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where's my god (and where's my money)

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“the way i see it,” jeongguk takes a long drag from his cigarette before swinging around to look at yoongi. “is that we deserve a break.”

“jesus,” yoongi sighs. his hands flutter up to ghost over the steering wheel and then fall back down into his lap. “this again.”

“some of us are still young, hyung. hot-blooded. I can’t be expected to run around every hour of the day, you know. i need some time for myself once in a while.”

the sun is setting and throwing shadows across the alleyway where yoongi had parked to allow jeongguk to smoke, on the condition that the windows were down and he didn’t blow the smoke into yoongi’s face on purpose. yoongi can’t sit still; his hand drifts from the slick leather of the steering wheel to the hand gun tucked neatly in his holster to the gaping rips in the knees of his black jeans.

he’s nervous, but not for any real reason. they had just finished a job earlier that morning and were now far enough away that they couldn’t be caught. and now, as the glow of the cigarette illuminates jeongguk’s face in the passenger seat, yoongi experiences an entirely different feeling of being watched.

“c’mon, hyung. c’mon.”

yoongi risks a look. jeongguk has his boots on the dashboard, which he knows makes yoongi’s blood boil, and a cigarette pursed between his sweet pink lips. his eyelashes drag against the tops of his cheeks in what almost feels like a lazy taunt.

jeongguk looks lovely. looks dangerous. looks like anything yoongi’s ever wanted.

“shit, with the money from this last job, we could go to one of those nice clubs downtown. you can pick up a girl or something, fuck that frown away.” jeongguk finally pulls his gaze away and perches his cigarette between two fingers. “you know. if you’re into that, hyung.”

it sounds like a challenge to yoongi, but he is determined not to rise to the bait.

“god,” he manages. “do you ever fucking shut up, jeongguk.”

jeongguk immediately perks up, smelling blood. his boots drop from the dash as he hastily pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“is that a yes?”

“goddammit,” is all yoongi can say. “goddammit.”

he rolls up his window. turns the key in the ignition.

jeongguk’s entire body is triumphant as he flicks the remainder of his cigarette out the window.

“love you too, yoongi.”

 

//

 

“i hate this part,” jeongguk says offhandedly as yoongi studies his knives. yoongi snorts derisively.

“don’t lie, jeongguk. you love it,” yoongi replies, running a thumb lightly along the handle of one of his blades.

“well, yeah, as a whole,” jeongguk sits backwards in the only chair at the table, spreading his legs wide. yoongi doesn’t stare; he can’t get distracted, not now. “i like the chase. the hunt. but this bit? the screaming and the crying and shit? it’s not ever something i look forward too.”

“that’s why i’m here,” yoongi smiles grimly as he adjusts his gloves.

jeongguk’s responding grin is rakish and sharp.

“yeah,” jeongguk licks his lips. “what would i do without you, hyung?”

jeongguk cocks his head towards the doorway, where low groans are sounding from the adjoining hotel room.

“sounds like the poor fuck is waking up.” he reaches out and plucks one of the knives from yoongi’s spread. “your turn, hyung.”

yoongi takes the knife and deftly turns it over once, twice, in his hand.

“go get the car,” yoongi calls to jeongguk as he stalks his way into the other room. “this won’t take long.”

 

//

 

they stop off at a diner on the edge of town for dinner. the glare of the neon signs casts jeongguk is an almost alien glow; he still looks lovely to yoongi, but even more unattainable.

it’s nearly empty at this time of night, save for a few young people scattered around. yoongi and jeongguk take a seat at one of the booths by the window, where yoongi has a clear view of the car, the exit, the door leading to the kitchens. jeongguk immediately starts rifling through a menu and yoongi stands back up.

he walks into the dingy bathroom, locks the door, checks that it’s locked, locks it again. the light flickers ominously, and it’s creeping yoongi out, so as quickly as he can he scrubs his hands and forearms with the synthetic smelling soap in the dirty sink.

he spends about five minutes just scouring his skin, only stopping when his flesh is pink and raw.

he still can feel the slick and slime of someone else’s blood.

when yoongi returns to the table, jeongguk is staring out the window and playing absentmindedly with the handle of the knife tucked under his jacket. yoongi tsks as he slides into the booth opposite.

“stop that,” yoongi tells him, picking up a menu for himself. “you’ll scare the wait staff.”

jeongguk only looks at him and smirks, returning both hands to the tabletop. he wiggles his fingers as if to show that he’s on his best behavior.

they order food and the waitress is a nice, young girl with smudgy, soft features. when she leaves, yoongi notices how jeongguk watches her go with a predatory glint in his eyes. he doesn’t comment. just folds and unfolds the paper napkin in his lap.

when their food arrives, jeongguk immediately rips open the wrapper for his straw. he purses his lips around the free end and shoots the remainder of the wrapper at the couple sharing an ice cream float a few tables down.

“you’re an animal,” yoongi feels inclined to say.

jeongguk just slurps his milkshake happily in response.

they eat quickly and in silence for a few minutes. the waitress comes by at several points to refill yoongi’s coffee, which jeongguk eyes and decides to make a fuss over.

“you drink too much of that shit, hyung,” jeongguk chastises him. “that’s why you can never sleep, you know.”

“i’ll drink what i want to,” yoongi responds petulantly. jeongguk shakes his head, but doesn’t push it, just grins fondly.

“hyung,” jeongguk lays down his utensils and pillows his chin in his hands. “hyung, if you were to have another job, any job, what would it be?”

