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“Fuck, yeah! I love this song!”
Mingyu diverts his attention to the drink being raised in the air. He reaches for his own glass, liquid splashing out as he clinks it, bringing it to his mouth after. It burns when it hits the back of his throat. Nothing unmanageable, nothing he’s not used to, but it does make his mouth feel a little dry.
He doesn’t like it.
That’s how it starts—a parched throat craving a quick fix, then it’s your mind getting hazy, the lethargy spreading to your body making your joints feel like they’ve rusted.
Mingyu has a high tolerance, more than the average person. But he tells himself right then, when the bottle gets passed around the table—that this was his first, and only drink. He can’t afford to be in a state where he’s slacking, not even in the slightest.
Everyone downs their freshly poured shot, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to find Wonwoo. He clenches his teeth when he isn’t in the last place he saw him. His eyes dart around the club floor, searching for his silhouette, but with the music thumping louder and people shouting next to his ear, it’s a battle for attention.
The grip around his glass tightens. Where the fuck did Wonwoo go? It shouldn’t be this hard to spot him.
Mingyu’s gaze had locked onto him from the moment Wonwoo walked into the underground room, like a magnet finding its pole. A moth to a flame.
It had been weeks since he last saw him. And then suddenly, he was here.
Mingyu had been expecting him, maybe waiting, but he wasn’t prepared to really see him. In the flesh, black liner smudged around his eyes and face glinting with petite jewels. Then it was something else catching the light, the thick chain around his pale neck, sweat glimmering on his bare arms, and—
Fuck.
Wonwoo’s stomach.
The lean muscles flexed with every step he took, Vivienne Westwood cinching his tiny waist like it was made for him and no one else.
Mingyu could taste blood in his mouth. Who the fuck dressed him like this?
He desperately seeked out Wonwoo’s eyes, waiting for theirs to meet so he could see what was going on in his head, but Wonwoo just kept on walking. He moved like the room belonged to him, like something magnetic, untouchable. Dangerous.
And of course, he didn’t look at Mingyu. Not even once.
It was fine. Mingyu didn’t care. It didn’t bother him at all that this was the first time he was seeing him in weeks, and Wonwoo wouldn’t even give him the time of day.
Mingyu’s unwavering focus was forced to become stolen glances from across the club, flitting his eyes away from the intoxicated group in front of him to chase the shadow of Wonwoo weaving through tightly packed bodies with more ease than a man of his size should possess.
But then again, maybe it was an advantage; his head towering above the rest and broad shoulders clearing out a path like it was nothing.
And maybe it works in Mingyu’s benefit too, allowing him to keep track of him amongst the crowd. It isn’t easy from where he’s sat, squished into a booth that has exceeded its seat capacity, elbows digging into the table, sticky with spilled cocktails.
There’s a sweaty body pressed up against his side, a couple making out opposite him. Mingyu wishes they would abandon him, just so he could focus on Wonwoo, making it a little bit easier to find him in the flashing lights and thick fog consuming the dance floor.
The music blaring from the speakers make the walls shake, the bass so powerful it rumbles deep in Mingyu’s bones.
His muscles twitch when he feels a hand snaking up his thigh.
“You’re not drinking.”
The words are whispered into his ear, alcohol-breath fanning over his neck, long hair falling on his arm. Her perfume is almost strong enough to cut through the stench of the sweat sticking to the air.
Despite all of that, Mingyu’s eyes zero in on Wonwoo moving on the dance floor, his abdomen revealing itself with every sway of his hips.
Fuck, he’s never seen him move like that. It makes his mouth drier than the shot he just took.
There’s no drink out there that can make him lose his mind quite like Wonwoo can. He could get drunk on him, watching the way his shirt rides up, hiking up his waist, flashing that pale strip of skin Mingyu knows by memory.
And maybe Mingyu is already drunk, because it takes him too long to notice the man occupying Wonwoo’s space. Too long.
He’s moving with him, hands crawling up Wonwoo’s hips like they’re his to grab, guiding his movements, pulling him closer.
Mingyu’s jaw ticks.
Wonwoo doesn’t resist. Not even when the bastard’s fingers skim across his belt and the peek of his underwear.
