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Yoongi wakes up to a fat cock crammed all the way up his ass.

This is a thing that happens sometimes. That’s alright. He told Jin that it’s alright, he can fuck him while he sleeps if he really wants to. With all the sex they have while they’re awake, it doesn’t really make that big a difference to Yoongi anyway.

He still supposes that things like kink negotiation usually work differently. He supposes normal people have actual conversations about it, maybe talk about pros and cons, hug it out afterwards or whatever. Something like that. He’s at least pretty sure that it shouldn’t have been just Jin saying, “You fucking lazy ass, you sleep so much, I kinda wanna fuck you while you’re asleep, too,” and Yoongi only replying, “Knock yourself out.”

But it works, so, whatever. Yoongi usually passes out after their first round, sometimes he makes it past the second one still conscious. Depends on the day he’s been having. Or on the day Jin has been having, because that determines how badly bruised both of them end up. But usually, Yoongi passes out quickly.

Jin doesn’t.

It’s weird.

Yoongi’s pretty sure that Kim Seokjin couldn’t stay on a treadmill for three minutes without wheezing his lungs up. But make it about sex, and suddenly the guy has all the stamina of a Greek god.

Maybe his body just knows how to compartmentalize and save his energy for the things that really matter.

Like fucking Yoongi’s limp body into the mattress at four in the morning.

Jin is big, ridiculously so. The whole guy. Long legs, broad shoulders -- Yoongi has never actually seen him go to the gym or heard him talk about it, but he’s pretty sure that he does, has to, because his arms and back are nice and toned. But he doesn’t look like one of those oiled up bodybuilding dudes with the watery eyes and the tiny nuts, he’s still well-balanced. He actually kind of looks like one of Yoongi’s wet dreams during his teenage years, but that’s not of importance here. The point is, most of his body is pleasantly big.

And then there’s his penis.

Which is, as a whole, as an appendage, just kind of absurd. Yoongi actually laughed when he saw it for the first time. He wasn’t laughing anymore when he had it down his throat, but he probably would have laughed, had he had the breath for it. It’s an enormous thing to go all the way inside of him, and the sheer mental image of those logistics still tends to crack Yoongi up now and then.

Not right now; too tired. Yoongi’s body has already shut down for the most part, he usually doesn’t even get half hard whenever Jin does this. Oh, sometimes it happens and Jin is delighted to drag another orgasm out of Yoongi that comes with tortured moans and exhausted writhing against his by then soiled sheets. But it usually doesn’t. This is all just for Jin.

His dick is so large it ends up brushing against Yoongi’s prostate without much effort from Seokjin, the long overstimulated gland sending both dull aches and sharp pains through Yoongi’s tired body in waves. He’s sensitive after their earlier first round, much too sensitive, his limbs heavy, his skin crawling with the distinct feeling of cum smearing over his thighs, Jin pushing himself deeper using the gross mixture of that and lube residue. Yoongi is flat on his stomach, his face turned to the side and pressed into a soft pillow, and he likes sleeping like this but right now Jin’s hands keep an iron grip on his hips and push them down, and his flaccid cock rubs against the mattress with each of his sharp thrusts, and it’s not exactly peak comfortable.

“Hurry -- up,” Yoongi gets out, syllables staccato with how the breath gets punched out of his lungs each time Jin’s hips slap loudly against his ass. “I have -- fuck -- morning classes. Like, soon.”

“‘s okay, I have to leave in fifteen minutes,” Seokjin replies, the sentence coming out smooth but a little too fast to still sound unaffected. He’s close. Yoongi can tell more by the tightening grip on his already bruised hips than from his voice. He’s going to make sure to scratch and bite and bruise Jin right back the next time they fuck. They have a fair arrangement.

“Where you goin’ this early?” Yoongi drawls, trying to regulate his breathing and failing for the most part. His eyes slip shut again. His ass is burning and aching, but he does love his sleep.

“Business,” Jin breathes. Next thing Yoongi knows, he’s moaning loudly, hips pressing tight against his ass, cock so deep he can feel every inch of it, pumping even more of his cum inside of him. The grip on his hips loosens slowly. “But don’t act like you care.”

Fair enough. Yoongi grimaces when Jin pulls out and he feels more jizz trickle down his thighs. It’s whatever; he’s tired enough to sleep like this, the sheets aren’t his to wash, and Jin has a great shower waiting for him in the morning. They abandoned condoms long ago; Jin likes the mess, and whenever Yoongi is awake enough, he does, too.

He feels the bed shift as Jin climbs off of it, then smiles silently when he hears him stumble a little. As graceful as ever. Yoongi keeps his eyes shut and tries to go back to sleep while he listens to Jin pull an outfit out of his closet and disappear into the adjacent bathroom to get cleaned up very quickly. In the end, though, he’s still mostly awake when Jin comes back into the room fully dressed and startles him by throwing something onto the bed.

Yoongi flinches when it lands on him, light but cool and weird in texture, and he opens his eyes with a frown to twist his head and find out what’s lying around on his back now.

It’s a wad of cash.

“Buy yourself something nice after class, sweetheart,” Seokjin says dryly and leaves the room. Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“At least throw single bills next time!” he yells after him, voice hoarse and breaking around the edges. “Put in some effort, jerk.”

But if Jin heard him, he doesn’t react. Outside the bedroom, the apartment door clicks shut.

Yoongi sighs loudly, slaps the money over on the nightstand and reaches to the side to fish for the blanket and pull it up over his shoulders. He still has a few hours left for sleep, and then he will actually use the money to buy himself something nice, starting with a huge cup of Americano. That’s the deal, anyway. Yoongi puts up with his ridiculously huge cock, and Jin gives him money.

He hasn’t called Jin his sugar daddy since the day they agreed on this arrangement, couldn’t keep a straight face even then. Seokjin on the other hand does enjoy calling him his sugar baby now and then, or just baby, and Yoongi doesn’t mind. Definitely doesn’t mind. Kind of gets off on it sometimes, maybe. But no matter what they call each other, the nature of their arrangement kind of speaks for itself. Jin wanted someone to spend money on, Yoongi wanted to get through college with a little more comfort, both of them wanted messy disturbing sex. A match made in heaven.

In theory.

If it wasn’t for Jin, Yoongi figures he could still make it through college.

Because if it wasn’t for Jin and his whole gross dysfunctional mob family, Yoongi’s parents would still be alive and could maybe help him themselves.

Or he’d just get a normal job.

Point is, Yoongi seeked Jin out for personal vendetta, not for financial gain. It’s a good side effect, as is the sex he’s been more than enjoying nevertheless. But mainly he’s here because Jin leads a branch of the local mob, and his father leads the rest of it, and it’s thanks to that goddamn mob that Yoongi had to finish high school as an orphan.

Jin doesn’t know. Jin knows that Yoongi knows about the mob, but Jin doesn’t know that Yoongi lost his parents to it. Never asked about them, never cared. Yoongi covered his tracks when they started meeting, just in case Jin would want to background check him, but Yoongi doubts that ever happened. Jin cares about his ass and his dick and the way Yoongi fights back when he gets too cocky, the way they literally end up at each other’s throats all the time, nothing else is important.

To him.

To Yoongi, all of those things are definitely also important, he’s not even going to deny that. There would have been simpler ways to do this, it’s not like he absolutely had to offer himself to Kim Seokjin. He’s doing this because it’s fun and he’s enjoying it, but what’s even more important to him is that he’s been getting close enough to the mob to ruin it from within.

By killing. He’s been killing people.

 

“I’m sorry I’m late, baby,” Jin says, slightly out of breath, as he sits down at the table across from Yoongi and shrugs his jacket off. He sighs, puts the jacket on the backrest of the fancy chair, and picks the menu off of the table, but he only spares it a short look. Then he rather takes a look around the restaurant before his gaze lands on Yoongi, wide-eyed with exaggerated exasperation. “Somebody died.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, unaffected. He sips on the water he got while waiting, and watches Seokjin return to his menu. “Are you saying you’re late for our dinner because you had to kill someone first? I hope you washed up, Jin.”

“No, no, I didn’t kill anyone,” Jin says without looking up, frowning at something he found. Yoongi loves watching him deal with food, even when he’s still just looking at a menu. Kim Seokjin considering food is already a sight to see. “It did almost ruin my appetite, though. One of our guys was poisoned.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, not sorry at all. “Was it someone important?”

Jin grimaces. “Yeah, kinda. I’m more upset about the food, though. Apparently he faceplanted directly into his salad, but when I saw it, it still looked amazing. Shame.”

Yoongi refrains from telling him that the poison was in the guy’s drink, not the salad. He puts his own drink down and shrugs. “They have great salads here, I’m sure you’ll feel better once you see them.”

“I love how indifferent you are about a man’s death,” Jin says with a laugh, sounding very much sincere. “Or potential harm to my business.” A little less sincere there. He’s pointedly studying the menu again when he adds, “Apparently he was most probably poisoned with botox. Didn’t you tell me about that last year when I paid for that gross biochemistry course of yours?”

Oops. “Yeah, you’re right,” Yoongi says and grins at him. “Actually, botox was probably the grossest part of that entire thing. Do you know where they extract that shit from?”

“Yoongi,” Jin says, “my appetite.”

Yoongi leaves him alone about it. Doesn’t want to ruin his appetite, after all. Also doesn’t want to keep talking about the man he killed.

Maybe Jin has been getting suspicious. It’s possible. Yoongi’s pretty sure he left no trace though, he’s been getting pretty good at this. His first few kills were messy, but he’s always had method. He went after the less important positions first, killed people nobody would investigate too hard just to get used to this, and now that he’s up in higher ranks he likes to think he’s not bad. Not bad at all. But maybe he should stop with the poison.