“a piano teacher,” yoongi says immediately.

jeongguk guffaws and it’s simultaneously the most unattractive and endearing thing yoongi has ever witnessed.

“a piano teacher,” jeongguk sits back in the booth runs a hand through his hair. yoongi can imagine the wide sprawl of his legs just underneath the linoleum tabletop. “fuckin’ hell.”

jeongguk lets his eyes flit around the diner, not making eye contact when he says, “i guess you have the fingers for it.”

yoongi frowns at that, not knowing how to respond. then-

“what about you?” yoongi asks, genuinely curious. they’ve never talked about this before, not in the two years of working together. jeongguk shrugs, his gaze turning to the window.

“there was never really anything else for me. dad taught me how to shoot a gun when i was seven. wasn’t good for anything else, i guess.”

it strikes yoongi in that moment that jeongguk is only twenty-one. the realization stings, screwing it’s way in between yoongi’s ribs.

“i’m sure that’s not true,” yoongi murmurs. jeongguk ignores it, like yoongi knew he would.

outside the diner windows, it starts to rain.

“hey,” jeongguk sits up and leans over the table, and yoongi instinctively moves back. “how much money do you think they have in the till right now?”

yoongi frowns. he’s only just picked his way through his burger; jeongguk, meanwhile, has devoured his food with the ferocity of the teenage boy he still is. and the waitress- the waitress was nice. she had refilled yoongi’s coffee.

but he sees the gleam in jeongguk’s eye, and knows it’s a lost cause.

“fine,” yoongi says under his breath. he delicately wipes his hands and mouth with the napkin. folds it back into a triangle on the tabletop. “fine. but none of those goddamn knife tricks, okay? the girl at the counter looks like she’s fucking sixteen. you cut her and i’ll kick your ass, jeongguk.”

jeongguk’s smile takes up his whole face. yoongi spares a minute to wonder what he’s doing. then he yanks his gun out of its holster and steadies his grip. flexes his fingers and lets his eyes squeeze shut for just a second. he prays to anyone listening for deliverance.

when he opens his eyes again, jeongguk licks his lips.

“on the count of three, then,” he says, and jeongguk is everything wicked and everything beautiful, and there’s a part of yoongi, just festering under the surface of his skin, that would do absolutely anything for jeongguk to look at him like that for the rest of his goddamned life. “one, two, three-”

 

//

 

“you’re all right, hyung,” jeongguk says lowly from the doorway to the bathroom.

yoongi’s been standing at the sink, scrubbing and scraping at his skin, for the past ten minutes. his own blood is mingling and clouding the water filling up the basin.

“hyung,” jeongguk keeps his distance. “you’ve got to breathe. hyung.”

it’s easy for yoongi to ignore him. just translates his voice into white noise, shoves it down and erects a huge wall in his mind to silence it. his hands shake as he struggles to turn the water off. once he succeeds, he slumps over the sink, all heaving breaths and crawling skin.

immediately jeongguk comes forward, prying yoongi off the sink and folding him into his arms.

“you’re okay,” jeongguk murmurs into his ear. “it’s all in your head, yoongi. don’t trust it. trust me. you’re gonna be okay.”

he sags against jeongguk, spent and shivering. slowly, jeongguk’s voice comes back into focus, like tuning into the right frequency and cancelling out the static.

“guk,” yoongi suffocates on jeongguk’s cologne and a thick sludge of blood dredging down his throat. “i can’t do this anymore, jeongguk, i’m gonna die, christ, christ-”

“yoongi hyung,” jeongguk shushes him. “hyung. i’m here. you aren’t going to die. i’m here, i’m here.”

the bathroom smells like decay and rotting flesh and guts, but jeongguk smells like honey and nectar. yoongi buries his face in jeongguk’s neck and tries to breathe him in like a lifeline.

 

//

 

yoongi made sure jeongguk learned early on that it’s yoongi’s job to handle the money.

the briefcases full of payment pass directly into his hands with no questions asked, and when the two of them get back to wherever they’re staying for the night, yoongi will sit down and set up shop.

sometimes jeongguk will pull up a chair and settle himself down to watch the meticulous way yoongi handles the bills. he wears gloves, flicks through the stacks, clean, careful. divides the money up, brow furrowing as he counts once, twice, again.

he likes the tactile feel of the paper bills through the nitrile of the gloves. dislikes the sour smell of old bills, appreciates the brittle tenacity of new ones. the whole process is one he takes pride in doing, and in doing well.

and when he is finally satisfied with his work, he’ll slide jeongguk’s portion over, and try not to stare at the way jeongguk’s eyes glint and his tongue slips out to wet his lips.

he wonders, all the time, what jeongguk even spends his money on. certain nights, as he observes jeongguk, all strung up and tense, kicking around the room until he finally leaves for hours and hours, yoongi thinks jeongguk uses the money for crack, or heroine, or anything he can get his hands on. or there are other mornings when jeongguk returns to him in day old clothes, with shadows under his eyes and love marks on his neck, and those times in particular make yoongi fidget, make yoongi squirm.

but in the end, it’s none of yoongi’s business what jeongguk does with his share. he just counts the money.

and counts the money.

and counts the money.

