Work Text:
Being a grunt for the mafia isn’t actually all that bad. Sure, Dongmin has done some grim shit, but to him, it’s still not as grim as selling his soul to some corporate monolith for a 9-to-5 that’s actually an 8-to-10, where nobody cares about him and he doesn’t get paid enough to make rent. What’s a little drug running and homicide in exchange for sufficient sleep and a decent apartment in Jung-gu?
Granted, it’s not all perfect. Sometimes he gets called in at six in the morning because they’ve discovered an undercover cop in their midst, and now someone (read: Dongmin) has to take this poor sap to the boss’s favorite executioner so they can ‘send the police a message.’ Which is how he ends up driving to the wet market two hours before it opens with some guy tied up in his trunk.
The things he does for work-life balance.
Dongmin parks by the service entrance at the rear of the building, but he comes in through the front just to check the place out. It’s practically a maze. He weaves past stall after stall, some of them still barren and some of them manned by vendors already setting up for the day. The ceilings are low and dark, the floor is irreparably waterstained, and the entire place smells like fish. It’s no wonder nobody else volunteered to come here.
The place he was told to find is one of the little restaurants all the way at the back. There’s no door separating it from the rest of the market; it’s more like a stall that’s been built into the wall, with room on the right side for some rickety-looking tables and stools. There are a few big tanks with live fish swimming around in them, a small kitchen setup behind the counter, some faded handwritten menus taped up to the tobacco-yellowed walls. There is a door on the far wall, windowless and metal.
There are a handful of people already at work in this stall. There are two middle-aged men, one of them wiping down the tables and the other standing over the stove. And there’s a third man at the counter who looks at least twenty years younger than the other two. His hair is styled almost eerily neatly for a place like this, not a single strand out of place. He’s wearing a thick black turtleneck, over which is an apron with a number of unidentifiable stains. He looks a little pale, a little gaunt, prominent dark circles under his eyes.
And he’s been staring at Dongmin, unblinking, since he entered the shop.
Dongmin clears his throat, shuffles a bit closer. The young man’s eyes follow him. From this distance, Dongmin can see over the counter now. The man has a large kitchen knife halfway through a flounder. He knows before he even asks that this is the person he’s here to see.
Still, he clears his throat again and says, “I’m looking for Leehan.”
He gets that dead-eyed stare for another few seconds before the man—who is undoubtedly Leehan—carefully slips the knife out of the fish’s flesh and turns to the older man at the stove. They exchange a few words, and then Leehan comes out from behind the counter, still carrying the knife. He gives Dongmin a clinical once-over, then says in a voice like velvet, “Bring them in through the back.”
Dongmin just nods his agreement and leaves the shop to find the service entrance again. Internally, he’s torn between being intrigued, unnerved, and just tired. Leehan is a character, that’s clear enough already, though Dongmin has met more than his fair share of strange and downright disturbing people in this line of work. At least Leehan isn’t too difficult on the eyes.
He really shouldn’t be having these thoughts about the person he’s delivering a future murder victim to. Dongmin blames it on the fact that normally, he’d still be in bed at this time, and unceremoniously hauls the unconscious man out of his trunk.
Right as he hits the pavement, one of the back doors leading back into the wet market swings open. Dongmin flinches, his sleep-deprived mind already racing for explanations to give whatever shopkeeper stumbled out at such an inopportune time. But then his eyes focus, and he realizes it’s just Leehan holding open the back door of the restaurant for him. He drags the man over. Leehan doesn’t offer to help, just watches him struggle with that same blank look until they’re safely in the back room. Then Leehan lets the door swing shut behind them with a loud metallic clang.
The room isn’t very big. It’s mostly full of shelves stacked with various cooking and cleaning supplies, all pots and pans and miscellaneous spray bottles. There are a few big sacks of what Dongmin guesses are salt, and there’s a metal table that looks more like it’s for surgery than fishmongering. The rest of the space is taken up by a big, industrial walk-in freezer.
Dongmin’s attention lingers on the table, and he shifts the man in his arms to support his weight more easily. “Don’t they usually do this in abattoirs?” he half-jokes unthinkingly, then immediately regrets it when he remembers that Leehan is still, in fact, holding that big-ass kitchen knife.
He blinks at Dongmin slowly, for what might actually be the first time since they met. Then, the corner of his mouth twitches just slightly. He replies, “I like fish.”
Dongmin only barely stops himself from laughing—he knows full well that it’ll come out painfully awkward, and he’s not going to risk it when he can’t actually tell if Leehan was kidding. “Cool,” he says instead, voice thin.