He’s been switching up his killing methods from kill to kill, because he doesn’t necessarily need the mob to find out that it’s just one guy doing all of these. Yoongi doesn’t need the credit. For all he cares, they can assume it’s just random kills from different people who have a problem with their clan of assholes, it’s not like that’s hard to believe.

And poison was a fun change. But maybe it’s time for him to go back to good, old guns.

 

About two weeks later, Yoongi shoots a man in his apartment with the guy’s own gun. He leaves no fingertips, no traces. All it leaves is the now familiar, deep and full feeling of satisfaction right in his guts.

 

Jin only finds out the next day. Yoongi can tell he’s frustrated, knowing that his dad won’t be pleased with this development, will sooner or later have his ass for it, even if it’s not necessarily Jin’s fault. Ironically, Yoongi figures, it’s Jin’s father’s fault, but the man doesn’t know that. The point is, Jin is supposed to run big parts of the business and take on a lot of responsibility, and now people keep dying, and it pisses Jin off. Yoongi can tell from the annoyed texts he’s been getting during class.

He can also tell from the way he’s grabbed by the shoulders and pushed backwards against the door as soon as he enters the apartment. Jin lets go of him, which is his first mistake, puts his hands on either side of Yoongi’s head instead and leans in for what would have surely been a bruising kiss. But he doesn’t get that far. Yoongi ducks down and slips out to the side underneath one of Jin’s arms, straightening his back right next to him just in time to watch him kiss the door.

Yoongi cackles. Loudly. It doesn’t even die in his throat when Jin very visibly takes a deep breath and has to pull himself together before rolling his shoulders and turning towards Yoongi. His eyes are dark, his whole face is, his muscles tense, his jaw set.

“You think that’s funny?” he says quietly. Yoongi smiles at him.

“I think it’s fuckin’ hilarious.”

“Yeah, well, your sense of humor has always been abysmal.”

Yoongi watches Jin’s fists open and close before his gaze flickers back up into his face. “Says the guy who makes jokes like he’s a father of five?” he quips. Really, truthfully, both of their jokes are on the same level of bad and Yoongi thinks Jin’s dad jokes are kind of endearing in a stupid way, but that’s not the point tonight. Something very different is the point tonight, and it has little to do with humor.

Jin wets his lips. “Give me a color for tonight, baby,” he says, pointedly calm. They’ve been using the red-yellow-green system for regular safewords during sex, but they’ve also been using them for that brief moment before. If Yoongi is red, he’s not up for sex at all tonight. If he’s yellow, they can have normal sex, like sane fucking people. In a bed. With foreplay. Shit like that. It’s not like they never do that, because sometimes the other thing is just not right.

But if Yoongi is green, he can already feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, right into his fists, wound tightly and ready to go off. Like tonight.

“Green,” he says. He drops his college bag on the floor and tries to brace himself for impact. And he grins. “Come at me.”

Nobody moves for about one and a half seconds. Then, Seokjin comes at him.

Yoongi feels big hands grip him right underneath his arms like he’s a child, then he’s being hauled around and pressed back against the door, only this time his toes are barely touching the floor and Jin shoves a knee in between his legs. “You think you can fuck with me in my own apartment?” Jin hisses, and Yoongi almost laughs at how much that door kiss seems to have bruised his ego. “You think your tiny ass stands a chance? In here?”

“Maybe not,” Yoongi says. For the first split second, Jin is too busy pushing his knee up further and listening to Yoongi gasp to notice he’s fumbling around behind his own back with one hand. By the time Yoongi has found the door handle and Jin realizes what he’s doing, Yoongi is already surging forward and banging his head against Jin’s.

It’s not like his parents were innocent people. You don’t usually get yourself killed by the mob if you don’t have anything to do with them. They weren’t exactly part of it, and if you ask Yoongi of course they didn’t deserve what they got, but they were no couple of law abiding citizens either. And from the moment Yoongi was able to walk, they made sure to teach him how to fight. Just in case, his mother used to say.

Yoongi is fairly sure that physical altercations as foreplay with his sugar daddy were not what she had in mind. But it is what it is.

So anyway, he knows how to do this. Mentally prepares himself for the ache in his skull, how his ears are gonna ring, then throws himself forward to hit Jin in the face with the top of his head. The trick is to break your opponent’s face, but not your own. It’s all about the angle. An easy feat, considering their height difference. Jin makes a strangled noise and stumbles backwards, and Yoongi lands on his feet, turns around and rips the door open.

If someone had been in the hallway, Yoongi would have stopped here. Would have closed the apartment door and turned back around and told Jin to forget the last two seconds. Because they don’t involve other people in their thing, partly because they’re not up for traumatizing innocent bystanders, partly because it might attract some very unwanted attention if they were caught fighting like this. So Yoongi throws a quick glance around, but the hallway is empty, and so he sprints out and towards the staircase, leaving the apartment door open.

“Little shit,” Jin spits somewhere behind him. Yoongi does laugh, this time. If he can’t fuck with Jin in his own apartment, he’ll just have to fuck with him in the hallway, won’t he? Yoongi might be small, but he’s quick on his feet, agile with good reflexes, if he really wants to. He chooses the lazy route most of the time, but with an angry mob boss on his heels, he can cross a hallway pretty quick.

On the other hand, Jin does have those stupidly long legs.

Yoongi can hear him close in before he feels the hand fisting in his hair. An ugly yank goes through his entire body and Yoongi yelps, feeling and hearing hair getting ripped from his scalp. His feet get the memo too late, flying forwards in a last attempt to get away and leaving him with no ground underneath, and Jin wrestles him backwards.

The hand is gone from his hair as quickly as it got there, but now Yoongi feels a solid chest press against his back and, much worse, a forearm close over his clavicle to hold him in place while Jin's other hand covers his mouth. Instantly, Yoongi tries to get his jaw free and bite him, but Seokjin’s hand is big enough to grab half his face, palm flat against Yoongi's lips, two fingers pushing his jawbone up and his mouth shut. He could probably hold his nose shut too if he really wanted to and Yoongi is glad that he either doesn’t seem to think of it or has a bit of mercy on him.

So biting is out. Yoongi still struggles, kicking his feet and digging his heels into the floor of the hallway, not that it really helps. What does finally make Seokjin flinch is when he grabs the forearm across his collarbones with both hands and claws at it, feeling skin tear underneath his fingernails.

“Fuck, you are going to be so sorry,” Jin whispers roughly behind him, breath brushing hot past Yoongi’s right ear. Yoongi shivers. He sounds affected, to put it mildly, and Yoongi thinks that if he were to push his hips back now, really push them back and rub his ass against the front of Jin’s pants, he’d already be feeling the beginnings of a bulge there.

But he’s not about to grind against him just yet. They’ll probably get there soon, but not now. Jin drags him backwards into the apartment and then hauls him around, and before Yoongi’s orientation comes back and he can really tell which way he’s looking now, Jin’s hand already comes down and strikes him right across the face.

Not held back by any strong arms or huge hands anymore, the momentum almost knocks Yoongi off his feet. He stumbles to the side, his lips throbbing, swearing under his breath. Just when he wants to be proud of himself for not crashing into the coffee table, he realizes why Jin hit him in the first place. He used the time he bought by sending Yoongi stumbling, to grab his keys and lock the apartment door from the inside. Yoongi is pretty sure the sight of that shouldn’t send sparks straight to his dick, but he has long stopped to question himself here.

What’s way more important right now is that when Jin turns around to face him again, blood is running from his nose right over those offensively plush lips of his. Yoongi’s throat clicks when he swallows, but he manages to grin at him nonetheless. “Congrats on being the first to bleed tonight,” he sneers.

Lips splattered dark red, Jin gifts him with a smile. “Congrats on following so close behind,” he says, and Yoongi wants to scoff, because he’s not bleeding. His mouth barely even hurts anymore where Jin hit him, but of course Jin wasn’t talking about his last strike. He was talking about his next one.

His knuckles come down hard against the corner of Yoongi’s mouth before he can make any motion to duck. Yoongi’s head flies to the side and this time he does taste copper, and it makes him fucking furious. Jin’s other hand is back in his hair and he seems to be gearing up for his next hit, but all Yoongi can think about is how fucking dare he make him bleed, who does this bag of shit think he is, and before Jin can do anything else, Yoongi snaps his elbow up right against his chin.

Audibly, Jin’s teeth click shut and his breath leaves him in a loud huff through his nose. There’s a pained groan in the back of his throat but Yoongi doesn’t listen to him, just pushes forward and grabs for the stupid expensive suit jacket Jin is still wearing. Automatically, he darts his tongue out to lick the blood off his split lip, letting the taste fuel him as he pushes the jacket down and off Jin’s shoulders, uncaring if it crumples, uncaring if it rips. Yoongi doesn’t give two shits about his shiny brand clothes, he gives a shit about the way Jin’s arms flex underneath his white shirt once he catches on and drops the jacket to the floor.

“Already taking my clothes off?” Jin says and reaches up with one hand to open the top button of his shirt with a smirk. “Are you that eager, you horny bitch?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to get to your gun,” Yoongi says without missing a beat. As always, Jin was wearing his shoulder holster underneath his jacket, and Yoongi feels like the gun is glaring at him, black and heavy and solid under Jin’s left arm. He could do it, he thinks, detachedly. Probably. Catch Jin off guard, go for his gun, point it at his face, end this, once and for all. He could.

“Oh,” Jin says softly, low in his throat, like the thought makes him shiver and want to laugh at the same time, “you wouldn’t dare.”

And it just pisses Yoongi off more. He hates it, the thought that Jin doesn’t think he could, doesn’t think he would, when it’s all he’s been wanting, all he’s been working on, all he’s been thinking about for fucking years. He doesn’t think Yoongi has it in him, but oh, but god, he does.

