They weren’t supposed to meet.
It was far from any cliché fateful, soulmate experience—or at least for the average person. For him it was exactly that, but he never considered himself to be average. Neither did any of his peers unfortunately for elementary school Taehyung. Thankfully no one gave a shit about anyone else once you were in college.
They had crossed paths by accident. Taehyung had been rushing to his evening art class and was cutting it more than a little late if the shadows in the sky were anything of a hint. He decided that potentially stepping in greasy burger wrappers and facing hideous rats would be less of a consequence than arriving a cleaner, but tardy mess so he stepped into an alleyway he knew as a shortcut...only to find a man in a pristine black suit, the Rolex on his wrist gleaming from the fluorescent cast of nearby streetlights.
This alone wasn’t enough to make Taehyung freeze in his tracks. No, the grisly scene before him was what turned his muscles into stone. A broken (quite literally), begging man covered in what was likely his own blood was sprawled on the brick floor. He didn’t know how he didn’t smell it earlier, the tangy, sharp iron odour of blood. He probably thought it was the dumpsters nearby, full as always with fly-covered rubbish.
Taehyung’s heart stopped fleetingly (he swore by this), widening eyes flitting down to the practically deceased person and then to the figure that stood confidently, even if the student couldn’t see his face. But this, most likely similar to the victim gasping uneven pleas (there were no doubt more than a few ribs broken) was short-lived. The man turned, revealing a bloodied, gloved hand and for a moment, Taehyung was too entranced by the drops of vermillion that fell from the now-stained leather to see the attacker’s face, but when he raised his line of sight, he gasped.
Blond hair, stark and perhaps only a mere shade darker than what would be considered nearly white. The strands were pale against the shaven undercut, bangs pulled neatly to the side. The man’s eyes flicked over to the startled interrupting noise and Taehyung almost gasped again—they cut into him.
Sharp, unforgiving, dark.
A breath caught in the student’s throat, bobbing his Adam’s apple as his lungs protested at the lack of air. Taehyung knew he should turn around and bolt, hell, at least beg for his life like the man on the filthy, dirt-ridden ground was. Said man had also heard him and the frenzied garbled nonsense he’d been rattling to his assailant switched to the artist, evidently seeing him as a saviour. The person in black did nothing to quiet the cries, only stared at Taehyung, a perfect eyebrow slightly raised as if to ask, Are you going to do anything to save him?
Had Taehyung been the country hick he was when he first came to the city, he would have wondered why no one else was rushing into the alleyway at the sound of someone shouting for help. But those misconceptions had been harshly shown how wrong they were when it came to city-folk. There wasn’t someone coming in to help save the dying man, not because there was a shortage of people on the street during this hour–the saying of cities never sleeping was true–but because there was no one who cared. The people here never did anything that didn’t help them in return and getting into some lawless situation that would be the cause of their death was definitely not one that checked that box. The student would’ve liked to say that he kept to his origins...mostly. It was impossible to do so completely if you wanted to live in a metropolis. But now, in this scenario, any semblance of that neighbourly duty was nowhere to be seen. He knew that he should be at least sparing one look at the man bleeding out in front of him, but his attention was rapt on the blond. The man seemed to take this as a sign that Taehyung wouldn’t interfere with his work. The heavy gaze moved from Taehyung to his victim and with its absence, the artist could literally feel the weight lift from his body and he took in a much needed breath.
And still, he couldn’t move. His legs were locked in place, feet as though stuck to the ground—though considering what might be on the brick, the residue from too many spat out bubblegums could arguably be what held him back from getting the hell out of there. But as he watched the blond attacker take a step towards the broken body scarcely resembling a man and thrust his foot down on the victim’s back, Taehyung knew that it was something other than unknown gunk on the bottom of his converse sneakers.
An audible c r a c k filled the air as the assailant’s previously spotless dress shoes met with the person’s spine. The victim’s shout of pain was no more than a gurgle, blood spilling forth from his lips and dripping out onto the blond’s other shoe, now dirtied like a weak effort to get back at the man for his suffering. However this only earned him a fierce scowl and an even fiercer kick to the back of the head, the attacker clearly not holding back now that his shoes were already stained. The man made a move as though to straighten the rumbled suit jacket but stopped mid-motion when seeing the equally tarnished leather glove on his right hand. He grimaced, then glanced back over to where Taehyung continued to stand.
Once more, the student thought to himself that he should have fled to the nearest police station to report the incident like, yesterday, then left town and changed his name. Instead, all he could do was notice how the blond examined him, the substantial weight returning with the heavy gaze and how his expression appeared as if he’s pleased that the artist had remained. Taehyung fixated on the streak of blood just left of the man’s impossibly curved lips, like the epitome of Cupid’s bow itself. Shamelessly stared when the assailant’s tongue slipped out and licked at it, red clashing with pretty pretty pink. The man followed his line of sight and chuckled, the dark eyes becoming darker. The deep rasp knocking the wind out of Taehyung for the second time that night. Like a panther that knew it had its prey cornered, right where he wanted it, the blond stalked forward, gait almost lazy but Taehyung knew better. As the stranger–the art student now realised that he was taller than his violent counterpart, he just hadn’t noticed because of the ridiculously large and dangerous presence the other wielded–walked forward, Taehyung could only watch his potential executioner come closer, standing in front of him with a hand tucked in his trouser pocket, the sullied leather-bound one hanging at his side loosely. Taehyung held his breath, afraid that if he said or did anything sudden, even breathed wrong, then his fate would end up just like the crimson heap behind the blond.