“Gyu?”
“What?” Mingyu snaps, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the dance floor.
“I was saying you look tense,” she says, body leaning into Mingyu’s, hand inching further up his thigh. “Why don’t you have a drink?”
Irritation bubbles low in his stomach and he can’t hold it back from leaking into his voice. “I’m not having any more of this watered down bullshit. You know what I want.”
“The pills?”
Mingyu doesn’t mean to turn his head, but he does. Acid coats his tongue as he sees the man’s fingers have disappeared under Wonwoo’s shirt completely, probably exploring his stomach and skimming his ribs.
His tongue poke against the inside of his cheek, foot bouncing on the floor. Fuck, he should just go up there and break his wrists.
“I already told you—“
He has to remind himself to breathe, has to take steady inhales through his nose in an effort to not run to the dance floor and cause a scene.
“…being tailed by cops—“
But then Mingyu’s lungs forget how to work. His stomach drops as if they’ve collapsed and fallen out of place.
Wonwoo is flush against the guy, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and Mingyu can feel his body tensing in anger.
“I can’t even get my own!”
The man hooks his chin over Wonwoo’s shoulder, his mouth next to his ear. He says something. But it’s not just anything.
It’s something that makes Wonwoo smile, the corner of his lips curling up in a sharp smirk. Mingyu only looks away from it to see hands snake around Wonwoo’s waist, reaching down, down until they squeeze his ass.
He sees the roll of the man’s hips and his vision burns red.
“How am I supposed to get yours- Hey!”
Mingyu throws her arm off, pushing himself out of the cramped booth.
He’s been patient enough.
It’s been twenty-three days since he’s seen Wonwoo.
Twenty-three days since he’s touched him, felt his warmth against his body.
He’s not going to stand there and watch somebody else take what’s his.
Not for this.
There’s no telling how many bodies he crashes into, how many elbows jab into his sides, but it doesn’t matter because he reaches Wonwoo.
Finally close enough.
He doesn’t spare a glance at the prick once he shoves his arm off Wonwoo. Too long and he might really not be able to shut off that voice telling him to put a crack in his bones.
Instead, his hand wraps around Wonwoo’s wrist, the touch so hot it might as well brand his skin. Their eyes meet briefly, and for the first time that night, Wonwoo loses the sharpness in gaze, the fire behind his eyes faltering, even if just for a moment.
His lips part, full, pink and a little wet, but Mingyu drags him away before a protest can leave them.
He’s got tunnel vision, he can’t see anyone else around him, can’t feel anything except for the burn in his chest and Wonwoo in his grip. He doesn’t stop until they reach an empty back corridor of the club, secluded from the main floor enough that music is only a faint pulse in his veins.
Or maybe that was something else.
He slams Wonwoo against the wall.
Not hard enough to hurt.
Never to hurt. Just enough to feel.
“What the hell was that?” Mingyu snarls.
He definitely felt it. Felt it so much it was like his insides were set on fire.
“What?” Wonwoo’s voice is calm. It’s maddening. “I was working.”
Mingyu grits his teeth, hands clenching. “That piece of shit was grinding on you.”
The dangerous twitch of Wonwoo’s lips return, cold and amused. He tilts head, sweat glittering along the column of it. “You’re not getting jealous, are you?”
Mingyu doesn’t answer.
At least not with words.
He grabs a fistful of Wonwoo’s shirt—that stupid cropped shirt, and kisses him.
It’s not the reunion kiss he had been anticipating. There’s nothing sweet, or welcoming about it. It’s a hard smash, one that stings when they collide together.
Wonwoo groans into it, arms winding around Mingyu’s neck because maybe the weeks of distance had made him ache for it too. Mingyu eagerly swallows the sound down, lips working against Wonwoo like he can use them to scrub all the jealousy and frustration away.
Mingyu bites Wonwoo’s lip, dragging his tongue along it after. “Not gonna fucking watch someone touch you like that,” He buries himself into the crook of Wonwoo’s neck, mouthing along the skin. He should leave a mark. “Not gonna happen.”
Fingers curl into the base of Mingyu’s hair, Wonwoo tilting his head back with a long sigh. “You weren’t supposed to be watching,” He bites his lip, holding back another sound. “Mph—you’re not even supposed to be looking at me.”
