sweet thing, it must be difficult, having to pretend not to know where I am, what I’m up to.”

“I still don’t know what you’re up to, Seokjin, it’s not that hard.” Yoongi kicks at the floor lightly, looking up quickly when Seokjin slides closer to him. “Speaking of, what did you get up to today? What the hell do you do when I’m at school?”

“Hang out,” Seokjin says quietly. “I read. You have quite the collection.”

“I’ve been studying the same subject since I was eighteen years old, hyung, of course, I have quite the collection.” Seokjin snorts quietly, then looks up at him, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. “That’s it? You just… you just read and sit here and wait for me to come home to entertain you?”

“You make me sound pathetic,” Seokjin says, lower lip jutting out in a fake pout. “Don’t make me sound pathetic, sweet thing.” He reaches out, setting a hand on Yoongi’s knee, and squeezing gently.

“It sounds like things are starting to die down,” Yoongi says quietly. “When are we going to—”

“Relax,” Seokjin interjects, hand caressing his knee lightly. “When the time is right, we’ll go.” He squeezes Yoongi’s knee again, then tugs lightly, pulling Yoongi off the arm of the couch, and against his side. Yoongi startles, then shoves away from him, kicking out at Seokjin. “Jeez, gorgeous, is that really necessary?”

“Don’t—you’re very touchy.”

“Just with boys that I like,” Seokjin murmurs. “Just with you, sweet thing.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly, as he considers Seokjin. He folds his arms over his chest, legs pulled up against him, like he’s ready to kick out at Seokjin again. “What if I don’t want you to touch me?”

Seokjin leans back slightly. “Then I won’t,” he says. "Is that the case? You don’t want hyung to touch you?”

Yoongi exhales shakily, staring into Seokjin’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he whispers, and Seokjin hums quietly, nodding his understanding. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t, you know, attracted to you, because I am, and you know that, you’re not stupid.” Seokjin nods again, but stays right where he is, not moving closer. “But I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, gorgeous,” Seokjin says softly. “I’m not upset.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You want to touch me,” he says quietly. “You want to—you want to sleep with me, just like you did with Taekwoon—”

“Yoongi,” Seokjin sighs softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not like him, I heard you the first five times.” Yoongi watches him for a moment longer, before he huffs through his nose. “It’s just a little bit hard for me to believe, since you keep treating me like I am him.”

Seokjin makes a low, angry sound, fingers curling into a fist. Yoongi looks away quickly, biting into his lower lip. “Don’t pretend that you know how I treated your brother,” Seokjin says quietly. “I would never dream of confusing the two of you, I am intimately aware of just how different the two of you are. Rest assured that I will not treat you like Taekwoon.”

As he speaks, he leans forward, pushing back into Yoongi’s space. Yoongi doesn’t meet his gaze, doesn’t look up at him, whole body pulled taut as Seokjin’s hand finds his knee again, resting heavy there. Something inside of Yoongi coils tight as he does, a low flame burning through him, reaching every inch of his body.

“Do you believe me?” Seokjin asks softly, and Yoongi shivers. “You’re not him. You’re not him, and there’s nothing that could make me forget that, love.”

Yoongi’s head snaps up, and their gazes lock. “I told you—”

“Not to call you that, I know,” Seokjin says, and as he speaks, Yoongi is hyperaware of just how close Seokjin’s face is to his, their noses a breath away from touching. “But I think you like it. I think you like when hyung calls you love, it makes you all… quivery.” He braces a hand on the arm of the couch, just beside Yoongi’s head. “Don’t you, love?”

“Hyung,” Yoongi breathes, and Seokjin chuckles quietly.

“I thought I wasn’t your hyung, gorgeous,” Seokjin murmurs. “But I think maybe you like that, too, just a little bit.” He laughs softly, squeezing Yoongi’s knee lightly, thumb caressing it through his jeans. “Yoongi,” he breathes quietly, and Yoongi hums, staring up into his eyes. Seokjin licks his lips, and Yoongi can’t help but look at his mouth as he does, before he meets Seokjin’s gaze again, eyes wide. From the look in Seokjin’s eyes, he knows he’s been caught, knows that Seokjin knows.

“Seokjin.”

“I need you to tell me if I’m allowed to touch you,” Seokjin whispers, barely audible.

Yoongi takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, lower lip glossy, pink, biteable. “You’re—you’re allowed to touch me.”

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Seokjin murmurs. “Can I do that, kitten?”

Yoongi swallows hard, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you can—you can do that.”

Seokjin waits for a moment, giving Yoongi a chance to back out, to push Seokjin away, before he leans in, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss. It’s nothing much, a warm press of his mouth against Yoongi’s, but it makes Yoongi’s head spin. Yoongi makes a low sound in his throat, almost a whine, and Seokjin laughs quietly against his mouth, before he nips playfully at Yoongi’s lower lip, tugging on it lightly, before he withdraws.

“Tasty,” Seokjin says quietly, and Yoongi flushes red. “Fuck, you taste good.” He kisses Yoongi again, harder this time, wetter, sloppy, coaxing Yoongi’s mouth open, so he can lick past his lips. He sucks on Yoongi’s tongue, then bites into his lower lip again, a low growling sound building up in his throat, as Yoongi arches underneath him, allowing Seokjin to take what he wants.

When they break apart, Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath, desperate for air. He turns his head slightly, and Seokjin leans back in, to press his mouth to Yoongi’s jaw, lips trailing up the length of it, to the skin beneath his ear, teeth scraping along the skin. Yoongi gasps quietly, whining, high-pitched in his throat, and Seokjin chuckles against his neck.

“Gorgeous,” Seokjin says. “Fuck, kitten, I like those pretty noises.”

The hand on Yoongi’s knee travels upwards slowly, slipping between Yoongi’s thighs. Yoongi gasps again, louder, and Seokjin laughs quietly, squeezing his leg, fingertips tracing the seam of his jeans. “Hyung—ah, hyung, p-please—touch—”

“Tell hyung what you want,” Seokjin says quietly. “Tell hyung, and hyung’ll give it to you.”

“Touch me,” Yoongi manages, his voice choked. “Please, hyung, touch me, please.”

Instead of speaking, Seokjin answers him by capturing his mouth in another kiss. This one is charged, a searing heat pressed against his mouth, pouring past his lips, drowning him. Yoongi grabs at him, frantic to ground himself, as Seokjin’s hand slides higher, until his palm is pressed to the outline of Yoongi’s cock.

At that first touch, Yoongi makes an abrupt little noise, jerking slightly in surprise, and Seokjin laughs softly, burning the sound into Yoongi’s mouth. “Pretty,” he whispers, then bites into Yoongi’s lower lip again, harder than before. “Make that sound again.”

“Bossy,” Yoongi manages to say in between kisses, letting his legs spread wider, to give Seokjin more freedom to touch. “Should’ve known.”

Seokjin chuckles, giving Yoongi’s cock a gentle squeeze through his jeans. “Can I take these off of you, love?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says, before he can think too hard about it. Seokjin smiles, shark-like, before he presses his mouth to Yoongi’s jaw, licking a slow path from Yoongi’s chin to just below his ear, and Yoongi shudders violently, fingers tightening in Seokjin’s shirt. “Shit.”

“Gorgeous,” Seokjin says, voice a low growl. “Fuck, you’re sexy, kitten.”

“Off,” Yoongi grits out, tugging Seokjin’s shirt upwards. Seokjin laughs softly, then pulls back, tugging his shirt over his head, and tossing it away. As soon as it’s gone, Yoongi’s gaze falls, from his face to his chest, trailing down, from his collarbones to his stomach, all the way to where the waistband of his sweatpants sit on his hips. He looks back up a moment later, then shifts, pressing a hand flat on Seokjin’s chest, and pushing him backwards. Seokjin chuckles, going easily, letting Yoongi push him against the other arm of the couch, slotting their thighs together as he settles on top of him.

“Sweet thing,” Seokjin breathes, one hand coming up to cradle Yoongi’s jaw as he kisses him again, sweet and gentle. “What do you want to do, love?”

“Touch me,” Yoongi sighs into his mouth, and Seokjin chuckles. He slides his other hand around Yoongi’s waist, slipping it underneath his shirt and caressing the small of his back gently. “Not like that, hyung, you know—”

“Yeah,” Seokjin interrupts. “Yeah, I know what you want.” His hand dips down, to squeeze at the swell of Yoongi’s ass, and Yoongi gasps into his mouth. “Let’s get these pants off of you, yeah? Let hyung take a look at what you’re hiding under there.” Yoongi nods quickly, and Seokjin reaches between them, unbuttoning his jeans slowly. He slips his fingers under Yoongi’s waistband, tugging his pants down slowly. Yoongi wiggles out of them, kicking them down onto the floor, and Seokjin hums his approval.

“Cute,” he breathes, squeezing Yoongi’s thigh gently. He thumbs lightly at the smooth, pale skin, then sits up slightly, pulling Yoongi closer, hips pressing tightly together. Yoongi makes a breathy sound, staring down at him, then slides his fingers into Seokjin’s hair, combing it back off of his face. “So small, you’re so sweet.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi says softly, hips rutting forward slightly, grinding against Seokjin.

“Yeah, tell me. Tell me what you want.” He kisses Yoongi softly, sweetly, completely at odds with Yoongi’s frantic movements. There’s electricity buzzing under his skin, leaving him desperate, needy, tense. He ruts against Seokjin, whole body pulled taut as he does, chasing after an orgasm that’s hanging just out of reach.

“Need—w-wanna, I want to—please—”

“You want to come?” Seokjin asks quietly. “Tell me that you want me to make you come, and I will, love, I promise.”

Yoongi chokes on a soft little moan, the sound frantic. “I want to come, hyung,” he gasps, and Seokjin smiles at him.

“You want hyung to make you come?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. “Yeah, please, will you?”

“How would you like to come, gorgeous?” Seokjin pulls him down, kissing him gently on the mouth, squeezing his ass again. “How do you want hyung to make you come?” Yoongi doesn’t say anything, whining and squirming in Seokjin’s lap, rutting frantically against him. “You want hyung to touch your pretty cock? Is that what you want, love?”

“Please,” Yoongi gasps out. “Yeah, I want you to, please.”

Seokjin chuckles quietly, as he slips his hand into Yoongi’s underwear, wrapping his fingers around Yoongi’s cock. He gives it a slow stroke, and Yoongi shudders, rolling his hips and fucking his cock into the ring of Seokjin’s fingers. Seokjin thumbs lightly at the head, digging his thumb into the slit, smearing around the precum that’s gathered.

“How’s that feel, love?” Seokjin asks softly, looking up at Yoongi with curious, playful eyes. “Can I have a kiss, sweet thing?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, then leans in, to kiss him. It’s his turn to lick into Seokjin’s mouth, getting a taste for the older man on his tongue, sucking on his lower lip. Seokjin laughs quietly, then slips his free hand underneath Yoongi’s shirt, thumbing over Yoongi’s nipple gently. “Ah, fuck—”

“I want you to come for me,” Seokjin says quietly. “Come for me, love, go on.”

Yoongi’s hips rut forward again, and as he moves, Seokjin pinches his nipple, tugging gently on it. He twists harder, swallowing Yoongi’s gasp. Yoongi squirms against him, thrusting into the ring of Seokjin’s fingers. He slides both arms around Seokjin’s neck, clinging to him, rutting frantically as he feels his orgasm rolling towards him.

“I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Seokjin murmurs softly, against the corner of his mouth. “Hyung wants you to come. I want to see your face when you come for me. Go on, love, come for hyung.”

“Ah,” Yoongi manages, when Seokjin digs his thumb into the slit of his cock, and Yoongi comes. His hips jerk slightly, and a shudder runs through him, as he moans into Seokjin’s mouth. Seokjin hums quietly, stroking his thumb over Yoongi’s nipple gently, just to see the little shivers run through him each time he does. He continues stroking Yoongi’s cock slowly, milking him through his orgasm, and Yoongi continues to tremble in his lap, gasping for breath.

“Pretty,” Seokjin says, then kisses Yoongi gently. He sucks lightly on his lower lip, running his teeth over it. When he releases Yoongi’s cock, he slips his hand out of his underwear, other hand slipping out from under his shirt. “Mm, sweet thing, kiss me.”

Yoongi shifts slightly in his lap, then kisses him, as Seokjin slips his clean hand around Yoongi, squeezing his waist gently. He pulls Yoongi against him, nibbling at his lower lip, their tongues meeting a moment later. Yoongi lets Seokjin lick into his mouth, tastes the older man on his tongue, relaxing gradually into his touch.

“Let me wipe my hand off,” Seokjin says against his mouth, and Yoongi makes a low sound, leaning into Seokjin, as the older man reaches for his shirt, wiping his hand off on it quickly. “Feel okay, love?” he asks softly, hands settling on Yoongi’s thighs. “Tell hyung.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. He’s still trembling under Seokjin’s hands, chest rising and falling quickly as he tries to catch his breath, guilt starting to worm its way into his lungs. “Yeah, I feel—I feel okay, yeah, ‘m fine.”

“You sure?” Seokjin asks, tugging Yoongi closer, their hips slotting together, foreheads touching. They’re sharing breath, at this point, and Seokjin closes his eyes for a moment, breathing Yoongi in. “What do you need? What do you need from hyung, gorgeous?”

Yoongi exhales shakily, sliding his fingers into the hairs at the back of Seokjin’s. He leans in close, pressing his forehead against Seokjin’s shoulder, taking a deep, slow breath. “‘m—I’m fine, I’m okay—”

“Sweet thing,” Seokjin murmurs quietly. “It’s late, do you think I could maybe help get you ready for bed?” Yoongi doesn’t say a word, and Seokjin strokes his back gently, touch warm through Yoongi’s t-shirt. “Let me clean you up, kitten, let hyung make you feel better.” Yoongi sniffles, a shudder running through him, and Seokjin hugs him tightly. “Oh, shh, no, no,” he whispers, pressing his mouth to the top of Yoongi’s head. “Sweet thing, what can I do to help, hm? What can hyung do to make you feel better?”

“‘m sorry,” Yoongi mumbles weakly, and Seokjin kisses his temple gently. “Sorry, I can’t—I don’t know what I’m crying, I don’t know—”

“Shh, hey, no, don’t be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for, it’s okay. It’s alright, sweetheart.” Seokjin kisses his forehead, then presses a soft kiss to his mouth. “At the very least, let me get you into some clean, comfy clothes, so that you can go to bed, alright? Can hyung do that for you, sweet thing?” After a few seconds, Yoongi nods slowly, and Seokjin smiles, nuzzling at his cheek gently. “C’mon, c’mere. Let me help you.” He gathers Yoongi into his arms, then stands, holding Yoongi against him, and walking back towards Yoongi’s bedroom. He steps into the room, then sets Yoongi down on his bed, pressing a lingering kiss to his head before he walks to the dresser.

He pulls a few drawers open, before he finds a clean pair of sweatpants, a pair of underwear, and a loose white t-shirt. When he returns to the bed, Yoongi is hunched over slightly, lower lip jutting out in a soft little pout. He glances up at Seokjin, but breaks eye contact quickly, swallowing hard.

“Can I help you change?” Seokjin asks quietly. Yoongi exhales, then nods slowly, allowing Seokjin to help him out of his shirt. He reaches for his underwear a moment later, peeling them slowly down Yoongi’s legs. He does his best not to look at Yoongi’s cock, smaller than he expected, still slick with his cum. Seokjin uses Yoongi’s underwear to clean his cock off as best he can, before he helps the younger man into his clean clothes, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “You ready to go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, voice rough. “Yeah, yes.”

“Alright,” Seokjin says softly. He pulls the covers back, making a space for Yoongi, then helps him slip under the covers, pulling them up to cover him. “Go to sleep, sweet thing.”

“Mmkay,” Yoongi mumbles.

As Yoongi closes his eyes, Seokjin leans in, to kiss his temple gently, smoothing a hand over his hair. He lingers there for a few seconds longer, nuzzling into Yoongi’s hair, inhaling the clean scent of his shampoo.

“Sleep well, gorgeous.”

Chapter Text

“I want you to remember to keep your focus on me while we’re out there,” Seokjin says quietly, pushing his hair back with one hand, tucking it under his hat, and pulling his mask up over the lower half of his face. “Don’t think too hard, can you do that for me, love? Just let yourself feel.”

Yoongi nods his agreement, tugging on his gloves. He’s already wearing much the same outfit as Seokjin, hood pulled up over his hair, and Seokjin smiles at him, before he steps closer, pulling his mask down just so he can press a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead.

“It’s going to be so pretty,” Seokjin says softly. “You’re going to do a beautiful job.” He kisses Yoongi’s forehead again, watching as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut for a split second, before they snap open again. They’re crystal clear, free of any of the guilt or emotion that had plagued Yoongi the night before, and they cut straight through Seokjin like blades. “Focus.”

“Yes, hyung,” Yoongi whispers. He leans close, wrapping his arms around Seokjin, and Seokjin hums, kissing his forehead again. “Let’s go.”

“Eager,” Seokjin says. “Grab that bag from the living room for me.”

“Where, ah. Where are we going to hunt?”

Seokjin smiles softly at him. “Do you have a preference, love? Is there anything in particularly that you’re in a mood to hunt tonight?” Yoongi blinks at him, but doesn’t speak for a long moment. “Anywhere you want, sweet thing. I’m flexible.”

“Downtown,” Yoongi says. “It’s, it’s outside of your comfort zone, they wouldn’t immediately link it to you.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, sweetheart,” Seokjin murmurs, touching a hand to Yoongi’s jaw, before he pulls his own mask back up. “Bag, then let’s go. We ought to get a move on.” He slides his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, then leads him out of the bathroom, nudging him towards the living room, as he heads to the kitchen. Yoongi walks into his living room, picking up the small black duffel bag on the couch, before he joins Seokjin, leaning against the counter.

“You’re going to teach me?”

“Everything,” Seokjin says. He takes the bag from Yoongi, zipping it up slowly. “You know enough about what I do, you’ve done your homework. I want to teach you how to do it.” He slings the duffel bag over one shoulder, then reaches for Yoongi’s hand. “If you’ll let me.”

Yoongi swallows hard, meeting his gaze again, before he takes Seokjin’s hand in his own. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Let’s go, hyung.”

Seokjin laughs. “I like the way that you say that word,” he whispers. “I like when you call me hyung, sweet thing. It’s precious.” He squeezes Yoongi’s hand, then leads him to the door, turning the handle slowly to let them out into the hall.

It’s cold enough outside that they don’t look odd, they don’t stand out, bundled up as they are. Yoongi leans against Seokjin’s side, squeezing his hand tightly, and Seokjin smiles, then releases his hand, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You’re awfully affectionate.”