Obscured eyes inspected him, the man somehow making it seem like he was on higher ground when physically, he was looking up at the brunette. But technicalities didn’t matter, Taehyung felt incredibly small under the assailant’s focus. An appreciative hum left the stranger, the pinning stare trailing downwards then back up to his face. The strongest shiver Taehyung had ever had racked his body and the blond quietly laughed again, a sharp contrast to the previously noisy wails of the unconscious (dead?) victim. The gloved hand reached up and reflexively Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut, flinching but not daring to take a step back. The touch that brushed against his check was gentle, almost reverent if he deluded himself. A thumb caressed the smooth, undoubtedly paint-spattered skin, then down, down to the swell of his trembling bottom lip. Taehyung didn’t need a mirror to know that lines of red had been smeared there. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, breath shaky.
The man continued to stare at him, fascinated by his own macabre finger-painting.
“Hmm...darlin’....what say you be mine.”
The remark could have come right off a script of the cheesiest Valentine’s day movie known to humanity and no one would have known the difference, but the implication behind the drawled, velvet-soft words was nowhere near romantic. This wasn’t some candy heart question.
It was a command.
The fingers that pressed at Taehyung’s lips continued to grip his chin, keeping his head in place so that there wasn’t any possibility of broken eye contact.
At the time, Taehyung remembered that he told himself the reason behind his frantic, desperate nodding was only because of the near imminent death he had somehow avoided.
Now, like many other things, he knew better.
The memory of their first encounter brought a fond smile to his lips. So much had changed (and so much had stayed the same) since then and Taehyung wouldn’t trade it for anything.
He twirled the dry paintbrush in his hand, eyes squinting at the canvas before him. The painting was an attempt at bringing a different remembrance to life again, an incident that had sealed his and his lover’s connection. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine, his eyes closing as the scenes flashed behind his eyelids—a tremble that one could easily mistake being caused by the cold, but in reality was from the excitement that spiked his pulse.
Sure, it had been life-threatening, but what wasn’t when it came to his lover? It only provided a rush for them both that always resulted in Taehyung breathless and gasping underneath the blond and he wasn’t about to complain about that. He opened his eyes again and refocused on the portrait, the dark eyes staring back at him causing coils to resurface inside his stomach—a feeling that never faded whenever he met that weighted stare, no matter if it had been three years since the encounter in the alleyway. Taehyung knew he was a great painter–even without his lover’s boundless words of praise that left him feeling warm inside and coloured his cheeks with rose–but whenever he tried to draw him, it never measured up. Not handsome enough, not striking enough, lacking the raw intensity of the man’s aura. He let out a frustrated groan. He wouldn’t have it finished by the time that he would be picked up, which was a pity because he had wanted to give it on the incident’s anniversary, but nothing could be done. His lover was not a patient man and this still applied to Taehyung, even if nowhere near as prominent as it was for his...job. Still, it was another trait that the student had no qualms with (he had quickly discovered that it was quite the turn-on).
And as they say, when one speaks about the devil, he arrives.
The chime from the bell hanging above the entrance echoed in the studio and Taehyung was quick to shift his easel to face the door, not willing to reveal his surprise until the other man demanded it. He still had a few final touches that he wanted to add on, even if it was a work that he believed would never truly be finished. He lowered his brush onto the palette beside him, carefully blending the colors to form a shade of red most similar to the one in his memory.
He didn’t look up when slow footsteps approached him, staccato against the hardwood floor. He was grateful that the owner of the studio trusted him enough to close it down by himself, even if he didn’t know about the regular visits his criminal lover paid him. However, this in turn meant he didn’t know about the cleanups that happened because of it, but that was fine. All his instructor needed to know was that he made sure everything was back in place, there were less stains than when they started with, and the doors were locked every time he left the building. The man was quirky in both taste and personality, his handlebar mustache meticulously taken care of (it was the first Taehyung had ever seen up close and while he would never want one himself, he was still pretty amazed by the amount of work it took his instructor to keep it in its classy, trimmed condition). They took to each other immediately, oddities drawn to each other in the recognition of similar personalities and Taehyung believed he’d never had a better professor. His lover had insisted time and time again that he could get him a studio of his own, even if it wasn’t to teach but simply to have his own space to get away, to paint whatever and whenever he wanted. Yet Taehyung thought that it would be an odd feeling—he had always painted while being surrounded by fellow artists and it would be far too desolate if it was just himself.
A chair’s wooden legs dragged against the floor and Taehyung held himself back from saying the elder probably shouldn’t do that in case scratch marks were left behind, but he knew that the instructor wouldn’t know the difference. There had been plenty a time where students had scrambled out of their seats for emergencies–urgent phone calls and the like, as well as “emergencies.” Such as grabbing their usual brush before someone else or getting the cleanest palette, the fullest tubes of paint. That and the blond would just repeat the studio thing and it was an argument long worn out. He’d rather they talk about other things.
Or perhaps, more accurately, do other things.
He almost looked up then, longing to see his beloved’s face, but stubbornly forced himself to remain focused on the paint that he deemed close enough to the red he wanted. He scrutinised where the blood had been placed that fateful day; the way he stroked the canvas with the brush was reverent, hand too fearful to shake lest he made a mistake. His yearning eyes betrayed him, flitting to the corners of the canvas that didn’t effectively hide the man’s frame well enough.
The coil in his gut twisted again, however this time stronger, tighter.
A painted portrait could never compare to the real person.
The silence, as expected, didn’t last long.
“What you hidin’ there sweetheart?”
A thrill went up Taehyung’s spine. God, he had never been one for excessive pet names, but the older did have a way of changing his preferences all too easily. Hyung was a different kind of artist, one that dealt with harsher colors. One that painted only in crimson, shards of white, and black and blue. A muted palette filled only with the dark shades of death, juxtaposing Taehyung’s loud color scheme of bubbly hues and bright popping accents—an effort to capture life.
