Chapter Text
It always feels weird to wake up in someone else's body. The discombobulation of space and time, adjusting for hand-eye coordination in a new skinsuit with different length limbs and overall proportions, acclimating as quickly as possible to carry out the tasks at hand. But he always adjusts quickly because he is the best. Nobody is better than Jung Hoseok.
This assignment is the same as any assignment: find the target and either confiscate or terminate. This time, he has to do both. It just so happens that the target individual is in possession of the target information, allowing Hoseok to kill two birds with one stone and get back into his own body by dinnertime. Easy peasy.
"What do you see?" a female voice asks inside Hoseok's head.
Hoseok glances around, blinking heavily, unaccustomed to wearing glasses. He appears to be in a bedroom, plain walls with mahogany paneling encasing him. "I'm in a bedroom. Sitting up now."
"The target will be here shortly, mister Jung. Meet him in the study, two doors down and to the right."
"Got it."
When Hoseok sits up, he feels a little dizzy, holding the host's hands in front of him. They're paler, wrinklier, and thicker than his own. Hoseok closes and opens them, turning them around for a moment; he always stops to marvel at the small things.
Hoseok stands, adjusting quickly to the height and weight differences of the host's body, and makes his way to the bedroom door, glancing around. Everything is dark, rich wood, seemingly handcrafted with care, and Hoseok makes a mental note to incorporate this style into his own home; his husband would love it.
Across from the bedroom doorway is a banister that reaches the length of the floor, spinning delicately into a descent to his left, where a staircase leads down to the main level. Ahead, a large chandelier hangs above the foyer. Hoseok turns to the right, passing a small, thin door before reaching the next, which is opened to the aforementioned study.
Hoseok enters the room, gazing upon book after book, collections of novels, encyclopedias, medical journals, and more. At the host's desk is a box of cigars, and Hoseok sits in the patent leather chair and helps himself, snipping the end off of one and bringing it to his host's lips to light. As the dried tobacco crackles under the heat, Hoseok closes his eyes to inhale deeply. He loves the taste of cigars but only partakes when he's in someone else's body; he doesn't need any more unhealthy addictions of his own.
"By the way, mister Jung, there is a sedative in the top left drawer," the disembodied voice instructs. "Just in case he’s likely to put up any kind of fight. There are other weapons, as well, though the host has asked that you try to make it clean, like a strangulation; something that won't rack up cleaning fees. You'll just need to stir the sedative into his whiskey. Perhaps ready his drink in advance? We have word that his car is pulling into the property now."
"Perfect," Hoseok responds aloud with a grin.
Hoseok opens the desk drawer and pauses to take in the view: a small vial of powder, undoubtedly the sedative, a Glock 17 handgun, various knives, and other small weaponry. Hoseok dusts his fingers over the pistol and mutters, "classic, what a beauty," to himself before taking the vial of powder and closing the drawer.
Behind the desk and to the left is a small table near a large window. On the table is a decanter of liquor and several glasses sitting atop a silver serving tray. Hoseok sets his cigar onto the serving tray, then drops some powder into a glass and pours in whiskey, taking a metal stirring spoon from the side of the matching silver tray to mix the drink. From behind him are footsteps. Hoseok looks over his host's shoulder.
"Ah, here at last!" Hoseok calls to his guest.
The middle-aged man smiles awkwardly and makes his way to Hoseok, sitting slowly in a matching patent leather chair in front of the desk. Hoseok puts down the stirring spoon and pours whiskey into a fresh glass, which he spins in front of his nose before taking a sip.
"N-none for me," his guest stammers.
"Nonsense," Hoseok responds, taking the man's glass in his empty hand. "This is a special occasion, which calls for a special year. 60 years, I believe. Very nice scotch."
This is a lie, of course; the man whose body Hoseok inhabits is a cheapskate with no taste, and for all he knows, this is Four Roses or some such bullshit. But the guest appears to be a cheapskate in his own rite, clad in a wrinkled shirt that doesn't match his gaudy dollar store tie; he'll be none the wiser or, better yet, too afraid to challenge him. The man holds his trembling hand out to take the glass that Hoseok offers.
"I assume you have what I asked for?" Hoseok grins, taking a sip of the whiskey. He stands, towering over the man, who shifts in his seat before reaching his hand in his pocket.