 

//

 

they finally end up at a club sometime past midnight.

jeongguk is ecstatic, even when he has to show his identification to prove that he’s of age. he immediately orders too many drinks and yoongi can only watch with something like fondness as jeongguk proceeds to get incredibly drunk.

like he’s been doing the past two years of knowing jeongguk, yoongi can only shrug and follow suit.

jeongguk fits in well with the young crowd at the bar. yoongi, only four years older, feels ancient and decrepit where he stands in a corner off to the side of the dance floor. he drinks only what jeongguk brings back to him, too nervous to approach the crowd at the bar and try to order.

they stay long enough to get drunk and for jeongguk to stalk into the crowd of people and get lost in the baseline, in the throb of the lights. yoongi remains in the back, constantly checking the knives concealed all over his body, once twice three times and then cycles through again.

he’s all pent-up anxiety by the time jeongguk returns to him, strutting out of the crowd with the aura of a hunting beast, eyes set on his prey. the intensity behind his gaze sends a bolt of something thick and heady through yoongi’s muddled brain.

they make it back to the car. jeongguk is giggling madly, sliding into the passenger seat and struggling to get out of the stupid leather jacket he had insisted on paying an obscene amount of money for months ago.

yoongi has a smile on his face too, for some reason he can’t fathom.

(just that morning yoongi had shot a bullet through the head of some poor shit who owed an incredible amount of money to the wrong people. he can still see the pattern of blood and brain painted against the wall, can still hear the crow of jeongguk’s encouragement, can still feel the tremor wrack its way through his entire body when the bloody haze had cleared away from his mind-)

“you’re a fuckin’ mess,” yoongi snickers. he reaches over the gear stick and tries to help jeongguk out of the jacket. once it’s off, jeongguk tosses it in the back seat and dips his head back against the head rest to catch his breath. His silhouette against the street lights is altogether breathtaking.

“i’m your fuckin’ mess,” jeongguk says, and it’s belated and it hurts just a little, and then jeongguk turns and looks at yoongi with that intense, wicked glare in his eyes.

“yeah,” yoongi says. he’s staring. his throat is utterly dry and scratchy. “yeah, you are.”

“hyung,” jeongguk rasps, squirming a little in his seat, and it almost sounds like a plea. yoongi curls his hands into fists. “hyung.”

yoongi only hums in response. he drifts closer and licks his lips.

“hyung, please.”

something shatters inside of yoongi. he lurches forward, sloshing the alcohol around his brain, and kisses jeongguk on the lips.

it’s fleeting, gone in a second when yoongi pulls away. jeongguk’s eyes have shut, and he makes a low noise in the base of his throat, and goddamn, yoongi feels like he’s on a pyre and ready to fucking burn.

“yoongi,” jeongguk breathes, eyes fluttering open.

yoongi’s clambering over the seat without a second thought, settling into jeongguk’s lap like he belongs there, has always belonged there. spurred on by the hitched moan bubbling up from jeongguk’s throat, yoongi goes back to kissing him. experimentally, he rolls his hips downward, and is rewarded with jeongguk gasping into his mouth.

yoongi pulls back to take it all in, the desperate shine to jeongguk’s eyes, his spit-slicked lips, his shallow, panting breaths.

“fuck,” yoongi murmurs, unable to stop himself.

he kisses jeongguk again, pushing into jeongguk’s mouth, sucking on jeongguk’s tongue, hands ghosting up jeongguk’s neck to cradle and angle his head.

“c’mon,” jeongguk moans, loud and loose. the windows of the car are starting to steam up. yoongi allows a hand to trail up and down jeongguk’s chest, grab a little at the base of jeongguk’s throat. “c’mon, hyung, c’mon.”

yoongi falls forward a bit and latches on to the side of jeongguk’s neck, licking and biting. he takes a moment to admire the marks he makes, before diving back down. jeongguk thrashes in the seat, his hands slipping under yoongi’s shirt to claw and clutch at his skin.

“hyung, touch me, you gotta-” jeongguk keens as yoongi laves over the juncture of his throat. his hands fall to grip yoongi’s hips and he moves yoongi against him in an easy rhythm.

“kay,” yoongi manages, moving back to jeongguk’s lips and giving his bottom lip a hard tug with his teeth. his hands drop to jeongguk’s lap, where he fumbles with the buttons, feeling feverish, feeling frenzied.

he pulls jeongguk out of his jeans, eliciting a choked noise that devolves into a high whine.

“look so good, baby,” yoongi sighs as he starts to pump jeongguk’s cock, reveling in jeongguk’s little huffs and shudders. he sits back to spit in his hand to make the glide smoother.

“hyung, you too, come on,” jeongguk palms yoongi through his pants before wrestling with the fastening. yoongi can’t help the noises he makes as jeongguk wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing and slowly thumbing at the head.

yoongi settles himself more comfortably, bracketing jeongguk’s body between his thighs. he pushes jeongguk’s hand away, licks at his own palm, and takes both their cocks in hand, stroking them in tandem.

jeongguk’s head falls on to yoongi’s shoulder with a gasp.

“your hands feel so, so good, hyung. knew they would, shit, yoongi. ah.” yoongi feels jeongguk’s cock twitch against his, and goddamn, if it doesn’t send shivers down yoongi’s back.

“you’ll be the death of me,” yoongi exhales, nosing at the soft skin at the nape of jeongguk’s neck. “swear to god.”

jeongguk bucks up over and over into yoongi’s hand, all helpless and pliant, and there’s voltage under the surface of yoongi’s skin, points of electricity sparking where jeongguk clutches at his skin.

“hyung,” jeongguk sounds vivid, sounds so incredibly real. “if we were back at the room, i’d beg you to fuck me. bet you’d fill me up so fuckin’ good. fuck, i’d let you do anything to me, hyung. yoongi-hyung. fuck, ah, make me feel so, so-”

“jesus, baby,” yoongi groans. “the shit you say. goddamn.”