“You shouldn’t be looking like that,” Mingyu mutters roughly, his hands sliding up Wonwoo’s waist.
He feels Wonwoo’s body shake with light laughter, still a little breathless from their kiss earlier. “It wasn’t my idea,” Wonwoo says as if that somehow changes the fact he was walking around with his midriff out. “But my usual attire wouldn’t exactly be convincing.”
Mingyu pulls back to look at Wonwoo.
He knows that. Of course he does.
But he still has that itch under his skin. That dull, inconsolable ache.
“I missed you,” Mingyu whispers.
“I know. I missed you, too.”
Mingyu gets tugged in for another kiss, teeth clashing, mouths slick, hot and hungry. It’s everything that’s been mounting for weeks caving in at this moment. Their hands are everywhere, Wonwoo clutching whatever he can grab onto, Mingyu’s hair, his back, his arms, so desperate in the way he tries to rid any space between them.
It’s hard to breathe like this, but Mingyu can’t stop. You couldn’t tear him away from this. He kisses Wonwoo like he’s fighting for the world, tongue scorching hot, carving himself into Wonwoo’s mouth as though he was his to mark.
Wonwoo moans, chasing after his tongue.
Fuck.
Wonwoo was his to mark. To hold, to bruise, to claim.
All his.
Mingyu’s fingers dig into Wonwoo’s waist hard and he pulls them close, the heat between their legs meeting with a burning need. Wonwoo rolls his hips forward, a slow, deliberate motion that makes Mingyu’s head spin.
His core tingles with something electric.
“Fuck,” Mingyu gasps against his lips, “you’re going to kill me.”
Wonwoo moves again, forehead pressed against Mingyu’s. “We’re not supposed to kill anyone today. Those weren’t the instructions.”
Mingyu groans. Smartass. “Fuck you.”
Wonwoo smiles. “Complete this operation and I’m all yours, Kim.”
“Is that an order?”
“Can you honour it?”
Mingyu scoffs. “Hah, ‘course I can, Agent Jeon. What do you take me for?”
His hand slides behind Wonwoo, rough and certain, gripping his thigh and hitching it around his waist. He presses his hard-on against Wonwoo’s insistently. It makes him gasp.
“But I’ve been good, haven’t I? Staying put, finding evidence…” Mingyu’s voice drops, leaning into Wonwoo’s face. “I’ve been very, very patient,” His lips are millimetres from Wonwoo’s own, ghosting. “Don’t you think I should get some recognition for that?”
Wonwoo’s gaze flickers down, arching an eyebrow at the bulge Mingyu is sporting, so constricted in his tight pants. “I think you just want me,” he teases with a lazy grind of his hips.
“Damn right I do.”
That’s the last thing he says before crashing their mouths together and pinning Wonwoo’s hips to the wall, restraining his movements. He could easily break free, he’s strong enough to flip them over and nail Mingyu to the brick instead, but he doesn’t.
Wonwoo likes it like this. Seeing Mingyu all riled up for him.
It’s the kind of power that gets to his head.
Mingyu ravages Wonwoo’s mouth, licking the satisfaction that’s thick on his tongue. He’s so sweet, tastes so familiar, more dangerous and intoxicating than any concoction the bartenders here can muster up. He wants to consume him whole, have Wonwoo fills his veins like the drug that he is.
The arousal is red, hot and blinding. It has Mingyu canting his hips forward, rolling into Wonwoo with enough power to make them both choke on a moan.
“Oh, fuck,” Wonwoo curses, a breathless smile on his lips, born out of pure ecstasy. His fingers tangle in Mingyu’s hair, making his scalp sting when he tugs. “I like your hair like this.”
“Yeah?” Mingyu kisses his jaw, murmuring against it. “Had to play dress-up too.”
Wonwoo grunts, his legs beginning to shake as Mingyu repeatedly grinds their cocks together, the friction toeing the line of pain and pleasure. “How come you never went blonde for me?”
“Are you not wearing your contacts?” Mingyu’s teeth scrape Wonwoo’s neck, as if reprimanding him. “It’s clearly a light pink.”