“Nobody looks twice at couples,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath. “Especially not gay ones.”

Seokjin laughs quietly, then turns his head, to nuzzle at Yoongi’s temple. “Is that what we are? A couple?”

Yoongi scoffs, elbowing him playfully. “Not a chance.”

“Alright, love,” Seokjin says softly. “Just let me know when you see someone you like, alright?” Yoongi nods quickly, as Seokjin pets his hip gently, leading him slowly down the street. There are only a few stragglers out, this late at night, most of them traveling in pairs or small groups. Hard to pick off, Seokjin knows, keeping his keen eyes peeled for anyone on their own. He’s certain that Yoongi’s doing the exact same thing—the boy is smart, probably smarter than Seokjin, just lacking in experience.

“There,” Yoongi says under his breath, and Seokjin glances to the other side of the street. Sure enough, there’s a young man coming towards them. He’s stumbling slightly, like he’s just on the wrong side of drunk. Seokjin looks up the street, then down, just to make sure that they’re alone, other than the newly found target.

“Keep walking,” Seokjin murmurs quietly. “Pretend I said something funny, giggle for me, sweet thing.” Yoongi nods, then does as he’s told, turning his face into Seokjin’s chest as he laughs quietly, stumbling against Seokjin. Seokjin laughs, wrapping an arm around him, watching the man out of the corner of his eye.

Yoongi pulls him to a halt a moment later, sliding his fingers under Seokjin’s shirt, pulling him close as he backs into a brick wall. “Kiss me,” he says, louder than he normally would, slurring his voice, like he’s drunk. “Ah, th-that—that tickles, hyung.”

Seokjin moves against him, pulling his own mask down, before he grabs Yoongi’s, doing the same so that he can capture his mouth in a heated kiss. Yoongi paws at his chest, as Seokjin slots their hips together, grinding lightly against him. “You’re so drunk.”

Yoongi giggles again, louder than before, watching over Seokjin’s shoulder as the man continues moving down the sidewalk. He’s past them now, hunched over to hide from the cold, resolutely not looking at them.

“Told you,” Yoongi breathes into Seokjin’s mouth. “No one wants to look at gay couples.”

“Smart boy,” Seokjin says softly. “Let’s go.” He takes Yoongi’s hand in his own, running his thumb over his knuckles, then tugs both of their masks back up. “Let’s see what we can do with our prey, shall we?”

“Yes, hyung,” Yoongi whispers, blinking up at him. There are stars in his eyes, brilliant and gleaming, and Seokjin allows himself to get lost in them for a split second, before he pulls away. He leads Yoongi across the street, gripping his hand as he moves.

“Stay here,” Seokjin says, barely audible behind his mask. “Let hyung subdue him, and then you can do whatever you want, sweetheart, alright?”

“Yes, hyung.”

Seokjin squeezes his waist, before he parts from Yoongi. He approaches the man ahead of them, steps featherlight on the sidewalk, and before Yoongi really knows what’s happening, the man—their target—is crumpling to the ground. Seokjin hooks his arms underneath the man, hauling him upright, and pulling him into an alley. Yoongi follows a moment later, stepping into the mouth of the alley, glancing down both ends of the street, before he follows Seokjin down it.

Seokjin has the man propped up against the back wall of the alley. He straightens as Yoongi approaches, letting the bag land on the ground with a dull thud. “He’s all yours, gorgeous. Do as you will.”

Yoongi comes to a halt beside him, chewing on his lower lip under his mask. “Is he—you know. Dead?”

“Not yet,” Seokjin says quietly. “Would you like him to be?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Not, uh,” he pauses, hesitating. “Not yet.”

Seokjin considers him for a moment, watching the way that Yoongi stares at the man on the ground. There’s conflict in his eyes, hesitation written in the lines of his small body, his voice wavering like he regrets letting Seokjin talk him into this. After a moment, Seokjin steps closer to him, sliding an arm around his waist.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly. “What did I say?”

Yoongi swallows hard. “To—to feel it. To not think too hard about what we’re doing.”

Seokjin hums his approval, then steps closer, hooking his chin over Seokjin’s shoulder. “Close your eyes for me, love,” he says softly, and Yoongi obeys, leaning into Seokjin’s touch. “Picture it, picture what you want to do to him. I want you to imagine yourself doing it, imagine how pretty it’ll be when you’re done with him. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes, voice strained. His heart’s beating fast, Seokjin can feel it as he noses into Yoongi’s neck. “I—I can.”

“Hyung’s going to protect you, hyung’ll keep you safe. No one is going to catch you, no one’s going to come after you. Hyung wants to see what you do to him.” Seokjin pulls his mask down, so he can press his mouth to Yoongi’s neck, licking over the smooth, soft skin. “Go on, kitten. Show hyung just how dangerous you can be.”

Yoongi stays there for a moment longer, before he nods, stepping away from Seokjin. He bends, reaching for the bag, unzipping it slowly to pull out one of the knives that Seokjin had packed. Seokjin stays right where he is, watching as Yoongi drifts forward slowly, pausing over the man’s body. He adjusts his grip on the knife, before he crouches down, considering the man’s face.

“I don’t want him to scream,” Yoongi says quietly.

“Then shut him up,” Seokjin replies, crouching by the bag. He tosses Yoongi a roll of duct tape, watching intently as the boy tears a piece off, and secures it over their target’s mouth. “He’s your plaything, kitten; play with him.”

Yoongi blinks once, slowly. When he moves next, it’s without hesitation, as he tips the man’s head back, baring his neck. With careful, measured movements, he undoes the man’s jacket, then his shirt, pulling both back so his chest is bared, too, a blank canvas of fair skin to play with. Yoongi bites into his lower lip, cocking his head to the side as he considers what’s laid before him, before he adjusts his grip on the knife in his hand, and moves, tracing the tip of it along the man’s jawline. He’s pressing just hard enough to draw blood, a thin line of red beading up on the skin, before it begins to drip downwards, and Seokjin moves, so he can get a better look, standing slightly to the right of Yoongi.

“Good,” Seokjin breathes quietly, and Yoongi shivers at the praise, before he does the same thing, on the other side. This time, he digs the tip of the knife into the man’s chin, forcing his head upwards, and blood drips down the blade of the knife, onto Yoongi’s gloved hands, and he watches, enraptured. “How do you feel, sweet thing?”

Yoongi exhales softly, but doesn’t immediately answer. He considers the blood, the knife, the man’s face, before he reaches out with his free hand, smearing the blood down the length of his neck, leaving streaks of red behind. A beat later, Yoongi slices into the man’s chest, slowly at first, then with more confidence, as he grows used to the weight of the blade, the pressure that it takes to cut through skin. Seokjin has to bite down a groan, as he watches pale skin part around a silver blade, leaving a gaping wound behind, and he feels his cock starting to stir, interested.

Fuck, it’s been so long.

So long since he’s hunted, so long since he’s had the opportunity. So long since he’s watched a partner, an ally, a lover split skin, draw blood, hurt, hunt, kill. His imagination could only do so much in prison, his memories of Taekwoon—pretty, monstrous Taekwoon—could only do so much to tide him over as he waited and plotted and dreamed.

And now…

Now he has this.

Now he has Yoongi, knelt over a stranger, a victim, a helpless man who’s going to be well on his way to death soon enough, holding the knife like it belongs in his hand, confidence written all over his body…

And Seokjin wants to ruin him.

He doesn’t move, though. He watches, hyperfocused, as Yoongi cuts into the man, over and over again, almost like he can’t help himself, almost as if, now that he’s started, he can’t stop, won’t stop.

Seokjin presses a hand to his clothed crotch, just enough pressure to take the edge off, when Yoongi leans closer, right up against his victim, a breath away from touching him. He holds still for a few seconds, before he digs his fingertips into one of the wounds, hard enough that even Seokjin flinches at the pain that he knows it would cause. The man jerks, groggy eyes opening, struggling to focus as his surroundings come into view.

“Mmph!” he manages, behind the tape over his mouth, and he lashes out at Yoongi. The strike isn’t particularly hard, thanks to the bloodloss from the wounds he already has, and it glances off of Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Kill him,” Seokjin breathes, before he can stop himself. He had said, had promised himself, even, that he wasn’t going to intervene, was going to let this belong to Yoongi, but he can’t help himself, can’t help but want to see the man die, can’t help but want Yoongi to see it. He wants to know how Yoongi’s face changes, as he watches the life leave a body; wants to taste the blood smeared across his blade, before kissing it into Yoongi’s mouth.

“Mmph!” The man tries again, and Yoongi cuts him off by sinking the knife into his gut. The man thrashes underneath him, trying to jerk away, but before he can get anywhere, Yoongi has his hands around his neck, squeezing hard.

Seokjin considers for a moment, watches as the man tries, with little success, to toss Yoongi off of him, to break out of his grip. He’s too weak, from his other injuries, from the solid hit that he’d taken when Seokjin had knocked him out earlier, to put up much of a fight, but it’s almost worth it, when Seokjin gets to see Yoongi’s fingers tighten further around his throat.

He moves, to kneel behind Yoongi, wrapping an arm around him. “Harder,” he murmurs, reaching around him to line his fingers up with Yoongi’s. “And if you can’t do it anymore, hyung will help.”

Yoongi makes a low, feral sound, as Seokjin presses up against him. There’s something violent about him, about the way that he looks in the moonlight, kneeling atop a body on its way to becoming a corpse, something that Seokjin could get addicted to.

It feels like an eternity, and yet no time at all, when the man finally goes limp. Yoongi doesn’t let up, keeps his grip tight on the man’s neck, like he can’t let go, before Seokjin laughs quietly, peeling his fingers off. “He’s dead, kitten,” he murmurs quietly, pressing his fingertips to the man’s pulsepoint, just to be sure. “He’s very, very dead.” He twists the knife in the man’s stomach, just for good measure, and Yoongi gasps softly, cheeks flushing with arousal.

“Hyung,” he breathes, as Seokjin pulls back, tugging Yoongi with him. “I—”

“Shh.” Seokjin shushes him, then reaches for Yoongi’s mask, tugging it down and kissing him hard. Yoongi moans quietly, whole body quivering as he moves against Seokjin, all pent up energy and arousal burning inside of him. “We need to get out of these clothes, and get a move on. We can talk at home.”

“Can we—you’re, you’re hard, can we—”

“At home,” Seokjin promises, kissing him again. “For now, take anything that’s bloody off, and get it into those plastic bags that we brought, we’re not leaving a trail of blood on the sidewalk for just anyone to see.” Yoongi nods frantically, doing as he’s told. As he does, Seokjin pulls the knife free of the body before them, sliding it into its own bag. He takes off his gloves, pulling on a clean pair quickly, then starts to stuff plastic bags back into the duffel, with Yoongi’s help.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says softly, and Seokjin looks at him, as he picks up the duffel. “Did I—did I do it right?”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, the arousal burning in them undercut by fondness, as he reaches for Yoongi, pulling the young man against his side. “You did perfectly,” he murmurs. “Let’s go home.”

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Seokjin is pushing Yoongi’s jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. He wraps both arms around him, pulling Yoongi against him, before he kisses him hard. Yoongi gasps into his mouth, then moans, pleased, hands coming up to run through Seokjin’s hair, pushing it back off of his face.

“Sweetheart,” Seokjin groans into his mouth. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” His hands slip down, to grab at Yoongi’s ass, kneading it in his fingers. Yoongi moans again, letting his hips rut forward against Seokjin. “You’re perfect, sweet thing, fuck.”

“You’re hard,” Yoongi says quietly, combing his fingers through Seokjin’s hair as he stairs into his eyes. Seokjin’s pupils are dilated, eyes dark and burning with need, arousal, the look cutting right through Yoongi, setting him on fire on the inside. “Watching me, that—that made you hard?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin growls, kissing him again, hard and bruising. “Fuck, yes, sweetheart.”

Yoongi’s eyelids flutter, and he bites into his lower lip, smiling to himself. He twists his fingers in Seokjin’s hair, and rises up on his toes, to kiss him. Seokjin lets him lead, lets Yoongi take control, licking into his mouth. He pushes Seokjin backwards, into the living room, until his knees hit the couch. Seokjin sits backwards. Yoongi kisses him once more, before he pulls back, sinking to his knees between Seokjin’s legs.

Seokjin makes a sound in his throat, feral. “Kitten,” he says, and Yoongi hums, reaching for the button on Seokjin’s jeans. He undoes it slowly, then drags the zipper down. As he peels Seokjin’s pants down, Seokjin lifts his hips, so Yoongi can get them off, tugging them off his legs, and tossing them aside. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Yoongi says, blinking up at him. He bites his into his lower lip, dragging his teeth over it, before he leans in close, pressing his mouth to the hard bulge in Seokjin’s underwear. Seokjin grits his teeth, hissing a breath through them, staring down at Yoongi with dark, intense eyes.

“Fuck,” Seokjin breathes.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says softly, mouthing wetly at Seokjin’s erection. He sets his hands flat on Seokjin’s thighs, squeezing lightly, and Seokjin curses again, tipping his head back, his eyes falling shut. Yoongi’s nose scrunches in distaste, and he pulls back, pouting up at Seokjin. “Hyung.”

“Kitten,” Seokjin says, voice already thoroughly wrecked. He looks down at Yoongi, biting back a moan as he takes in the image of the young man on the floor, mouth kissed red, his fingers pale against the tan skin of Seokjin’s thighs. “What is it?”

“Look at me,” Yoongi whispers. “Keep looking at me.”

Seokjin blinks slowly, then nods. “I can do that,” he says softly, reaching out to comb his fingers through Yoongi’s hair. “I can do that for you, kitten.”

Yoongi nods, smiling softly up at him, before he leans in, to press his mouth to Seokjin’s erection again. He mouths sloppily at it, letting drool pool in his mouth, before letting it drip onto Seokjin’s underwear. Seokjin hisses through his teeth when Yoongi runs his teeth down the length of his cock, thighs tensing underneath his hands.

“Quit teasing,” Seokjin breathes, fingers tightening in Yoongi’s hair.

“No,” Yoongi replies quietly. “Hyung needs to be patient.”

Seokjin twists his fingers tighter in Yoongi’s hair, then jerks his head back. Yoongi grins up at him playfully, as Seokjin leans forward, pulling Yoongi closer. “Hyung’s been plenty patient,” he says, voice low. “You’re lucky that hyung didn’t fuck you over that body, you tempting little minx.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi whines. “Let me play.”

Seokjin’s eyes flash dangerously, and a thrill runs through Yoongi, making him shiver. He feels his own cock twitch in his sweatpants, but pays it no mind, as Seokjin leans closer, their foreheads pressing together. “You had your time to play,” he breathes quietly, and Yoongi’s eyelids flutter. “Now it’s hyung’s turn to play with you.”

“Ah,” Yoongi manages, the sound half-strangled; he’s dangerously close to coming in his pants as he stares up at Seokjin, wide-eyed. “Ah, hyung.”

Seokjin smirks at him, then lets his tongue flick out, tracing the curve of Yoongi’s lower lip. “You like that,” he says. “You like when hyung’s a little bit mean to you, don’t you, kitten?”

Yoongi makes a low, whiny sound, sliding one hand off of Seokjin’s thigh, and reaching down for his cock. Seokjin cocks his head to the side, watching intently as he does, as Yoongi presses the heel of his hand against his cock. “Yes,” Yoongi admits quietly, barely audible, before he bites into his lower lip. “Ah, yeah, yes, hyung.”

“Precious,” Seokjin murmurs. He kisses the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, then sits back, releasing Yoongi’s hair. “Carry on.”

Yoongi blinks up at him, then grins. He reaches for the waistband of Seokjin’s underwear, pulling them down, and freeing his cock.

“Shit,” Yoongi says under his breath. Seokjin’s dick is huge, longer and thicker than Yoongi’s. Yoongi wraps his fingers around it, chewing on his lower lip as he does, before he gives it a long, slow stroke, thumbing lightly over the head. “What the fuck.”

“You don’t have to, kitten,” Seokjin says quietly. “If you don’t want to—”

“Shh.” Yoongi stares at Seokjin’s cock for a few seconds longer, before he sits back on his heels, considering. “I’m not scared of your dick, hyung.” As if to prove the point, he takes the tip on his mouth, sucking lightly on it, and Seokjin swears under his breath, letting his eyes shut for a few seconds, before he meets Yoongi’s gaze again.

“Kitten,” Seokjin says, breathless. “Gorgeous. Fuck.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, wrapping his fingers around the base of Seokjin’s cock, before he presses down, taking more of it into his mouth. He does his best to relax his throat, resolutely holding Seokjin’s gaze as he continues to press downwards, until he feels Seokjin’s cock in his throat. He gags, chokes, but doesn’t pull back, holding himself there, as Seokjin gazes down at him, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Sweet thing,” Seokjin grits out. “Hyung’s close, hyung’s going to come.”

Yoongi pulls back just far enough to breathe, keeping his mouth on Seokjin’s cock. He bats his eyelashes up at Seokjin, before he pushes back down, until he gags again.

“Shit,” Seokjin growls. “Yeah, right there. Fuck, stay right there, gorgeous, stay there for me—fuck.”

The sound vibrates in Seokjin’s chest as he comes, spilling down Yoongi’s throat. Yoongi swallows around his cock, stroking the rest of it with his hand, not taking his eyes off of Seokjin even when the older man squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back as his orgasm overwhelms him.

It drags on forever; Seokjin just keeps coming and coming, and Yoongi moans softly. The vibrations around his cock make Seokjin stiffen, overstimulation flickering through him, and he reaches out, to push Yoongi backwards. Yoongi huffs through his nose, stays where he is for a moment, before he pulls back, batting his eyelashes up at Seokjin again, before he licks his lips very deliberately.

“You,” Seokjin breathes out slowly, “are a very dangerous little kitten.”

Yoongi laughs quietly. “So it was good, then?”

“Good?” Seokjin whispers. “I haven’t been touched like that in a long, long time, sweetheart; that was amazing.” He holds out his hands, and after a moment, Yoongi takes them, allowing Seokjin to pull him up onto the couch, into his lap. Seokjin slides his arms around him, palming at his ass for a few seconds, before he kisses him on the mouth. “You were perfect, you are perfect.” He kisses him again, then licks into his mouth, as Yoongi presses up against him, rutting up against his stomach.

“Hyung,” Yoongi mumbles into his mouth. “Hyung, I—ah—”

“How do you want hyung to make you come, kitten? What do you want hyung to do?”

Yoongi slides his fingers into Seokjin’s hair, smoothing his thumbs over the grey hairs peppered at Seokjin’s temples. He hasn’t noticed them up until now, and he can’t resist leaning in to press his mouth to them.