Leehan doesn’t even acknowledge his response. “Give him to me,” he says, holding out his arms. Dongmin is more than happy to release the burden onto Leehan.
He sags briefly under the weight like he wasn’t quite ready for it, but he still manages to drag the man into the freezer with relative ease. When he does, there’s a heavy, dull thump, like Leehan has just unceremoniously tossed the man to the ground. It makes Dongmin want to laugh again, and he doesn’t quite manage to hide his smile in time before Leehan leans back out of the freezer.
“Undercover cop?” he asks, like he already suspects he’s right and just wants to be sure.
“Yeah,” Dongmin confirms. Leehan nods, and the door shuts behind him.
Dongmin shoves his hands into his coat pockets, fully prepared to just loiter around for however long it takes Leehan to do… whatever he’s going to do. But to his surprise, the door cracks open again just a few seconds later.
Leehan peeks out again. “Do you want to watch?” he asks. And Dongmin must be imagining it, but it sounds like there’s a hopeful edge to his voice.
It’s sort of endearing, actually, and the words alone are almost enough to get Dongmin to agree—at least until he remembers that Leehan is inviting Dongmin to watch him torture and kill somebody. It’s not like he hasn’t seen such things before, but… Well, it would probably be in poor taste to spectate like this is a baseball game or something.
“I’m alright out here,” he declines politely.
If Leehan is disappointed, he does a good job of hiding it. “Okay,” he says simply, and disappears back into the freezer.
At first, it’s quiet. Dongmin stands there for a full minute with just the ambient hum of the freezer for company.
Then the screaming starts.
It’s not loud; the thick walls of the freezer probably dampen the sound, and the voice is garbled like maybe Leehan stuffed a rag into the guy’s mouth. But it just keeps going, off and on, off and on, for several minutes. Every time Dongmin thinks it must be over, it starts up all over again. The screams are intermingled with sobs and muffled words that are probably pleas for mercy. Dongmin scuffs his shoe against the concrete floor, simultaneously morbidly curious and glad he decided to stay out here.
Eventually, it’s quiet for a few minutes straight. The cop must be dead, then.
Sure enough, the freezer door creaks open and Leehan steps out, followed by a puff of cold air. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows now—which is attractive, for some inexplicable reason—and he has a cardboard box tucked under one arm.
When he gets closer, Dongmin can see his nose and cheeks have gone pink from the cold. There’s a splatter of dark red on his cheek, and when he holds out the box to Dongmin, he can see smears of red all the way up Leehan’s forearms too, like he haphazardly scrubbed the blood off before he came out. There’s still some under his nails, between his fingers, and Dongmin wonders again what he was doing in there.
He doesn’t ask. He takes the box. Leehan gestures at it with one hand and scratches at the blood drying on his cheek with the other. “There’s a VHS tape in there, and a couple of fingers,” he says, then adds quickly, “They’re in a plastic bag. Don’t worry about the blood seeping through.”
Dongmin wasn’t worried until Leehan said it. The box is going to stay safely in his trunk where it can’t stain his car seats.
Before he can make some half-baked joke about that, Leehan holds his hand out stiffly, and it takes a second for Dongmin to realize he’s expecting a handshake. “What’s your name?” Leehan asks.
Dongmin briefly considers lying, but his boss does business with Leehan fairly often as far as he knows. The truth is safer in this case. “Dongmin,” he says, shifting the box around in his arms so he can curl his hand around Leehan’s. He shakes firmly, bows shallowly, and then when he processes the temperature difference, gasps, “God, you’re freezing.”
But more shocking than the cold is the way Leehan’s blank gaze turns ever so slightly amused. “I was in the freezer,” he reminds Dongmin. Leehan’s hand shifts within his grasp until he can press two icy fingers into the pulse point on Dongmin’s wrist.
Dongmin manages not to flinch, thankfully, but he does carefully start to draw his hand back. Leehan doesn’t let him. His grip tightens all of a sudden, and he yanks Dongmin forward. Not particularly hard, but it surprises him enough that he stumbles, only catching himself when the barest few centimeters remain between them.
“I’m Donghyun,” Leehan says. It takes Dongmin a long few seconds to process what’s actually going on.
“You—You’re telling me your real name?”
Leehan—Donghyun gives him another hard stare. “I don’t think I have to tell you what’ll happen if you go spreading it around, Dongmin-ssi.”
Dongmin is not awake enough for this. “No, of course not; I won’t,” he assures him quickly. “But. Why…?”
Donghyun doesn’t reply, just releases Dongmin’s hand and pulls open the door leading back into the restaurant proper. Dongmin obeys the wordless command to exit, and Donghyun follows him out, moving back behind the counter. He goes straight to the sink, washing his hands thoroughly.