He loved the way they clashed.
Playfully, he shrugged and continued to gingerly place the red paint on the canvas, the stains actually completed but Taehyung knew that his hyung loved it when he acted coy. He also loved it when he surprised him so Taehyung wasn’t worried in the slightest of the other actually becoming angry.
“I asked you a question darlin’.” The threat that was implied pricked at his tan skin, gooseflesh rippling up his arms, but Taehyung paid no heed. He knew that the elder’s idea of punishment for him would differ greatly than the people that were usually on Taehyung’s side of the interrogation. Often, he would provoke the other like this on purpose. The older man knew it too—he enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game just as much as Taehyung did, if not more.
“You’re ignoring me on purpose aren’t you baby? You know, for an angel you’re quite devious.” A raspy chuckle. “Though havin’ a devil defile you every night will do that to someone.” Yup, he knew exactly what Taehyung was doing. He bit his bottom lip, struggling and near failing to keep his line of sight away from the blond.
He was no angel. The other had learned that this day, three years ago.
Taehyung burned holes into his captors, trying his damnedest to kill them with his eyes. He was going to make the phrase “If looks could kill” a reality for these fuckers. These shitty bastards didn’t know who they were soon to deal with, fuckin’ idiots.
He had been at the studio, trying to finish his final, but of course life had to fuck him over and these random assholes he was currently stuck with decided that they were going to act upon the rumour that Agust D had gone soft for some nondescript art nerd. They didn’t tie him up, but they didn’t have to, what with them shoving guns in his face the whole time. If this had been the United States he would have considered them a given, but this was fucking South Korea. He knew they weren’t above doing illegal shit but seriously? Kidnapping was bad enough, but to do so with a firearm? No hope for these guys. Honestly, Taehyung was flattered when he heard them say that while they had been explaining their reasoning for his abduction. Still, they couldn’t have been more wrong if they thought Taehyung was some sort of Achilles’ heel they could sever, hoping he would help them incapacitate Agust D. Taehyung, frankly, was the man’s pet at the most, a “pretty thing” as the person himself called him. A bauble to admire, to covet—not a lover.
Despite this, he didn’t have any doubts that the mafia leader would come. See, Agust D was far too possessive to even think about someone else touching what was his and both he and Taehyung knew that the younger had belonged to the man ever since the night in the alleyway. He might’ve pitied the goons fates if it wasn’t for the fact that he was pissed about his final. How fucking dare they? He swore that if he got a reduced grade, or even worse, wasn’t able to turn it in at all, he would ask Agust D to–
B A N G
The hotel room’s double doors were kicked open and cracked against the walls, the slightly rusted hinges threatening to break. Only one figure stood at the entrance, hands in his pockets and stance ever so lax. As per usual, his blond hair didn’t have a strand out of place, elegantly swept to the side to reveal the freshly shaven undercut. His black suit was without wrinkle and the signature Italian leather gloves were already on his hands—a sign that he hadn’t come here for a negotiation. But what was off from this well put together appearance was the absence of a face mask covering his facial features in order to prevent people from identifying him easily. It was then that Taehyung realised he didn’t plan on keeping any of the kidnappers alive by the end of this.
The men in the room must have sensed something similar. “Look who showed up. I see you didn’t hide your face like a pussy. We were thinkin’ that maybe you weren’t gonna come. Shit, that rumour ‘bout you must be true.” The thug to Taehyung’s left barked out what seemed to be a cocky laugh on the surface, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. The bravado in his voice was plastic, see through, and more than only a bit tinged with terror. A sharp sting at the root of Taehyung’s hair forced him to jerk his head up, a snarl forming at the artist’s chapped, bruised lips. “Well, you are a pretty little bitch aren’tcha. That’s probably why he keeps you ‘round.”
The hand in his purple locks hurt, but the truth behind the jeer hurt more.
“Remove your hand if you wish to keep it.” The words were quiet, unrushed. They were neither anxious (ha, that was a thought. Agust D, anxious? Please, when the corruption of police was completely purged was when that would happen. Also known as never) nor arrogant.
One of the other kidnappers whistled. “A man of few words. The tales about you really don’t lie.”
Said person at the entrance stood silently, not responding to the attempt at getting a rise out of him. Instead, he didn’t even look at the man’s face, serpentine eyes too busy trained on the fingers that still clutched Taehyung’s lavender hair.
He knew that the force behind the blond’s stare wasn’t directed at him, but he felt its weight anyways. Yet, rather than the fear it had brought that night in the alley, it only comforted him in the most twisted way. He knew these men were not going to be stepping out of the building alive.
Agust D for some reason was very firm on keeping him away from his “career.” While curious, the younger didn’t mind. Taehyung knew that while he himself wasn’t a threat to the mafia leader, it would be a waste of time if the student got involved and people went after him. It was a burden he didn’t want to put on the elder’s shoulders. But it seemed that he did anyway, efforts futile. Despite this, he had expected as much if he was going to be owned by the head of a prominent (the prominent) mafia group. Taehyung also knew that while Agust D never hid what he did for a living, for reasons unknown he had enough of a conscience to not let Taehyung see any of the work he did firsthand. The news apparently was fine, there was enough distance between the him and the crime he guessed, but even then, when he saw Taehyung watching a report about “notorious head mafia Agust D has left yet another body for the police to find,” he would either change the channel or turn the television off completely, all the while distracting him with saccharine names.
Like he was scared of something.
Which was a ridiculous notion to even consider since this was Agust D they were talking about, but Taehyung had a tendency to predict things if not read people well, though the blond was the first he hadn’t been able to see right through, frustratingly enough. Jimin called him a clairvoyant once, though he wouldn’t go as far as to say his gut feeling was due to some otherworldly power he had unknowingly harnessed.