Seokjin hums, then slides his hand down further, tracing the seam of Yoongi’s jeans, right over his balls, and Yoongi’s hips jerk, rutting forward against Seokjin’s stomach. “I want—I don’t—I don’t know.” Seokjin makes a low, thoughtful sound, then turns his head, to press a kiss to Yoongi’s jaw, letting his teeth scrape at it.

“Can I mark you?”

Yoongi sucks in a shaky breath. “Yes, hyung,” he whispers. “Please, yeah.”

Seokjin hums, then sucks softly on the skin beneath Yoongi’s ear, working a mark into it. Yoongi bites into his lower lip, inhaling slowly, hips jerking forward again. Seokjin bites gently into the spot that he’s marking, tugging on the skin lightly, before he speaks, voice low. “Tell me what you want, love,” Seokjin murmurs quietly. “Whatever you want, hyung’ll do for you, just tell me.”

“I,” Yoongi says, then stops, swallowing hard, cheeks flushing. “I want hyung to fuck me.”

Seokjin’s cock, soft against his thigh, twitches. He has to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep breath, to get himself under control, before he tightens his grip on Yoongi, pulling him tight against his body. “You’re going to have to give me a little bit,” he says, “to get hard again. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“You’re not that old,” Yoongi quips. Seokjin’s eyes flash playfully, and he lands a slap on Yoongi’s ass. Yoongi yelps, rutting against Seokjin.

“Brat,” Seokjin murmurs, squeezing Yoongi’s ass in his hands. “I never said that I was old, I said that I wasn’t as young as I used to be.” He swats Yoongi’s ass again, and Yoongi bites into his lower lip, biting down a moan. “Besides, I’m sure that there’s something we can do, while I work on getting hard again. You’re still quite young, I’m sure we can wring a couple of orgasms out of you with no problem whatsoever.”

Yoongi flushes bright red, and he whimpers softly. “Like, ah, like what? What did you have in mind?”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Seokjin purrs into his ear, squeezing his thighs, his hips, his ass. “I could eat your pretty little ass. I could swallow your pretty cock, like you did with mine. Whatever you want, love, hyung will give you. All you have to do is tell me.”

“I, I don’t,” Yoongi says quietly, before he rolls his hips, grinding against Seokjin, chasing after relief that’s hanging just out of reach. “I don’t know, hyung, I don’t know—”

“Shh,” Seokjin breathes, as Yoongi’s voice turns frantic, kissing the corner of his mouth gently. “Shh, kitten, relax.” He kisses Yoongi, slow and gentle, and Yoongi hums, then leans into him, wrapping both arms around Seokjin’s neck. He’s still shaking, more with his need to come than anything else, but his breath has steadied slightly, as he moves against Seokjin. “You’ve already done so well for hyung today,” he murmurs, pressing the words into Yoongi’s mouth. “You’ve done so much to impress hyung. Let hyung take care of you, okay? Can you do that? Can you let hyung take control?"

“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, and it sounds like the easiest thing in the world, right now; there’s nothing he’d rather do than surrender to Seokjin’s hands and body and mouth, nothing he’d rather do than let himself fall apart underneath the older man, trusting him not to destroy Yoongi completely in the process. “Okay.”

“Look at me,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi’s eyes snap open; he isn’t sure when he closed them, doesn’t remember doing it. “I need you to use your words for me, sweetheart. Do you want hyung to take control?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says, voice slightly choked on pent up emotion. “Yes, hyung, please.”

“And if you want hyung to stop,” Seokjin murmurs, sliding his fingers into Yoongi’s hair, cradling his head gently, “you’ll tell him. You’ll tell hyung, right?”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Promise me, gorgeous,” Seokjin says.

Yoongi has to stifle a laugh. “For a murderer,” he says, pressing his forehead against Seokjin’s, “you’re awfully interested in my consent.”

Seokjin chuckles quietly, then steals another quick kiss from him. “I might be a monster, sweetheart, but I’m not that kind of monster.” He nuzzles at Yoongi’s cheek, then kisses his cheekbone. “Promise me.”

“I promise, hyung,” Yoongi says, before he kisses Seokjin on the mouth. “You can—you, ah, you can take control.”

“Thank you, kitten,” Seokjin murmurs, kissing him one more time. “Can we take this to your bedroom? I want you to be comfortable.” Yoongi nods quickly, and Seokjin hums. “Up, kitten. Let’s get you nice and comfortable.”

Yoongi gets to his feet, and Seokjin does the same, looping an arm around his waist, and leading him to the bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind them, then nudges Yoongi to the bed, laying him down on top of it. Seokjin crawls on top of him, bending down to kiss him softly, brushing his fingers along the length of his jaw, down the column of his throat.

“Just relax for me,” Seokjin murmurs against his mouth. “Relax, and hyung’ll take good care of you, okay? Gonna make you feel so good.”

“Please, hyung, ah,” Yoongi breathes, as Seokjin presses his mouth to Yoongi’s throat. He maps a trail down the column of his neck, nibbling and sucking on it, just hard enough to leave faint red marks behind, marks that’ll be gone in the morning. “More, hyung, c’mon. Mark me.”

“Shh,” Seokjin says softly. “I thought you were going to let hyung take control.”

“Hyung wanted to mark me so bad earlier,” Yoongi quips. “So mark me.”

Seokjin pulls back slightly, looking Yoongi in the eyes. “You’re awfully demanding.”

Yoongi huffs at him, rolling his eyes. “I just sucked your soul out of your dick, hyung, the least you could do is give me a decent mark for my efforts.”

Seokjin makes a soft, feral little sound in his throat, then wraps his fingers around Yoongi’s neck, just below his jaw, pinning his head down. Yoongi gasps, arching underneath him, but doesn’t squirm, waiting with bated breath as Seokjin leans in, to press his mouth to Yoongi’s neck. He sucks lightly on the fragile skin, then harder, worrying it between his teeth, until Yoongi is jerking and whining underneath him, movements frantic with arousal.

“Again,” he whispers. “Please, ah, please, hyung. Mark me more, more, please.”

Seokjin does as Yoongi’s asked, littering his throat and neck with marks, some darker than others, working hickeys into places that Yoongi’ll never be able to hide. And with any other man, with any other hookup, Yoongi would be whining for a totally different reason, would be pushing the man off of him, and chewing him out for it, but with Seokjin…

With Seokjin, he finds that he can’t be bothered to care if people see the marks or not.

He especially doesn’t care when Seokjin’s fingers trail downwards, tracing a line down the center of his chest, his stomach, before he flicks the button of his jeans open. “Let me get you out of these,” he murmurs, before he takes Yoongi’s earlobe in his teeth, and tugs on it. He’s still got his other hand on Yoongi’s throat, not squeezing, no real pressure, just holding him there as he works Yoongi’s pants down his legs. His underwear are the next to go, before Seokjin’s shoving his shirt upwards, urging Yoongi out of it.

“You, too,” Yoongi mumbles, eyes heavy-lidded, as he reaches for the hem of Seokjin’s shirt. “Wanna, ah, I wanna see, wanna feel you.” Seokjin laughs quietly, but strips his own shirt off. As soon as he does, Yoongi’s hands are on him, wandering up the expanse of his chest, then stroking back down, tracing the bumps of his pectorals, his abs, teasing his nails over Seokjin’s nipples.

“I want to taste you,” Seokjin says, voice low. “Can I put my mouth on you, kitten?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says, the word punched out of him like a sob. “Please, ah, please.”

Seokjin chuckles against his neck, before he starts to move, kissing down Yoongi’s throat slowly. When he reaches his collarbones, fragile, a sharp jut under pale, pink skin, he mouths at them, then bites, sucking skin between his teeth. There’s something inside him, something feral and growling, that wants to rip Yoongi apart, leaving him in shreds, and devour him in a completely different way, wants to keep the young man inside him, always, in a way that he never got to keep Taekwoon. But as Yoongi squirms underneath him, hips kicking up every so often, the beast inside Seokjin quiets, replaced by something else, a knowledge that if he keeps Yoongi, leaves him alive, he’ll be able to have him like this, again and again and again.

“Close,” Yoongi gasps, hooking an arm around Seokjin’s waist and he grinds up against him, rutting his cock against his thigh. “Fuck, ah, hyung, please.”

“Come,” Seokjin growls. “I want you to. C’mon, sweetheart, come for hyung, make yourself feel good.”

“N-no, not—not yet, too soon, too soon—”

Seokjin laughs quietly, then sits back, admiring his handiwork. “Alright, kitten,” he murmurs. “Not yet. We can drag this out for a long, long while, if you’d prefer.”

“Ah,” Yoongi manages. “Ah, a little bit, at least. Just a little bit.”

Seokjin laughs quietly, then continues moving, until he’s settled between Yoongi’s legs. He nudges them apart with hands, then pins them in place, holding Yoongi down. “You made me watch you, kitten,” he says quietly. “Will you watch me?”

“I’ll try,” Yoongi whispers. “Hyung, please—”

Seokjin presses his mouth to the inside of Yoongi’s thigh, and Yoongi’s voice cuts off into a low, choked sound. That draws a laugh out of Seokjin, who slowly kisses his way up Yoongi’s thigh, until he meets his hip, where he presses a long, slow kiss, licking over the delicate, sensitive skin. Before long, Yoongi starts to squirm, hips canting up restlessly off of the bed; Seokjin chuckles, then tightens his grip, forcing Yoongi back down.

“Hyung,” Yoongi exhales quietly. “Hyung, please.”

“You wanted me to draw this out, kitten,” Seokjin reminds him. “I’m just doing what you asked.” He drags his teeth over the skin slowly, just to see Yoongi shiver, then wraps his fingers around his cock, giving it a slow stroke. “Do you want to come for me, sweet thing?”

Yoongi makes a strangled sound, biting into his hand to try and muffle it. His hips thrust upwards again, and Seokjin laughs quietly, before he takes the head of Yoongi’s cock in his mouth, teasing his tongue over the head.

A loud knock falls on the front door, and they both jump. Seokjin sits up quickly, Yoongi’s dick slipping out of his mouth, and he looks over his shoulder. Yoongi mirrors him, movements frantic, before he scrambles out of bed.

“Who in the fuck is visiting you at this hour?” Seokjin demands.

“I don’t—I don’t know, but it’s got to be important,” Yoongi says, looking around quickly. “Ah, shit, fuck,” he rises from the bed, raking his fingers through his hair. “You, you stay here, I’ll go—I’ll go see what’s going on.” He grabs a pair of underwear, and pulls them on, realizing as he does that they’re not, in fact, his, they’re a pair that he bought for Seokjin. He tugs his bathrobe on over them, tying it shut, before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He probably looks a wreck, he’s well aware of that, hair tousled, throat littered with marks, eyes glossy.

He pauses by the front door, taking a deep breath, before he opens it.

“Dr. Jung?” he asks, voice rough, when he finds himself face to face with Hoseok, his literal advisor for his dissertation, on the other side of the door. “What—what’s going on?”

“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, then freezes, as he takes in the image before him. “Oh. Ah, you—I’m interrupting.”

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair. “I—why are you here?”

Hoseok clears his throat quietly. “You, uh, haven’t heard? I—stupid question, I imagine you haven’t. The, uh, the police have found a body, and they’re—they’re pretty sure that it’s Kim Seokjin, who killed the guy, but they didn’t say who it was that he had killed, and I—I was worried.”

Yoongi frowns, cocking his head to the side. “Concerned—that it might be me that he had killed?”

Hoseok shrugs. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I would,” Yoongi says tersely. “That—that would be incredibly off-script for him, there’s not a chance in hell that he would do something like that.”

“You sound very sure of that.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly. “I’ve spent the past five months studying him, Dr. Jung. I know a thousand times more about him than most people do, I’ve spent hours talking to him. He doesn’t kill people that he knows personally, you and I both know that.”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to frown, something unreadable gleaming in his eyes. “Yoongi, I’m not saying that you don’t know that, I’m not trying to undermine everything that you do know about him, I’m just saying that I was concerned that he might have gone after you, given that he’s a serial killer who escaped from prison two weeks ago.”

Yoongi huffs quietly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his bathrobe. “I’m fine,” he says quietly. “Sorry that I snapped at you, I just—”

“You were busy, and I interrupted,” Hoseok says. “I understand. I’ll let you go, don’t forget that we have a meeting on Tuesday.”

Yoongi nods. “I know,” he replies. “I—thank you, for checking on me, I appreciate it. Have a good night, Dr. Jung.”

“You, too, Yoongi,” Hoseok says. He still looks worried, concerned, like he’s scared that Yoongi’s not going to make it to their meeting, that he’ll be dead long before then. “Be safe, okay? I—I know that you might think it’s off-script, but the guy was in prison for fifteen years. No one knows what his script is, not anymore.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jung,” Yoongi says softly. He hesitates for a moment, before he reaches for the door. “Stay safe on your way home.”

“Thank you.”

As the door shuts between them, Yoongi sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. He leans his forehead against the door, taking a moment to collect himself, before he locks it, and pads back to his bedroom. Seokjin is waiting for him, leaning back against the headboard, and he cocks his head to the side curiously as Yoongi re-enters the room.

“Who was it?”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “My advisor, Dr. Jung, you’ve—you’ve heard me talk about him before.”

“I recall,” Seokjin murmurs. His eyes linger on Yoongi’s throat, before they slide downwards, tracing the sliver of chest that’s not covered by Yoongi’s robe. “What did he want? Why was he visiting you at,” he pauses, glancing at the clock, “two in the morning?”

Yoongi clears his throat quietly. “They found the body,” he says, and Seokjin cocks an eyebrow. “And they think you killed the guy.”

“Really?” Seokjin asks. “So much for going downtown, then.” He watches intently as Yoongi unties his robe slowly, letting it fall back to the floor, before he slips his underwear—Seokjin’s underwear—down his legs, kicking them off. “You don’t sound worried.”

Yoongi shrugs. “There’s nothing on that body that’s going to link it back to you, not conclusively anyway, and none of it’s going to link back to me.” He crawls onto the bed slowly, moving to straddle Seokjin’s hips. “I thought about letting him in, about killing him here.”

“Reckless,” Seokjin breathes, as he pulls Yoongi against him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth, hands settling on milky white thighs, tinted pink. “Rule number one is that you don’t kill someone that you have a personal connection to.” He kisses Yoongi right after he finishes speaking, and Yoongi hums his understanding. “Rule number two is that you don’t kill someone while they’re at your house.”

“Rule number three,” Yoongi says, pressing his hand over Seokjin’s mouth when the older man opens his mouth to speak again, “is that you shut the fuck up when there’s a naked boy in your lap.” Seokjin’s eyes narrow, and his grip on Yoongi tightens, fingertips digging into his skin as he kneads at it. “We were in the middle of something, when my advisor so disgracefully interrupted. I don’t want to talk about him, I want to continue what we were doing earlier.”

“Alright, kitten,” Seokjin placates, before he moves, flipping them over so Yoongi’s beneath him, head resting on the pillows. “You still want hyung to make you come?”

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes out, his legs spreading as Seokjin moves, lying down between his legs. He doesn’t waste any time, as he leans in to mouth at Yoongi’s shaft, wet and messy. He holds Yoongi’s legs open as he does, so Yoongi has no choice but to lie there and take it, allowing Seokjin to suck the head of his cock into his mouth, licking at the tip gently. “So good, hyung, feels so good.”

Seokjin hums around his dick, before he takes it deeper, swallowing it down. Yoongi makes a strangled little sound as he does, fingers sliding into Seokjin’s hair and twisting. He’s not pulling, not trying to tug Seokjin off of him, he’s just seeking an anchor, something to tether him to reality as his mind goes a little bit hazy, a little bit fuzzy. His thighs tense under Seokjin’s hands, and he arches, like he’s trying to get away, like he’s trying to fight off his orgasm. Seokjin merely tightens his grip, and moans softly around Yoongi’s cock. The vibrations make the younger man cry out softly, grip on Seokjin’s hair tightening, before he comes, hard.

His whole body jerks underneath Seokjin, and he whines, high-pitched in his throat. Seokjin laughs around his cock, swallowing his come without any sort of prelude, massaging his thighs gently with his thumbs. He doesn’t pull back, though, not even when Yoongi stops coming, and Yoongi makes a low sound, pulling on his hair.

“Hyung,” he manages, voice weak. “H-hyung, off, ah—”

When Seokjin finally pulls back, letting Yoongi’s cock slip out of his mouth, he’s laughing to himself, smirking at the man underneath him. He squeezes his thigh gently, and Yoongi stares up at him, lips bitten red, eyes glassy. Yoongi smiles up at him, wordless, then reaches out for him, wrapping his fingers around Seokjin’s wrist, and pulling him down on top of him, their mouths crashing together as he does.

Seokjin braces his forearm on the pillow, right beside Yoongi’s head, his free hand moving to wrap around his neck again, holding him there as he kisses him. Yoongi gasps softly into his mouth, then hooks a leg over his waist, pinning Seokjin against him as the older man licks into his mouth, seeking a taste of him.

“Hyung,” he pants out. “Want—want you inside, please. Please, I want you to fuck me.”

“I’m not just going to fuck you,” Seokjin growls into his mouth, rutting against him. His cock is starting to twitch to life again, arousal simmering in his gut with the pretty sounds that Yoongi’s making, the way that his body feels as he moves against Seokjin’s. “I’m going to wreck you. I’m going to ruin you.”

Yoongi makes a choked, frantic sound, as Seokjin’s mouth moves to his neck again, seeking out the scattered patches of unmarked skin. It’s too much, too soon, his cock protesting the overstimulation, but he doesn’t try to shove Seokjin away, the pain burning into pleasure as it sweeps through him.

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,” Seokjin continues, biting into Yoongi’s neck, tugging on the skin. “Gonna break you open on my cock, gonna wreck you.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi breathes, running his fingers through Seokjin’s hair and pulling on it, tugging Seokjin into a wet, open-mouthed kiss. “Inside me, please.”

“Okay,” Seokjin says against his mouth. “Where’s the lube, kitten?”

“Bedside table,” Yoongi says, gesturing vaguely towards it. “Second drawer, at the back, white bottle.” Seokjin kisses him one more time, harder then before, nipping at his lower lip harshly, before he moves, leaning away from Yoongi to open the drawer, grabbing the bottle, before he returns to the younger man. “Ah, want you inside of me.”

“Gonna take a little bit of work before you’re ready for that,” Seokjin says, voice low. “I don’t know if you remember, sweetheart, but I’m not exactly average-sized.”