And maybe somewhere, Jin gets a hunch of this. Maybe he just wants to get clothes out of the way and more comfortable, or maybe he wants to make it fair so that neither of them is armed. But maybe somewhere, he realizes, sees the fire behind Yoongi’s eyes, the spite. Because without saying anything else, he reaches up and unstraps his holster to put it on the floor with his jacket, out of reach for both of them.

That's fine, too. Yoongi wasn't planning on killing him tonight, anyway.

Jin raises a hand and Yoongi tenses automatically, but he’s only running the knuckles of his fingers over his lips to wipe the blood off of them. His nose doesn’t seem to be bleeding that much anymore, which is okay too. Yoongi doesn’t need blood during sex, after all. And he does enjoy kissing it off of Jin’s lips, but maybe not if it came from his nose.

Yoongi guesses they are getting closer to the actual sex part of their game, especially when Jin fists a hand in the front of Yoongi’s shirt and pulls him towards him. “C’mere,” he says, barely audible, almost a purr, but Yoongi flinches when something clatters loudly.

Seokjin pushed a chair over the floor and away from the dining table so he can press Yoongi up against it, the wooden edge pressing against his ass while Jin wrestles his shirt off. Yoongi lets him, revels in the appreciative stare he gets from Jin once his chest is bare, lets him drop his shirt on the floor, lets him grab his hips and pull him up and seat him on the table, lets him drag his fingertips over his skin. Yoongi even leans back a little, puts his weight on his elbows, watches Jin’s gaze follow his movement. Then he raises a leg and pushes his foot against Jin’s chest.

“You think we’re done already?” Yoongi asks softly, a grin ghosting over his burning lips. Jin is looking down now, inspecting Yoongi’s dirty shoe pressing against his pristine white shirt with disdain. “What, two punches each, you think that’s it? Are you tired? Old? Getting soft?”

“I am anything but soft,” Jin says dryly, and while Yoongi still snorts about the stupid joke, Jin closes one hand around his ankle and pulls his foot away, leaving an ugly greyish stain on his shirt. “Do you know what kind of fabric this is? And, follow-up question, do you want me to take the dry-cleaning fee out of your pocket money, baby? Hm?”

Yeah, that’s more like it. “Shut the fuck up, Jin, it’s just street dust,” Yoongi drawls, keeping his voice slow and lazy to surprise him with how quickly he jerks foot away. It works, too, Jin accidentally lets go of him and before he can even take a breath to answer, Yoongi raises both of his legs up high and locks them around Jin’s neck. He pulls him down with a jerk, smirking at Jin’s yelp, at how his hands scramble for hold on the table while Yoongi presses his thighs against his neck, probably just enough to cut off a little bit of air, and pushes him down, heels digging into his back until Jin’s pissed off face is deliciously close to his crotch.

“What’d your dad say?” Yoongi asks quietly, smiling down at him. He’s still holding himself up by the elbows, and Jin’s hands find his naked sides now, dig their fingernails into his skin dangerously, but Yoongi only tightens his hold around him in response and Jin gets the message. The threat. “Hmm? What’d he think about this next dead body? Is he proud of you, Jin? Did he like what he saw?”

Yoongi hisses when Jin’s nails drag over his skin again, surely leaving angry red welts this time. “What about your parents, are they proud?” Jin forces out of his constricted throat, and Yoongi feels his blood turn cold. “Do they like you taking money for what I’m about to do to your little whore ass?”

With all the force his anger gives him, Yoongi twists his hips sideways, lets his legs pick up the momentum and hurls Jin away from him. Swearing, Jin stumbles away from the table, fighting for balance. Yoongi sits up and watches him for a second before he extends his leg once more to kick him in the side. With that, Jin is out of reach, but that was definitely worth it. Also, Yoongi can use this time to comfortably slide off the table and figure out his next move.

Or at least that’s what he thought. Jin regains his balance much quicker than Yoongi anticipated and rushes towards him again, something wild in his eyes now, but laced with amusement. He’s having fun. Also, that damned hand is back in Yoongi’s hair.

Yoongi gets hauled around and slammed down on the table again, this time face forward. The building tent in his pants presses against the edge of the table now and Jin presses up behind him, and the tabletop is cold against Yoongi’s naked chest, but Jin’s other hand is warm between his shoulder blades.

“You know,” Jin says conversationally, spreading Yoongi’s legs with his knees, “I still don’t quite believe you that all it took to teach you to fight like this was some lame-ass taekwondo class.”

Yoongi grins as he puts his hands flat on the table. Fine then, he can know. “My parents taught me,” he says, before raising one foot off the ground and stomping it down on Jin’s foot hard, whirling around when Jin releases him with a howl and punching him square in the chest.

Air whoops out of Jin’s lungs audibly and he stumbles backwards, cursing. “Fuck,” he wheezes, his voice dull, trying to simultaneously catch his breath and take the weight off of his foot. “I think you broke my toe.”

“Suck it up, honey,” Yoongi says. He’s not worried. Jin is very much free to use their safeword system too, if he feels like this is going too far. But so far, he’s not looking anywhere close to yellow. Feeling generous, Yoongi leaves Jin some time to breathe again, eyeing his smudged shirt in the meantime. “I hate your button-downs,” he remarks. They’re hard to take off when you’re fighting. Yoongi could only try to rip this one open, but that would end either in embarrassment or in him getting the punishment of his lifetime.

“I’ll keep it on,” Jin says, which is not what Yoongi had in mind, but fine. Yoongi narrows his eyes at him in response, just in time to see Jin reach for him again, either trying to grab or to strike, Yoongi has no idea, but he ducks and Jin’s hand hits nothing. Yoongi, on the other hand, successfully slams his shoulder into Jin’s chest, once more listening to the breath whoosh out of him.

But this time, Jin doesn't let it deter him. One of his hands finds the back of Yoongi's neck and grips hard, then his foot comes down and swipes Yoongi's legs out from underneath him. Yoongi can't help the shocked noise slipping out of his throat, feeling himself fall, fully prepared to break his face on the floor, but Jin's iron grip on his nape guides him down instead.

Still, it's not exactly gentle how he's wrangled to the ground, his knees hitting hard, Jin's body close behind him. A second later, Yoongi is lying half on the living room carpet, rough material pressing up against his face, his head still kept down by Jin's hand. “I think it's time,” Jin says above him, but somewhere close, and his other hand pulls at the waistband of Yoongi's jeans. “Don't you?”

Oh, Yoongi could throw him off. He could. He could jerk his head back and break Jin's face, for real this time, and Jin's weight might be pressing down heavily against his legs, but Yoongi's arms are free. He could do something, piss him off more, stall him. But Yoongi is fucking throbbing in his pants, this damn close to rubbing his bulge against the floor, so he doesn't really want to.

“You gonna promise not to fight back when I let go?” Jin asks him gently, fingertips now rubbing small circles into the side of Yoongi's neck.

“First of all, fuck you,” Yoongi says. He is a man of principle, after all. “Second of all, yes.”

“Yes what?” Jin says, his other hand slowly making its way around Yoongi’s side, wedging itself in between him and the floor. Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“I promise not to fight back,” he says. His voice is quivering, just barely, but he’s sure that Jin heard it. There’s a hitch in Jin’s breath when his fingers find the button of his jeans and pop it open, unzip them and slip underneath the fabric.

“Good boy,” he says softly, palming Yoongi’s hard bulge over his boxers. His other hand does release its grip around the nape of Yoongi’s neck, but he drags his fingers upwards instead, brushing a few strands of hair out of Yoongi’s forehead with dizzying gentleness compared to how the heel of his palm presses against his cock. “You can be so pliant if you want to, can’t you?”

His fingers are on Yoongi's cheek now, middle and index brushing over his lips and Yoongi opens his mouth almost automatically. Jin's fingers slide home, press down against his tongue, and Yoongi sucks on them ever so slightly. Sure, pliant. Yeah. Yoongi pulls his lips back and bites down hard.

With a startled hiss of ahfuck, Jin tries pulling his hand back, but Yoongi just bites down harder. So Jin has to wrestle his other hand free from Yoongi's jeans again, pulling out with a sharp tug that sends sparks up Yoongi's spine. His now free hand grabs his jaw so tightly Yoongi has to fight back a pained whine, releasing his fingers in the progress.

“You evil fucking cockroach,” Jin murmurs, and while Yoongi is still taking a breath to cackle at him, his hand comes down to slap him right across the face.

The slap barely stings, less than the way the other side of Yoongi's face rubs against the carpet, but it still takes a second for Yoongi to realise that Jin's hands are gone from his face again. Because they're pulling his jeans down instead, taking his underwear with them. Yoongi's hard cock springs free and slaps against the cold linoleum his lower half is lying on, and he does whine this time, but it's barely audible against Jin's groan.

“God, I love your ass,” Jin says, his voice an appreciative rumble. His hands slide up the back of his thighs, then knead both of his ass cheeks so hard they pull them apart a little. Yoongi has little time to be smug, though, because as soon as Jin's hands disappear from his skin, he can hear his belt buckle clink and tenses up.

“No, no, no, no, prep, prep, prep,” Yoongi chants quickly. Jin has never taken him dry and Yoongi really doubts he would, but it's fun to fuel the fire by pretending.

“Yeah?” Jin says behind him, one hand back on his ass, thumb dangerously close to his hole. “You really think you're in a position to be making demands? How about you beg for it?”

“Please prep me, I can't take your huge cock otherwise,” Yoongi gets out, his whimpering so audibly exaggerated it ends up with a note of sarcasm. Jin laughs at him, low in his throat, and pushes the tip of his thumb in raw, and, okay, so Yoongi is done begging. He pushes himself up on his hands and glares at Jin over his shoulder. “Kim Dickhead Seokjin, either you go get the lube right now or I'm castrating you with my fucking teeth.”