None of the same cautiousness was on the blond’s face now and Taehyung knew he was looking at the expression Agust D made when someone had pissed him off and that someone was going to be brutally removed from existence.
He felt it before he heard the shot, never once seeing Yoongi pull out the revolver despite looking at him the whole time. The heat had passed by his cheek and into the wrist of the man next to him. The artist’s captor screamed out in pain, clutching his bloodied wrist while the rest of the men stared with wide eyes, not having seen the man pull his gun from its holster either.
“FUCK,” an uncoordinated string of curses came from the injured man’s mouth before he glared at Agust D, then at his own men and their lack of mobility. “What the fuck are you shitheads waiting for!? Tell our backup to get in here, I want this motherfucker to be hit so many times he’ll wish we just killed him already!”
“Ah, was that what that was?” The blond at the entrance hummed, rubbing his chin with a gloved hand. “I thought that was just a warm up for what you were going to show me next. Had I known I would have let you keep your little surprise. I’ll have to apologise for my underlings, they can get a bit too excited and even I can’t control them when they get caught up in their bloodlust.”
Yet another idea that wasn’t plausible–Agust D not being able to reign in his subordinates. Everyone in the room knew that too and the men all around Taehyung paled, some of them looking like they were going to piss their pants and others with the urge to vomit—most of them both. Agust D didn’t lack control, he simply allowed his men do what they wanted and how they wanted. Taehyung was certain that the hallway outside was debauched with blood, just how this room soon was to be. Shooting the man’s wrist was only a trifle in comparison.
The blond didn’t wait for the lackeys to get a hold of themselves, shooting from the hip without a second aim, bullets hitting their mark with a wet sound. The men standing closest to their boss suddenly staggered, a few coughing while coppery bubbles spewed from their mouths and staining their chins. The mafia leader pulled out a glock from the holster on the other side of his body, not blinking an eye at the men crashing to the ground and as he continued to open fire at them. He steadily moved forward, movements as evenly paced as his voice had been when warning the man to let go of Taehyung’s hair. He only ducked into cover behind the kitchen island nearby when the handful of captors left standing finally got over their initial shock and shot back, adrenaline anaesthetising their wounds for the moment.
Taehyung could only watch as the fight ensued, the lead kidnapper having dodged behind the sofa and pulling the student with him as hostage. He didn’t have any concerns with the blond not winning, he just didn’t want him to get hurt. Taehyung had dressed the blond’s injuries himself a few rare times and had winced every time he saw the older dig his fingernails into his palm, never once permitting even a grunt of discomfort. It was something he would like to avoid at all costs.
Though....he would be lying if he didn’t admit that the sight of the sanguine splatters didn’t do something to him. Not that he ever let Agust D know.
Even later on Taehyung couldn’t say how long the gunfight was but all he heard for the next few minutes was heavy breathing, the ringing in his ears due to the close proximity to the gunshots, and shouts of pain.
Once he didn’t hear anyone shooting at each other anymore, the kidnapper roughly grabbed Taehyung’s hair again–the student gritting his teeth at the all-too familiar sting–and stood up, pressing the gun underneath the boy’s jawline.
It was comical, the look on the man’s face when he realised that the reason why there was no longer any crossfire wasn’t because his men had maimed the mafia leader, but because it was in fact the opposite.
Agust D had killed them all, as expected.
The man’s jaw hit the floor but Taehyung didn’t know why he was surprised. This was Agust D they were in the presence of. He didn’t take any prisoners unless it was for torturing information out of someone and what this man had of importance wasn’t words, it was Taehyung. There was no need to delay the death of those involved.
The mafia ringleader’s eyes were brought back to the fingers twisted in lavender locks. His brow creased and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “And here I thought you learned your lesson the first time. I had believed that me killing your men would be enough of a warning but it seems that old dogs really can’t learn new tricks.” The blond shook his head and raised the glock, a pitying look on his visage.
Panicked, the sole captor pushed the handgun even harder into Taehyung’s skin. “Don’t get any nearer asshole, or else I shoot!” His quavering voice broke but it seemed that he was past caring at this point. The student grimaced. He knew he would have a bruise there. Despite being as tan as he was, he got marks easily and they stayed for a while. He already couldn’t wait to have the one caused by this idiot fade away. He tried to glance down as far as he could in order to see where the gun and the man’s arm was without alerting the holder that the student was moving. It would be one hell of a risk but it was either that or possibly get shot by this bastard. He gave a quick glance at the blond who was standing there, not walking any closer but not putting his gun down either, staring down the shaking man. He was no doubt considering betting against the other’s speed with his own, calculating who would be the quicker shot. Taehyung didn’t give either of the two men time to decide their next move. The student took advantage of the captor’s diverted attention and grabbed the man’s wrist, swiftly wrenching it away from him. The lavender-haired felt the gun go off but didn’t waste any time checking himself for bodily damage, instead driving a sharp elbow back into the other’s stomach. As the winded detainer stumbled a few steps back, Taehyung whirled around and grabbed hold of the top of the man’s arm with one hand and then gripped the underarm with the other, stepping forward as he threw the criminal over his shoulder. When he hit the floor with a heavy thud, Taehyung wrestled the gun out of the man’s hands.
Now that the weapon was in his possession, it was as if all the fear had been washed away with the sudden hate and anger that returned, no longer subdued by his circumstances but instead empowered by it. Taehyung scowled at the fucker that had ruined his day, that had the audacity to try and ambush Agust D. He bent over the debilitated body, hitting the kidnapper’s face with the butt of the firearm before he realised what he was doing. He didn’t know how many times he smashed the metal into the man’s face, only stopping when a strong hand grasped the student’s wrist, preventing him from doing another. Taehyung’s enraged eyes flicked over to the person only to have the fury deflate out of him. He let Agust D gently remove the gun from his hands, watching numbly as the head mafia lobbed two rounds into the unconscious body’s head.
