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Confidence.
He slaps his cheeks, attempting to ready himself for what's to come. He lingers patiently by the airlock as airport staff ready the stairs. Mentally, he runs over his role, his practiced mannerisms, his sleazy smile. He must be believable.
Changho wouldn't say he's been deep undercover before. Accented phone conversations and email impersonations hardly count, and his inexperience is only made worse by his rushed disguise and mediocre-at-best acting. All together culminating to "Choi Changho: shoddy undercover officer" as the final outcome.
Which is exactly why he's never placed out on the field. Today however is the exception.
The hastily bought, gaudy bomber jacket he dorns fits like a protective shell on his hermit crab-self. It helps him in settling into his alter-ego. Sangman, international trade businessman. Silently he thanks In-Gu, who saved him from meeting the gang dressed like his usual, "goody two-shoes self." It probably would've made his acting stand out even more. Drawing attention to his likely, "stiff" personality. As In-Gu unhelpfully commented.
The flight attendant pulls open the door, dragging himself out of his thoughts. Changho steps into his false shell, descending the aircraft's stairs, dragging his luggage in hand.
The blinding sun beams down, a harsh contrast to the interior cabin of the plane. He adjusts his sunglasses, shielding himself from the blinding brightness. He's greeted by the sight of officers flanking the path in straight lines either side of the stairwell. Leading his eyes to two of Jeon's men in the middle, walking to greet him.
Changho recalls their profiles. Both are close confidants of Jeon's. David Park, and Lee Sang Jun. There's a part of him that wishes Hee Won were here to accompany him, but he kicks that thought away knowing he would've said something suspicious to blow both their covers.
He approaches them, strutting his - hopefully not obviously practiced or stiff - stuff. Casting hidden nervous glances around with his dirty grin.
David, dressed in white with a professional smile, whips out a strong hand, which Changho accepts. Returning his shake with a smile, his hands are oddly cold Changho mentally remarks.
"Hello, I'm David Julio Park, Pastor Jeon's legal advisor." His voice is smooth, coated in an enticing honey. His grip is firm in Changho's hand, his gaze is steady.
He introduces the man beside him. Lee Sang Jun. Currently armed, standing stiffly, as if at attention at all times. His stony scowl prickles at Changho, even after he turns away.
"Goo Sangman," he greets, meeting David's eyes, "international trade businessman." His tone is rougher, louder, and a bit of a pain in his throat to keep up. But overall better for his image. If anything, Changho thinks it isn't enough. His team had advised him a subtler accent would make it easier during discussions. But he preferred the other voice if he was being honest. Although, as he recalls their bewildered expressions, something tells him their winces weren't just because of his volume...
"You guys are a bunch of good-looking fellas, aren't you?" Changho chuckles, flicking between the two. It's blatant flattery, he'll admit that but he wouldn't be lying. David Park in particular. To Changho, his pleasant features, neatly styled hair and tailored clothing does him good in the looks department. Paired with his silver tongue and honeyed voice, he's a dangerous combo. Changho would like to retire this train of thought, as appreciating another man looks isn't the goal here The other mans currently empty smile plastered on his face reminds him of where he is. Who he needs to be, a sleazebag, a businessman desiring to deal drugs.
Changho knows just the card to show.
His chuckle dissolves into some throaty hacking, spitting out a glob of phlegm right by the man's white loafers, possibly staining the tarmac. Changho internally rejects the idea even as he's doing it, it's disgusting. But, the confident Sangman wouldn't think so.
He clears his throat, sticking a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it in a swift motion. He puffs in, eyes flicking to David's strained smile.
David interjects, asking for his passport for a, "super fast track" entry with a barely veiled grimace peaking through his professional expression. Changho's well aware of what they're trying to pull, heaving already prepared.
He hands David his falsified passport, ignoring the thrum of anxiety under his skin. The other man's fingers brush against Changho's, and the coldness to his touch almost makes him flinch.
Confidence. Changho reiterates mentally, confidence.
The deacon seems satisfied with the passport, nodding to David. Who sets off with a nod, escorting him to line-up of inconspicuous vans, passing the saluting officers.
As they approach, Changho finally takes notice of the two beautifully dressed women, waiting by the vans in dresses that cling to every curve. They join their group, tailing closely behind Changho.
He hops in the car, tossing the cigarette carelessly behind him. Preparing himself for the next step in the journey to Jeon's.
However, his thoughts stutter as the women climb in, bending purposefully as they seat themselves beside and behind him respectively.
Changho attempts to hide his discomfort behind his sunglasses, ignoring their closeness. Attempting to ignore their closeness. Attempting to ignore their very persistent eyes on him, the eyes that are fixated uncomfortably low on his person.
The door slams behind them, and immediately their hands dart to Changho. They slide up and down his chest, trailing down his stomach, another, manicured set of hands diving for his belt. David says something from the front seat that Changho cannot focus on translating through his mangled thoughts.
He knows the gist of it, through... context.
Changho wishes he could slap himself. He had been far too caught up on seeing Jeon and his crew in person, and focusing too much on maintaining his alter ego, that Jeon's tendency to indulge in women completely slipped his mind. Now, he faces the repercussions in the form of women's salacious hands.
Hands that are touching him all over and stirring an untouched pot. He's been too caught up with Jeon that lately...
Changho swallows that thought, and tries to worm out of their roaming hands not-so-subtly. Clutching at the car roof handle to try and wiggle their hands off him.