He makes Jin laugh even more with that, but he also makes him pull his thumb back. The hand comes down between Yoongi's shoulder blades instead and slams him back down on the carpet. “You stay down, baby,” Jin says, ignoring Yoongi's pissed off grunt, and gets up to head for the bedroom.

Needless to say Yoongi does not stay down. He squints after Jin for a second, then he pushes himself up again and turns his body at least a little so he can reach for his shoes. His jeans and boxers are bunched up around his ankles like he got himself tied up, so if he can just get rid of his shoes quickly he could kick them off--

“Yoongi,” Jin says from the bedroom, chirping like he's in his best mood, “if I hear you taking off the rest of your clothes in there, I'm going to shoot you in the knee.”

Yoongi halts all his movements and glares towards the doorway. “Your gun is right here,” he points out. Actually Yoongi is only about two feet away from where Jin dropped his jacket and holster on the floor.

“You can't seriously think that that's the only gun in the apartment,” Jin says as he saunters back into the living room. Yoongi has to admit that he has a point. Wordlessly, he gets back on the ground, only sparing his leaking dick a disapproving glance as he rolls on his stomach again. He has half a mind to position himself just right so he'll get jizz on Jin's carpet, but he's not exactly ready to pay the price of rubbing his penis against that sort of material for however long they'll keep this up.

Jin is just so fucking lucky to have him.

He looks fucking delectable as he comes closer again. Yoongi hates that he thinks so while lying on the fucking floor and literally looking up at him from the lowest possible point, but Jin has always been annoyingly hot. He's still practically fully dressed, but his shirt is half unbuttoned (Yoongi has no idea when that even happened), his pants open with a visible bulge straining against the grey boxers underneath. And he still has blood on his face and a little bit on his knuckles, and that's the best damn part.

Like he's reading his mind, Jin darts his tongue out to swipe a little bit of blood off his upper lip, then he disappears from Yoongi's view by resuming his position behind him. “You listen so well,” Jin says softly. Yoongi feels him lower his weight on him, sitting somewhere on the back of his thighs. Then there's the unmistakable sound of the lube bottle getting uncapped. “I know you won't admit it, but you do. You're so good.”

“How’re your fingers doing?” Yoongi asks loudly, eyes fixed on the jacket on the floor. “You know, from the last time you said that?”

“They're doing great,” Jin says, and pushes both of them into Yoongi's ass.

Yoongi swears, even if it's okay. They have so much sex he doesn't really need that much prep and he'd probably be more pissed off if Jin wasted time by starting with one single finger. And both fingers are slicked up, Yoongi can definitely feel it, but. Still.

“Fuck, I hope it burns,” he grits, a little too familiar with the feeling of lube in small wounds.

“Does it?” Jin says and thrusts in harder. Yoongi digs his fingertips into the carpet and stifles a moan.

At least Jin is efficient from here on. He builds a pace mostly focused on stretching him, one hand always kneading his ass, sending pleasant sparks all over Yoongi's body, and he doesn't tease. Pretty soon, Jin adds a third finger, which probably has partly to do with the way Yoongi can feel him grinding down against the back of legs now and then.

Yoongi has never before slept with someone who uses three fingers to prep. But he's also never before slept with someone who has reason to. Most guys with their big hands and average dicks don’t exactly get on this level, but Yoongi has long since gotten used to it. He pushes himself up on his elbows to breathe better, hangs his head and closes his eyes, relaxes, and finger number three slides right in. There’s a wet noise, too, and Yoongi can feel a little excess lube run down his perineum, so Jin used a lot of that, which is good. Yoongi is honestly thankful that they’re balanced like that, that they can quite literally punch each other’s faces in, but at least he won’t bleed out of his ass. That’s definitely a normal thing to be thankful for.

Once Yoongi starts arching his back a little, rolling his hips to meet Jin’s hand, he withdraws. Yoongi can feel himself clenching around nothing but he pays it no mind, keeping his eyes closed and his head low, listening to Jin fumble with fabric, probably pulling his boxers down, then slicking himself up with a quiet groan. Normally Yoongi would start shifting around on his knees now, making sure they’re aligned right with the difference in their leg sizes, but Jin is still kind of sitting on him, so he guesses that’s how they’re rolling tonight. With him pressed flat against the floor, carpet still tickling his naked stomach. Because he doesn’t have any dignity left.

Once he feels the blunt head of Jin’s cock press against his asshole, Yoongi presses his lips together, tries to keep his mouth shut. But as soon as he pushes in the first few inches, it falls open and Yoongi exhales shakily against his own arm. Jin goes slow for now, inching forward with shallow thrusts, and Yoongi can feel himself stretch around him, even more so with one of Jin’s hand still grabbing his ass cheek, pulling him apart just a tiny bit more.

His other hand ends up on Yoongi’s hip, and Yoongi grimaces because it’s still slick with lube. “Wipe your hand clean,” Yoongi demands, his voice hoarse and audibly strained. “Like on your expensive shirt or something.”

Jin doesn’t say anything, but he wipes his fingers over Yoongi’s skin as he releases his hip again. Then the hand is once more on his back and pushes Yoongi down, and Yoongi meets the carpet with a dull grunt the same time as Jin jerks his hips forward and slides all the way home, making Yoongi cry out in surprise and bliss.

“Fuck,” Yoongi says, repeating it a few times for good measure, while he can hear Jin laugh quietly and feel him pull back again. “I hate you. I hate-- fuck.”

Jin slams himself back in hard enough for Yoongi’s entire upper body to rub dangerously over the carpet. “We both hate-fuck, honey,” he says smoothly, and Yoongi hates his stupid jokes, but he can’t tell him because he’s building a rhythm now with his goddamn hand still right between Yoongi’s shoulder blades and he has to figure out how to breathe.

Jin has a constant pace of ramming into him now, hips slapping against Yoongi’s ass each time, driving himself in deep, and it’s good, it feels so fucking good, but Yoongi’s chest is still pressed to the carpet and his arms lie flat and useless on either side of his head and he can’t raise his face anymore, and one day he’s going to set this stupid carpet on fire. His head turned to the side, Yoongi has now figured out how to breathe and choke out staccato moans at the same time, but the entire side of his face keeps rubbing against the rough material underneath him and he’s losing his fucking mind. Somehow it’s still good, adds up to their rough play, but that still doesn’t change that with every thrust, his face is chafing against the carpet and he’s gonna end up with a fucking mark right there if this goes on.

Carefully, Yoongi tries lifting his head, tries to check if he can just keep his face away from the ground without straining his neck too hard, and it seems good for a second because Jin’s hand disappears from his back, but then it goes back to shit because it ends up in his hair instead and slams his face back down. Yoongi grunts angrily, also because that’s the fucking lube hand in his precious hair, tries to push against it, but Jin has too much weight on him, too much momentum through his continuous hip movement.

“Jin,” Yoongi says hoarsely, through gritted teeth. He moans in between thanks to Jin’s cock brushing over his prostate again and again and the way it makes more and more heat pool in his stomach, then swallows dryly. “Jin. I’m-- getting-- f-fuck, I’m g-ah-getting fucking carpet b-burn on my fah-face, you asshat.”

Even through the slaps of skin against skin, Yoongi can still hear Jin snort above him. “Really?” he says, then he finally stills his hips again and pulls Yoongi’s head up by the hair, turning it a little like he’s trying to catch a peek. And maybe he does, and maybe Yoongi already has carpet burn on his cheek, because he’s laughing again. “Shit, okay. Turn around, baby, I wanna see that bruised face of yours when I fuck you.” He pulls out of him and lets go of his hair for that, and Yoongi can feel it sticking out on the back of his head from the goddamn lube residue in it now, and he thinks his blood is boiling in his veins. Jin still sounds like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “‘Sides, now I really want you to get carpet burn on your back too.”

With this, Jin’s weight disappears from Yoongi’s thighs. Silently, he listens to him shift around a bit, off of him, then feels him grab the jeans still pooled around his ankles.

“Here, lemme help you with that,” Jin says from somewhere, starting to work on pulling Yoongi’s shoes off and his pants down. It’s to help with the shift of position, Yoongi supposes, but he’s not really paying attention right now. His face is aching and burning, even his damn nipples feel raw from that fucking carpet, his hair is sticky and Jin is so smug about it all, and here Yoongi lies, on his living room floor, two feet away from his gun. Maximum. Now that Yoongi has been staring at it for a few seconds, he thinks it should be less. He thinks he could just reach out with one arm and grab it. Pull it out of that holster in one smooth motion. That should work. Wipe that stupid grin off of Jin’s face. Once and for all. Finally make him shut the fuck up.

And when Jin’s hands are on his hips, nudging, reminding him to move, Yoongi does move. He moves his arm, snaps it to the side, grabs the handle of the gun and pulls, and in that same motion rolls himself around like Jin wants him to, keeping the entire thing as smooth and quick as he can. Blindly, his fingers find their way, one hand stabilizing his hold, the other thumbing the safety off, crooking his index around the trigger, pulling--

The shot makes his ears ring, the movement his vision blur. And yet, everything goes very fast. Jin comes towards him, but not because he’s dead and falling over, but because he’s reaching for Yoongi’s hands with both of his, taking the gun from him with practiced routine, like it’s nothing. Yoongi’s breathing stabilizes quickly once he realizes that he missed, once he feels the shitty carpet in his back and the cold floor on his ass. Once he sees the hole in the wall behind Seokjin.

He missed.

That’s good.