“you love it,” jeongguk drawls. it’s incredibly hot in the car and yoongi marvels in the curl of arousal simmering, bubbling up in his chest.

“i love you,” yoongi corrects him, and it’s entirely the wrong thing to say, but jeongguk groans so loud and it’s a white-hot poker stoking the fire in yoongi’s belly.

time and feeling starts to blur together. all yoongi can think about is the weight of jeongguk’s cock in his hand, and the heady smell of sex in the car, and the helpless noises bubbling up out of jeongguk’s chest.

jeongguk comes first, a gasp of yoongi’s name pressed into the flesh of yoongi’s neck. the feel of jeongguk shuddering against him tips yoongi over too, and for a few moments all he knows is a ringing noise and the torrent of his own orgasm.

his hands are wet and their clothes are a mess when yoongi finally sits back.

jeongguk’s looking up at him with those huge eyes and flushed cheeks, all together radiant, divine.

anything, the voice in the back of yoongi’s head reminds him. you’d do anything for an eternity like this.

jeongguk sighs contentedly and kisses yoongi again. trails kisses down yoongi’s jaw and smiles into yoongi’s skin.

yoongi’s brain stops rattling around his head. he’s jolted back to reality.

jeongguk’s still murmuring nothings into his skin, and yoongi, he can’t think, can’t speak.

the thought vibrating through his brain: an eternity like this.

 

//

 

“what do you want to eat?”

“jesus christ,” jeongguk spits out. he pauses for a moment, lets the body drop down to the floor, and swipes at the sweat beading on his brow. “really? can’t it wait? there’s- he’s fucking dead, hyung.”

he gestures towards the corpse. yoongi’s still propping up the torso as he waits for jeongguk to pick the feet up again.

“yeah?” yoongi raises his eyebrows. jeongguk goes back to carrying the body, shouldering the weight with a grunt. “he’s dead. i’m not. i still need to eat.”

they reach the car and jeongguk pops open the trunk.

“we’ll dump him off and then get chinese at that place you like downtown. you want chinese?”

“shit,” jeongguk mutters to himself distractedly, scrubbing at the splatter of blood that had made it’s way onto his shirt. “this’ll never come out.”

“guk,” yoongi calls, slamming the trunk shut. “food. focus.”

“jesus, fine, yoongi, fine.”

they slide into the car and yoongi’s stomach growls as he starts the engine. jeongguk fumbles for his pack of cigarettes tucked into his pocket, a frown tugging his lips down.

“sometimes i think you aren’t fuckin’ human, hyung,” jeongguk says around the cigarette in his mouth.

yoongi’s mind is flooded with images and sounds. jeongguk’s pleading groans. slick and sweat smeared up yoongi’s hand. the hotel room that night after the club, in which yoongi scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin in the shower and still, the dirt and grime remained.

“yeah,” yoongi manages. it’s not meant for jeongguk to hear. “yeah, me too.”

 

//

 

“shit, hold the fucking- hold it up, goddamn, jeongguk, if you get blood on the leather i swear to god i will gut you myself.”

“jesus, m’sorry, yoongi, but iss a lotta fuckin’ blood, i can’t help it,” jeongguk slurs out, struggling to yank down the seatbelt while gripping the balled-up shirt to the wound in his stomach.

“don’t- let go of the fuckin’ seatbelt, christ, jeongguk-”

he struggles for a moment against jeongguk, who keeps trying to wrestle the seatbelt across his chest. jeongguk fights back with the remainder of his dwindling strength, his harsh breathing ragged and hot across yoongi’s face.

“watch us get in a fuckin’ accident, hyung, and i’ll be, shit, fuckin’ safe in my seat an’ your ass’ll go flying out the- motherfucker-”

yoongi wrenches himself back into the driver’s seat and stomps on the gas as jeongguk chokes off with a punched-out breath. he maneuvers them down the back streets, the sight of jeongguk bleeding and pale in the front seat enough to alert any passerby should they go by a more populated part of the city.

“an’ can you tell me why the fuck,” jeongguk pants out after a minute, panic and nerves pulsing in his voice, as he lists towards yoongi, unable to hold himself upright anymore, “you put the goddamn body in the backseat.”

“listen,” yoongi bites out tersely. his hands are sweating awfully in his gloves and as he slams past a red light he tugs them off one by one with his teeth. his breath is fluttering like a trapped butterfly in his throat, and his pulse is thrumming, thrumming. “i didn’t have time to put it in the fuckin’ trunk, what with you bleeding out on the floor back there. just don’t- don’t look at it.”

“kinda hard not to,” jeongguk grumbles. “smells like blood and piss.”

“half of that is you, kid,” yoongi sighs. he chews on the inside of his cheek and glances in the rearview at the prone figure laid out across the backseat. he turns his attention back to the road.

“can’t believe he had a knife on him,” jeongguk whines. “the indecency. the least he coulda done was let us kill’m without a struggle.”

“maybe if you hadn’t charged in there, guns fucking drawn, you wouldn’t be getting blood on the leather, you cocksucker-

jeongguk hurriedly adjusts the shirt, which is now nearly sopping wet. his head tips back against the chair, the curve of his neck striking and so incredibly distracting in the corner of yoongi’s vision.

“‘m gonna pass out, hyung. hyung. we almost there?”

“yeah, kid,” yoongi’s overwhelmed. his vision is flickering and everything is oversaturated and boiling. “almost there. hang on, guk. hang on.”