They both stood amongst the corpses, silent for a few moments until Agust D slowly turned to him, expression cautiously closed off.
Taehyung knew why. The blond hadn’t wanted him to see this side of him, to be a part of the mafia sect that came with knowing Agust D. But just because the student knew the older was guarded didn’t mean he understood the reason. Well, not fully. It was granted that the man would have trust issues, but wasn’t it a bit too late for someone like Taehyung to try and flee the barbed confinement that was Agust D he had willingly put himself into?
(Although he knew some people would say that he wasn’t exactly in the position to refuse at the the time but honestly fuck them, they didn’t know shit.)
In a rare moment of vulnerability, Taehyung could see an array of emotions flash by in those dark eyes, the blond opening his mouth to speak but the student stepped forward, eyes fixed on the maroon splatters painting the pale skin. Without a second thought he thumbed at the corner of the mafia leader’s lips, bringing the blood to his lips and sucking it off, rolling the iron tang around in his mouth. Before this incident, Taehyung didn’t touch first unless commanded to. It was always Agust D taking the initiative, rough fingers yanking him in, legs trapping him against a hard surface. Had past Taehyung seen himself this, he would have been appalled at his forwardness. Now, all he could think was how fucking pretty the stains were against that milky expanse. He really hadn’t meant to show this side of him either.
It seemed that they were at an impasse.
Of course, not for long.
A bloodied hand gripped the student’s chin and made him to look down at those aphotic eyes, all too similar to the way it had during their first encounter—it was an action that had grown to be habit over the time that he’d known the older. Agust D inspected him, searching the lavender-haired’s expression.
“You’re not scared of this.”
You’re not scared of me.
Yet another thing that had become familiar—questions that were actually knowing statements. Taehyung felt the urge to squirm at the heavy weight of the shorter man’s stare but he shoved it down inside himself.
“No....not at all.” The blond murmured, a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “In fact....this excites you.” Agust D lowered his head as quiet chuckles racked his shoulders before bringing that cutting stare back up. “I should have known that my sweet angel is actually a dirty little slut.”
Taehyung quickly averted his eyes as shame burned his cheeks, biting down on his bottom lip and tasting blood yet again but a thumb pulled it out so that he couldn’t abuse it further.
“Ah ah ah, none of that.” The guttural warning almost had him keening but it was the hand that suddenly clutched unforgivingly at an erection Taehyung hadn’t known he had that forced the noise to be ripped out. “You know that’s my job baby.” It was clear by the wild look on the other’s face that the student wasn’t the only one thrilled to find that their partner held the same morbid attraction. The blond brought the crimson fingers to Taehyung’s lips, tapping them. Reflexively, the younger opened his mouth and they were shoved inside.
Unfazed, he sucked the blood off, laving his tongue at where the sensitive skin in between the other’s knuckles would’ve been if not for the leather glove. When he tried to draw them further down his throat, Agust D groaned. “Fuck, I knew you were perfect the moment I saw you, knew I had to have you,” the piercing stare never left Taehyung’s face and the younger tried to whimper around the fingers in his mouth. “Knew that you’d be mine one way or the other.”
It was the only time in his life that Taehyung had regretted not saying no to the blond’s words that night in the alley. God, he wanted to be forced to be his so badly but it was impossible since he was ever too willing to give himself up to the older man.
Taehyung blinked, confused.
“Call me Yoongi-hyung.”
He knew Agust D’s name.
He’d been told the most prominent and by far the most dangerous man in the city’s name.
The implication of trust behind the words (although it wasn’t as though the man couldn’t shoot him in the head as he did the criminals) only made his legs weaker and god he wanted to get on his knees for this man.
The fingers in his mouth retracted and grabbed his chin, pulling him down so that he was eye-to-eye with the blond.
“Say my name darling.”
Taehyung hesitated, unsure if it was really the best idea to be saying Agust D’s name, and so intimately at that. At the younger’s show of reluctance, the head mafia member chuckled. “Don’t fret TaeTae, I won’t bite.” The doting nickname Agust D used only when he was trying to coax the younger into something made him melt on the spot. There hadn’t been a time where he had said no to that tone. Or said no to him in general if he was being honest.
The wild look returned on the other’s face.
A line of shivers cascaded down his spine and Taehyung did whimper this time, at the blond’s mercy what with the teasing hand still squeezing his aching member.
“Tae.” A hardened edge entered the elder’s voice and the lavender-haired took in a quick breath before blurting out-
But in the end it didn’t matter because his words were cut off by Yoongi’s ruthless mouth, strong arms pulling his taller frame closer–not close enough–pressed up against him. They snaked around his waist and one seized the back of his neck, entwining in the pastel strands and tugging cruelly.
Just the way he liked.
He didn’t bother fighting for dominance, gladly allowing Yoongi’s tongue to overpower his own, moaning at the stinging teeth that sank into his bottom lip. His shaking hands clung to the older’s battle-worn jacket, smoothing over the leather in an almost mournful way. He knew how much the other liked his clothing to be untouched by mess and wrinkle so he would expect nothing less than the blond griping over the rips caused by the bullets later on.
Hot kisses moved from the student’s already swollen lips to his jawline, mouthing at the edge before continuing further. Pale hands with heated palms skimmed across his skin and slipped underneath his splattered shirt, no longer stained with only paint. The left slid up, bunching the mottled white material and helping him pull it over his head while the right made quick work of his belt, moving onto the zipper of his ripped jeans.