That’s not something he wants to be thinking, somehow, but he pushes the thought to the back of his head. It is good. For a second he thinks that it’s bad that Jin has the gun now because he might have just signed his own death sentence, but Jin is looking at him with a fucking smirk, amusement on every inch of his face, shoulders completely relaxed, kneeling between Yoongi’s now completely naked legs with that gun in his hands.

“Is that how we’re playing tonight?” Jin says, and maybe in the low quiver of his voice there’s a sign of him being affected by this, but he doesn’t seem motivated to let it show. Doesn’t seem to want to make a big deal of Yoongi, well, trying to shoot him. “Hm? You thought that was gonna work?”

Jin leans over a little, supporting himself with one hand on the floor, using the other to drag the barrel of the gun up Yoongi’s chest, then his throat, a beeline for his mouth. Yoongi’s breath hitches somewhere, his whole body strung tight, fight or flight trying hard to kick in, but he doesn’t move.

He… He trusts Jin, knows that he wouldn’t pull the trigger, won’t, isn’t here to kill Yoongi. Not like the other way around. The tip of the barrel, slightly warm after the fired shot, pushes against Yoongi’s lower lip and Yoongi almost can’t believe himself but he parts them, opens his mouth and keeps eye contact while Jin slides the barrel in, and now Jin’s breath hitches, too.

“Shit,” Jin breathes, hushed, while Yoongi tastes metal and wonders if he’s about to ingest gun powder. Before he can think too much about it, Jin pulls the gun back out though, and Yoongi swallows loudly as he watches him drag it back down his chest, over his stomach, to his hip, making a small curve around his hard, throbbing cock, and then pressing against his perineum.

“Jin,” Yoongi starts, but then he doesn’t know what he was about to say. He’s still lying on his back, breathing through his mouth, watching Jin with that damn gun in his hand, sitting fully dressed between his naked legs with dark hair falling into his eyes and this fascinated expression on his face, like he’s having the time of his life.

In Jin’s defense, he does stop when Yoongi speaks. He doesn’t move the gun any further, looks at Yoongi’s face, waiting, and speaks up himself when nothing follows.

“Color?” he says, and Yoongi wishes he could say red. He wishes, he tries to fucking will himself to at least say yellow, at least that, at least say anything that’s not green. He should say fucking blue if he could, anything but green, anything but admitting to Jin and to his stupid self that this is… This is hot, and this is fine because he trusts him, and he kind of wants to find out how it feels, and he’s. He’s about to have a gun in his ass.

Yoongi closes his eyes and drops his head on the carpet with a dull thud. His face burns not just from carpet burn anymore. “Green,” he says flatly.

“You sure?” Jin says, gun barrel already pressing carefully against his asshole, just not moving in yet.

“Just fucking do it,” Yoongi says, no venom behind his words, even if he would really like that. He’s just a little too done with himself.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Jin mumbles somewhere behind his closed eyes. The gun presses against his slick, stretched hole and Yoongi squeezes them shut, pressing his lips together, breathing through his nose. “A fucking world wonder if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi says, not sure if he means it. The slide is weird, different from the usual. His problem isn’t exactly the size, not when he’s used to Jin, but it’s… It’s just very, very solid, edged, and cool, not quite as comfortable as a cock. It definitely doesn’t give him the same kind of satisfaction, but the mere thought that he’s about to get fucked with a gun makes up for it. Yoongi is still rock hard, his own cock leaking precum on his stomach, almost aching by the time Jin has pushed the barrel in as far as it will go.

“One time,” Jin says, holding the gun where it is now, “I watched my uncle shove a sawed-off shotgun up someone’s asshole and pull the trigger.” Carefully, Yoongi wets his lips and looks at him at that. Jin is looking down though, presumably watching his gun disappear past Yoongi’s rim. “Aside from all those shredded intestines, we also had chunks of shit flying everywhere.”

Jin pulls back the gun, just an inch or two if Yoongi had to guess, and pushes back in, like he’s testing the waters, trying to see if he can actually fuck him with it. Yoongi swallows, trying not to picture this little family story time he just pulled, but when Jin finally looks up at him, he gives him a smile that’s whiplash inducingly soft.

“Wouldn’t want that kinda mess in my living room.”

Well, that’s good to know. Yoongi releases the breath he was holding and closes his eyes again.

“How’s it feel?”

“Solid,” Yoongi says quietly. It’s the most prominent quality about this, he guesses, and the first word to come to his mind. It’s not like thinking is very easy at the moment, with Jin still moving the thing inside of him, going back to his careful, shallow thrusts.

Yoongi is just starting to wonder if he can get used to this, just starting to doubt it, when Jin's other hand closes around his cock. Before he knows it, a loud moan rips from his throat, because maybe the gun alone wouldn't be enough to please him, but something solid in his ass, the taste of adrenaline on his tongue, and Jin's warm palm dragging over his aching cock is a whole different story.

Not that he's really ready to admit that. “Can you get off on this?” Jin asks, a sneer in his voice, and Yoongi wants to kick him in the face but he still very much has a gun. And besides, he's starting to really pace himself again, barrel moving in and out of him in a steady rhythm together with the hand sliding up and down his dick now with his own precum as lube. Yoongi still lets out a mortified whine though and presses both hands to his hot face.

“No, no, please,” he whimpers, writhing a little until he realizes how that makes the gun shift inside him and stops again. “Fuck, please don't make me the guy who came with a gun in his ass, please--”

But no and please aren't the same as red, not even yellow. Yoongi knows, Jin knows. That's why they implemented the system in the first place, because sometimes they said no without meaning it, just to piss each other off. If Yoongi really doesn't want something all he has to say is the right color and Jin will stop, he's well aware. He just never thought he'd face this dilemma in this particular situation.

“I think you can,” Jin says casually and keeps moving.

Yoongi's body makes the decision for him. Two more strokes of Jin's hand and he can feel his thighs quivering, his hands clawing at the carpet, his breath getting stuck in the burning heat inside his body. His hips tremble, torn between wanting to thrust up into Jin's hand and the knowledge that there's a gun, there's a fucking loaded gun inside of him, gun, gun, but that's just makes it better somehow, and Yoongi is done questioning himself here. Adrenaline surges through his body and mingles with the white hot arousal and the coil in his stomach tightens and tightens and tightens, and he's not about to fight that.

Above him, Jin swears under his breath. He's moving methodically now, tilting the gun barrel up just right, flicking his wrist whenever his hand drags up over Yoongi's length, and Yoongi can't take it anymore. His heels press against the floor, his knees lock against Jin's sides, his chest burns with the breath he's dragging in and out, and with one last expert push of Jin's thumb against that sensitive spot right underneath the head of Yoongi's cock, his body releases all tension and he spills all over himself.

Yoongi's breath comes out ragged and uneven. His head is swimming, his back slick with sweat against the carpet, a dull ache in his lips, his cheek, his ass. “Jesus Christ,” Jin says, breathless like he's the one who just came over his own quivering stomach. “That image is gonna haunt my dreams for months.”

“Pull it out,” Yoongi rasps, his voice raw from moans he doesn't even remember making, barely above a whisper. “Pull it out, pull it out.”

Slowly, gently, Seokjin pulls his gun back until it slips out of him, and Yoongi makes a relieved little noise. That was a good fucking orgasm, but the more he comes down from his high the more he remembers what exactly just happened, and he's very glad to know the loaded goddamn gun out of his body.

“You, uh,” Jin starts and Yoongi opens his eyes lazily, looks at him in all his disheveled and rock hard glory, “You wanna take a break?”

That's nice of him. Briefly, Yoongi's eyes flicker towards the gun lying on the floor next to Jin's knees, the barrel soiled with lube and residue of Jin's precum. When Jin follows his gaze, he reaches for it and pushes the gun away from both of them, leaving it out of reach.

That is also nice. A quick way to make Yoongi lenient on him.

“Trust me,” Yoongi says and hooks a leg around one of Jin's to keep him close. “I have never been readier for a good human dick in my ass.”

Jin laughs, looking relieved. He surely didn't expect this interruption, surely didn't expect to get shot at in the middle of sex and then use that for something entirely else, and now he's been sitting around with his cock hard and soiling his clothes while Yoongi was getting off.

It's not the first time that he fucks him after Yoongi has already climaxed. Yoongi thinks he might be mostly alone with this opinion, but he kind of likes it. He embraces the ache, the heavy tiredness with which his body takes it, and he enjoys just lying here all fucked out and watching Jin get really into it. Watching him fuck himself to bliss, not having to care about whether or not Yoongi can get off, too. There's something fascinating about him when he's this far gone, like nothing in the world matters to him anymore, but Yoongi isn't going to get any deeper into that.

He should stop waxing poetic about Jin's stupid orgasm face, definitely. There's nothing beautiful about him. He still hates him, and stuff.

Jin pushes himself in with a groan, and Yoongi keeps quiet. His body is going to hate him for this tomorrow, but he lets him brush past his abused prostate some more, relaxes as well as he can, and just watches. The first few seconds always seem calm and slow, Jin halting once he's in to the hilt and screwing his eyes shut to enjoy the feeling, but it never lasts long. He pulls back slowly, then he grabs Yoongi's thighs with both of his hands, fingers digging deep into skin as he pushes them forwards, almost folds Yoongi in half before he slams himself back in. Yoongi can't help the strangled noise from his throat this time but Jin doesn't care anyway, railing into him now, his hips slapping loudly against Yoongi's ass.

Yoongi tries to keep his breathing stable and hold onto something, but all he has is the stupid carpet. He wouldn't be surprised to find fibers of it underneath his fingernails later, but he keeps clawing, if only to ignore the feeling of his back chafing against it. Panting out choked moans, he swears at Jin under his breath, curses him for staying true to his word and giving him more carpet burn, and he doesn't think he heard him at first, but when Jin starts slamming himself in even harder, Yoongi is pretty sure that he did.