Yoongi laughs breathlessly, running his fingers through his hair. “I remember,” he says. “Wanna feel it, want it inside me, hyung—”

“Shh, shh, kitten,” Seokjin murmurs, bending down to kiss him softly, sweetly, totally at odds with how he’d been kissing him moments prior. “You’ll get it, no need to beg. Hyung’ll give you what you want, if you’re patient. You have to let hyung get you ready for it, though, hyung doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Yoongi laughs again, when Seokjin uncaps the bottle of lube, pouring some out onto his fingers. When Seokjin reaches between Yoongi’s legs, smearing lube over his hole, Yoongi reaches up with one hand, to trace the older man’s side, letting himself feel the toned muscle underneath his skin. He feels Seokjin’s stomach tense under his touch, watches as his abs tighten, so enraptured that he startles when Seokjin presses the first finger into him. He tenses at first, not expecting it, then relaxes, letting his eyelids flutter shut as he leans back against the pillows, humming to himself.

“Good,” Seokjin breathes, and Yoongi lets the praise wash over him. “You just relax, let hyung do the work for you, okay? Let hyung take care of it.”

Yoongi lets a shiver run through him when Seokjin slips a second finger into him, curling them slightly, grazing his prostate. His cock, mostly soft, twitches against his stomach, and he hears Seokjin chuckle quietly, the sound far away. He lets himself drift, squeezing Seokjin’s hip every so often just to ground himself, remind himself where he is, floating on warm clouds of fuzzy, half-sleepy, post-orgasmic pleasure.

“Hyung,” he mumbles quietly. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, doesn’t really even know how many fingers are inside of him. He blinks up at Seokjin, smiling when he sees the pleased twist of Seokjin’s mouth, the way that the older man’s pleasure reflects in his eyes, “want it.”

“I know, kitten,” Seokjin says. “Just a while longer, alright? Then you can have hyung’s cock.”

Yoongi’s upper lip curls, something petulant burning through him. “Hyung,” he insists. “I’m ready, I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” Seokjin murmurs. “But surely you can wait a while longer for me.”

Yoongi huffs through his nose, eyes flashing as he stares up at Seokjin. “I’ve waited long enough,” he says. “You said you wanted to wreck me, you said you wanted to ruin me, so do it.”

Seokjin’s eyes narrow slightly, before he leans over Yoongi. His clean hand moves to Yoongi’s throat, fingers curling around it again, and this time, he does squeeze, a gentle pressure that steals Yoongi’s breath away, leaves his cock throbbing in between them. “You want hyung to ruin you?” he asks, voice low, as he curls his fingers again, searching out Yoongi’s prostate. When he finds it, this time, he doesn’t pull away, massages it insistently, until Yoongi’s panting. “Hyung can arrange that.”

A devilish little glint lights up in Yoongi’s eyes, and he grins. “Are you sure, hyung? Are you sure you’re not getting too old?”

Yoongi watches intently as Seokjin’s face changes, arousal and warmth giving way to something cold, stony, violent. A violent shudder runs through him, and he can’t help the way that his heart beats faster, fear starting to work its way into his bloodstream. He’d never forget, of course, that Seokjin is a killer, a monster, dangerous, would never dream of letting himself overlook that fact.

The fear, though, is undercut by something else, a thrilling arousal that blossoms in his lungs and surges through him. His cock throbs, and he has to take a deep, shaky breath, to try and control himself, as he stares up at Seokjin, waiting to see what the older man is going to do next.

“You’re lucky,” Seokjin murmurs, “that hyung’s in a particularly forgiving mood tonight.” Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Seokjin’s grip on his throat tightens, choking him into silence. “You wanted marks, kitten, and hyung can give you all sorts of marks, if you want to keep mouthing off.”

His grip loosens slightly, just enough that Yoongi can speak, though it takes effort. “Yeah? I don’t know if I believe you, hyung—”

Seokjin moves, faster than Yoongi was expecting him to. His fingers slip out of Yoongi’s hole, his hand releases the younger man’s throat, and he sits back, using both hands to flip Yoongi over onto his stomach, jerking his hips up. He places a hand on the back of Yoongi’s neck, pinning his head down against a pillow, before he leans over him, plastering himself against Yoongi’s back. “I was going to be so nice to you, for our first time together,” he says, voice low, dangerous, threatening, and Yoongi shivers, fear coursing through his bloodstream. “But I’m starting to think that you don’t want me to be nice.”

“If I wanted nice,” Yoongi grits out, turning his head to look at Seokjin, “I would be fucking Dr. Jung.”

Seokjin doesn’t like that, Yoongi can see it all over his face. His mouth twists, eyes steely, his fingertips digging into Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that Yoongi knows it’ll bruise. He doesn’t waste a moment longer, before he presses the head of his cock against Yoongi’s hole. He snaps his hips forward, fucking into Yoongi, and Yoongi barely manages to turn his face into his pillow before he screams.

Seokjin was big in his mouth, but he feels ten times bigger in Yoongi’s hole, filling every inch of him. It hurts, in the most delicious of ways, and Yoongi’s scream quickly peters off into a moan, open-mouthed and shameless.

“You think your precious Dr. Jung could fuck you like this?” Seokjin says, as he starts to fuck into Yoongi, relentless, brutal, all raw strength and violence. “You think he could do this?”

Yoongi can’t answer, can’t form words in between the wrecked moans that are wrenched out of his throat. Seokjin waits for a few moments longer, before he chuckles darkly, punctuating the sound with a hard, brutal thrust that drives right up against Yoongi’s prostate.

“I didn’t think so,” Seokjin says. He barely sounds affected by the intensity of his thrusts, and that makes Yoongi moan even louder. “No one else can fuck you like this, right, kitten? Just hyung.” Yoongi manages a nod; Seokjin’s next thrust steals a moan out of his throat, and he buries his face in the pillow to muffle the sound. “That’s right. Just me.”

“J-just—” Yoongi cuts off, sobbing again, pushing back against Seokjin, trying to match his thrusts, chasing an orgasm. “Ah, j-just hyung, jus’ you, hyung.”

“Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart? Are you gonna come on hyung’s cock?”

Yoongi wails quietly, clenching down around Seokjin’s cock. “Y-yeah, yes, hyung, please—”

“Then do it,” Seokjin says. “Come for hyung.”

Yoongi sees white behind his eyelids when he comes. He digs his fingers into the pillows beneath him, a wrecked, needy, desperate sound tearing itself out of him, and his hole clenches tight. Seokjin makes a low sound, giving another thrust, then one more, before he comes as well, filling Yoongi up with his come. He bends over Yoongi, grinding against him, thrusting shallowly into his hole, as Yoongi struggles to catch his breath underneath him.

“Fuck,” Seokjin breathes, then kisses the back of his neck, brushing Yoongi’s hair out of the way. “You’re such a sweet little kitten.”

“Ah,” Yoongi manages, then turns his head to peek back at Seokjin. “Hyung.”

“Sweetheart,” Seokjin murmurs, before he presses a kiss to Yoongi’s mouth. “You look exhausted.”

“Mm.”

Seokjin smiles, then kisses him again. “Go to sleep, then. Hyung’ll still be here in the morning.”

Yoongi hums sleepily, then reaches up, lacing their fingers together. “Stay with me, hyung,” he mumbles quietly. “Don’t go.”

Seokjin smiles, then kisses his cheek. “I won’t, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”

“Yes, hyung.”

Chapter Text

Yoongi startles awake, sitting bolt upright in bed. He looks quickly at the clock, squinting at the bright numbers as he tries to make out the time, grimacing to himself. It’s early, too early, just past two AM…

And he’s alone.

He looks to the other side of the bed, finds it empty. He swallows hard, something ice cold blossoming in his chest, and dripping down his spine slowly, radiating into his limbs. Seokjin’s gone, and when Yoongi reaches out to touch the sheets, he finds them cool—Seokjin’s been gone for a while.

He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine,” he whispers, barely audible. “He probably just—it’s nothing. It’s fine.” He swallows, then swings his legs off the edge of the bed, and gets to his feet, running his fingers through his hair. His gut twists unpleasantly, and when he blinks, he sees a pair of eyes behind his eyelids, cold and empty and dead.

His stomach lurches, and he bolts for the bathroom, barely managing to get the toilet lid up before he’s crumpling over it, heaving violently. There really isn’t a whole lot left to come up, and before long, he sags against the toilet, breathing shakily. The tile is cold under his knees, and he shivers violently, pressing his head against the toilet seat.

Something coils in his chest, tightening like a viper around his lungs. He can’t breathe, the air forced out of him in one sharp, violent exhale, air that he can’t seem to regain. It slithers down his spine, and Yoongi’s whole body pulls taut, panic starting to claw at his insides.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shake the feeling, the cold, away. When he does, all he sees is his hands, fingers long and pale, wrapped around the man’s throat, squeezing, choking, killing.

Apparently there is more left in his stomach, but what he heaves up next is mostly bile. He slides his fingers into his hair, trying to steady his breathing, to get his nerves under his control. He’s fine, he’s okay, he can handle this, he just needs to get it together and he’ll be fine.

Yoongi slumps to the floor, sniffling softly. He brings a hand to his face, wiping tears away. He doesn’t remember starting to cry, but now that he’s started, he can’t stop, sobs wracking his body. He pulls his knees to his chest, manages to curl an arm around them, a low whimper bubbling up in his throat as he does. He shivers violently, still struggling to catch his breath, as the images of what he’s done, what he did, continue to flash behind his eyelids, a rapidfire montage of death and violence that makes his stomach turn.

“Kitten?”

He hears Seokjin’s voice like he’s underwater, but doesn’t react to it. All he can focus on is the cold tile underneath him, the vipers in his lungs, their fangs setting his nerves on fire. When Seokjin touches him, Yoongi’s attention snaps to his fingers, warm and firm on his upper arm, as he tugs lightly, gathering Yoongi into his arms.

“Sweetheart,” Seokjin breathes, nuzzling into Yoongi’s hair. “Oh, my sweet kitten, shh.”

Seokjin carries him out of the bathroom, and sets him down on the bed, tugging the blankets over his body. He bends over him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Wait here, hyung’ll be right back.” He squeezes Yoongi’s shoulder, then walks out of the room. He leaves the door to the hallway open, and returns moments later, a glass of water in one hand. He sets it on the bedside table, then sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to caress his arms gently. “Are you alright, love?”

“‘m fine,” Yoongi mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. As soon as he does, he snaps them back open, sitting upright. “I c-can’t, I can’t, hyung—”

Seokjin slides his arms around Yoongi, pulling him close, pressing his mouth against the crown of his head. “Kitten, shh,” he breathes. “You need to rest, you need to sleep. You’ve had a long day, a very long day, and I need you to rest for me.”

“I really can’t, I c-can’t, hyung—” Yoongi takes a deep, gasping breath, pressing his nose into Seokjin’s neck, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent of Seokjin’s cologne settle some of his nerves. “I can’t, every—every time that I c-close my eyes, I—”

“See his face?” Seokjin asks quietly. Yoongi freezes, then nods, hiccuping out a quiet little sob. “I know.” He kisses Yoongi’s temple, then nuzzles into his hair softly. “Shh, kitten, I know.”

Yoongi shakes in his arms, manages to wrap his arms around Seokjin’s waist, pulling himself right up against the older man. “Was it,” he pauses, shaking so hard that he can’t speak for a few moments, before he calms himself down, “was it like this for you? The first time?”

Seokjin doesn’t say a word for a long moment, hands warm on Yoongi’s skin. “Yes,” he murmurs, and Yoongi’s breath hitches. “And it was like this for Taekwoon, too.” He moves a moment later, easing Yoongi back down onto the bed, pressing himself up against Yoongi’s back, and pulling the blankets up over them, before he wraps his arm around Yoongi’s waist, pulling the young man back against his chest. “It’s the guilt,” he murmurs quietly. “And the uncertainty, and the fear, and the emotional overload.” He hugs Yoongi tightly against him, pressing his mouth against Yoongi’s shoulder. “It’ll get better.”

Yoongi takes a deep, shaky breath. “Promise?”

“It will,” Seokjin says softly. “I promise, sweetheart, it will.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but quiets when Seokjin kisses his shoulder again. His hand is pressed flat against Yoongi’s stomach, a warm, firm anchor against him. Yoongi swallows hard, then tucks his head down, exhaling shakily; Seokjin hums quietly, bringing his other hand up, to comb through Yoongi’s hair.

“I’m proud of you,” Seokjin whispers, and Yoongi shudders underneath his touch, the sweet brush of praise against his skin. “So proud.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi manages, voice damp. “What—ah, when Taekwoon—when he killed someone, the first time, how did he do it?”

Seokjin stills for a moment, then presses his mouth against Yoongi, eyes closing, like he’s remembering the moment, savoring it in silence. When he speaks, his voice is low, raw. “Taekwoon,” he murmurs, “caught wind of a sex trafficking ring, in the city that we were living in at the time.” Yoongi shivers, and Seokjin squeezes him gently, smile curling against his shoulder. “He came to me one night, said he knew who he wanted to kill, he knew where the target—it was the leader, of the ring—was going to be.”

“He was noble,” Yoongi says quietly.

“He was,” Seokjin agrees. “It didn’t scratch the right itch, though,” he continues, fingers scratching at Yoongi’s scalp lightly. “Just like it wouldn’t if you were to go after someone similar. Killing monsters is all well and good, there’s certainly a time and a place, but the rush isn’t quite the same.”

Yoongi closes his eyes, allowing the memory of that rush to wash over him. His heartrate kicks up, breath hitching, as he remembers the surge of power in his muscles, his fingers sure and steady on the knife’s hilt, around the man’s neck. It was intoxicating—despite the fact that he’d thrown up in his toilet not 10 minutes earlier, he wanted to feel it again, wanted to know if it was the same.

“How did he kill him?” Yoongi asks, voice breathless. “I want to—I want to know.”

“He strangled him,” Seokjin murmurs.

“Like I did?”

“No,” Seokjin says. He sits up slowly, looking towards Yoongi’s bedside table. He reaches for it, pulling open the second drawer, and withdrawing one of the scarves that he’d seen in there earlier. Yoongi watches, wide-eyed, as he examines it for a moment, then smirks down at Yoongi. Their gazes lock, and Yoongi’s breath catches in his throat—that look is back in Seokjin’s eyes, dangerous, cold, murderer.

Seokjin maintains eye contact, as he wraps an end of the scarf around each hand, before bringing it over Yoongi’s head, so the middle section of the scarf is right up against Yoongi’s throat. He pulls, and Yoongi leans back as far as he can, before his body collides with Seokjin’s. He gasps, as Seokjin pulls harder, the pressure of the scarf making it impossible for Yoongi to breathe.

Yoongi squirms against him, mostly for show. He’s reasonably confident that Seokjin won’t kill him, which, realistically, sounds ridiculous, given what he knows about the older man. He kicks at him, but with his legs trapped in the blankets, the blows don’t do much. Behind him, Seokjin laughs quietly, pressing his nose into Yoongi’s hair, breathing him in. He releases him a moment later, and Yoongi lurches forward, gasping for breath.

“Why do we always end up here?” Yoongi manages to grit out. “That’s, what, the third time that you’ve tried to strangle me?”

“You like it,” Seokjin says against his hair, before he nuzzles at the back of Yoongi’s neck. “You like the danger of it, you like knowing that I could kill you.”

He’s not wrong. As soon as Yoongi had caught on to what Seokjin was doing, as soon as he’d gotten that scarf around Yoongi’s neck, his cock had been interested, twitching to life between his legs. He’s lucky that he’s got his back to Seokjin, that the older man can’t see it, can’t feel it, doesn’t know.

“What else do you like?” Seokjin whispers, almost to himself. He trails his hand up Yoongi’s side slowly, then back own, fingertips tracing the bump of each rib. “You liked when hyung held you down, when hyung was mean to you, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. He turns his head slightly, to look back at Seokjin, biting his lower lip. “Hyung liked being mean to me.”

Seokjin smirks at him, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. He lingers there, sharing Yoongi’s breath before he pulls back a moment later. “Hyung did,” he agrees, tugging lightly on Yoongi’s hair. “Did hyung hurt you?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side slightly. He blinks, exhaustion starting to hit him out of nowhere, eyelids heavy. “No, hyung,” he breathes. “Not—not in a bad way. Only in ways that I enjoyed.”

Seokjin makes a thoughtful sound, then presses his mouth to Yoongi’s shoulder, tracing the smooth curve of it with his lips. “I’m glad,” he whispers. “Hyung wouldn’t ever want to hurt you in a bad way.” Yoongi huffs out a laugh, lips twitching into a smile, as Seokjin continues to play with his hair. “Go to sleep, sweet kitten. You deserve to rest.” He kisses his shoulder again, then trails a line of kisses up to his neck, impossibly gentle. “Sleep for hyung.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi mumbles. “Ah, say it—say it again.”

“Say what, love?” Seokjin asks quietly. “Tell hyung.”

“That you’re—ah, that you’re proud of me.”

Seokjin smiles broadly, squeezing Yoongi’s hip before he slides his arm around Yoongi’s waist again. “I am,” he says, right against Yoongi’s ear. “I’m impossibly proud of you.”

“Did you hear about the new body?” Taehyung asks, as he drops into the seat across from Yoongi, setting his textbook on the table between them. Before Yoongi can answer, or even acknowledge him, Taehyung speaks again, voice pitching higher with excitement. “Apparently Kim Seokjin killed someone else. I’m surprised it took him this long, he’s been out of prison for nearly a week.”

“Dr. Jung told me,” Yoongi says, looking back at his computer screen. “He, ah, he actually came over to tell me.”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide. “He, ah, he what?”

“He came over to my house,” Yoongi repeats. “To tell me that there was a new body, and to—to make sure that it wasn’t mine.”

Taehyung takes a moment to collect himself. “He—I’m sorry, Dr. Jung came over to your house to make sure that you were alive, and to—to tell you that Kim Seokjin had killed someone?”

“Yep,” Yoongi says, reaching for his coffee. He takes a long, slow sip of it, before he looks at Taehyung, face completely passive. “Why do you ask?”

“Because, Yoongi, most people’s advisors do not do that!” Taehyung says, both palms slapping the table. “Most advisors would not go out of their way to do that! Mine sure as hell wouldn’t!” He looks entirely too excited, given that the conversation started on the subject of a murder. “I’ve been telling you for years, ever since you met the guy, that he’s into you! This is proof!”

Yoongi’s head snaps up at the mention of Hoseok being into him. “Taehyung-ah, that’s disgusting. He’s my—he may as well be my boss!”

“Some people are into that,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “You certainly seem like you’d be into older men, men like Dr. Jung. He’s bigger than you, he’s a probably stronger than you, he’s like—”

“Twice my age,” Yoongi snaps. “And my boss, Taehyung. I’m not going to sleep with my boss.”