The 'shoddy undercover officer' comment from earlier unhelpfully rings in his ear.
He needs to put aside his objections, his morals and preferences. He has to accept the hands undoing his belt, the ones on his shoulders and chest. He has to acknowledge the feather light kisses being pressed along his neck, the sweet foreign words muttered into his ear. All of it. Because why wouldn't Sangman enjoy this?
He breathes out an awkward, "relax" as an attempt to lessen the intensity of their touch. To save himself even just a drop of control.
David lets out an amused scoff at his evident panic. Rudely reminding Changho of how intimately close they are in this van.
David Park. Jeon's second-in-command, a confidant of NIS' biggest target, aid to a drug lord, is in the front seat, reclined too close for comfort. Less than a metre away, listening to all of, this.
Listening to Changho's undoing.
Changho stills. The burning shame pokes at him, devours him entirely as the woman beside him unzips his pants, dragging them down his pale thighs. Leaving him exposed and vulnerable, in a way that both terrifies him and has a dangerously inviting grasp on his thoughts. The hands travel to his underwear, groping his undeniably developing bulge, the woman in the turquoise wrap dress beside him leans over, massaging her breasts through her clothing. He meets her playful gaze, and Changho cannot help the flush that burns his cheeks as she gives herself a squeeze. The woman behind him whispers something foreign in a breathy moan that unfortunately stirs a reaction out of his cock.
Businessman. Sleazebag. Confidence.
He tries to settle, letting their skilled hands take over. Swift, practiced movements. Their foreign words dance on their tongues as he feels.
He feels how his dick can't help but fill because of their burning touches. How his dick bounces as his underwear is dragged away. How her hands glide. How it feels when she licked a wet strip up the underside of his length. How her fingers dab at the bead of precome at the tip of his cock. How quickly he forgets the shame. Or rather, how quickly he's been accustomed to its burn.
He notices as another wave of sinful heat lights, as his length is encased in deviously warm heat. As the skillful hands dive beneath his shirt and grope at his toned body, as his cheeks flush impossibly more as lewd gasps fill the enclosed space, and his own groans claw their way out.
He tries his best to stifle them. He really does.
But when her mouth works wonders on his painfully hard cock, and he tongue flicks into his slit, Changho can't help the gasps that follow.
His eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror, 'is he listening? Am I convincing? Is this..?' Everything flies through his head, questions, answers, warnings and horny meaningless comments. All coming to a screeching halt as David unflinchingly meets his gawking.
David's stare pierces through the lusty haze, delivering an even stronger burst of red, hot shame. He looks back down at his crotch but the sight isn't much better.
Glossy pink lips wrap around his stiff cock, hazy dark brown bore into him as she hums, her hand wrapped around his base and pumping his cock, delivering a buzzing heat straight into the tightening coil in his stomach.
What has he gotten himself into?
Changho barely notes the view flying past, the tinted windows hiding his activities, or at least that's what he want to believe., If only to help placate the exhibitionist notion that someone out there could be watching him be taken apart if they were to stop at a red light, or stagnant traffic.
He notes the irony in that thought, and decides to file it away for another time when he's less of a moaning mess.
The suckling at his throat draws another groan from him, the woman on his cock downs him to the base, the car drives over a bumpy road that rattles his dick, creating a faux vibration that winds the coil impossibly tighter.
His hands find their way into her thick, curly hair, a light grasp on the strands as she bobs up and down. His head feels light, the coil keeps winding.
Changho's approaching the cliff, dangerously rushing towards it.
David's voice cuts through the haze, "they're good, aren't they?" he drawls amusedly, looking into the rear-view mirror with a sharp glint in his eyes.
Changho wishes he wouldn't talk now. Not when he's so dangerously close, not when his honeyed voice delivers such powerful words that makes the shame bury itself into the tight heat below his stomach, not when his hips are starting to stutter and jerk as he teeters.
"Good. V-very good." He barely manages to stutter out, focusing on the soft, wet heat, the obscene, squelching noises as she chokes down his dick and the bruising kisses he feels on his neck, the nipping at his burning ear. Sangman long having been tossed aside. All he was right now was himself, a stuttering, moaning pile in the back seat.
His eyes keep drifting back to the man in the front seat, and for some unknown reason, he cannot find the will in him to keep his head down.
Changho can't help himself from meeting his stare in the rear-view mirror. Every second he lingers, he feels the deliverance of heat, deep in his blood. He feels like an animal under David's stare, wanting to pant, writhe, and how as he ruts into the woman's mouth.
Changho babbles some barely intelligible warning, as he grips her hair. His hips jerk up, burying his cock deeper into the tight heat. He lets himself hurtle off that cliff, his vision tinted white as he climaxes. He's barely aware of the animalistic groan that escaped, almost bouncing of the cars walls. He's scarcely conscious of the searing shame that burns behind his eyes and scalds his already feverish skin. It bores a hole into him, so deep he doesn't think he'll be able to ever recover from it. Every breath and hickey leaves him sensitive all over, his body buzzing in the aftermath of his orgasm.
Changho's half-lidded eyes find their way back to that damned mirror.
David scoffs amusedly. He rakes over Changho's limp form, his eyes carving a trail of fire in its wake. Changho drops his eyes, the post-orgasmic gaze muddling his... everything.
Only one thing continues to chime in his head.
Honey. Hot, dangerous honey.