At least he doesn't last long from there. Fingernails leaving half moon shaped dents in Yoongi's legs, he drills in as deep as he gets, hips stuttering now, breath coming out in a pleased grunt when he presses himself against Yoongi's burning ass and pumps him full. Yoongi grimaces at the feeling; he always ends up liking it but never feels like he's entirely used to it, to cum starting to trickle out of his ass and down between his cheeks as soon as Jin starts to pull back a little. It should be gross, really, but at least it's not his floor they're soiling.

Above him, Jin exhales through his nose, long and satisfied. Yoongi watches him from below, hair falling into his eyes very messily now, cheeks flushed, sweat glistening on his skin, blood still caking on his upper lip, nose starting to visibly bruise.

A fucking world wonder if I've ever seen one.

Then Jin pulls out completely and Yoongi can feel how much he's gaping, how raw his ass feels, how the sweat burns in his wounds, and he wants to kick him again. But his entire body is heavy and hurts in some way, so he doesn't.

“Want me to carry you over to the bedroom for the night?” Jin asks, sounding like he actually means the offer. He does it sometimes. Naturally, Yoongi usually pretends like he hates it.

“I want you to fuck right off to hell where you came from,” he rasps with his messed up voice. Jin shrugs.

“Fine, be like that,” he says without much audible venom behind it. Then he gets up, flaccid cock still hanging out his pants, and stretches his limbs. He picks his jacket and empty holster off the floor, and Yoongi thinks for sure that he's gonna get the gun too, why wouldn't he, but he doesn't.

Slowly, Yoongi sits up, wincing at the sting in his ass once he puts too much weight on it, and glances towards where Jin pushed the gun. It left a small, ugly trail of lube on the floor, glistening weakly in the evening light. And it's just lying around there, on the floor. Loaded, available, with Jin having his back turned towards him.

Sometimes Yoongi entertains the horrible suspicion that Jin wants to die. Or at least wouldn't mind.

He sighs and turns his head towards Jin again, who's checking out the state of his nose in the hallway mirror. “Jin,” Yoongi says quietly and he turns his head. “I changed my mind.”

Without a word, but with a triumphant smile, Jin gathers him up in his arms. He drops his jacket and holster back on the floor with Yoongi's clothes and walks them both over to the bedroom, laying Yoongi down on the mattress almost carefully. Yoongi watches him walk around the bed without as much as a limp, unceremoniously strip the rest of his clothes, and climb onto his side of the mattress.

“Guess your toe isn't broken after all,” he says.

“Nope,” Jin says happily and pulls the blanket up to their chests, leaving Yoongi to stew in two loads of cum like always. “Better luck next time.”

Yoongi just grumbles something and pulls his part of the blanket up higher, trying to figure out when he has to be in class tomorrow and if he's going to get sleep-fucked somewhere between then and now. He might not even notice. He's starting to feel pretty damn tired for some reason.

“Why do you let me win?” Jin asks. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut and then forces them back open. There goes his chance for immediate sleep.

“Huh?” is all he replies.

“Our fights,” Jin says. Yoongi can feel his eyes on him. He sounds wide awake. “I think we both know you could easily break my neck if you wanted to. Pretty sure you could have shot me, too. No idea where you learned that but your stance was really good for someone naked on the floor.” Yoongi doesn't say anything, but Jin rolls on his side to stare him down some more. “I mean, I'm not even necessarily talking about killing me, though. Just our regular fights. You're good. Why let me win?”

Yoongi sighs and turns on his side too, facing away from him. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” Jin says and laughs. “No, I'm not. I'm just curious.”

“One day I will kill you,” Yoongi says. And he tries to close his eyes but finds he can't stop staring at the wall. “And that'll be victory enough.”

 

When he wakes up, Jin is gone. He probably got called into work; Yoongi stays on his back and looks at Jin's empty bed half for a bit, then he turns on his side and almost yells.

Jin's gun is on the nightstand.

Groggily, Yoongi sits up, ignores his body's protests and stares at the thing; the barrel is covered in dried up lube and precum, it looks disgusting. Safety’s on, at least. Yoongi's tired eyes wander over to the bland gift card lying next to it, and he watches it warily for a second before picking it up and opening it carefully, like it might bite.

Sugar daddies are supposed to give presents sometimes, right?
You can keep this.
- J

Five minutes later, Yoongi is wearing one of Jin's shirts and standing in his bathroom disassembling the gun so he can clean it thoroughly. He's pointedly ignoring his own reflection because there's a small crust of blood on his lip and a very angry red mark on his stupid cheek, and his hair looks like someone grabbed it with a handful of lube, but whatever. He'll keep the gun. Sugar daddies are supposed to give presents sometimes.

 

Yoongi continues his murder spree the following month. He usually spaces them out over irregular instances in time, since he doesn’t need anyone to figure out they were all killed by the same person. At first he went back to poison, figuring he can just pick a different one, only because he enjoyed the way it pisses Jin off when food gets soiled.

It’s not until he shoots someone again that he starts wondering if Jin gave him the gun for a reason.

A reason other than to give him a reminder that this was in his ass after he tried to shoot him with it.

All those questions about where Yoongi learned to fight, the subtle unanswered question about where he learned to shoot, the one about his biochemistry class -- maybe Jin has been starting to have his suspicions. Maybe he left Yoongi the gun in hopes that he’d use it, that Yoongi would shoot someone from the mob with it and they could trace it back somehow.

He hasn’t, of course. Yoongi isn’t stupid, and since Jin has been paying for his college escapades, he should know that. But maybe he just figured it was worth a try.

Either way, Yoongi doesn’t use it. He keeps it loaded (and clean) and stashed away in a bathroom drawer, because he already keeps emergency guns in the kitchen and his bedroom and his apartment doesn’t have any other rooms. Basically, he has a full collection now. Ready to be armed in each room of his tiny, high-rise place.

 

Jin shows up there mere hours after Yoongi's last kill. He has a bloodied hoodie in the washer and heavy limbs from smashing a skull with a baseball bat and he'd really rather be alone, but he had already assumed Jin might drop by. They don't meet at Yoongi's place often, mostly because it's tiny and ugly and crammed full with his uni papers, but sometimes, if Jin's family pisses him off enough, he'll come here. Yoongi's apartment is a welcome distraction from the mob thing, a small college student place and nothing more, and Jin likes to roll around on Yoongi's creaking bed and complain about his gangster parents. Usually while getting his dick sucked.

It's easier for Yoongi to take all the spoiled mafia kid whining if he has his mouth full, is all.

“I mean, how is it my fault, you know?” Jin says this time, voice loud and fast like always when he gets heated. Yoongi is sitting next to him on the bed and pretends to be doing his homework. “It's not like I'm out there killing my own people. I have no control over who these assholes piss off! They're all shithead gangsters, of course sooner or later someone's gonna show up and club them to death. What am I supposed to do to stop that, tell them to be nicer? Yeah, I'm sure dad would be approving of that.”

Yoongi tries not to smile at his pen. He does love it when Jin starts shittalking his father. It's one of the things they can happily agree on, that the guy is a stupid monster who doesn't run his business well enough.

“It's like I just can't do anything right, you know?” Jin says. Yoongi waits for the pout to be audible in his voice but it's not coming. Maybe he's actually serious this time. “He gives me this job, this entire branch of his business, and then he only beats my ass for everything I do. Like he only gave it to me because he gets off on hating me.”

That would make two of us, Yoongi thinks, but the notion feels disturbing now. He originally wanted to act like he's not listening to Jin, but now he does look up at the figure stretched long over his bed, frowning.

“He doesn't,” Yoongi begins, then hesitates. “I mean he doesn't… literally beat your ass, right?”

Jin looks back at him in silence for a second too long. Then he shrugs. “He and I are both grown men, Yoongi,” he says quietly. “We just get a little rough with each other sometimes.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Yoongi says, his stomach churning. “Or what he tells you?”

“What, now you have a problem with me getting into fights with people? You almost break my fucking nose on a weekly basis.”

Yoongi looks back at the papers on his lap. “That's different,” he says softly. At first he doesn't know how, but then he does. “I'm not your legal guardian. And it's consensual. We have a goddamn safeword system, Jin. Bet your dad doesn't care if you tell him red.”

There's another silence that stretches just a little bit too long before Jin sighs. “I liked it better when you weren't listening to me,” he says. “Anyway, someone really important died this morning and now I'm in deep shit. Like, it's just been getting worse lately. I can deal with the small fish dying, but this guy had an actual purpose. Now someone clubbed him to pudding and I gotta find someone new for the job and I already know dad's gonna be unhappy no matter who I pick. Fun times. Hey, what are you doing?”

Yoongi carefully closes all his books and binders, caps his pens, and then puts it all on the floor. “I'm giving you a pity blowjob,” he announces casually. “Is that okay with you?”

“Oh,” Jin says. He drops his head back on Yoongi's pillow. “Yeah, that's okay.”

Yoongi settles in between his legs without much fuss, pulls down the sweats Jin came here in and wraps a hand around his still soft cock. It’s unceremonial, but it always is when it’s just blowjobs or handjobs for consolation. Jin usually gets into it pretty quickly, enjoys the sentiment, and Yoongi likes having something to do. At least, that’ll keep him from thinking about other things. Like how good it is that he’s going to kill Jin’s shitty father sooner or later, and how bad it is that he’s going to be killing someone else first for his plan to be completed.

Jin’s sigh is deep and relaxed once Yoongi takes him in his mouth. He wraps his lips around the head of his cock tightly, circles it with his tongue until he feels the first signs of hardness in his palm and Jin threading fingers through his hair.