 

seokjin’s place is nice; too nice for people like yoongi.

there are scented candles in the hallway and a handmade quilt tossed over the couch and framed pictures of family and friends set on top of the mantelpiece.

yoongi feels the urge to flip them face down when he sees them, especially the picture of him, seokjin, and hoseok graduating from elementary school. instead, he turns away with a sour taste in his mouth.

when yoongi had shown up with jeongguk utterly limp and draped over his back, seokjin’s expression had shut down. he took jeongguk into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving yoongi in the living room, pacing and trying to look anywhere but at those goddamn happy photos on the mantel.

he can distantly here seokjin cursing and urging a mostly unconscious jeongguk to sit still, goddammit.

yoongi goes into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. seokjin finds him in there a few minutes later, with the tap gushing water out and the cup filled up and running over.

seokjin gently moves the tap and washes his hands vigorously.

“you missed my birthday party,” is the first thing seokjin says. there’s nothing bitter there, just resignation, but yoongi’s stomach still plummets all the same.

“’m sorry, hyung,” yoongi says quietly. “i was-”

“-busy,” seokjin finishes with a sigh. he shuts off the water. “i know.”

seokjin walks back into the living room, and yoongi follows, feeling like a dog that’s been kicked by it’s owner.

“is jeongguk okay?” yoongi has to ask.

“he’ll be fine. he’ll wake up in a bit, whining and doped out of his mind, but,” seokjin settles on the couch and buries his face in his hands. “yeah. he’ll be okay.”

“i’m sorry, hyung,” yoongi says desperately. he perches on the couch next to seokjin, scared to move any closer. “you know i wouldn’t if i had any other choice, but it, it was jeongguk.”

“it’s okay, yoongi,” seokjin looks up and gives him a small smile. “really.”

“i missed you,” yoongi manages, as if saying it out loud makes anything better. seokjin’s responding smile is blinding. his tinkling laugh echoes around the room.

“missed you too, yoongi,” he pats yoongi’s knee. “missed you a lot.”

they sit quietly and yoongi is plunged into memories of his childhood. him as a pudgy kindergartener, trailing after seokjin with stars in his eyes and a lilting lisp to his consonants. him in middle school, staring at the way hoseok and seokjin would hold hands and share shy kisses, and feeling the burn of jealousy rattle its way through him. him in high school, staying out late with the wrong people and still, always looking from afar, always lonely, even when he was surrounded by people.

“how old is jeongguk? twenty? twenty-one?” seokjin’s voice drifts back over yoongi.

yoongi shrugs, tapping his foot incessantly. he doesn’t want to follow through with this conversation.

“he looks like he’s been through hell and back,” seokjin says frankly. “and you don’t look much better.”

“i’ve always looked like this,” yoongi protests weakly. seokjin just looks at him.

“i know you make a helluva lot of money,” seokjin hums. “and i know you take out the really bad guys-”

yoongi’s face turns rigid at the taste of that old, stale lie.

“-but christ, yoongi, one of these days i’m not going to be able to patch you up so easily. one of these days, you’ll lose.”

“you’ll lose him.”

seokjin’s words go through one ear and out the other.

“hyung. thanks again,” yoongi murmurs. “i owe you one.”

yoongi stands up, unable to sit still any longer. he trails around the living room feeling adrift, feeling like his skin is buzzing. he counts the framed photos, the throw pillows, the fruit in the basket on the coffee table. judges how high up they are in the building, if there’s a fire escape he could climb down, if he could survive jumping down the whole thing with jeongguk on his back.

“hoseok will be home soon,” seokjin says quickly, almost desperate. yoongi shudders. there’s a black pit in his stomach that throbs with longing, that wants to sit on that couch and hold seokjin and hoseok to his chest and never let them go.

but jeongguk is in the other room. jeongguk is relying on him. his jeongguk. his.

“we’ll see, hyung,” yoongi shoves a hand down his throat and smothers that ache like it’s second nature. “as soon as jeongguk wakes up we should probably get moving.”

“okay, yoongi,” seokjin says.

yoongi stands there for a moment before shuffling off into seokjin’s bedroom. jeongguk is spread out on top of the covers with a knit blanket tucked in around him.

there’s not much to live for, yoongi thinks after a moment. not for him, not anymore. in another reality, maybe, he’d be living in this apartment and he wouldn’t be in love with jeongguk and he would be happy in a way that doesn’t quite seem real or attainable to him.

but this is his reality, here, now, and he loves too selfishly and he takes and he takes and gives all of himself in return. it’s what he’s always done. will continue to do until he dies.

jeongguk stirs at the feeling of yoongi’s fingers stroking his cheek, and the thought once again strikes yoongi; he wouldn’t trade this for the entire world.

 

yoongi leaves with jeongguk before hoseok comes back home.

seokjin trusts yoongi enough that he falls asleep on the couch a few hours later and yoongi knows well enough that reuniting the three of them with jeongguk drugged and bleeding in the bedroom will only end badly.

so he leaves a note, five hundred dollars in cash, and a piece of himself on the dining room table. packs up jeongguk and their things and bolts.

 

jeongguk wakes up when the car is a few miles out of town. the interior smells like bleach and smoke, from when yoongi had hastily dropped the body in the backseat and attempted to scour the car to make the insides bearable once again.

jeongguk doesn’t say much, besides answering yoongi’s question of pain on a scale of one to ten with a solemn six.