"O-of course," the man mutters, pulling out a thumb drive and setting it before him.
Hoseok sits in the office chair and scoots it forward, taking the thumb drive and bending down to find the computer tower, stashed away in its own compartment below the desk. Hoseok plugs it in and sits up, reaching for the mouse. He locates the hard drive, opens it up, and voilà: exactly what he needed.
"This calls for a toast, indeed," Hoseok chimes, unplugging the hard drive and holding out his drink for the other man to toast him.
The other man does so, his hand shaking as he clinks inexpensive crystal against inexpensive crystal. Hoseok takes a long swig of the bitter liquid, holding eye contact with his guest, who does the same.
"You seem so...nervous," Hoseok purrs with a smirk, almost seductively, making the other man shift once more in his seat.
The man takes another big gulp of his drink, his hand shaking all the while, and Hoseok grins widely. Any moment now.
"What a shame you made this so easy," Hoseok tongues the inside of his host's lip, placing two large hands on the desk before him. "I almost hoped for a little more fight, a little more intrigue."
The man knits his eyebrows, confused and annoyed, but suddenly his eyes widen, fear painted across all of his features. Hoseok chuckles and stands, circling the desk slowly while the man before him gasps and clutches at the wooden surface.
"I was only meant to give you a sedative, but I put in enough of the chemical to shut down your nervous system, so you might just choke yourself to death. I know it feels a little anticlimactic, but I tire of the rigmarole of shooting and stabbing." Hoseok chuckles. "You understand."
The poor guy is a goddamn mess. Eyes bulging, skin turning blue, gasping for air as Hoseok stands before him. Hoseok leans across the desk to grab his drink before recalling how foul the whiskey tastes and tossing it across the room. The glass shatters against a bookshelf, and Hoseok watches intently as the man before him tears at his throat, gurgling and coughing up his own foamy bile and dies pitifully; so much for skirting the cleanup fees. Hoseok considers the cigar he set down on the metal serving tray but decides he's done with all of this.
"Alright, pull me out," Hoseok commands, sitting his host's body on the floor and closing his eyes while the other man writhes and chokes next to him.
"Heard, mister Jung," the voice says. "Clean up crew is on their way."
Everything turns black as Hoseok lays his host's body down. Record timing, as always, Hoseok thinks as his consciousness is pulled back into his own vessel. Home before dinner.
"Someone's in a mood tonight," the deep voice grumbles into Hoseok's ear, lips dancing over skin, warm breath ghosting over newly formed goosebumps.
Hoseok's eyelids flutter shut as he sighs with a smile. He is in a mood tonight, it's true. "Sorry, baby," Hoseok grins, turning his head to look his husband in the eyes and peck him on the nose with his heart-shaped lips.
"What can I do to help?" his husband asks, gazing at Hoseok with puppy dog eyes, dimples on full display, and Hoseok feels himself melt just a little.
Namjoon. The love of Hoseok's life. The apple of Hoseok's eye. Sweet, gentle, strong Namjoon. Hoseok feels like a contrast to Namjoon in many ways. Where Hoseok is thin and angular, Namjoon is muscular and soft. Where Hoseok is a little high-strung and antsy, Namjoon is calm and calculated. Hoseok tousles his husband's ash-blond hair, which is beginning to get a bit long in the back, in contrast to Hoseok's short almost-black hair and sharp undercut. Perfect for tugging on, Hoseok thinks, twisting his fingers around the back of Namjoon's head.
Hoseok met Namjoon in college, where they were both studying to be doctors. Hoseok branched off into psychiatrics while Namjoon focused on physical therapy. For as long as Hoseok has known Namjoon, Namjoon has never questioned what exactly it is that Hoseok does, simply accepting that he works for a branch of the government and that his duties are top secret. This is, of course, a lie; the agency Hoseok works for is above the government in every sense of the word, but that's all semantics and nuance and more than Hoseok's precious lapdog husband needs to know.
"Could fix me a stiff drink..." Hoseok suggests as Namjoon wraps his arms around Hoseok's thin waist, tugging Hoseok closer.
Hoseok drapes his long arms over his husband's shoulders, leaning back to see his handsome face.
"I know how you like 'em stiff," Namjoon responds with a wink.