Taehyung’s legs nearly gave out beneath him when Yoongi’s fingers dipped into the back of his boxer-briefs and cupped there at the soft flesh, teasing as a finger brushed past and caught on his rim. Color flooded his face at the desperate noise that escaped him, but he knew that Yoongi took pride at how vocal he made him so he didn’t bother to keep his volume down since the first and last time he tried to silence himself, the elder forcibly ripped the pleasured screams out of him. It didn’t matter anyway, the only people that were there to witness were dead.
“What-what about-“ As much he wanted Yoongi to bend him over and take him in one fell swoop, he’d been fucked raw once before and that had been one too many. Though...he thought that there was a chance that with Yoongi it’d be different somehow. It wouldn’t be the first time his views were changed because of him.
In his case the dipshit hadn’t even thought to use spit. Then again this was high school he was talking about, and the only thing that occupied a teenage boy’s mind was sticking their dick into something, never mind preparation (or protection for that matter. Taehyung had learned that he would always need to bring the condom himself lazy fucks). The hand in his undergarments withdrew and for a panicked moment, Taehyung worried that he had gotten ahead of himself and Yoongi didn’t plan on fucking him. ‘I swear if he’s not planning on giving me his dick I’m going to cry.’ He thought, eyes already wetting at the possibility.
“Of course I have lube,” Yoongi read his mind, able to guess what the younger was thinking as he always does. Taehyung sometimes wondered if he was able to hear his thoughts because of how often it happens. “I’m always prepared darlin, who am I?” He takes out his wallet, also made of black leather. The first present Taehyung had ever given him in fact. It wasn’t the first time he had seen it since then, but each time he saw him pull it from his jacket’s inner lining, a flitter of butterflies filled his stomach, a sense of pride. Well, it was more like wasps stinging his insides instead because whatever they had between them was nowhere near the normal interactions people in love had. Even he knew something about it wasn’t right, but he didn’t care and didn’t want a healthy relationship if it meant he couldn’t have Min Yoongi.
Taehyung’s pulse quickened. Agust D, no, Yoongi’s question was most likely rhetorical, but here he had the chance to say his name aloud again, to get used to the idea that the man was actually granting him the person behind the hardened mask of the mafia. Letting him become–he hoped with his entire being–a lover instead of a pet, though if the artist was being honest, he would rather be the older’s plaything than to be discarded like an object he’d quickly lost interest in once he saw past the glittering first appearance. Shyly, he worried at his bottom lip before looking at the blond from underneath his long lashes. He drew up all the courage he managed to muster and–
Said person’s attention darted back to the younger’s eyes, expression surprised, but visibly pleased at the words. He gave him a fond smile and the warm ambience between them was intrusive if compared to their surroundings. There were bodies around them, their temperature cooling with death as the pair stood there in their midst, but all Taehyung could pay attention to was the way his hyung reached out to cup his cheek, ever so delicately, like he would break. Both of them knew better—Taehyung had gone for days on end, full on limping to his class with how rough Yoongi could get. It had been to the point where people seemed to be unable to refrain from commenting on it, asking if he was possibly a case of domestic abuse.
The adoring look that was in the stead of the normally grim visage was almost too much for him and he found that he was already making grabby hands, the need to touch overwhelming and he satiated it by tangling his fingers in the worn leather again. A contented hum left the older. “That’s right baby.” A soft kiss pressed to his forehead and Taehyung’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, committing every sensation, every word to memory in case this was a dream.
In case Min Yoongi changed his mind.
A rush like never before washed over him and it was like the time he had drank four cups of spiked double-shot espresso at two in the morning because the hell he wasn’t going to finish that painting assignment before class.
Yoongi had said he was his.
God, he had been into it before but now the artist understood thoroughly why the head mafia was hellbent on his possessiveness of him.
It was intoxicating.
“Hmm...what about you sweetheart? Who do you belong to?” Again, the words were cloyingly sweet, but those dark eyes were smouldering and violent with how hot the flames burned there. Yoongi accentuated the question by ripping the foil with his teeth and once removing his gloves, covered his fingers in the clear substance, rubbing them together and tilting his head up at Taehyung.
An wordless threat that if the younger didn’t give an answer that he liked, the next series of events would quickly differ from their current intimacy. The lavender-haired stared shamelessly at the lube-glossed fingers. He knew that he looked needy but he didn’t give two shits. It wasn’t like he could fool Yoongi into thinking otherwise anyway—the man knew how desperate he was for him. He wanted those fingers inside him so fucking badly.
“Always yours, only yours.” He didn’t think he had ever said anything that was truer than those four words. He licked his lips, focus never straying from the pale fingers. Had he looked up to Yoongi’s face he would have seen that weighted stare follow the tongue movement hungrily.
The hand that wasn’t covered in slick tugged the jeans–that had since long ago become too tight–down from Taehyung’s waist. At first, the man teased at the hem of the artist’s undergarments, but at his pleading whines he seemingly wasn’t able to hold back anymore, just as impatient. He shoved the bottoms down to the student’s knees.
“Turn around. Hands on the wall.” The guttural command raised gooseflesh up and down the younger’s body, dusky buds perking in earnest now. The affectionate tone in the other’s voice and behaviour was gone, the rare insight to Yoongi’s vulnerability replaced with his standard rough demeanour and clipped orders that never failed to have Taehyung scrambling eagerly to comply, just as he was now.
A pallid hand stroked down his ribs, the older humming again, admiring the contrast in colour they held. The touch turned harsh when he gripped at his side, thumb pressing into his back while his fingers met the bone of his hip. The artist gasped at the pressure and he was glad that he would have bruises to look at later other than the one that dead fucker had left on his neck due to the gun. With the lubed hand the mafia leader spread one of his cheeks apart, a chuckle echoing in the room when Taehyung whimpered at the cold air hitting his exposed entrance. A digit brushed against the fluttering hole and the lavender-haired nearly cried in relief. “Please-please Ag-no-hyung, p l e a s e.”