“you loved them,” jeongguk says, and it’s not a question, but yoongi still answers.

“i did.”

jeongguk nods at this. chews on the inside of his cheek and watches the streets pass by outside the car window.

“you ever think of the future, hyung?”

“sure, guk,” yoongi sighs.

“am i in it?” jeongguk turns to him. his face is white from the blood loss and the shadows of the nighttime streets throw the circles under his eyes into stark relief.

“yeah, guk,” yoongi tells him the truth for once in his goddamn life. “there’s no future for me without you.”

instead of teasing him, jeongguk remains silent.

he’s quiet until they reach the hotel for the night. then he speaks up again.

“you’re in my future too, hyung,” he confesses into the thick darkness of the hotel room. “so you can’t leave me. please don’t leave me.”

“i won’t,” yoongi reassures him. he drops a kiss on jeongguk’s forehead.

“promise?”

jeongguk is twenty-one. jeongguk kills people for money. and yoongi- yoongi is in love.

“promise,” yoongi whispers back.

it’s the only promise yoongi intends to keep.

 

//

 

there’s something to be said about irony, yoongi thinks.

irony is the note he left for seokjin and hoseok promising to return for the next birthday party.

irony is the promise he’s made to jeongguk to stay.

it’s cruel. and yoongi is so deserving of that cruelty.

at night he dreams vividly, and painfully.

sensations blur, but the one thing he can be sure of is jeongguk. even when his guts are spilling out, and there’s blood dribbling down his chin and gurgling up in his throat, jeongguk is his anchor. jeongguk is the one pressing his bare hands to the wound. jeongguk is the one holding the knife.

then he wakes up with the real jeongguk in the bed next to him, in another hotel, in another forgotten city, and he feels the sting of universe mocking him.

and yoongi knows, as he brushes jeongguk’s hair out of his eyes and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, that he’s gone too far to turn back.

 

//

 

there’s a threat in the way jeongguk looks at him.

ever since seokjin’s, jeongguk has been quiet. more watchful, more careful.

yoongi assumes that jeongguk’s just getting tired of him.

they start taking on less and less jobs, now, because jeongguk can’t be bothered with anything, will throw fits if yoongi tries to make decisions without him.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” yoongi asks one night, truly bewildered, after jeongguk comes out of the shower in a huff. he looks over and eyes jeongguk, who stands fuming at the end of the bed, just finished with pacing the length of the hotel room.

“what’s wrong with me?” jeongguk spits, the coil of his muscles taut and aggressive.

“’s what i fucking asked, isn’t it?” yoongi replies testily. the temperature in the room is all at once boiling over, twenty degrees below zero.

jeongguk cracks out a laugh like a gunshot.

“god, you’re just- you’re infuriating, you know that?”

“please enlighten me,” yoongi grits through his teeth. he’s pissed now, so he gets off the bed and stalks over to jeongguk.

“you say things, but you never mean them, do you?” jeongguk rages, gesticulating wildly. “you say the dumbest fucking shit to me, and then you forget about it the next day. you- sometimes you look at me, and it makes my blood fucking burn, and then you’ll fuck me and you pretend it never happened!”

“guk,” yoongi holds up his hands, tries not to cower. “listen, guk-”

“so, sorry, yoongi, sorry i have, have fucking emotions. we’re not all like you, we can’t just turn them off like flipping a goddamn switch-”

fury bolts back through yoongi’s brain.

“fuck you, jeongguk, it’s not like i can help it- you know why i’m like this, guk. i do care. sometimes i just can’t fucking show it. so, so. fuck you,” yoongi struggles to finish, angry, frustrated tears beading in the corner of his eyes. he spins around and sits back down on the bed, his back to jeongguk.

after a minute of quiet populated only with yoongi’s ragged breathing, he feels a tentative hand on his shoulder and a dip in the mattress.

“i’m sorry hyung. that was out of line. i’m just frustrated. i know you can’t help it. i’m sorry. it’s just…”

jeongguk settles more on the bed. he removes his hand from yoongi’s shoulder and yoongi turns back around to look at him. his eyes are wide, pupils blown black, and his hair curls in tender waves over his forehead.

“if you don’t want me, just tell me that. if you don’t really love me,” jeongguk’s voice has gone quiet and harsh. “tell me.”

“jeongguk,” yoongi says softly. “i wouldn’t lie to you.”

jeongguk sucks in a breath and shuts his eyes. yoongi waits.

“can you-” jeongguk opens his eyes and there’s a shift in his voice to something darker, something provocative. “prove it, hyung.”

so yoongi kisses him, full and deep, like he’s been wanting to do again since the night at the club. jeongguk is still breathing harshly, but he wraps his arms immediately around yoongi’s neck and presses into the kiss, molding his body against yoongi’s chest.

when they break apart, jeongguk whimpers and buries his face in yoongi’s neck, whispering, “i’m sorry, hyung, i’m sorry-”

“it’s all right, baby,” yoongi hums. he strokes jeongguk’s hair, rubs his thumb into the soft skin at the nape of jeongguk’s neck. slowly, yoongi lays him back down on the bed. “it’s all right. let hyung make it better. let hyung take care of you.”

jeongguk whines as yoongi kisses him again, gently pushes him into the bed. as they kiss languidly, yoongi allows his hands to roam up and down jeongguk’s body, enjoying the alternating tensing and relaxing of jeongguk’s muscles beneath the thin material of his shirt.

jeongguk seems weak for everything, stretching and straining into yoongi’s touch, licking desperately into yoongi’s mouth and twisting his fingers in the short hairs at the base of yoongi’s skull.

yoongi’s torn between teasing and letting himself enjoy this, so he takes his time, leisurely pushing jeongguk’s shirt up and splaying a palm possessively across the hot skin of jeongguk’s belly. jeongguk keens, jolting up a little into yoongi’s body when yoongi slides his hand up and thumbs smoothly at his nipples.

with jeongguk’s help, the shirt comes off, and yoongi is punched in the gut with the sight of jeongguk, spread out beneath him, panting and flushed, a shy quirk to his lips.