“I just feel like,” Jin says, voice strangled now that Yoongi is lowering his head on him steadily, “like I’d be working much better, like, efficiency-wise, if he wasn’t up on my dick the whole time. You know? Fuck, Yoongi-- what?”

Yoongi pulls off with a wet pop and an annoyed look. “Can you,” he says, “for once, not talk about your father and your dick in one sentence while I’m sucking you off? It’s weird.”

“Sorry,” Jin says, actually laughs about it, and Yoongi takes him back into his mouth because again, it keeps him from thinking about things like how nice it is to see him laugh after having such a bad day.

Yoongi presses his tongue up flat against the underside of his cock and Jin hopefully forgets all about it. He groans from somewhere deep in his throat and Yoongi can feel his hips twitch, quickly pushes both of his hands down against them to pin him to the mattress. Jin is hard now, heavy and hot on his tongue. Yoongi can’t fit all of him in his mouth for very long, but he can take a deep breath through his nose and dive as deep as his throat will allow him. His vision blurs in front of him and he’s pretty sure his nose is barely two inches away from the dark patch of pubic hair above Jin’s dick, and it’s as far as he’s willing to go tonight, but it’s more than enough anyway. Above him, Jin is moaning, voice quivering almost as much as his thighs to the sides of Yoongi’s head, his hands tugging and pulling incessantly at Yoongi’s hair.

He stays where he is for as long as he can, then pulls off slowly, ends with his tongue drawing a perfect circle around the head of Jin’s cock. Then Yoongi lifts his head to take another deep breath, and goes right back in. This time he doesn’t go as deep, but he starts bobbing his head and it’s probably even better, judging by Jin’s deep groans and the way his hips start almost bucking again.

“Please,” he chokes out, from where Yoongi imagines he has his head pressed back into his pillow. “Please, baby, let me fuck your mouth, please, please.”

Oh, Yoongi enjoys whenever it’s Jin doing the begging. And he enjoys not giving in at fucking all. If his mouth wasn’t stuffed full with cock, he’d be smiling, but he focuses on his work instead. Head still moving steadily at a firm pace, Yoongi presses his hands down against Jin’s hips more, pushes him back into the mattress to convey the message that he better keep the fuck still. His arms and shoulders ache from the effort, still tired from beating a man to death, but Yoongi welcomes it, revels in the feeling, the knowledge, that he can do all this, that he’s strong enough, still has enough force in his grip to keep Kim Seokjin nice and down and controlled.

Jin whines loudly, but gives up eventually. Underneath Yoongi’s firm palms, his hips stutter and still, and his whines turn into guttural groans and grunts again soon enough. He’s getting close -- knowing him, Yoongi keeping him restrained only sped up the process. Jin’s whole body writhes on the creaking mattress and now and then Yoongi glances up to watch him, like a thing on Discovery Channel, something otherworldly and beyond his understanding.

Luckily, Jin keeps his thoughts from derailing once more by tugging harshly at his hair and spilling into his mouth with an almighty jerk of his long body. Yoongi doesn’t still immediately, keeps moving his head as long as his rapidly filling throat will allow him, fucks him through it, his lips tight around Jin’s burning length, until some of it spills over them. He does pull off then, leaving Jin to deal with the mess on his cock and tilting his head back a little to swallow, loudly and with no shame. He knows Jin is watching him, staring at his throat, and Yoongi doesn’t mind putting on a show. Won’t even be embarrassed by establishing eye contact afterwards and unnecessarily licking his lips.

“Feeling better?” he asks, voice raw.

“You are so hot,” Jin says at first, then he closes his eyes, flexes his hands that let go of Yoongi somewhere along the way, and tries to catch his breath. “Yeah. Yeah, better.”

Good. Nice. It always feels good to help Jin relieve stress, Yoongi thinks, and then right after that he thinks that it’s really only because he gets money for it. And it’s part of his big plan and everything. He shifts around on his bed a little and glances at his uni stuff on the floor, wondering if he should try to study some more now. Jin looked beat. And he’s only with him because he’s hot and the sex is good, not because he… not because he cares.

“C’mere,” Jin says before Yoongi can retrieve his books, and he sees him wave one hand around from the corner of his eyes. “Let me jack you off, okay? And don’t tell me you’re not hard, I can’t take that sort of punch to the ego today.”

“You know I’m hard,” Yoongi says quietly before throwing his own crotch a quick look. Half hard. Good enough for a handjob. He leaves his stuff on the floor and shuffles over to where Jin is sitting up on his bed, already spreading his long legs for Yoongi to fit himself between them. He leans his back against Jin’s chest silently and watches his hands come around to slip under Yoongi’s shirt, skating up his chest briefly before they turn back and shove the waistband of his sweats down, just far enough for his cock to spring free.

“It’s weird,” Jin says, and Yoongi wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, but Jin’s head is perched on his shoulder and Yoongi can feel his breath brush past his throat with every hushed word and his big hand is warm around his cock, so maybe he can forgive him. “I’m stressed and pissed off, but I think it’s mostly just about dad. If I take him out of the equation, it’s kinda cool.”

Jin pauses to let go of Yoongi and lick his palm instead to make the slide wetter, which is gross, so of course Yoongi loves it. Once his hand is back on him, wrapped tight but not too tight, just the way he likes it, Yoongi tilts his head back and groans. “What’s cool?” he gets out, uneven breathing making his voice waver. “People dying on you?”

“I dunno,” Jin says. “Losing, I guess. I’m used to always winning everything, with my family, but lately things’ve been going bad. Tell you what, sometimes I think it’s one single person doing all these. All the murders. Someone’s just going around killing my guys one by one, and I haven’t been able to do jack shit about it. I’m losing. It’s exciting.”

He sounds excited, which doesn’t surprise Yoongi. He believes him. And he also believes that Jin knows that only one person is killing all his guys, and it sends cold dread down his spine, but he can deal with that later. It’s not enough to kill his boner right now, not with how long and expert Jin’s strokes are, how nice he flicks his wrist at the end. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just moans and bucks his hips up.

“And I’m really curious what’s going to happen next. You never know,” Jin says, and laughs, air rushing past Yoongi’s hot skin, “I might die.”

It takes Yoongi a few more strokes. Normally he should be a mess right now, fucking into Jin’s hand, his own fingers scrabbling for hold on his naked legs, scratching and moaning and pleading. But it’s not coming. He’s not coming. He just keeps hearing Jin between his temples, echoing like his head is an empty cave, which it almost feels like right now.

You never know. I might die.

I might die.

He will die, that’s been Yoongi’s plan forever, he will. But hearing him say it like that, forcing Yoongi to actually think about it, about life after his death, it--

“Hey,” Jin says. “Did you just go soft? Did you just go soft because I said I could die?”

“Shut up,” Yoongi says immediately, loudly. He tries to will his body to prove Jin wrong, but he can’t even bring himself to thrust up anymore. Jin’s right.

He’s soft.

Jin lets go of him in baffled silence. For a few seconds, both of them stay where they are, unmoving, trying to process this. Then Yoongi scoots forwards, away from his stupid warm legs and thorough hands, away from his warm breath down his neck. “I’ll take care of this,” he says vaguely, not sure what there is to take care of. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

“Fine,” Jin says behind him, a confused laugh in his voice. “Sure, alright. Less effort for me, I’m tired as hell anyway. Just wake me up when you get back or something.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just waves his hand around dismissively as he disappears into his bathroom. This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid, he can’t even believe himself how stupid it is. Yoongi pulls his sweats up so roughly he thinks they might rip, because he has no business with his dick anymore, it’s as flaccid as it gets and he’s not going to get it hard again tonight, he just knows. All because of Jin.

This is Jin’s fault.

He paces up and down in his bathroom like an animal, fists opening and closing, cursing the man who’s probably dozing off on his crinkly bedspread right now. It’s all his fault, everything he does, everything he says and the way he says it, it’s all Jin, Jin, Jin. This has to stop.

Yoongi has to end this.

He can and he will. It’s time, he thinks, it’s fucking time. It’s been time for years. This wasn’t how he planned it to go down, but Yoongi has to put a stop to this tonight. For his own sake. That’s what this entire thing was supposed to be, for his own sake.

With two huge steps, Yoongi crosses the room and silently pulls one of the drawers open. Jin’s old gun lies solid and black against the off-white of his furniture. For a millisecond, Yoongi hesitates, then his body works for him and stretches his arm out to wrap his fingers around the cold handle of the gun.

It’s heavy in his tired arms. But Yoongi ignores the urge to drop it and walks over to the door. Gun in one hand, hidden behind his body, he pushes the door open quietly, looks back into his bedroom. Jin is stretched out flat, one hand lying on his stomach, still in his clothes, his eyes closed, his face relaxed. Yoongi knows him too well to think he’s already asleep, but he looks like he’s dozing at least. He doesn’t budge when Yoongi pushes the door open more, just enough for him to stand in the doorway, the gun in both of his hands again, the left stabilizing the right, thumb hovering around the safety.

It’s time. It’s time for this to be over. It’s time for Yoongi to be free, and maybe it’s time for Jin to be free, too. Yoongi could spend more time taking down the mob, but he knew from the start that he wouldn’t get all of them. He wasn’t trying to ruin them completely, just mess with them as much as he can. And maybe this is it. As much as he can. Maybe this is his limit, and it’s time to move to the main course.

He thumbs the safety off. His index finds the trigger. Yoongi imagines pulling it, imagines the jerk of the fired shot going through his whole body, throwing him back the tiniest bit. Imagines the bullet finding Jin, penetrating his forehead like it belongs there, like it’s going home, opening him up. Imagines his skull exploding on Yoongi’s pillow, dark red blood with grey matter, bones and eyes and nerves splattering over his bedsheets. Jin wouldn’t feel anything. Wouldn’t know it’s coming. Yoongi would be left with the mess, and that would be alright. That’s how it always is.