“Too mouthy,” Wonwoo scolds. “Hurry up before someone walks in.”
Mingyu’s lips stretch into a cocky smile against the column of his neck. “Too needy.”
Then he bucks his hips, rolling his cock harshly into Wonwoo’s. His fingers dig into Wonwoo’s thigh, keeping it secure around his waist, giving him more space to grind against, more nerve endings to brush and make a tight wire coil in his gut.
It’s been too long. Way too fucking long since he’s had Wonwoo pressed up against him like this, moaning lowly and clawing at his back. He’s greedy for more, so much more, this doesn’t even scratch the surface of what he wants to do.
“Fucking hell,” Mingyu grunts, hips frantic, chasing a high that only Wonwoo can give him.
He wants more, but so many days have passed that this taste of heaven was enough. More than enough for Mingyu’s vision to blur at the edges, for his stomach to twist and turn with pleasure.
He is so close.
“Touch me.”
Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the fog in his head.
His head is tipped against the wall, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face, highlighting the sharp edge of his jaw. It’s clenched tight, eyes sending one very clear message to Mingyu.
“Touch me, Mingyu. Or I swear to god we’re not going home tonight.”
Mingyu can’t tell if it’s a command, or a plea.
Not that it matters. Mingyu isn’t immune to either.
He drops Wonwoo’s leg, fingers going to loosen his belt. He reaches past the waistband of his underwear with familiarity and ease. Unlike the asshole fumbling with it earlier.
The moan Wonwoo lets out when Mingyu finally wraps a hand around his weeping cock is lewd. So fucking dirty that Mingyu has to free himself too, hooking his thumb around his length to press it against Wonwoo’s.
He groans, not waiting another second before roughly jerking both of them. “Careful,” Mingyu says through his teeth, large fist squeezing around their cocks, “you’re not supposed to use my name out here.”
Wonwoo doesn’t have anything clever to quip back with this time, reduced to low moans and a hazy stare. Mingyu quite likes him like this, when he goes stupid from pleasure. It spurs him on to stroke them faster, rubbing the flushed heads, smearing precome and using it to slick up the slide.
Mingyu can’t remember the last time he’s been this rash. It’s been a long time since they’ve crashed into empty hallways and dark supply rooms, channelling all the adrenaline from being on the field into a quick, dirty exchange.
Pathetic, but gratifying handjobs. Sloppy head that left bruises on their knees. And if they got lucky, it was a rushed fuck, only pulling out the essentials, making do with what they had.
They didn’t have to do that anymore. They took on less missions, carved out more time for themselves and bought a home together. It was less greeting each other with suspect files and handing over weapons, and more waking up to kisses and coffee, passing the remote or the beer in the back of their fridge.
But they still had bills to pay, and they loved their jobs too much to quit.
Every now and then they were called in to go undercover, tasked with taking apart a new web of lies.
They had been separated before. But never for this long.
Mingyu desperately flicks his wrist, wetness clinging to his fingers as they work around their erections. It’s stolen breaths and laboured panting, every movement electric, like the weeks apart have been kindling this spark and tonight it bursts into a raging flame.
“Shit shit shit,” Mingyu groans, his hand starting to cramp with how fast it moves. “I’m so close, hyung. So close—are you?”
Wonwoo’s head hits back against the wall with a resounding thud, throat bobbing as his words remain lodged there. His nails dig into Mingyu’s back, leaving crescent imprints.
It’s a silent giveaway.
“Yeah?”
Wonwoo bites his lip, nodding.
“Fuck, come on,” Mingyu grunts, urgently trying to push them over the edge.
Then it happens. Mingyu’s large hand presses all the right nerves and they both go rigid.
“Oh! Min—“
Mingyu surges forward for a kiss, burying Wonwoo’s cry into his mouth as the man arches in his arms. Their release shoots out in hot streaks, powerful from how pent up they’ve been. It’s molten on the back of Mingyu’s hand, sticking to his fingers and coating his palm.
He sucks on Wonwoo’s lip before he lets go of his mouth, panting to catch his breath, unwrapping his hand around their cocks to see the damage that’s been done.