Taehyung puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Jeez, I’m sorry.” He leans back in his seat, fixing Yoongi with a look. “What’s gotten into you lately, hyung? You’ve been all, you know… tense. Uptight. Very abrasive, ever since—”

He cuts off, as Yoongi meets his gaze, one eyebrow raised. “Ever since?”

Taehyung sighs. “Ever since Seokjin escaped.” He bows his head, shame coloring his face. “Yeah, that’s… that’s fair. I’m sorry, hyung.”

“‘s fine,” Yoongi mutters. He runs his fingers through his hair, reaching for the hairtie on his wrist, and tying his hair into a small bun at the back of his head. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore, though, so if we could maybe change the subject—”

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Taehyung says quickly. He reaches into his backpack, and grabs his laptop, setting it on the table. “How, ah, how was your weekend? Do anything fun?”

“Nope,” Yoongi says.

“Liar,” Taehyung says, smirking. “You’re literally red and purple from the jaw down.”

Yoongi’s face heats up. “I am not—”

Taehyung reaches across the table, to poke Yoongi right beneath his ear. Yoongi pulls back sharply, wincing as a dull pain throbs underneath the mark, before he clamps his hand over it, covering the spot. “Liar,” Taehyung sing-songs. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

Yoongi shifts in his seat, tugging his turtleneck up in an attempt to hide the patchwork of marks on his neck. He’d tried his best this morning to cover them all, wearing a turtleneck and a scarf and wearing his hair down, but apparently he’d missed one. “No one,” Yoongi mutters. “Just some guy.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow slightly. “Just some guy? The Min Yoongi that I know does not hook up with just some guy, you’ve always been so picky with your men. You’re way pickier than me, and I don’t hook up with just some guy.”

“It’s no one, Taehyung—”

“You’re so secretive lately, too,” Taehyung says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell’s up with that, huh? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were, like, hiding Seokjin in your house or something.” Taehyung snorts, no longer looking at Yoongi, as he opens his laptop.

“That sure would be something,” Yoongi says drily. “Can you imagine? Local doctoral candidate caught harboring infamous serial killer Kim Seokjin a month before graduation?” He scoffs quietly, putting just enough humor into the laugh that Taehyung laughs, too, hiding his grin behind his hand. “I bet Dr. Jung wouldn’t want to sleep with me then, would he?”

Taehyung laughs again, louder, doubling over. “No, I—I bet not,” he says, breathless. He laughs for a moment longer, then schools his face, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. “Speaking of Dr. Jung, we should get some work done, so that we have something to show our advisors.”

“You’re probably right,” Yoongi scoffs. “Let’s get to work, then.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi says, as he enters the living room. He walks to where Seokjin is sitting on the couch, running his fingers through the older man’s hair, before he drapes himself over his shoulders, pressing his nose against Seokjin’s throat. “I’m bored.”

“Tragic,” Seokjin murmurs, tipping his head back when Yoongi withdraws, so he can look up at him. “What do you propose we do about that, hm?” Yoongi shrugs, and Seokjin laughs quietly, then grabs his wrists, pulling Yoongi down against him again. “Hyung could eat you out, if you wanted. Would that entertain you?”

Yoongi shivers at the suggestion, but shakes his head, mouthing at Seokjin’s neck. “No, I—” he cuts off, reaching around Seokjin, running a hand down his chest slowly, aiming for his pants. “Hyung, I want to go hunting.”

Seokjin’s fingers catch Yoongi’s wrist, pulling his hand upwards, and Yoongi huffs through his nose. “It’s too soon,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of Yoongi’s wrist gently. “People are too paranoid, they’re going to be on high-alert, they won’t fall for your pretty little trick again.” He kisses his wrist again, then releases his hand, patting his arm gently. “I’ll still eat you out, though, if you want me to.”

Yoongi huffs again. “Hyung,” he says, voice pitching into a whine. “Hyung, I want to, please.”

“Be patient,” Seokjin says, in that way that makes Yoongi want to obey. “You’ll wait, until it’s time to hunt again, and when it’s time, you’ll get to play.”

Yoongi makes a low, furious sound. “I want to play now,” he whines, before he moves. He hooks an arm around Seokjin’s neck, putting pressure on his throat, and Seokjin chuckles quietly. He lets it happen, doesn’t fight back, allows Yoongi to choke him. “Let me play.”

Seokjin laughs again. “Or what, kitten? Are you going to kill me?”

“Maybe I will,” Yoongi says, voice low. “If you were dead, I could go kill whoever I wanted.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, then reaches up, lacing their fingers together. He peels Yoongi’s arm off of him, then yanks, pulling the younger man over the back of the couch. They tumble to the floor, and Seokjin pins Yoongi down, bracing his forearm across Yoongi’s shoulders. “If I were dead,” he murmurs, “I’d give you about a week, before you got yourself caught and thrown in prison.”

“I wouldn’t,” Yoongi says quickly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Cute,” Seokjin says, using his free hand to tuck Yoongi’s hair behind his ear. “My sweet little kitten, you’re precious.” He laughs to himself, then moves, sitting back, and wrapping his fingers around Yoongi’s throat. “Oh, they’d eat you up in prison, kitten.”

“Get off of me.”

“No,” Seokjin says. “You started this game, kitten, we’re going to finish it.”

Yoongi makes a furious little sound, then squirms, kicking at Seokjin. He thrashes underneath him, trying to shove at Seokjin’s chest, but the older man merely rolls his eyes, catching Yoongi’s wrists in his hand, and pinning them down. “Let go.”

“Do you know what people like me do to pretty boys like you in prison, kitten?” Seokjin asks, voice low, sending shivers down Yoongi’s spine. He squirms, still trying to twist his wrists free. “Do you know what people worse than me do to pretty boys like you? Do you have any idea what would happen to you, if you got thrown in prison?”

“I’d be fine!”

Seokjin smirks, the look deadly. He leans down, getting right in Yoongi’s face, pressing his forehead against Yoongi’s. Yoongi gasps quietly, a moment before Seokjin kisses him, licking right into his mouth. The hand on Yoongi’s throat moves to his jaw, squeezing his face, hard enough that Yoongi’s lips pucker, mouth forced open to make room for Seokjin’s tongue.

“You would be the exact opposite of fine,” Seokjin murmurs quietly. “You’d end up being some nasty, evil man’s little bitch.” His hand flexes around Yoongi’s wrists, and Yoongi makes a quiet sound in his throat, pushing back against him. “But hyung can keep you safe. Hyung can protect you.”

Yoongi kicks at him one more time, weakly, mostly just for show, before he goes limp, huffing softly. “Hyung,” he mutters. “Let me go.”

“You’re precious,” Seokjin says, as he releases Yoongi’s wrists, sitting back and looking down at him. “Absolutely precious, my sweet kitten.” He takes a moment longer to watch Yoongi’s face, then stands up, holding out a hand for Yoongi to take. Yoongi does, lacing their fingers together, and allows Seokjin to pull him to his feet. “We’ll hunt soon.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” Seokjin murmurs. He kisses Yoongi’s forehead, then nudges him towards the couch. “Hyung’ll eat you out, if you want.”

“Please, hyung,” Yoongi whispers, as he sinks down onto the couch. “Yeah, please.”

“Alright, kitten.” Seokjin reaches out to squeeze Yoongi’s ass in his fingers, smiling. “Relax for hyung, okay? Hyung’ll make you feel good.”

“Can I talk to you?”

Yoongi runs his tongue along his teeth, before he picks up his coffee from the counter, and turns to look at Hoseok, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Of course, Dr. Jung,” he says quietly. He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, taking a sip of his coffee, as he meets Hoseok’s gaze. “What do you need?”

“Actually, I just… had something that I wanted to ask you,” Hoseok says. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, and Yoongi swallows. He doesn’t like where this is going, has never seen Hoseok this nervous, with the exception of the day that Hoseok had informed him that Seokjin had escaped. “Well, first, I wanted to apologize, again, for interrupting the other night, when you were… busy.”

“It’s—Dr. Jung, it’s fine, you were worried. And I’m… I’m grateful, that you came to check on me, that you were concerned.” The lie burns like acid on his tongue, but he keeps a straight face, staring into Hoseok’s eyes.

His advisor isn’t that much taller than him, maybe has an inch or two on Yoongi. Ordinarily, Yoongi doesn’t think about it, hasn’t spent enough time up close to the man to notice it, until now, until Hoseok’s right here in front of him.

“Oh,” Hoseok says. “Okay, yeah, good. Well, ah, I’m glad you’re okay.” Hoseok shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight again, before he clears his throat. “Are you—I was just wondering, if…” he trails off, awkward silence falling over them, and Yoongi swallows.

Fuck.

He’s pretty sure he knows where this is going, pretty sure he knows what Hoseok’s going to say. It twists in his gut, ice-cold, dripping in his lungs, a spiderweb of frost that’s clinging to his insides.

“Spit it out,” he says, trying to play it off with a smile, aiming for playful. If Hoseok’s face is any indication, it works. He blushes red, ducking his head, and Yoongi’s stomach turns. He swallows hard, fighting to fight down the urge to puke, something unpleasant gurgling in his stomach.

“I was wondering if you’d be free on Friday night,” Hoseok says quickly. “To—to go out. With me.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, the words still taking him by surprise, even though he’s expecting them. “Um, I—Dr. Jung, I really—”

“It’s,” Hoseok interjects, wringing his hands together, “I know that it’s probably coming out of left field, but I’ve—I’ve always found you attractive, and intelligent, and I thought, you know, since you’ll be graduating in a few months, that I might as well… shoot my shot, as they say, before I lost my chance.”

Yoongi swallows hard. “I’m,” he tries again, pausing for a moment to make sure that Hoseok’s not going to interrupt him again, “I’m flattered, Dr. Jung, really, I am, but I’m—I’m seeing someone.”

And you’re my advisor, and us being in a relationship would be entirely inappropriate sits on Yoongi’s tongue, but he doesn’t say it, keeps that particular comment to himself. I’m in a relationship already should cut it with most people, will hopefully cut it with Hoseok.

“Oh,” Hoseok says quietly. “Oh, I’m—that’s who you were with, the other night.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi manages, his own throat threatening to close up, choking him. He’s trying desperately not to let his frustrations, his irritation, show on his face. He can’t be dealing with this right now, he has enough on his plate as it is—his dissertation, the fact that Seokjin’s living in his house, the itch just underneath his skin, prickling at him, desperate to get his hands around somebody’s throat and—

“i’ll just... I’ll let you get back to work, then,” Hoseok says, snapping Yoongi out of his thoughts. “Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s not a—” Hoseok turns on his heel before Yoongi can finish his sentence, walking swiftly away from him. Yoongi watches him go, pursing his lips, then exhales shakily, “—bother.”

Yoongi sighs heavily, nostrils flaring, as he takes his coffee, walking quickly to his office. He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and locking it. He practically throws his bag onto his desk, then sets his coffee cup down, raking his fingers through his hair.

Seokjin’s going to be pissed.

Yoongi doesn’t feel like he knows the man particularly well, but he has a feeling that he’s not going to like someone else asking Yoongi out. He’s possessive, angry, and violent, and Yoongi can’t help but worry what he might do to Hoseok, if he finds out what Yoongi’s boss did.

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him to grab his phone, but the next thing that he knows, he’s pressing it to his ear.

“You just left, love,” Seokjin murmurs into the phone, voice thick with sleep. “Did you forget something? I’ll bring it to you, gladly, but you have your car, and I don’t think you want me being seen at your office.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi breathes quietly, and that immediately shuts Seokjin up. “Hyung, I—”

“What happened?” Seokjin snaps, sounding distinctly more awake than he had moments earlier. “Did someone hurt you? If someone hurt you, I’ll—”

“Hyung,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin cuts off. “Hyung, are we going hunting tonight?” He sounds frantic, he knows that he does, but he can’t help it, his emotions suddenly starting to boil over, surging through him like a tidal wave. “Please say that we are, I—”

“We are,” Seokjin says, worry coloring his tone. “We are, of course we are. I promised, didn’t I?” Yoongi swallows hard, trying to steady his breathing, leaning heavily against his desk. “Sweetheart, what happened? Did someone do something to you?”

“i’ll—I’ll tell you about it when I get home, I—”

“You’ll tell me about it now, or I’ll come down to campus, and visit your office hours,” Seokjin says, voice taking on that dark, violent tone, the one that makes Yoongi’s nerves quiver violently with need, desire, arousal. “Tell hyung.”

“Ah,” Yoongi breathes quietly, “um, my boss, you remember, Dr. Jung? Who came to visit over the weekend, while we were—uh, you know, fucking?” Seokjin hums his acknowledgement, and Yoongi swallows hard. “He might have… might have asked me out.”

A long silence follows the words, and Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. Mistake, his mind informs him unhelpfully. He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have even bothered calling; He should have known that calling would be a mistake.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says quietly. “Hyung, it’s—it’s fine—

“Fine?” Seokjin says, voice furious. “It’s the furthest thing from fine, Yoongi.”

“Let me handle it,” Yoongi whispers. “Let me handle it, hyung, please. Please don’t get involved.”

“What’re you going to do, kitten?” Seokjin murmurs into the phone, voice low. “Because if you don’t kill him, I will. I’ll tear him apart, for putting his hands on you, I’ll rip him to pieces and decorate his office with them.”

Yoongi swallows again, harder than before, then shakes his head quickly. “That won’t be necessary,” he says quickly. “Hyung, I’ll handle it, but please, please don’t do anything, please.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise, hyung,” Yoongi whispers. “I’ll handle it, I promise, you don’t have to intervene.”

Seokjin makes a low, thoughtful sound in his throat, considering the words. “Alright,” he murmurs, and he already sounds mostly placated, calmed considerably by Yoongi’s promise. “Mm, I’ll see you when you get home, alright? I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I’ll—I’ll see you tonight.”

“Try not to get into anymore trouble at work, love,” Seokjin says quietly. “I’d hate to have to come out of hiding so soon.”

Chapter Text

“I want to watch you do it,” Yoongi mutters quietly, turning to meet Seokjin’s gaze. “I want—I want to see, what it looks like when you do it.”

Seokjin chuckles quietly, the sound low, sending shivers down Yoongi’s spine. He steps closer to him, backing Yoongi into the brick wall of the alley, and Yoongi tips his head back, to maintain eye contact, breath hitching as he does. Seokjin glances over his shoulder, searching for cameras, before he reaches for Yoongi’s mask, tugging it down, to reveal his mouth, lips bitten pink, glossy with spit. He pulls his own mask down, then leans in, to capture Yoongi’s mouth in a kiss.

Yoongi whines quietly, lips parting. Seokjin chuckles softly, then licks into his mouth, gentle, teasing, and Yoongi reaches up, grabbing onto the lapels of Seokjin’s leather jacket, pulling the older man against him. That earns him a hand on his waist, a thigh between his legs, and Yoongi gasps quietly, rutting against him. “Hyung.”

“Kitten,” Seokjin murmurs, voice low. “You want to watch hyung kill?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says shakily, touching their foreheads together, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, please. I want to see what it’s like when you do it.” He kisses Seokjin again, just as soft as before, and this time, when he pulls back, he tugs the older man’s mask back up, hiding his face. He does the same with his own, meeting his eyes, and Seokjin smiles at him behind the mask.

“Alright, kitten,” Seokjin says quietly. “Let hyung show you how it’s done.” He squeezes Yoongi’s waist, then steps away from him, leaving Yoongi leaning against the wall. The victim that they’d found is still unconscious at the end of the alley, but he stirs as Seokjin approaches him, a low sound working its way out of his throat. Yoongi’s breath hitches when Seokjin crouches down beside the man, muscles flexing under his clothes as he rolls the man onto his back.

The first thing that Seokjin notices is the curve of his victim’s mouth. He’s pretty—not as pretty as Yoongi, but certainly conventionally attractive. He’s slight, which made him an easy target—not exactly hard to knock him out, or to drag him back here, and it wouldn’t be hard to kill him, then they reached that point.

“Any particular reason that you picked him, love?” Seokjin asks quietly, and Yoongi swallows hard, gaze flicking up to Seokjin’s face. “What drew you to him, instead of to someone else, hm?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Yoongi says softly, barely audible. “Should—is that something I should be—”

“Probably better if you don’t have a type,” Seokjin interrupts, smiling up at him. “Having a type gives the authorities insight on who you are, on why you’re killing. The last thing we need is them using your victims to get closer to you.”

Yoongi nods slowly. He takes a few steps closer to Seokjin, to the body, trying to get a better look at his face. Seokjin laughs quietly, then leans to the side, to give Yoongi a better angle. “Pass me the bag, would you, love?” Yoongi nods quickly, then nudges the bag towards Seokjin with his foot. Seokjin’s eyes crinkle slightly, sparkling, as he grins, then takes the bag in his hands, unzipping it slowly. “Mm, what should we do with this pretty thing? What do you think, kitten?”

“I don’t, ah, I don’t know.”

Seokjin hums to himself, as he reaches into the bag, digging through some of the items that they’d brought with them. “We choked the guy last time, didn’t we? Probably best not to repeat ourselves.” Yoongi nods his agreement, but doesn’t say anything, watching intently as Seokjin pulls out the duct tape, pulling a strip off, and pressing it over the man’s mouth, sealing his lips shut.

The man’s eyes blink open slowly, bleary and unfocused. When he spots Seokjin, though, kneeling over him, his whole body jerks, hands coming up like he’s going to shove Seokjin away. Seokjin snorts quietly, then catches one wrist in his hand, twisting. He slams the heel of his hand into the man’s arm, and Yoongi swears he hears something snap, a moment before the man screams behind the duct tape.

“Why—why not just kill him? It would—”

“Keep the noise down?” Seokjin finishes the sentence for Yoongi, not so much as glancing up at him. “It’s not about the noise, kitten, it’s about establishing control, power, dominance. He understands now,” Seokjin pauses, caressing the man’s jaw with his gloved fingertips gently, and Yoongi can’t help the sting of jealousy that burns through him. Seokjin touches him like that, and there’s something about seeing him to it to someone else that sets him on fire on the inside, ice-hot and violent, “or at least I hope he understands, that I’m the one in control. That if he struggles, he’s only going to make this worse for himself.” Seokjin raises an eyebrow, staring down at the man. “Do you? Do you understand that, hm?”

The man stares up at him, wide-eyed, terrified, then nods quickly. Seokjin laughs, then pats his cheek, releasing the man’s arm and letting it fall back to his side. The man squeals when the movement jostles what has to be a broken bone, and Yoongi can’t help but wince at the pain that he can imagine. “And you’re not going to fight me anymore, are you?” The man shakes his head quickly, and Yoongi feels something twist in his gut at the display of power.