Hoseok tries to keep a straight face, not wanting to give his husband the satisfaction of letting such a terrible line break him, but he can't, fighting as the corners of his lips tug up and down and up. Hoseok scoffs with a disapproving shake of his head.
"Terrible, Joonie. So bad."
"You love me," Namjoon coos, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.
"Way too much, really," Hoseok giggles.
Hoseok runs his hands down Namjoon's muscular chest, biting his bottom lip with a long, deep inhale.
"I should eat dinner, but you're so delicious I don't want to take my hands off of you," Hoseok whines.
Namjoon pulls his husband closer, so close that their lips touch. "You could work up even more of an appetite first if you'd like."
Hoseok nips at his husband's bottom lip, all teeth but quick and gentle. Although they've been married for years, they still act like a couple of lovestruck teenagers.
"Alright," Hoseok provokes with a wide, sunshine smile. "Bend over, big boy!"
"We're trying something a little..."
"Risky," Hoseok interrupts.
Hoseok's boss quirks her eyebrow, "experimental."
It’s only been a day since his last assignment, and Hoseok is none too thrilled to be getting another one just yet. Jumping vessels is exhausting and requires some mental and physical downtime, lest you get burnt out, or worse, lose your grasp on reality.
Hoseok quirks his brow in return. He knows what "experimental" entails, and it's usually dangerous. Hoseok's boss, who is simply referred to as The Boss, is a short middle-aged woman with impeccable style, all 150-or-so centimeters of her standing tall in her stiletto heels, pencil skirt, and flouncy blouse.
"A young chaebol has reached out for our services. His body would be the host body...but instead of a clean enter and exit mission, you'll need to stay a while, gather intel, and possibly execute a target, depending on the intel found. It could take several days, up to a week."
Hoseok takes a long, slow swig from his water, eyes on The Boss. Once he's sure she's done, he inquires, "Why can't the kid find us something, so we're not starting at zero?"
The Boss taps Hoseok on the nose as she retorts, in a mocking tone, "I knew you were going to say that, Hoseok-ssi."
Hoseok clears his throat and glances around the large empty office anxiously. Even when it's just the two of them, he hates being chided. It makes him feel inferior and frustrated.
"Well?" Hoseok finally presses.
"Not everyone is James Bond, Hoseok-ssi. And they're certainly not you. Some people need help securing intel. Quite frankly, you wouldn't have this job if it were that easy."
"It is that easy," Hoseok corrects, taking another drink of water. "Some people are just cowards."
The Boss scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Be that it may, this young man would like your help. We were working with him on a psych eval earlier, and if he passes, which he should, we'll be installing the implant first thing tomorrow morning. We want you to meet with him, go over his contract, and then we should get you in his body and on the mission by the start of next week."
"Who's the target?"
The Boss quirks an eyebrow once more, "His father, Jeon Jaebeom, head of one of the largest law firms in the country as well as one of the largest news outlets. His son thinks he may be up to some nefarious activities but he can't prove it. That's where you come in."
Hoseok rolls his eyes. "Every chaebol family is up to nefarious activities, how else do they become that wealthy?"
The Boss snickers, sending Hoseok a glance that says, "you're one to talk, wealthy murderer-for-hire," winning her a classic Hoseok eyeroll.
"Alright, let's meet this kid," Hoseok sighs.
The Boss walks to her desk, phoning her secretary. "Heyah-ssi, is our client ready? Send him in."
Hoseok sets his glass of water onto a nearby table and straightens his jacket out, already feeling impatient about the mission. Something about inhabiting some spoiled young brat's body much longer than usual doesn't sit right with him. And what will he tell Namjoon when he won't be coming home for several days? It feels like a bother.
The door opens, and Hoseok stifles a gasp as the client enters. Although he seems a little shy, his broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and tattoos littering his hand and forearm paint him as anything but a kid. The client is dressed head-to-toe in black, with black wavy hair hanging over his eyes, and he flicks the tresses out of his face as he reaches out for Hoseok's hand.
"Jung Hoseok, meet Jeon Jeongguk," The Boss announces.
"H-Hey," Jeongguk stammers, taking Hoseok's hand firmly, albeit a little shakily. "Pleasure to meet you."
Hoseok chews the inside of his mouth as he eyes his handsome new client up and down. "The pleasure is all mine, Jeongguk-ssi."