“What a mess…” Mingyu mumbles, a fleeting spark flickering in his stomach at the filthy sight.
Wonwoo is still heaving, pulling a hand out of Mingyu’s shirt to hold his head like he’s about to pass out. He barely notices Mingyu shifting to his knees.
Mingyu murmurs under his breath, “Maybe I should’ve just sucked you off.”
Then his tongue darts out to clean up the drops of cum lingering on Wonwoo’s cock, sucking the soft tip clean. When he looks up at Wonwoo, his eyes are wide and alert, hands balled into fists.
He only pulls him out of his mouth to push his shirt up, suckling the soft flesh of his abdomen. It flexes under his tongue, when he flattens it and licks it, when his teeth dig into it.
“There,” Mingyu says after some time, pulling back to admire the pink bloom spread across his skin. One that will turn darker, more incriminating as time passes.
“You left a bruise,” Wonwoo tells him when Mingyu gets to his feet.
Mingyu presses his thumb against the raw skin. “Don’t worry. It’s pretty.”
“Asshole,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. There’s no bite to his words.
Mingyu smiles, hands cupping Wonwoo’s ass. “You love me.”
He pauses when he feels something in Wonwoo’s back pocket. He fishes out a small, plastic bag, filled with half a dozen blue pills.
“This is…”
“Did you think I was letting him do that for fun?”
Mingyu can only blink at the drugs. The same ones they’ve been trying to track down for over three weeks, were now sitting in his palm.
Wonwoo snatches the bag from his fingers, leaving him a promising kiss.
“Love you. See you at home.”
—
“Ah, stay still.”
“It stings, hyung,” Mingyu whines, attempting to escape the iron grip on his head.
Wonwoo continues to press the antiseptic across the scrape above Mingyu’s eyebrow, muttering quietly, “Yeah, well you should’ve been more careful,” He gently blows air over the cut. “What are you, a rookie?”
“Is that why you fractured the guy’s jaw?”
“No,” Wonwoo’s voice softens. He looks quieter in their bedroom like this, bare-faced, hair messy on his forehead. He smells like Mingyu and looks like home. “It was because he left a scar on you.”
Mingyu’s hands come to his hips, guiding Wonwoo to drop his weight on him. His legs need the rest from hovering over Mingyu’s thighs while tending to his wound for the past few minutes. “So what? Am I not handsome anymore?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” Mingyu jokes, fingers slipping into Wonwoo’s shirt to feel the warmth of his skin.
“…I just wish you didn’t get hurt.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Mingyu’s words are sincere. “And I’ve got you to take care of me.”
There's a stretch of silence, one where they just look at each other. No culprits, no victims, no worry of an impending attack. Just them and the softness in their eyes. The solace of the home they’ve built.
Mingyu is the one to break it.
He tilts his head up. “Kiss it better?”
His eyes flutter shut as Wonwoo leans in, pressing his lips softly to the scratch marring his eyebrow. It’s a gentle, delicate kiss, yet it’s enough to leave an imprint on Mingyu’s heart.
Wonwoo lingers there, planting his hands on Mingyu’s shoulders. He kisses his forehead, then his mole-tipped nose.
Then where Mingyu needs it the most. A tender kiss to his lips.
Mingyu lets out a contented sigh when Wonwoo pulls away, his lips tingling in the wake of his touch. It turns into a gasp when he feels the hot press of Wonwoo’s mouth against his neck.
Instinctively, his fingers thread into Wonwoo’s hair. “Wonwoo…”
“Relax…” Wonwoo continues brushing down the slope of his neck, sucking at his collarbone, at the swell of his chest, down, down, down until he’s at his ribs. “Full body check-up. Agent’s orders.”
Mingyu melts under his touch.
“Hmm,” Another kiss, a little lower. “Nothing here,” Wonwoo mumbles, “but I’m still not convinced. Gotta check again.”
Mingyu sucks in a breath. “You are insufferable.”
Wonwoo hums against his skin. “Shh. This is part of your recovery plan. I laminated it.”
“Of course you did.”
Wonwoo hooks his fingers into Mingyu’s boxers, tugging them down his thighs. “Now, be quiet. Or I’ll have to write you up for insubordination.”