“please, hyung,” jeongguk quavers, and yoongi smiles, letting a kiss linger on the center of his chest. he trails his lips downwards, encouraged by the soft pants and hums sounding above him, reaching the fastening of his pants and mouthing at the soft give of jeongguk’s stomach just above it.

“can i?” he asks, and jeongguk startles him with a vigorous and endearing squirm out of the rest of his clothes, before settling back under yoongi with an expectant look on his face.

“eager, aren’t we,” yoongi chuckles just to see the blush spread down to dust jeongguk’s collar bones. before jeongguk can reply, he dips back down and lays kisses along jeongguk’s inner thighs, alternating between biting and sucking at the skin.

he makes his way up to jeongguk’s waist, presses kisses to his hip bone, then dives down and suckles at the tip of jeongguk’s cock. jeongguk lets out a shout as yoongi licks a broad stripe up his shaft, mouthing at the slick dribbling down the side.

he finally takes jeongguk fully into his mouth, swirling his tongue and enjoying the bitter taste of jeongguk’s pleasure, driven on by jeongguk’s whines and the pulse of his cock in yoongi’s mouth.

jeongguk snakes a tentative hand down to grip the back of yoongi’s neck, not guiding, just holding, as he start to move his hips a little more insistently.

the shallow little thrusts of his hips build, so yoongi lets jeongguk fuck his mouth, relaxing his throat and listening to jeongguk’s needy little sighs and gasps.

“yoongi, your mouth feels so, so-”

yoongi hums in acknowledgement, letting his eyes shut and just allowing himself the hot and heavy feeling of jeongguk on his tongue.

when jeongguk’s groans begin to sound longer and higher in pitch, yoongi pulls off with a lewd noise, letting jeongguk’s cock bob back against his stomach. he allows himself another long look at jeongguk, his lips bitten and swollen, his cheeks flushed dark, his chest giving away to shallow breaths. 

yoongi pushes jeongguk up farther on the bed, kissing him deeply as they move. jeongguk winds his arms tightly around yoongi, desperate to touch, to curve his body up into yoongi’s.

“doing so well for me, baby,” yoongi croons, kissing at jeongguk’s jaw. “so beautiful.”

jeongguk whimpers under the praise. yoongi takes a moment to brush jeongguk’s damp hair off of his forehead, and jeongguk’s huge eyes greedily tracking the movement, before darting back to meet yoongi’s gaze.

“hyung, p-please,” jeongguk stutters.

“what do you want, baby,” yoongi asks patiently, continuing to stroke jeongguk cheek.

“wanna-” jeongguk blushes harder and twists his neck to drop his gaze demurely. he tugs at yoongi’s shirt. “want you to take this off.”

yoongi complies, getting up for a moment to shed all of his clothing before caging jeongguk in again against the bed sheets. 

jeongguk hums contentedly as yoongi kisses him again, trailing his hands up yoongi’s sides and pressing his fingertips into yoongi’s skin.

“hyung, in my bag,” yoongi waits patiently for jeongguk to get the words out, sucking bruises into the elegant dip of his throat, the jut of his collarbones. “in my bag, please, hyung, i want you to…”

yoongi pulls away to reach over the side of the bed and dig through jeongguk’s bag, finding the half empty bottle of lube and the pack of condoms. he takes his time getting back on the bed to straddle jeongguk, dangling the bottle tauntingly in front of him.

“this what you want, baby? want hyung to fuck you?”

jeongguk chews at his lips, his pupils blown and his hands fisted in the sheets. his gaze strays to yoongi’s bare cock, throbbing and flushed, before nodding slowly.

“gonna need you to tell me what you want, baby,” yoongi chastises, smirking as jeongguk squirms a little against the sheets.

“please, hyung. want you to fuck me. want you to fill me up, and, and make me cry, please yoongi, please-”

yoongi quiets him with a long, deep kiss, letting his hands wander down jeongguk’s chest, thumbing at the divots drawn by his hip bones.

“tell me if it’s too much,” yoongi murmurs as he sits back and spreads jeongguk’s legs. He dribbles lube on his fingers and reaches down to just let the pad of one finger brush over jeongguk’s hole. 

“-nng well if you did anything- oh,” the breath punches out of jeongguk’s chest as yoongi presses the first finger in. 

it’s an easy slide, and yoongi meets no resistance as he pushes his finger in and out, rubbing against jeongguk’s walls teasingly.

“did you already-?” yoongi questions, pausing in his ministrations.

“did it in the shower,” jeongguk grunts out, distractedly grinding back on yoongi’s finger. “another, yoongi, come on.”

heat slams through yoongi’s gut as he follows through with a second finger.

“did you think about me?” yoongi asks, curious, accentuating his question with a crook of his fingers that causes jeongguk’s spine to go rigid.

“fuck,” jeongguk moans. “when do i not, hyung.”

“jesus,” yoongi murmurs, gnawing at his lip. it’s unbearably hot in the hotel room, and yoongi hungrily traces a bead of sweat with his eyes as it makes it’s way down jeongguk’s cheek.