It reminds him, somewhere in the back of his mind, of just how much control Seokjin has over him. Without Seokjin, Yoongi wouldn’t be here; he’d probably be cooped up in the library, studying, hunched over a textbook and suffering through the dense text.

This is better, he’s confident of that. He’d rather be here, would rather be with Seokjin, indulging himself in desires that he hadn’t allowed himself to realize until he’d met the older man, until Seokjin had shown up at his front door, demanding Yoongi’s attention, focus, time.

“He looks like Hoseok,” Yoongi says rather suddenly, when he looks at the man’s face again. “Like—like Dr. Jung.”

Seokjin goes totally still, and Yoongi can’t quite tell if the comment was a mistake. “Does he,” Seokjin says quietly, sitting back on his heels, and looking up at Yoongi. There’s a dangerous spark in his eyes, a wildfire, that blooms in Yoongi’s chest and sends him reeling, all focus lost in the deadly look on Seokjin’s face. “Does he really?”

“Y-yeah,” Yoongi stutters out. “He does, kind of.”

“Well, then,” Seokjin murmurs, and Yoongi sees his fingers curl into fists, sees the glimmer of violence in his eyes. “I’ll take pleasure in this.”

Yoongi flinches when Seokjin lands the first punch, right across the man’s face. The man makes a soft, pained sound, as his head snaps to the side, and Seokjin laughs quietly, low in his throat. “That was pretty,” he says under his breath, just loud enough that Yoongi hears it. “Let’s hear that sound again, shall we?” He throws another punch, and the man makes a louder noise, whole body tensing.

Yoongi feels some thrill spark through him at the indication that the man is in pain. His cock twitches, interested, in the scene that’s before him, starting to stiffen in his pants. “Again,” he breathes, and Seokjin laughs quietly, then hits the man. It’s violent, brutal, animalistic, and Yoongi inhales slowly, eyelids fluttering shut.

Seokjin glances back at Yoongi, and as he does, something blossoms in his lungs, vibrant, dangerous, violent. The young man is the picture of arousal, head tipped back against the brick wall, body arching slightly, throat bared. Seokjin can imagine the flush of arousal on his cheeks, can imagine the way that his lips are parting, pretty little gasps coming out of his throat. The feeling in his chest is sharp, laced with possessiveness—that’s his kitten, Yoongi belongs to him, and no one gets to take the young man away from him.

Least of all Jung Hoseok.

Seokjin’s upper lip twitches with irritation, fury burning through him. The logical part of his brain knows that the man underneath him isn’t Jung Hoseok, isn’t the esteemed doctor advising Yoongi’s dissertation, but the monster in him doesn’t care, can’t be bothered to give a shit.

He’s going to kill him.

If he can’t kill Dr. Jung, he’ll kill this cheap replacement instead.

He slams his fist into the man’s face, again, again, again, until it’s a mess of blood, unrecognizable. His chest heaves with the force of his breath, glove slippery with blood, fury burning white-hot in his veins, still. This should have made him feel better, but the logic of his brain is starting to kick in again, reminding him that this isn’t Hoseok underneath him, that the prick is still out there, probably still thinking about Yoongi, about getting his hands on the kitten’s body—

“Fuck,” he grits out, then stands quickly. The man on the ground is still breathing, weakly, but Seokjin leaves him there, turning his attention to Yoongi, instead. He grabs Yoongi by the jacket, yanking the young man against him, and Yoongi gasps, eyes snapping open. He stares up at him, wide-eyed, as Seokjin pulls their masks down, before he crashes their mouths together.

Yoongi moans against him, hands coming up to grip Seokjin’s waist, as Seokjin licks into his mouth, nipping at his lower lip.

“You’re mine,” he growls, and Yoongi whimpers quietly. “Mine.”

“Yes, hyung,” Yoongi whispers. “Yeah, I’m yours, all yours—”

Seokjin grabs him by the waist, picking him up. Yoongi’s thighs clamp around Seokjin’s waist, and Seokjin slams him into the wall, their hips slotting together. “You’re mine,” he repeats. “You’re all mine.”

He rolls his hips, rutting against Yoongi. Yoongi moans again, arching, their lips breaking apart as he tips his head back. It’s not enough pressure, nowhere near enough, there’s no way he can get off like this, but that doesn’t stop him from trying, grinding weakly against Seokjin.

“Hyung,” Yoongi whines. “Hyung, please, ah, please, I want to c-come—”

Seokjin makes a low, feral sound, then sets Yoongi back on his feet. He unbuttons the younger man’s pants quickly, then shoves his hand into his pants. His hand is slick with blood, easing the slide, and Yoongi moans again, tipping his head back as he ruts his cock into Seokjin’s hand. “Come,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as he chases his orgasm. “C’mon, kitten, come for me. I want to see you come, come for me.”

Yoongi’s entire body goes tight, every inch of him pulling taut as his orgasm crashes through him. His hips kick forward once, twice, as his cock spills inside of his underwear, mixing with the blood coating Seokjin’s glove.

“Good boy,” Seokjin says quietly. His chest is still heaving, the wolf in his chest still threatening to tear him apart, violent and furious, possessive. “Good, gorgeous kitten.”

“I want to,” Yoongi pauses, reaching between them, for Seokjin’s crotch, but Seokjin bats his hand away. “Ah, hyung, I want—”

“At home,” Seokjin murmurs, stamping down the arousal burning in him. He’s not going to let it get the best of him, not going to sacrifice safety, security, just to get off. He’s not willing to take that risk, not tonight, regardless of how possessive he feels. “We’ve spent too much time here already, we need to deal with him, and then get home, and then we can worry about me.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Yoongi whispers. “Please.”

“At home,” Seokjin says again. “I will fuck you at home, not here. Not with how much time we’ve already wasted.”

“Kiss me again,” Yoongi breathes, sliding a hand around to cup the back of Seokjin’s neck. “K-kiss me, hyung, please.”

Seokjin grins, shark-like, then does just that, pressing a soft kiss to Yoongi’s mouth. It’s completely at odds with his frantic movements from earlier. “Let me finish him off, and then we can go home, okay?”

“Let me,” Yoongi says. “Let me do it, hyung.”

Seokjin’s eyes narrow slightly, a dangerous little smirk carving across his face. “Alright, kitten.”

Yoongi smiles at him, then kisses him one more time, on the corner of his mouth. Seokjin makes another feral sound, then zips Yoongi’s pants back up, swatting him on the ass as Yoongi moves towards the body.

He reaches into the bag, grabbing the knife that he used last time, before he closes the distance between him and the corpse. He hesitates for a moment, standing over him, then turns the knife over in his hand, dropping to his knees, and sinking it right into the man’s neck. He twists, and the man manages a choked, gurgling sound, before Yoongi pulls the knife free.

Seokjin watches intently, jaw clenching as arousal thrills through him at the sight. He leans back against the wall, as Yoongi kneels over the body, trying to catch his breath.

“Let’s clean up,” Seokjin says, after a long few moments. “And then we can go home, and I can give you what you want.”

Yoongi’s head snaps up, at the reminder of what he wants. His eyes drop to Seokjin’s crotch, where his cock is pressing against the seam of his jeans, thick, hard, heavy, and his mouth waters, teeth sinking into his lower lip. He nods quickly, swallowing hard, before he gets to his feet.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, let’s—yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Kitten,” Seokjin murmurs softly, turning his head to kiss Yoongi’s temple. Yoongi hums, low and thoughtful, before he shifts, pressing closer to Seokjin, sliding an arm around the older man. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about your Dr. Jung?”

Yoongi swallows, then tucks his head down, pressing his face against Seokjin’s shoulder. Seokjin’s hand makes its way up, from Yoongi’s lower back, all the way to his hair, running his fingers through it gently. “I’ll handle it, hyung,” he whispers.

He feels Seokjin’s fingers flex in his hair, and has to bite his tongue to keep from shivering at the threat of violence. He knows that Seokjin doesn’t like the answer, knows that Seokjin would probably be marching down to Hoseok’s house right now if he had any say in the matter. He presses his hand to Seokjin’s side, fingers following the curvature of his ribcage, before he kisses Seokjin’s clavicle gently, in an attempt to calm him.

“Let me handle it,” Yoongi says softly. “I’m more than capable.”

Seokjin exhales quietly. “I don’t doubt that, love.” He combs his fingers through Yoongi’s hair one more time, before letting his hand return to Yoongi’s waist, holding the young man against his side. He kisses the top of his head gently, and Yoongi does shiver that time. “But I’d prefer for you handle it sooner rather than later.”

“I will, hyung.”

“If he asks you out again,” Seokjin pauses, considering, fingertips stroking the bony ridge of Yoongi’s hip, “I’ll kill him myself.”

“Possessive,” Yoongi whispers. “He knows how to take no for an answer, hyung, he won’t do it again.”

Seokjin laughs quietly. “You’d better be right about that, for his sake.”

“What happened to rule number one, huh?” Yoongi asks playfully, poking at Seokjin’s stomach. “I thought we weren’t supposed to kill people that we had personal connections to.”

Seokjin’s eyes flash, and Yoongi almost regrets the snark, until Seokjin leans close, pressing a kiss to his mouth before he speaks. “That was before he asked you out, kitten.”

Yoongi nuzzles Seokjin’s throat gently. “He really bothers you, huh?” he whispers, squeezing Seokjin’s hip gently. “I’m yours, hyung, you know that.”

“All mine,” Seokjin murmurs, voice low, tone unreadable. “You’re all mine.”

Yoongi shifts slightly, nosing up the line of Seokjin’s jaw, before he kisses the skin just below Seokjin’s ear. The change in position nudges his soft cock against the bare skin of Seokjin’s hip, and Seokjin’s grip tightens on his waist for a brief moment. “I’m yours,” Yoongi breathes, then bites into Seokjin’s earlobe gently. “Don’t worry about him.”

“You’ll see him again,” Seokjin says on his next exhale, jaw clenching. “And he’ll see you, and he’s going to think about—”

“Hyung,” Yoongi interjects, sitting up swiftly, staring down at Seokjin, their gazes locking. Seokjin stares up at him, eyes narrow, fingers curling around Yoongi’s hips. “I’m in your bed, not his. I let you fuck me, not him.”

“Kitten—”

Yoongi leans down, bracing his forearms on either side of Seokjin’s head, their noses touching, grinding his hips down against Seokjin’s. Seokjin inhales sharply, and Yoongi grins, wicked, teeth bared. “There’s only one person who gets to stick their hand down my pants while we’re in the middle of killing someone, there’s only one person who I go out and kill people with, and it sure as hell isn’t him.” Yoongi holds his gaze for a moment longer, then presses a soft kiss to Seokjin’s mouth. “I’m yours. Yours, and only yours.”

Seokjin kisses him back, using his grip on Yoongi’s hips to grind up against him, their cocks rubbing together. Yoongi exhales shakily, whiny and breathless, then ruts against him, gasping into his mouth. “Promise me, right now,” Seokjin growls into his mouth, “that he will end up dead. That he will be a corpse.”

Yoongi whimpers, grinding down against him, and Seokjin chuckles, squeezing his ass in one hand. “Hyung,” he breathes, “close—”

“Promise me,” Seokjin repeats, “and I’ll make you come as much as you want.”

“I’m yours,” Yoongi says, grinding against him frantically, “and I’ll—fuck, I’ll—I’ll kill him, I swear, I’ll kill him for you, hyung, I promise.”

Seokjin makes a low sound of approval, then moves, rolling them over and pinning Yoongi to the bed. He kisses him fiercely, licking into his mouth, tasting Yoongi on his tongue. “Spread your legs,” he murmurs. “Be a good kitten, and spread those pretty legs for me.”

Yoongi does as he’s told, legs parting, and Seokjin smiles against his mouth, then kisses his cheek. He moves slowly, languidly, kissing slowly down the length of Yoongi’s neck, mouth lingering on the hickeys scattered across Yoongi’s throat. He nips at his collarbone, then pauses, thumbs circling Yoongi’s nipples slowly, teasing. Yoongi makes a whiny, breathless little sound, stroking his hands over Seokjin’s shoulders, squeezing absently. “Hyung,” he whispers, “hyung, you said—said you’d make me come, c’mon, please—”

“How many times have I made you come tonight?” Seokjin asks against his chest, then pinches Yoongi’s nipples, tugging on them. He continues kissing a trail down the center of Yoongi’s chest, onto his stomach, fingers still on his nipples. “Hm?”

“Th-three times,” Yoongi gasps. “Once in the alley, t-twice after we got home.”

“Ah, to be young again,” Seokjin says, chuckling under his breath. “I’m a touch jealous, kitten.”

“Old man,” Yoongi laughs. “You’ll just have to live vicariously through me, I guess.”

Seokjin bites into Yoongi’s thigh, and Yoongi whines, legs spreading further. “Brat,” he murmurs, then licks over the bite mark, before he wraps his fingers around Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi whimpers, then hooks a leg over Seokjin’s shoulder, as the older man moves, to lick over Yoongi’s hole. Yoongi gasps, hips thrusting up, and Seokjin chuckles, then repeats the movement, just to make Yoongi shiver.

“Hyung,” Yoongi breathes. “Hyung, please, make—make me come, please.”

“You’re so sweet,” Seokjin says. He licks Yoongi’s hole again, giving his cock a slow stroke as he does, and Yoongi shudders, cock twitching in Seokjin’s hand. “Sweet kitten.”

“Hyung, close,” Yoongi manages. He reaches down, fingers slipping into Seokjin’s hair, and he tugs lightly, twisting his fingers in Seokjin’s hair when the older man licks into his hole. He’s still loose from earlier, and Seokjin can still taste the lube that they’d used, the last traces of his own cum, in Yoongi’s hole. “H-hyung—”

He cuts off with a long, desperate moan as he comes, hips twitching upwards. Cum spills out of his cock, some of it landing on Yoongi’s chest, the rest spilling down Seokjin’s hand, wet and warm and white. Seokjin smiles against his ass, then sits up, giving Yoongi’s cock another squeeze, before he releases it.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says softly, reaching for him. “I’m—”

“Let me get you cleaned up,” Seokjin says. He kisses Yoongi’s forehead, then rolls away from him, getting to his feet and walking to the bathroom. When he returns, he pauses for a moment at the end of the bed, watching Yoongi. Yoongi stares back at him with half-closed eyes, a sleepy little smile on his face.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” he mumbles, then yawns.

“I could get used to this,” Seokjin says, after a long silence, as he crawls onto the bed. He’s got a washcloth in his hand, and he runs it across Yoongi’s stomach, watching intently as the younger man’s abs tighten under the touch. “Having you in my bed.”

“‘s my bed,” Yoongi says, grinning up at him. Seokjin snorts, then tosses the washcloth away, pulling the blankets back, before he tugs them over them, slipping an arm around Yoongi’s waist. He pulls the young man against him, Yoongi’s back pressed to his chest, and Yoongi hums, the sound soft and pleased.

“Go to sleep,” Seokjin murmurs, voice sounding overwhelmingly fond. “You’ve been up far too late, you’re going to be exhausted when you wake up.”

“‘s hyung’s fault,” Yoongi mumbles.

“And hyung’ll make it up to you, but not before you sleep,” Seokjin murmurs, caressing his hip. “Go to sleep, my kitten. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Yoongi hesitates outside of Dr. Jung’s office, squaring his shoulders. He glances down at his phone, eyes landing on the notification that’s been glaring at him for the past twenty minutes.

I’ll be out and about late tonight. I won’t be home when you get back from work; don’t wait up for me.

Yoongi’s spent the last twenty minutes trying to talk himself into and out of this plan at the same time. He knows it’s risky, knows it’s dangerous, but that risk, that danger…

It’s tantalizing.

The quiver in his belly when he thinks about it is the same quiver that he gets when Seokjin gets that little fire in his eyes, the one that makes adrenaline flood Yoongi’s veins, the one that puts him on edge, makes him doubt, even for a moment, his safety with Seokjin.

He knocks without thinking about it, pocketing his phone as he does. The sound of his knuckles on the door is impossibly loud, and he has to fight not to wince, plastering sweet neutrality onto his face.

When the door opens, his shoulders relax slightly, easing back into the persona that he’s been wearing for weeks. It’s second nature, at this point, to soften his face, his eyes, quirking his mouth into a gentle smile.

“What can I do for you?” Hoseok asks quietly, smiling at Yoongi.

“Well,” Yoongi says, scuffing his shoe against the floor, faking hesitation, “I was going to go coffee, I was going to see if you wanted anything.” Yoongi shoves his hands into his pockets, then clears his throat.

“I actually just got back from coffee, so,” Hoseok pauses for a moment, cheeks tinged with pink already. Easy, he’s so easy, Yoongi can’t help the flicker of criticism that burns in his lungs. “Thank you, though.”

Yoongi clears his throat again, then nods. “Yeah, sure, no problem,” he says quietly. “I also…” he trails off, glancing down the hallway, then at Hoseok. He can tell, with barely more than a glance, that Hoseok’s fallen for this little act, hook, line, and sinker. “ I was… are you doing anything tonight?”

Hoseok’s brow furrows slightly. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

Yoongi swallows. “Did you, maybe, want to get dinner with me?”

Silence falls over them. Hoseok gapes at Yoongi for a few long, silent seconds, lips parted slightly, eyes wide. When he finally speaks, his voice is full of shock. “I—what? I thought you—I thought you were seeing someone?”

“I… I was,” Yoongi says. “Um, I… I no longer am.”

That burns in his throat, but Yoongi swallows the lie down, glancing down at the floor, then back up at Hoseok, who’s still gaping at him, looking absolutely bewildered.

“If you don’t want to, that’s totally—”

“I’d love to,” Hoseok interjects. “Yeah. That—that sounds amazing, actually. I can—I can pick you up, if you want? At… at six?”

Yoongi grins. “That sounds—yeah, that sounds great. I’ll, yeah, I’ll see you then.” He looks away, then back up at Hoseok. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Chapter Text

“This was fun,” Yoongi says breathily, as he turns to look at Hoseok from where he’s sitting in the passenger seat. Hoseok’s hand is warm on his thigh, a constant reminder of what Yoongi’s doing, and after a moment, Yoongi reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together. He squeezes, then leans over the center console slightly, holding Hoseok’s gaze.

“It was,” Hoseok agrees. “We should… we should do this again sometime.”

Yoongi grins at him, then squeezes his hand again. “We should,” he whispers. “Can I—”

“Yes,” Hoseok answers quickly. Yoongi laughs under his breath, then closes the distance between them, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to Hoseok’s mouth. It’s chaste, gentle, barely more than a press of his lips against the older man’s, but Hoseok shivers like it’s so much more. His fingers find Yoongi’s chin, capturing it, and he tips Yoongi’s head back slightly, deepening the kiss.