A hand gripped Taehyung’s nape and a calloused thumb rasped over the honeyed skin soothingly. “I’ve got you, hyung will always be here darlin’.”
Whether Yoongi had said the words offhandedly and didn’t mean the lasting promise behind them didn’t matter, they helped him calm down enough so that he wasn’t on the brink of crying. Taehyung forced himself to take in a deep breath, blinking through tears to clear his vision. It was hard to be the desperate one between them now that he had grown used to Yoongi’s usually impatient mannerisms.
The hand on his neck returned to the swell of his ass, curving over it until he felt a finger prod at his entrance, circling it a few times. Taehyung was familiar with this routine, though he didn’t know why Yoongi was taking this long to prepare him when usually–
He gasped, a tremble running down his legs and he had to put more weight on his arms so that he wouldn’t fall into a needy bundle on the floor. The blond had merely given him the illusion of indulging in foreplay before sinking the digit up to the third knuckle, reaching deep inside, searching. At the twinge in his stomach, Taehyung knew exactly what for. Automatically he spread his legs wider, hands scrabbling at the bloodstained wall for purchase but finding none, only further sullied hands. Yoongi didn’t bother waiting for him to adjust before he slid the next finger alongside the first, scissoring in a way that had the student panting, eyes squeezing shut every time the sensations were more than he could handle.
“T-too much-ah! Hyung, you’re going too fast-“
Taehyung could hear the older click his tongue and when he looked over his trembling shoulder, saw that he was shaking his head, amused.
The man cocked his head, an eyebrow raised. “Who was the one that was begging for it just a moment ago? You got what you asked for baby, now deal with the consequences.” To emphasise his point, he stretched the pulsating hole with a third finger, stealing the breath out of the lavender-haired. “Besides,” he leaned over Taehyung’s bent, shaking body and purred in his ear. “Hyung knows you love it when it hurts. You can’t hide anything from me darlin’.”
The heat of humiliation flushed his cheeks, head hanging between his raised arms as a keen escaped his swollen lips. Yoongi’s fingers were relentless on the bundle of nerves and if Taehyung didn’t intervene, he would come only by the man fingering him. The older’s fingers were a concept that Taehyung could spend days painting about but his hole clenched at the thought of something thicker penetrating him. He reached behind himself and hesitantly grasped Yoongi’s wrist. “Hyung, I’m ready. If you keep doing that then-“
The gravelly voice returned to the curve of his ear, hot breath tickling his skin and making him flinch. “Then what sweetheart? You’ll come? Funny, I thought that was what this was all about. Or is this you telling me that you want me to restrict you from coming?”
“No!” The artist cried desperately, legs feeling like they were going to give out at any moment. “No, please hyung hyung hyung please ah!“ his voice cracked when Yoongi harshly drove in his three fingers in that perfect spot and his feet skidded slightly backwards, losing his footing until he caught himself. “I want your cock-“
Yoongi tsked at his words, withdrawing his fingers and the artist felt the wetness return to his eyes at the abrupt emptiness and it clumped his lashes, dotting his cheeks with tears. “And how do we ask for things Taehyung? Hyung would have thought that someone your age would know manners.”
As if all the please’s that Taehyung had rambled out hadn’t been enough, but he was too far gone to care or muster any form of sarcasm. “Please Yoongi-hyung, please can you give me I need it please please hyung-“ the words spilled from his mouth with an ease that should have been degrading but Taehyung was in a place where embarrassment couldn’t find him anymore. “Haven’t I been good hyung? Please, I need it, I need you.”
“You’re always good Tae, always hyung’s sweet angel.” The metallic click of a belt being undone filled the air and the student swore that his mouth watered at the sound. Even if Yoongi was finally complying on taking things further, it still seemed to take an eternity. “Anyone would kill to have you beneath them like this. It’s a good thing that I already do or someone else would have you in their hands.” The last words were growled out, like he was in disgust at the mere thought. The zipper of the man’s pants wasn’t being pulled down fast enough and Taehyung wanted to voice his complaints, wanted to demand a quicker pace but he held his tongue, knowing full well that if he attempted to order Agust D around, the line of events would be purposefully delayed with the intent to torture him.
When the blunt head of Yoongi’s erection pressed at his hole, Taehyung tensed, holding his breath. Not with nervousness, but with anticipation. Large hands once again spread his cheeks, displaying the awaiting entrance and creating easier access. “Look at you,“ the wet sound of the head sliding inside and Taehyung’s gasp echoed around them. “so patient for me darlin’, so eager for hyung’s cock. Fuck I’m so fucking lucky you went through that alleyway and made you mine.” He punched a breath out of the student when he thrusted in, giving no forewarning just as he hadn’t when he entered the first finger.
The pace was as brutal as Taehyung had wanted it to be: hands sliding up the wall, knees wobbling as if they would collapse underneath him the next second, shared panting the only music to their ears other than the obscene slaps of bloodied, lubricated, sweat-glossed skin. Yoongi’s fingers were already thick, knobby and so long, but his dick was so much thicker and the stretch was a burn that he wished never ended. He never denied it but Yoongi had been right when he said he knew that he liked it when it hurt.