“look at you, taking my fingers so well,” yoongi marvels. “doing so well, baby, hyung is so proud of you.”

after yoongi adds a third finger, jeongguk is all but thrashing on the bed. 

“i need you, god, need your cock, fuck, now, yoongi, yoongi,” jeongguk babbles, knuckles white and face screwed up in pleasure.

“shit,” yoongi pants, giving one final thrust with his fingers. he pulls them out, reveling in the wicked, wet sounds of jeongguk’s hole clenching down on nothing, needing to be filled. 

yoongi quickly tears open a condom and rolls it down his length, trying not to get lost in the sensation of his own hand, when jeongguk is waiting so patiently, all spread out on the bed, just for him.

when yoongi finally pushes himself into jeongguk, it draws long, loud groans from the both of them. jeongguk tenses up, back arching off the bed, only to slowly settle back down as yoongi buries himself fully inside of him.

“oh,” jeongguk huffs. “oh.”

“tell me when-”

“yoongi, now, god, fuck me,” jeongguk interrupts him, dragging his eyes open to pin yoongi with the lust and fever in his gaze.

yoongi thrusts shallowly at first, building up a rhythm and spurred on by jeongguk’s loud and appreciative diatribes.

“yoongi, god, knew you’d fill me up, fuck me so good, you feel like, like- ah,” jeongguk lets his tongue run loose as yoongi throws himself into the pulse and cadence, exulting in jeongguk’s wet, tight pressure around his cock. “god, yeah, just like that, f-fuck-”

yoongi hooks his hands under jeongguk’s thighs and hefts them up, making jeongguk cry out as his cock reaches deeper, plunging in smoothly at a better angle.

“shit, guk, you’re so tight,” yoongi pants out. “god, you feel like heaven.”

yoongi can feel how close jeongguk is from the strain in his thighs, the fluttering, tightening of his pretty hole, the contorted expression of pleasure on jeongguk’s face.

“there, there, fuck, your cock is so big, yoongi, ah, shit-” jeongguk keens, fast puffs of breath billowing up and out of his throat. “gonna come, yoongi, c-can i come?”

“yeah, baby,” yoongi grinds deeper down into jeongguk. “you can come. come for me, guk.”

that’s all it takes for jeongguk’s hole to clamp down on yoongi’s cock, for his back to bow, for a shout to rip out of his chest, as jeongguk comes between them. yoongi fucks him through it, until jeongguk’s muscles relax and the only thing coming out of his mouth are soft, lovely, oh’s.

“there you go, guk,” yoongi eases him back onto the bed. then, unbidden; “look at you, so fucking beautiful.”

“yoongi, you too,” jeongguk licks and chews at his lips. “want you to come on me, please, yoongi, please-”

“fuck,” yoongi huffs, before pulling out and slipping off the condom. it only takes a few passes of his hand before yoongi is spilling all over jeongguk’s stomach.

he slumps forward, catching himself before he falls on top of jeongguk. catches his breath, grounds himself. the afterglow of his orgasm is fading and he’s left with the finality of what he’s done.

and then, before he can succumb to the blaring sirens in his mind, jeongguk laughs a little and kisses yoongi on the lips.

“love you,” jeongguk murmurs into the kiss.

yoongi’s heart lodges in his throat. he lurches forward to press his forehead against jeongguk’s.

he can’t respond; but he doesn’t have to.

 

//

 

“hyung, you’re twenty-six,” jeongguk says. he’s smoking in the car again. they’re parked in another alleyway in another town, bare under the moonlight and the street lamps.

“fuckin’ old,” jeongguk finishes. it has none of his usual bite to it.

yoongi hums, waiting for jeongguk to say what he wants to.

“have any birthday wishes, hyung?”

“i get twenty-six, jeongguk,” yoongi muses. his window is down and a gust of warm nighttime air drifts in. “you gotta give me some time to come up with them all.”

“tell me at least one,” jeongguk demands. yoongi smiles faintly back.

“all right,” yoongi says. decides to tell the truth. “you.”

“very funny, hyung,” jeongguk snorts. he takes a drag from his cigarette and laughs to himself again. “you already have me.”

yoongi says nothing, just allows himself to look at jeongguk. he looks older, with his hair swept back and his cheeks pink from the warmth inside the car. so different from the boy yoongi first met. yoongi wonders, not for the first time, how much things have changed. if they’ve really changed at all.

“you know what i mean,” yoongi murmurs.

the light of the moon radiates down into the alleyway, illuminating the interior of the car. jeongguk is silent and contemplative, and yoongi- yoongi can do nothing but wait.

“well,” jeongguk finally says. “that’s one wish i can grant.”

hope is a fragile thing. yoongi holds it in the palm of his hand. balanced on his knee. cradled in his mouth.

“jeongguk,” yoongi says. it feels so good to say his name.

jeongguk blows smoke into yoongi’s face.

“you little shit,” yoongi splutters. it turns into a full laugh. when the smoke clears, all he sees are jeongguk’s bright teeth, his mouth stretched into a smile as he laughs along.

“you love it,” jeongguk says. “you love me,” he corrects himself softly.

it’s a revelation whispered with the fervor of a child at prayer.

“i love you,” yoongi agrees.

jeongguk kisses him on the lips. turns and tosses his cigarette out the window.

yoongi rolls up the window. turns the key in the ignition. pulls the car back out onto the street and drives under the moonlight.

 

//