“Hyung,” Yoongi breathes, and Hoseok smiles against his mouth. “You should… ah, you should come inside, maybe we could… have a drink, or coffee, or something?”

Hoseok hums. “I’d like that,” he says softly. He kisses the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, then pulls back, smiling at him. Yoongi smiles back, and a moment later, he turns off the car, and lets himself out. He comes around the car, opening Yoongi’s door, and taking his hand, helping him out. Yoongi leads him to the front door, stumbling over the steps up to the door, and Hoseok catches him around the waist, chuckling quietly.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says breathlessly. “Might be a little bit, ah,” he pauses, fumbling with his keys, “might be a little bit more tipsy than I thought.”

Hoseok hums, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s waist as Yoongi tries to find his housekey on his keychain. He noses at the back of his neck, then kisses the top of his spine, humming to himself. “Maybe you shouldn’t have another drink, then.”

Yoongi giggles, high-pitched and sugar sweet, as he finally manages to fit the key in the lock. He twists, then lets them into the house, shutting and locking the door behind them, before he turns to face Hoseok, wrapping both arms around his neck. Hoseok smiles, then pushes Yoongi against the front door, kissing him deeply as his hands fall to Yoongi’s waist, thumbs caressing the bony jut of his hips lightly.

“Beautiful,” Hoseok murmurs quietly. He captures Yoongi’s chin in his fingers again, coaxing his mouth open, then licks past his lips. His tongue flicks at the roof of Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi moans, fingers sliding into Hoseok’s hair. He tugs lightly on it, then grins up at him, breathless. “Can I touch you?”

If he touches you, I’ll tear him apart. I’ll slaughter him.

“Please do,” Yoongi whispers. Hoseok grins, then slides his hands underneath Yoongi’s shirt, pushing it up, baring his stomach, before he leans in to kiss him again. When their mouths meet again, it’s sloppy, wet, and messy, saliva smearing across their lips, the taste of Hoseok heavy on Yoongi’s tongue.

Kissing Hoseok is so different from kissing Seokjin, Yoongi can’t help but think. Seokjin is intense, but moves with certainty, like he knows what Yoongi wants before Yoongi himself knows. Hoseok, on the other hand, is… almost hesitant, like he’s scared to break Yoongi, hands trembling where they’re resting on his body underneath his shirt.

Coward.

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, his mouth latching onto Hoseok’s jaw, and he kisses his way up to Hoseok’s ear, pausing there for a moment. “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispers, and he feels Hoseok shiver against him, grip tightening on Yoongi for a split second, before he nods. Yoongi grins, then takes his hand, tugging Hoseok towards the stairs. They make their way up slowly, and Yoongi lets them into the bedroom, pulling Hoseok towards the bed. Hoseok goes easily, content to let Yoongi lead, as Yoongi takes control of their next kiss.

Yoongi pulls him onto the bed, then pushes Hoseok down onto his back, moving to straddle his hips. As he leans over him, he kisses him again, pushing his tongue into Hoseok’s mouth, and Hoseok gasps, hands grabbing at Yoongi’s thighs.

Mine.

Seokjin’s voice echoes in Yoongi’s head, but he doesn’t pause, doesn’t break away from Hoseok as he continues to kiss him thoroughly, the only sound in the room coming from the wet glide of their mouths meeting, the occasional rustle of sheets as Yoongi shifts his weight on top of Hoseok.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok breathes, “I’m—ah—”

“Do you want me to stop?” Yoongi asks, as he breaks the kiss, giving them both a chance to breathe. He lets his hands rest on Hoseok’s chest, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin material. He’s wirey, not built the way that Seokjin is, probably couldn’t pin Yoongi down if Yoongi asked him to. “I’m sorry, I can—”

“No, no, baby, that’s not it at all,” Hoseok says quickly, squeezing Yoongi’s thighs. “I just—don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything.”

Internally, Yoongi gags at the sweetness of it all—Hoseok’s exactly like he’d expected he would be, scared to hurt Yoongi, scared to take what he wants, too polite and perfect and Prince Charming.

Yoongi’s going to have to work a little bit harder than he thought to stay hard through this whole ordeal.

“Hyung,” Yoongi purrs, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek, before he kisses him again, sweet and chaste, “that’s very sweet of you, but I really, really need you to fuck me right now.”

He watches as Hoseok’s pupils dilate, watches the way that his face changes, hesitation giving way into raw, unbridled arousal, desire, want, before he nods quickly. “I can do that,” Hoseok whispers, and Yoongi grins down at him. “Yeah, I can—I can do that for you.”

Yoongi leans down to kiss him again, then leans away from Hoseok, reaching for the bedside table. He grabs the brand new bottle of lube that he’d picked up today, knowing damn well that Seokjin would make him get rid of it after this whole thing was over, and, after a moment of hesitation, a condom from the box that he hasn’t touched since long before Seokjin moved in.

Because he might be a little bit reckless, might like a little bit of danger, but he would rather not get slaughtered by his kind-of-boyfriend.

“Do you need me to—”

“No,” Yoongi whispers, silencing Hoseok with another kiss. “I, ah, I might have, you know. Stretched myself before you came to pick me up.”

Hoseok’s answering smile makes Yoongi’s stomach turn. He’s too nice, too awestruck by the thought that someone like Yoongi seems to find him attractive. “That’s…” he pauses, chewing the words over, “hot.”

Yoongi has to bite down a snort. Hot, that’s the only word that popped into his bed. He’s got a gorgeous boy on top of him, has barely had to do anything to get him there, and hot is the best he can come up with.

Pathetic.

Yoongi makes short work of stripping them both of their clothes, of tearing the condom wrapper open. By the time he’s rolling it down the length of Hoseok’s cock, stroking the length of his dick slowly, grip firm, Hoseok is hard and throbbing in his grip. He’s not going to last long, Yoongi knows that he’s not—in fact, he’s counting on it.

His cock is… not small, but significantly smaller than Seokjin’s. Taking it isn’t going to be an issue, Yoongi knows that, as he rises up on his knees, reaching back to line up the head of Hoseok’s cock with his hole. Beneath him, Hoseok is unable to look away from him, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, an endless stream of praise leaving his mouth that Yoongi’s managed to tune out, thank fuck. The man’s voice was starting to wear on him, the endless repetition of so good, so pretty, so hot.

The words cut off when Yoongi first sinks down onto his dick. Hoseok moans, head tipping backwards, eyes squeezing shut, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, before mirroring the image below him. He has one hand around his own cock, forcing himself to stay hard. As he grinds down onto Hoseok’s cock, squeezing around the length of it, he thinks of getting his hands around his advisor’s neck, of squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, until he’s silent, dead, gone.

He could do it, too, he realizes. Hoseok’s too caught up in the pleasure, he would probably think it was just a sex thing, a kink thing, until it was too late.

Yoongi’s hand twitches, but he manages to hold himself back, clenching around Hoseok at the thought of murder, death, violence. Hoseok moans again, hips bucking up, and Yoongi lets out a moan of his own, one mostly put on to keep up appearances. His strokes quicken on his own cock, as he rocks back and forth on top of Hoseok, trying to pull an orgasm out of him.

I’ll tear him apart for putting his hands on you.

Yoongi stifles a gasp, as the memory of Seokjin’s words floods through him. Heat flares in his gut, and he clenches down hard around Hoseok, whose hips buck up again. Hoseok’s eyes snap open, and a moment later, he tugs Yoongi down on top of him, their mouths crashing together.

When he comes, it’s with a groan that pours right into Yoongi’s mouth. He stiffens underneath Yoongi, cock twitching as he spills into the condom, the orgasm drawn out by the heat of Yoongi around him, wet and deliciously tight. He’s panting into Yoongi’s mouth when he slips a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Yoongi’s cock, stroking slowly, sliding his thumb over the head.

Yoongi hides his face in Hoseok’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut, and tries to forget that it’s Dr. Jung touching him. He thinks about Seokjin, about the way that Seokjin’s hands—warm, firm, confident, bruising—feel on him, the way that Seokjin’s skin tastes, the way Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to break him open and take what he wants.

He comes with a low cry on his lips, Seokjin’s face painted behind his eyelids.

Later, after Hoseok’s cleaned them up somewhat, he wraps his arm around Yoongi’s waist, and holds him against his chest. Yoongi has to force himself not to pull away from the touch, especially when he feels Hoseok’s mouth on his shoulder. He doesn’t try to mark him, thank fuck, because Yoongi really would lose his mind over that, but he does kiss him there, painfully chaste.

It doesn’t take long, for Hoseok to fall asleep. Yoongi waits awhile longer, staring blankly at the window, before he moves, slowly, climbing out of bed and walking to the bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, and turns on the light, looking at himself in the mirror.

Seokjin’s going to know. As soon as he gets home, as soon as he sees Yoongi like this, he’s going to know.

A thrill runs through Yoongi at the prospect. He knows that Seokjin’s going to be mad, going to be furious, really, but he can’t help but be excited. Seokjin does his best work when he’s fired up, as evidenced by their last murder; the victim’s face, broken and bloodied and unrecognizable, flashes behind Yoongi’s eyelids when he blinks.

He needs to move quickly. He doesn’t know when exactly Seokjin’s going to be home, the older man hadn’t told him, but he’d rather he not walk in while Yoongi’s still cleaning up.

He won’t shower, can’t risk Hoseok hearing the water and waking up, but he does rinse his face, runs wet fingers through his hair, and then takes a makeup wipe to the thick, waterproof makeup covering the marks that Seokjin had left on him. It takes a few to get it off, but as soon as he does, the marks put him at ease.

Mine.

He touches his fingertips to them, then squares his shoulders. “Yours,” he says softly, staring at his reaction. “All yours, hyung.”

Yoongi goes to the closet next, and rifles through the duffle bag that he and Seokjin have brought when they’ve hunted. He gathers a few items, before he returns, finally, to the bed. Hoseok is still asleep, passed out in the middle of the bed—the bed that Yoongi shares with Seokjin, their bed—and he’s sleeping hard, snoring in the back of his throat.

The rope that they have isn’t ideal, but it’ll work.

He ties Hoseok’s legs first, probably too tight, but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t a kink thing, at least not for Hoseok, not today, not ever again, if Yoongi has his way. The knots are strong, firm, there’s no way he’s kicking his way out of this. His wrists get the same treatment, and Yoongi steps back for a moment to admire his handiwork.

It’s not perfect, but that doesn’t matter. It’ll work, it’s functional, it’ll get him the results he desires.

He has to pause for a moment, to search the ground for Hoseok’s underwear. He balls them up, then crawls onto the bed, and coaxes Hoseok’s mouth open further, fitting them into it. “That’ll shut you up,” he whispers, barely audible even in his mostly silent bedroom. A strip of duct tape comes next, placed over Hoseok’s mouth, so there’s no way he can spit out the makeshift gag.

When he leaves his bedroom, it’s nearing midnight.

He doesn’t bother putting on very many clothes, merely pulls on one of Seokjin’s button-up shirts, buttoning it haphazardly, just enough to fake modesty. He perches on the couch, heart beating fast in his chest, like a hummingbird’s wings, and he waits.

Seokjin had known that something was up as soon as he turned the corner, and spotted the strange car in Yoongi’s driveway. His eyes narrow as he approaches the house, and instinctually, he reaches for the knife in his pocket. He climbs the porch steps slowly, hesitating outside of the house for a moment.

He doesn’t hear anything, and when he glances through the window beside the door, there’s no sign of a fight or a struggle, but there is an unfamiliar pair of shoes sitting right beside Yoongi’s.

Fury lashes inside of him, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s fit his key into the door, and let himself in, shutting it silently behind him. There’s a light on further in the house, the living room, so he heads there first, moving as quietly as he can manage.

He finds Yoongi sitting on the couch, scrolling absently on his phone. As he steps into the archway that leads into the living room, though, Yoongi’s gaze snaps up to his, and Seokjin’s eyes narrow slightly at the little reckless flame burning in his eyes.

“Kitten,” he says, as evenly as he can manage. “I told you not to wait up.”

He watches Yoongi’s eyelids flutter, hears his breath hitch, a moment before he gets to his feet. Seokjin’s gaze rakes over his body, lingering on the pale, pink skin of his thighs, the way that the sleeves of his shirt—Seokjin’s shirt—hang past his fingertips. He can’t help but stare at the marks littering Yoongi’s throat, his collarbone, placed there by Seokjin’s mouth.

“I wanted to,” Yoongi whispers, blinking up at Seokjin. “I missed you, hyung, where did you go?”

“I had to sort some things out,” Seokjin says, the fury in his lungs starting to constrict. “I figure that we’re probably going to want to leave town at some point, even if it’s just for a short while.”

Yoongi nods slowly, as he comes towards Seokjin. “Can I have a kiss?” he asks, a tiny pout on his lips. Seokjin’s eyes narrow, before he closes the distance between them in three quick strides, seizing Yoongi by the waist. “Hyung—”

“Tell hyung what you’ve been up to,” Seokjin says, and this time, he can’t conceal the fury. He feels Yoongi shiver, sees his throat bob as he swallows thickly. “And if you’re honest, maybe hyung will kiss you.”

“I was at work,” Yoongi says, then shrugs, casual as anything. Seokjin’s grip on him tightens, and Yoongi’s gaze darts up to his, that little flame starting to spark into a violent inferno. “That’s all.”

Seokjin’s upper lip twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, not until Yoongi leans in, clearly expecting the kiss that he asked for. A moment before their mouths meet, Seokjin seizes him by the throat, holding him back, and Yoongi whines at him, put out by the denial. “You must think that I’m stupid,” Seokjin murmurs, and Yoongi lets out a breathless little laugh. “Tell me what you did.”

Yoongi grins at him, the look feral and dangerous. “I went out,” he says slowly, watching Seokjin’s face intently, “on a date.”

Yoongi sees the moment that Seokjin registers what he’s said, catches the split second where his face shifts from fury to cold steel. “Did you,” he says, not even a question. “And what did you do on this date, kitten?”

“He took me to dinner,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, something that Seokjin can’t quite name. “And then he took me home.”

Seokjin snorts, rolling his eyes. “And then?”

Yoongi’s smile turns deadly, dangerous. “And then I kissed him,” he breathes, and Seokjin’s fingers flex around his throat, grip so tight that the next words that Yoongi says are painful. “And I brought him upstairs, and let him fuck me.”

“You did not.”

Even as he says the words, he knows that Yoongi’s not lying, he can read it on his eyes, and his lungs burn with fury. He’s always been possessive, always been jealous, he knows that about himself, but anything he’d felt in the past is nothing like what he feels now. It’s ravaging him on the inside, plucking at violent tendencies that he didn’t even know he had.

“I did,” Yoongi breathes, as he reaches for the hand that’s not wrapped around his throat, guiding it down, to his ass. “Feel for yourself.”

Seokjin shoves him back onto the couch, and Yoongi makes a soft sound of surprise, but can’t move before Seokjin is on top of him, pinning him down. He captures both of Yoongi’s wrists in one hand, pinning them over his head, then gets his other hand around the kitten’s throat again, squeezing hard enough that there’s no way Yoongi can breath.

“And how, pray tell,” he snarls, “did you convince yourself that that was a good idea, kitten?”

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak, but can’t, not with the vice of Seokjin’s hand on his neck. He gasps weakly, eyes widening as he stares up at Seokjin, who doesn’t look like he’s going to relent anytime soon, hyperaware of the fact that the edges of his vision are starting to darken. Instinctively, he tries to take a breath, to no avail, panic starting to take the place of oxygen in his lungs. He thrashes, tries frantically to throw the older man off of him, trying to jerk his hands free of Seokjin’s grip, but Seokjin is big, strong, and Yoongi is completely at his mercy.

“Hyung,” he manages, the word strangled, and Seokjin’s grip loosens. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t release Yoongi, but at least Yoongi can breathe. He gasps for air, eyes damp as he stares up at the older man. “It’s—it’s hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Seokjin says drily.

“Well,” Yoongi says softly, gingerly, “six months ago, we met. So it’s… it’s kind of an anniversary gift.”

“You cheated on me as an anniversary gift? That’s fucked up, even for—”

“Hyung,” Yoongi snaps. “No—I mean, yeah, kind of, a little bit, but—will you just come upstairs with me, it’s easier to explain if you can see who it is.”

Seokjin’s eyes narrow slightly, but after a moment, he relents, curiosity getting the better of him. He climbs off of Yoongi, and after a moment, the younger man gets to his feet, then takes his hand, pulling him towards the steps. He lets them into their bedroom, shutting the door behind them, and as soon as Seokjin’s eyes adjust to the dark, his grip on Yoongi’s hand tightens painfully.

“Is that—”

“You said,” Yoongi interrupts, “you said that I had to kill him, said that I had to deal with it, and I did. Or, well, I’m in the process of dealing with it.”

Seokjin takes a deep, slow breath, then turns his head, pressing his nose against Yoongi’s cheek and inhaling slowly. “You let him touch you?” he asks, voice flat. “You let him fuck you?”

Yoongi risks a glance up at him, and wishes he hadn’t, has to look away immediately from the storm in Seokjin’s eyes. He’s angry angry, looks like he wants Yoongi dead—

They both look to the bed when Hoseok makes a low sound, that almost immediately turns into something panicked as he starts to come to, realizing the situation that he’s found himself in. Seokjin’s whole body turns in one smooth, fluid movement, like a predator that’s found a new target, and he prowls forward, hand slipping into his pocket.

“You must be the esteemed Dr. Jung,” he says, and Hoseok’s eyes snap to him, going wide as soon as he realizes who’s standing at the foot of the bed. “And you already know who I am, don’t you?” He raises an eyebrow, and after a few long seconds, Hoseok nods slowly, whole body starting to shake. Seokjin chuckles quietly, and Yoongi shivers at the sound, wrapping his arms around himself. “Ah, Dr. Jung—it’s Hoseok, right? Can I call you Hoseok?”

Hoseok doesn’t respond. After a few seconds, Seokjin laughs, then pulls the knife out of his pocket, flicking it open, just to hear the high-pitched noise that bubbles up in Hoseok’s throat. “That was pathetic,” he says pleasantly. “Makes me wonder why you ever thought you had a chance with him.” Seokjin holds his gaze for another moment, before he slams the knife into the bedframe, inches away from Hoseok’s foot, just to see Hoseok jump. He holds out an arm, beckons Yoongi towards him. “Come here, kitten. Let him see you.”

Yoongi walks to his side, and Seokjin smiles fondly, slipping an arm around his waist and hugging Yoongi against his side. Yoongi leans into him easily, smiling at Hoseok, who blinks up at him, confusion written across his face.

“You thought you’d get to have him?” Seokjin murmurs. “I hate to break it to you, Hoseok, but he’s mine, and I don’t share.” He moves slowly, climbing onto the bed, and grabbing the handle of the knife, wrenching it out of the wooden bedframe. “But don’t worry, doctor. I’m not going to kill you just yet.”