“I don’t know how you do it angel but you’re always so tight, so good, the best anyone could ever ask for, dream about.” The blond yanked the taller man closer in unison to his thrust. The unrelenting praise only incited the student’s cries to grow in sound. The bruises that would be left there would be a vulgar sight in the morning. He couldn’t wait. Tears stung the corners of his eyes at the intense pleasure and precome dribbled in a constant stream from his own hardened member to the bloodied carpet below, an extra stain the mafia’s clean up crew would have to deal with but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Yoongi’s arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him upwards. The new, deeper angle had the wetness of his eyes roll fully down his cheeks and his jaw slackened, vision blurred and hazy with lust. In the distance he could hear a voice crying hoarsely, throat burning with use and then he realised it was his own—nonsensical noises that the older man was fucking out of his lungs.
“I’m never letting you walk away from this-“
“-hope you know that. Even if it was the one thing you wanted in the world. Hyung can give you everything, anything but that. I can’t grant your freedom, I’d kill you first then me.” The blond panted out, tone as desperate, recklessly gone as Taehyung felt and it was a shock to the taller man. Not because a hand had once again wrapped around his throat and left wine-red stains there, at the front this time to prove his point through the near chokehold, but because...well, because Min Yoongi, Agust D, was telling him that he needed him. If this wasn’t a one way trip to willingly go to hell then Taehyung didn’t know what it was and didn’t give a damn.
He shook his head and somehow managed to say, “Never hyung, I would never leave, don’t wanna leave, please don’t ever make me leave you I need you-need you so badly hyung-“ a sob left him, overwhelmed with the day’s events and the emotions he had discovered were mutual between him and a man he had thought was impossible to reach.
“Didn’t know what I was missin’ until I saw your face.” The blond pressed against the peach-flushed tanned skin, sucking a trail to the artist’s shaking shoulder, biting at the round of the flesh and leaving another array of his many claiming marks. “And now that I’ve had a taste of you darlin’, I’ll fucking murder anyone that tries to snatch you from me.” This was something that couldn’t be described as romantic and yet Taehyung found himself swooning. A damnation disguising itself as love and what a disguise it was—he fell right into its fiery depths with ease.
Heaven wouldn’t have the metallic taste in his mouth and covering his body in red.
Heaven wouldn’t have the harsh grasp pressing a bruising bouquet of florets onto his skin.
Heaven wouldn’t have Min Yoongi.
And if heaven didn’t have Min Yoongi then he didn’t want heaven. Wherever the older man went he would follow, in life or in death.
Even if it meant straight into the bowels of molten sin.
“So what‘s the mystery darlin’? I’ve already been told by Jimin that you were being secretive, not letting him even a peek.”
Taehyung snapped back into the present moment, having been so caught up in the memory that it felt like he was actually there, reliving it as if it were the first time. Sheepishly, he blew the cerise bangs out of his eyes. It was true. Even though the guard was someone that Yoongi had assigned to shadow him, they had grown to be the best of friends and yet Taehyung wanted this moment to himself. This belonged to only him and Yoongi. It had been a hard effort but a rewarding one since the bodyguard evidently hadn’t seen anything as planned, unable to report back in detail to the mafia leader.
The red-head thought about maintaining his silence but he decided that the elder had waiting long enough and besides, it was the day’s anniversary. “Toda-“
But apparently he wasn’t quick enough to answer. “You know hyung doesn’t like it when your full attention isn’t on me sweetheart.” Evidently his little daydream session hadn’t gone unnoticed. He must have dazed out longer than he thought.
The artist huffed, protesting, “But I was thinking about you! And besides, it’s a gift” he said, referring to the canvas, cheeks puffing in a pout.
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed and held out his hand, palm open.
Taehyung carefully set aside his brush and much to the elder’s visible amusement, pushed the portrait away from either of their reach. He would show it to him later, for now it would only get ruined. He walked over to the seated man and when near enough, he pulled him in so that Taehyung’s knees were on either side of him—the younger easily fitted against the blond, their bodies snug. Yoongi cocked his head, staring up at him with that smirk that Taehyung would never get enough of. “Not even daydream-hyung gets to have you when the person himself is right here.” And had it been anyone else, the artist would have rolled his eyes at the cheesy line, but this was Min Yoongi. Nothing was cliché when it came out his mouth. The other continued while drawing lazy lines into the fabric of Taehyung’s acrylic dotted jeans. “I’m sure the painting is lovely as always darlin’.” A pause followed and Taehyung could already hear the unspoken ‘but’ in the air.
Arms snaked around his waist and fingers cool to the touch skimmed underneath his oversized sweater. The chill raised stinging gooseflesh up his arms and a habitual tremor rushed through him. The gentle caress did nothing to prepare him for the hand that abruptly gripped the back of his neck like a vice and shoved him to meet the blond’s bruising kiss, lips somehow always so soft no matter the sharp words he spit out at his enemies, no matter how many gory explanations of killing methods he calmly passed onto his underlings. As it was and as it would always be, there was no competition of tongues, only Taehyung’s complete and utter submission. The punishing lips traveled downwards, nipping a trail to the younger’s collarbone and biting down.
Taehyung yelped higher than his voice would have usually allowed—his skin ached with the new teeth-shaped grooves, dark welts already forming.
“But you had me ask twice, and you know hyung doesn’t appreciate repeating himself love.”
His heart squeezed at the rare pet name and his fingers curled into the no doubt expensive coat of Yoongi’s suit. Anticipant, he licked his lips, catching onto Yoongi’s eyes watching the movement ravenously. “I-I know.” His voice comes out unsteady, trembling just like the rest of his body in the man’s hold. He knew that there were no reassurances needed for Yoongi to know that it wasn’t due to fear. “I’ve been bad.” He lowered his eyes in a show of shame.
The blond shook his head and gave him another kiss, gentler this time. A façade. “Never. You’re never bad for hyung.” The wild expression that Taehyung had faced many a time came onto his visage. “But you were asking for a punishment baby and hyung’s going to give it to you.”
“Now, who do you belong to?”