He imagines scratching what’s left of Jin’s head off his bed. Rolling his heavy, limp body to the ground and folding him into a suitcase. Having to break bones to fit him, having to sit on the thing to zip it shut. Imagines putting on his beanie and his face mask and his gloves and hauling the suitcase over to Jin’s dad’s office. He should wipe down the gun and put it in the suitcase too, he thinks. Let them know it was Jin’s own weapon.

Yoongi can feel his index quiver around the trigger. He imagines dropping Jin’s dead body off as an anonymous gift and going back home. Buying new sheets. Throwing the old ones away. Lying on his bed and knowing that this is where Jin died. Knowing that he’s not coming back and that Yoongi is alone from here. Finding a job to get through the rest of college. Have his meals alone. Sleep alone. Fuck other people.

Spend the entire rest of his life without Seokjin.

His eyes burn, and Yoongi only realizes now that he hasn’t been blinking. He starts breathing again, shakily, lowers his arms. Puts the safety back on. His shoulders droop, and suddenly his whole body feels twice as heavy, like he’s carrying cinder blocks on his shoulders.

He can’t do it.

Jin opens his eyes and looks directly at him and Yoongi doesn’t even flinch. He’s so tired.

“No?” is the only thing Jin says to him.

Yoongi’s throat feels like he ate sand when he swallows, and he looks at his hands as they put the gun down on the nearest bathroom surface, leaving it at the side of his sink. “Maybe some other time,” he says.

Jin nods, and it’s how unfazed he seems that really makes Yoongi feel like he’s about to throw up. He doesn’t say anything, just watches Jin shift around on the bed a little, make room for two, then stretch out his arm and pat the mattress next to himself. “Come here.”

Yoongi feels unreal, like some part of this isn’t happening, but some other part is, as he crosses the room and climbs into his own bed, right into Jin’s arm. He curls up at his side and Jin keeps his hand warm on Yoongi’s shoulder, and Yoongi stares at the shirt stretching across his broad chest, and Jin looks at the wall.

“Who killed them?” Jin asks. At first Yoongi thinks he’s talking about his gang members again and wants an actual literal confession from him, but then Jin looks down at him with an expression of mild curiosity. “Whoever it is you’ve been avenging. Who killed them?”

Yoongi supposes they’ve learned to read each other well.

“Was it me?” Jin says. Yoongi shifts a bit against his solid body.

“Your father had my parents murdered,” he says softly.

“Ah,” Jin says. There’s a small pause, and then Yoongi can hear him smile when he says, “Your parents got killed, so you take down his entire gang?”

“I like to be thorough,” Yoongi says.

“That is true,” says Jin. “Then what’s the rest of the plan? Kill me so he can feel the loss like you had to?”

“Yeah. For a few months only, though. Then I’d kill him, too.”

“Good call,” Jin says. He’s nodding to himself, considering this. “Safer that way. More thorough, too. Plus, to tell you the truth, I really doubt he’d be grieving very long anyway. After that first shock of me being dead I think it’d just hurt his pride rather than make him sad.”

“I hate your father,” Yoongi says to that.

“God,” Jin says, “me too.”

They stay like this for a bit. Yoongi’s hands and arms and shoulders still feel heavy, like he’s still holding weight in them, like the gun is still there somehow. Between them. In his hands, pointed at Jin. Yoongi is so damn tired, and his eyes slip shut, and he really just wants to doze off, fall asleep curled up next to Jin, in his arm, because maybe it’s the last time he’ll be able to do that.

Instead, he puts one hand on Jin’s chest and fists it in the fabric of his shirt, and says, “Why let me win?”

Jin laughs at being quoted, a breathy huff of air. “It’s only fair, isn’t it?” he says, but Yoongi pulls at his shirt a bit, lets him know he’s not joking. He feels Jin shrug. “I don’t know how much you’ve been lying to me, if you’ve been planning this for so long. But the Min Yoongi I know cannot be stopped if he really wants something. It’s not a matter of letting you win. It’s a matter of accepting defeat.”

“That’s very flattering and shit,” Yoongi says, not sounding half as deadpan as he tried, “But you were already accepting defeat earlier before you knew for sure it was me. You were already talking about dying. Like you were… Like you were almost embracing it.”

“I have to, Yoongi,” Jin says, so softly it almost hurts. “It’s part of the job. I grew up with it, and it’s just what happens. People like us, we don’t grow old. And if we do, we spend our last years in hiding or in jail. But mostly we just die. I’ve always known that sooner or later, I’ll die, and the one who kills me will be someone I won’t even be able to blame.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Jin pulls his arm around him a little tighter and Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut.

“When it’s time, it’s time,” Jin says.

Yoongi takes a little breath. His hands feel light and empty now. “It’s not.”

 

*

 

It’s been three months since Jin’s father saw the photo of his son on the floor, blood and brains spread on dark grey tiles underneath him. Three months since Jin has been gone.

Yoongi has lost weight. The skin on his knuckles is dry and torn, inflamed. He’s missed a lot of class, sleep, meals. Jin. His eyes feel dry and tired as he focuses them on the road, the world a black mouth in front of him, the stolen car’s lights not doing much to brighten up the night. The car rumbles and hops precariously whenever he hits a bump in the road. Yoongi doesn’t drive often, and he’s never driven something so heavy around, an entire grown man dead in his trunk. When he was killing the other members, he just let them lie around to be found easily.

But not this one.

Lights flash up behind Yoongi and he gets the wild thought that there might be blood dripping from the trunk and they can see it outside. He stares into the rearview mirror and hopes they won’t stop him, hopes he won’t have to shake an explanation out of his sleeve, hopes he won’t have to kill anyone else. He’s tired of this. He’s so tired.

But it turns out to be an ambulance, not a police car, and it rushes past him quickly.

Yoongi relaxes into the driver’s seat. It’s fine. It’s good. He’s tired of killing, but he doesn’t regret it. It’s over now, it finally is, and he does feel better. His parents are avenged, and Kim is dead and cold in his trunk, and it’s good.

He just misses Jin.

 

Luckily, he sees him barely an hour later.

Yoongi’s heart almost jumps into his throat. Ever since they faked Jin’s death together, they’ve only been in sparse contact, just to be sure. He hasn’t seen his face in so long. Jin looks tired too, shadows visible under his eyes in the dim light of the porch lantern, and his pink coat looks a little too big on him. It soothes Yoongi’s mind a little, thinking that maybe he missed him too, but mostly it just worries him. If there’s one thing Kim Seokjin should be doing, it’s eating well. Only then is he truly himself.

Yoongi parks the car and gets out, forgetting all about the trunk for a second in favor of crossing the few feet between them and walking up to the little house at the side of the road, climb the wooden steps to the porch, eyes trained on Jin the entire time. Before Yoongi can worry about how to actually approach him, Jin already grabs one of his wrists and pulls him in for a hug. It feels bone-crushing, and Jin is still warm, his breath heating up Yoongi’s cold skin in the winter night.

“I missed your murderous little mug,” Jin says, barely audible.

“Shut up,” Yoongi says, muffled against his coat. He sniffles, but it’s just because of the cold. This is ridiculous.

They’re ridiculous.

“I made room in grandma’s old freezer in the basement,” Jin says, still holding him close. “He should fit in there until I know for sure what I’m gonna do with him.”

Jin has been waiting around here for the past three months. Yoongi went through with his plan of letting his father stew in the apparent loss of his son, then he finished him off just a few hours ago. Once the dust has settled, Jin wants to come back to the mob, kind of like a resurrection, let people know he’s alive and let people think he cannot be killed. They’ve been discussing whether it’d be wise to let them know that Jin was actually involved in his father’s killing; it might get him respect, but it might also get him too many enemies on his father’s side.

So he has decided against it, but they still have the body to deal with. They considered just dumping it somewhere, in the sea or in acid preferably. Last Yoongi heard Jin thought about mailing his body parts to the very few close associates of his that Yoongi let live, anonymously, just to make them uneasy, to fuck with people. Yoongi liked it, of course. Jin has been very supportive of his vendetta overall.

“Mailing him is good, but ever since I’ve dealt with the freezer I’ve been thinking we could feed him to people.”

“Ew,” Yoongi says loudly, pulls back just enough to punch Jin in the chest. “Oh, gross. You are so gross.”

Jin laughs, the sound alone warming up the cold night. “You don’t like it?”

Yoongi grins up at him. “I love it,” he says, then he looks over his shoulder towards the car, if only to hide the heat in his cheeks. “Hey, are you ready to heave your own dad’s corpse out of a trunk? My arms are so fucking tired.”

“Sure,” Jin says and lets go of him slowly. At first, the idea of dealing with his father’s dead body seemed to skeeve him out, but the longer they talked about it, the more okay he seemed with it. “You go on inside, baby. There’s hot stew in the kitchen.”

“I dunno if I wanna eat that after what you just said,” Yoongi says, even though he feels hungry enough to eat five mob boss corpses.

Jin’s only answer is a laugh and a slap on Yoongi’s butt before Yoongi goes inside and Jin goes to the car.

Yoongi will stay with him until it gets boring, he thinks. He’ll be going back to his classes once Jin goes back to the mob, and Jin can keep paying for them, and they can keep having messy, fucked up sex in his huge pretty apartment. That’s the deal. Neither of them has expressed any sort of desire to change it.

And maybe if Jin goes back to the mob it will be like he said it would. Maybe one day someone will murder him, and maybe he will deserve it. Chances are, sooner or later, someone will kill him, but at least it won’t be Yoongi.

And if it does happen, if someone does manage to take Jin away from him, Yoongi will just have to avenge him, too.