“You’re—not?” Yoongi asks quietly.

“Oh, no,” Seokjin says, not looking away from Hoseok. “No, that would be too easy, don’t you think?” Seokjin chuckles, then pats Hoseok’s cheek gently. “Besides, I still have to do something about this whole he fucked you situation, don’t I, kitten?” He beckons Yoongi closer again, and after a few seconds, Yoongi joins him on the bed, allowing Seokjin to pull him into a kiss.

“We used a condom,” Yoongi says breathlessly, when Seokjin breaks the kiss.

“Good,” Seokjin says, but he still sounds far from pleased. “Because if you hadn’t, kitten, if you’d let him come inside of you, I would kill you right after I kill him. Understand?”

“Yes, hyung,” Yoongi whispers, breath hitching when Seokjin kisses him again.

“Ah, don’t sound so sad, kitten,” Seokjin says, touching a hand to Yoongi’s jaw, tipping his head back slightly. “This isn’t a punishment, not really. I just want him to see that he’ll never be what you deserve, and I want to remind you,” he pauses, considering Yoongi’s face, “that the only person who can fuck you the way that you need is me.”

“Yes, hyung,” Yoongi repeats, biting into his lower lip. After a few seconds, he reaches up, with trembling hands, to curl his fingers in Seokjin’s shirt, tugging him closer. “Hyung, ah—”

“Are you hard, gorgeous?” Seokjin murmurs, reaching between them for Yoongi’s cock. Sure enough, it’s hard in his grip, and Yoongi’s hips buck when he touches it. “Insatiable. That’s all it takes, a little bit of choking, a few threats of violence, and you’re hard for me?”

“Hyung,” Yoongi whines. “Not—not that. You just,” he pauses, leaning close, to touch their noses together, sharing Seokjin’s breath. “You’re hot, when you’re all… dangerous.”

Seokjin smirks at him, then captures Yoongi’s mouth in a warm kiss. He licks into his mouth easily, chuckling to himself when Yoongi’s cock twitches in his hand. “Don’t worry, kitten, I won’t make you wait long. But it’s rude to ignore our guest, don’t you think, especially after you worked so hard to get him here for us.” Yoongi nods quickly, which earns him yet another kiss from Seokjin, before the older man pulls away. “Now, Hoseok,” he says, pausing for a moment to adjust his grip on the knife, “here’s the plan.”

Yoongi glances at Hoseok just in time to see the doctor’s eyebrows raise, curiosity briefly overtaking fear, before Seokjin sinks the blade into his gut. Hoseok shrieks, the sound muffled by his gag, and thrashes, but can’t move very far thanks to his restraints.

“That’s better,” Seokjin murmurs. “I needed your fullest attention, because I really don’t like repeating myself.” His fingers are still on Yoongi’s cock, stroking gently, thumb teasing over the head, and Yoongi’s panting, leaning against him, temple resting on his shoulder as he watches the blood spill from Hoseok’s wound. It’s like he can’t tear his eyes away, enraptured by the spill of it, the mess, even in the dark. “So, I’m going to fuck my lover,” he says, all casual, as if he hasn’t just stabbed someone, “because clearly, I haven’t been paying him nearly enough attention, and as something of an early graduation present. I’m going to fuck him while you bleed in front of us, so that you can see that you never would have been enough for him.”

He squeezes Yoongi’s cock, then releases it, leaning over Hoseok, fingertips coming to rest on the man’s jaw. “And when I’m done,” he breathes, barely audible, so quiet that Yoongi has to strain to hear it, “then I’m going to kill you. Do you understand me, doctor?”

The sound that Hoseok makes isn’t an indication of whether or not he understands, but Seokjin laughs like he’s satisfied with the response, then withdraws, turning his full attention to Yoongi. He takes his jaw in both hands, tipping his head back slightly, and stares down at him, their gazes locked.

“My sweet, darling kitten,” Seokjin whispers. “I’m not sure you’re going to be able to walk at graduation tomorrow.”

“That’s alright,” Yoongi says, biting his lower lip again. “I really… I didn’t want to go, I was going to fake sick anyways. Dr. Jung said at… at dinner that they’ve already mailed our diplomas.” Seokjin huffs out a laugh through his nose, then leans in to press their foreheads together. “I figured we were going to need to skip town soon enough, I didn’t even have it mailed here.”

“How long have you been planning this?”

“This, specifically?” Yoongi asks, motioning to Hoseok. “Not… not long. Not longer than today, when you told me you’d be out. But on… on leaving? A while.”

Seokjin grins at him. “Smart boy, thinking ahead.”

“Learned from the best,” Yoongi breathes, and Seokjin laughs.

“Flattery is going to get you nowhere, kitten.”

“On the contrary,” Yoongi says, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. “Flattery has gotten me everywhere.” He teases his mouth against the corner of Seokjin’s. “Are you going to fuck me, now, hyung? I want to feel you inside me, please, feel so empty.”

Seokjin doesn’t waste a moment longer, moving quickly, pushing Yoongi down onto the mattress and settling behind him. He sets his hands on Yoongi’s hips, then rucks the shirt up, baring his ass. His hole is still a little bit wet with lube from earlier, and Seokjin can’t help but run his fingers over it. “How did he fuck you?” Seokjin asks, as he thumbs over Yoongi’s hole, staring down into Hoseok’s eyes. Hoseok is holding perfectly still, paralyzed by fear as he watches.

“Are you—hyung, are you sure you wanna talk about—”

“Tell me,” Seokjin murmurs. “I want to know, kitten, how did the illustrious Dr. Jung fuck you?”

Yoongi swallows hard, fingers curling in the sheets below them. He’s staring at the knife embedded in Hoseok’s stomach, staring at the blood as it drips down the curve of his waist, onto the sheets. “I was on top, I-I rode him.”

Seokjin stills for a moment, and Yoongi shivers, a moment before Seokjin’s hand slides up the length of his spine, and settles on the back of his neck, squeezing firmly. “That’s good,” Seokjin breathes. “It’s good that he knows that he belongs beneath you.” He squeezes again, and Yoongi melts under the touch, a low moan in his throat. “It’s good that he knows that he’s not good enough to fuck you like this.”

“Only hyung,” Yoongi whispers. “O-only hyung is good enough.”

“Damn fucking right,” Seokjin says, voice a low growl. “Do you need hyung to stretch you more?”

“No,” Yoongi says, breathless at the prospect of being filled properly, of having Seokjin inside him again. “No, hyung, I don’t, please—please just—please fuck me, please, need it—”

Seokjin hums, as he undoes his pants, tugging them down just far enough to pull his cock free, giving it a long, slow stroke. “I know, sweetheart,” he says, and Yoongi shivers, knees sliding further apart. “And you’ll get it, hyung promises.” He runs his thumb over Yoongi’s hole once more, then drags the head of his cock along the same path, just to see Yoongi shiver underneath him, the muscles in his back flexing. “Are you watching, Dr. Jung? This is a very important lesson, it’s necessary that you pay attention.”

Hoseok says something frantic behind his gag, something that neither of them can comprehend. Seokjin laughs to himself, before he rests the head of his cock against Yoongi’s hole. Yoongi sucks in a deep breath, and when he exhales, Seokjin snaps his hips forward.

Yoongi cries out, as Seokjin’s cock fills him, the stretch too much too fast. He hadn’t been nearly as ready as he’d thought, but the burn of it only makes the arousal in him flare brighter, white-hot against his core. He clenches down hard, a vice around Seokjin’s length, and a moment later, he feels a hand on the back of his neck again, squeezing, fingertips digging into firm muscle.

“Kitten,” Seokjin murmurs, “relax for hyung.”

Yoongi makes a sound, halfway between a whine and a moan, trying to focus on the way that Seokjin’s hands feel, the weight of the older man behind him, the thumb pressing against the side of his neck. Gradually, he relaxes, letting his cheek rest against his arm, a content little hum in the back of his throat.

“Good,” Seokjin whispers, before he grinds his cock deeper into Yoongi. Yoongi moans, lips parting slightly, doing his best not to tense up again, as Seokjin moves slowly against him. “That’s a good kitten, just take it.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi says, turning his head to look up at Seokjin, lower lip jutting out slightly. “Harder, hyung.”

Seokjin snorts quietly, giving Yoongi’s neck one last squeeze, before he sets both hands on Yoongi’s hips, holding them in place. He shifts slightly, leaning back enough that his cock starts to slip out of Yoongi, until it’s just the head nestled inside of him, stretching him open. He stays there for a long few moments, watching with amusement in his eyes as Yoongi grows progressively more restless, shifting and twitching and trying to pretend like he’s not a moment away from begging.

When Seokjin fucks into him again, just as suddenly as before, Yoongi whines, fingers curling into fists in the sheets. He tries to push back against Seokjin, to meet his thrust, but Seokjin’s grip on him is like steel, firm, unyielding.

“Why don’t you tell Dr. Jung how it feels?” Seokjin suggests quietly, in between Yoongi’s stuttered moans. He thrusts into him again, just as hard, right as Yoongi opens his mouth to speak, and all that comes out is a high-pitched, frantic little sound that makes Seokjin’s cock twitch. He loves those noises, loves the way that the kitten comes apart underneath him, loves the way that he goes so pliant when Seokjin looks at him the right way, even when he’s such a little spitfire otherwise.

Loves Yoongi, probably.

“Tell him,” he says again, the words almost goading. “Tell him how good I make you feel.”

Yoongi meets his gaze for a moment, before he looks to Hoseok. The doctor is staring at him, brows furrowed, like he still doesn’t truly comprehend what’s happening to him, like maybe he thinks this is a dream that he’ll wake up from soon enough. Yoongi bites into his lower lip to muffle another moan, before he speaks, voice already wrecked. “Feels good, hyung,” he says. “Ah, feels—feels so good, it’s s-so big, hyung is so big inside of me, stretching me open.”

Behind him, Seokjin laughs darkly, his grip on Yoongi’s hips tightening a moment before his thrusts start to speed up. Yoongi tries to keep talking, but all he can manage is another moan, breathless, needy, desperate. He clenches around Seokjin, the sound increasing in volume when the older man’s cock finally hits his prostate in the way that makes his toes curl, and he reaches back frantically, searching for something to grab onto.

His fingers graze Seokjin’s thigh, but before he can latch onto it, Seokjin grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together and pinning Yoongi’s hand to the bed. He leans over him, maintaining his thrusts as he does, and looks Hoseok straight in the eye as he speaks.

“He’s mine,” he says, voice oddly level, given the situation. “He is mine, and I will make you regret ever even thinking about touching what belongs to me.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi gasps, cock twitching where it hangs between his legs. “Hyung—”

“Tell me,” Seokjin says, even as his thrusts start to slow, grinding his cock lazily into Yoongi in the way that he knows the younger man loves. “Are you close? Do you want to come for hyung?”

“Yes,” Yoongi gasps. “Yes, please, please, hyung, I’m close, I wanna come, please—”

Seokjin presses a lingering kiss to his shoulder, where one particularly dark hickey glares back at him, a concrete, visual reminder of his claim on the man beneath him. He squeezes Yoongi’s hand in his own, then thrusts into him again, just to make Yoongi’s breath hitch. “Then come,” he murmurs. “I want you to come for me.”

“You…” Yoongi pauses, glancing back at him, “you, too, want you to—”

“I will, kitten,” Seokjin reassures him, squeezing his hand again. “Hyung will come too, don’t worry, hyung will fill you up just like you deserve.”

That promise, whispered into Yoongi’s skin, pushes him over the edge. He wails, turns his head to bury the sound in the sheets, clenching down hard enough that Seokjin growls, his own orgasm bubbling over. He ruts into Yoongi as much as he can while he comes, pumping the younger man full of his orgasm, until he can feel it spilling out of Yoongi’s hole, squeezed around the girth of his cock. Beneath him, Yoongi is shaking with the force of his own release, panting weakly into the mattress as he tries to get his wits back.

“Good,” Seokjin whispers, nudging Yoongi’s thighs gently, until Yoongi relaxes, going limp on the bed. Seokjin lies on top of him, blanketing Yoongi’s body in his own, and he kisses his shoulder again, just as gentle as before. “Sweet kitten.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi gasps. “We—”

“Shh,” Seokjin says, shifting when Yoongi turns his head, so he can kiss him gently. “I’ll take care of Hoseok. You just rest.”

Yoongi blinks at him. “You’ll kill him?”

“I’ll kill him,” Seokjin echoes. “And I’ll clean up the mess, I’ll dispose of him, I’ll make sure that everything is taken care of.” He kisses Yoongi again, a slow, easy drag of his mouth. “And then I’ll come right back to you. You just rest while I’m gone, and I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

“No,” Yoongi breathes, squeezing his hand. “Together. We’ll do it together.”

Seokjin’s heart clenches, and he’s unable to keep his eyes from softening as he looks at Yoongi. “Together,” he agrees. “I think I can make that happen.”

“From,” Yoongi starts, then pauses, sucking in a slow breath as their shift in position rubs Seokjin’s cock along his prostate again. “From here on out, it’s—together. Everything.”

Seokjin smiles at him, then presses the tip of his nose to Yoongi’s temple. “Everything.” He kisses him there, before he sits back, caressing the younger man’s hip as he pulls out slowly, careful not to hurt the kitten beneath him. “At least rest while I clean you up, and then we’ll take care of our precious Dr. Jung.”

“Yes, hyung,” Yoongi mumbles, then glances up at Hoseok. “Hear that, Dr. Jung? It’s almost your turn, you just have to be patient a while longer.”

Seokjin laughs as he climbs off of the bed, and walks to the bathroom, the sound rich and warm, and sinking right into Yoongi’s bones. He catalogues the sound, filing it away in his memory, tucking it close to his heart, somewhere deep in his chest where no one else can touch it.

They’ll call him a monster, he knows they will. It won’t take the police, the FBI, very long to figure out that he’s with Seokjin, they’re not completely incompetent. They won’t say it on television, or in the news, it’s too unprofessional, but they’ll say it to each other, in their briefings, a word between colleagues; they’ll think it when they drive home to their families, when they’re trying to sleep at night.

If this makes him a monster, then there’s nothing else Yoongi would rather be.

“I brought you wine,” Yoongi says quietly, as he sets two glasses down on the table, settling back into his seat beside Seokjin. The older man glances up from his book, then smiles, leaning towards Yoongi to press a kiss to his mouth, sweet and gentle.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and Yoongi blushes pink. “See anyone you like?”

Yoongi snorts. “No,” he says, taking a sip from his own glass. “Stuffy old business men, mostly, or women with kids. Not exactly our type.”

Seokjin laughs under his breath, then wraps an arm around Yoongi, pulling him against his side. “Don’t stress too much about it,” he says, “we’ll find someone. Perhaps there’ll be someone boarding at the next station, someone who catches our eye.”

Yoongi leans into him, taking another sip. “Of course,” he says softly. “It won’t bother me if there isn’t. I don’t mind having to wait until we get to the next city over.”

Seokjin chuckles, squeezing Yoongi’s shoulder as he looks back down at his book. “No, you wouldn’t mind at all,” he says thoughtfully. “You’ve become a very patient boy since we left home, haven’t you?”

“It’s all thanks to hyung’s good influence,” Yoongi says teasingly, and Seokjin laughs, his eyes not rising from the page that he’s focused on. Yoongi takes another sip of his wine, leaving them in silence for a few moments, before he grimaces. “This wine is gross. They have some nerve, serving this in first class.”

“And you’ve turned into a wine snob, too, apparently,” Seokjin says under his breath. Yoongi elbows him, and Seokjin laughs to himself. “Go complain about it, then, if it bothers you so much.”

“Maybe I will,” Yoongi scoffs. He sets his glass down, then turns to Seokjin. “Kiss me, hyung.”

“Demanding,” Seokjin says, then obliges, pressing another quick kiss to Yoongi’s mouth. When Yoongi breaks away, he gets to his feet, then grabs both of their wine glasses, making his way quickly to the bar. Seokjin, after a moment, glances after him, watching the lithe movements of his body as subtley as he can manage.

He sees Yoongi’s body language shift as soon as he spots the service attendant standing by the bar. Seokjin’s gaze rakes over the man, eyes narrowing slightly. He’s attractive, pretty, with dark hair and piercings in his ears and his eyebrow and his lip, and Seokjin can just barely make out a tattoo on his hand. He’s big, broad-shouldered and muscular, but as soon as Yoongi speaks to him, all that seems to soften.

Even from here, Seokjin can tell when the prey has stepped into Yoongi’s sticky little trap.

The exchange between them can’t last more than five minutes, but by the end of it, Yoongi has a hand on the attendant’s forearm, squeezing gently. He’s leaning in close, close enough that Seokjin feels the thin tendrils of jealous starting to worm their way into his lungs, and the kid may as well have been eating out of Yoongi’s hand for the look on his face, all starstruck and admiring.

Yoongi tucks something under the collar of the service attendant’s shirt before he turns, and makes his way back to Seokjin. The attendant’s eyes follow, and when they land on Seokjin, there’s a moment of hesitation, before Seokjin smirks at him. He watches the attendant swallow hard, cheeks burning red, before he turns away quickly, busying himself with something.

“Who’s your new friend?”

“Our new friend,” Yoongi corrects. “His name’s Jungkook, he’s coming back to our hotel room later.”

“How charming,” Seokjin says, pulling Yoongi against his side. “I do hope he intends to stay the night?”

“I told him to pack an overnight bag,” Yoongi says, shrugging. “He seemed eager.”

“They always are.” Seokjin kisses the skin beneath Yoongi’s ear as he says the words. “When it’s a pretty spider like you offering, they’re always so eager to step right into the trap.”

“Learned it from the best, hyung,” Yoongi says. He leans against Seokjin, then smiles up at him. “We still have a few hours before we arrive, hyung, you should rest. An old man like you needs to keep up his strength.”

He closes his eyes, and thus doesn’t see the roll of Seokjin’s eyes. He certainly feels it when Seokjin’s grip tightens, and a moment later, he hears Seokjin’s voice in his ear, furious, but barely audible. “You know that there are consequences for commentary like that, brat,” he says.

“I’m certainly hoping so, hyung,” Yoongi purrs. “Wouldn’t want to think that you’re getting too old to handle me.”

Seokjin presses his teeth against Yoongi’s neck. “You will pay for that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Yoongi breathes, leaning into Seokjin’s hold. “I’m yours, hyung.”

“You’re all mine.”

“All yours,” Yoongi repeats. “Forever.”

Seokjin kisses his neck gently, then nuzzles at his jaw, the touch soft, teasing. “Forever, my love.”