“Tell your boss I’ll only be dealing with you from now on,” Donghyun says over the rush of the water. He returns to where he was standing when Dongmin first came in, now with a different knife and a different fish to gut. “If he sends anyone else to me, I won’t talk to them.”
“I’m not sure he’ll take that well,” Dongmin warns him tentatively. He doesn’t want to upset Donghyun, but wants to upset his boss even less.
But Donghyun just offers him a close-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “He will; don’t worry.”
Dongmin doesn’t have it in him to argue any more than that. “Right,” he says. “Well… thanks.”
“Mm, one more thing,” Donghyun calls after him as he turns to leave the shop. Dongmin turns back before he can think better of it. “We close at 9:30. Come back then.”
And Dongmin’s not going to say no when he’s literally carrying a box full of the evidence of the murder Donghyun just did. “Alright,” he concedes, and steps back out into the market to find the exit again. He can feel Donghyun staring after him until he disappears from view.
*
His boss seems pleased when Dongmin hands over the box—he peers inside, rattles around the contents a bit, then nods his approval and hands it off to another subordinate.
“I take it our friend Leehan didn’t give you any trouble?” he prompts. His apparent satisfaction makes Dongmin all the more reluctant to test his patience with Donghyun’s demands. He briefly considers not relaying the message at all, but Dongmin is smart enough to know that negligence is a guaranteed death sentence.
“Actually, hyungnim,” Dongmin says carefully, “he said he only wants to deal with me from now on.”
The sudden bark of laughter his boss lets out has him fighting not to flinch. It doesn’t sound derisive, though, more like he’s entertained by Donghyun’s boldness, and Dongmin forces himself to relax. Sure enough, his boss nods, still chuckling lightly. “I guess he likes you. In that case, it looks like you’ll be seeing a lot more of him. You’re free to go, Dongmin-ah,” he adds, waving a hand in dismissal.
Dongmin bows low and hurries out before his boss can change his mind. It’s not until he’s back at his apartment showering off the faint smell of fish that he remembers he agreed to go back there to see Donghyun later. He toys with the idea of just not going, but again, Dongmin isn’t eager to die. Donghyun was pleasant enough with him earlier (or at least he thinks that was Donghyun’s version of pleasantness) so if he goes, Dongmin expects he’ll be safe. If he doesn’t go… Well, he’s not going to bet on Donghyun being forgiving if he gets stood up. He sets an alarm and triple checks it before he lets himself take a nap.
Dongmin ends up waking a few minutes before the alarm, groggy and disoriented with no sunlight coming through the window. He drags himself out of bed anyway, briefly contemplating a second shower and then deciding against it. Instead, he makes himself a light dinner from the miscellaneous ingredients in his fridge, does a few menial tasks around the house with M Countdown on in the background, then gets dressed to head back to the wet market.
One of the few downsides of working for the mafia that Dongmin will admit to is the uniform—he has to be in slacks and a button-down all the time, and it’s terribly boring. So although he’s going to meet a murderer at a fish stall, he still jumps at the opportunity to dress to his own tastes. By the time he heads out again, he actually feels like the twenty-something Seoulite he is. It’s nice, until he’s forced to remember again that he’s meeting Donghyun, Leehan, and that he has no idea what’s going to happen to him when he arrives.
Dongmin makes it to the wet market just before it closes. It doesn’t feel as barren as it was this morning, but it’s also not packed like he expects it must be throughout the day. There are vendors cleaning up their stalls, most of whom look to be in their later years, and there are a few last-minute patrons making their way out with their purchases. Dongmin doesn’t let himself linger, only retracing his steps until he’s back at Donghyun’s shop.
The lights are still on, but there’s no one behind the counter. The metal stools are all propped upside-down on their respective tables and the fish drift around idly in their tanks. Dongmin lingers in the entryway, where the floor changes from stained concrete to stained orange tile. He glances around. Checks his watch.
The second the time changes from 21:29 to 21:30, the door to the back swings open. Dongmin straightens up quickly. Sure enough, it’s Donghyun who emerges. That suspiciously stained apron is nowhere to be seen now, and it looks like any remaining traces of blood have been meticulously washed off his arms. His hair is still immaculate. But what’s surprising is that, when he sees Dongmin, his lips curve into that close-lipped smile, and this time there’s faint warmth in his eyes. He looks pretty like this, Dongmin thinks, then shoves the thought back down into the depths of his mind.
“You’re here,” Donghyun says, as if he wasn’t the one who told Dongmin to come back in the first place. Dongmin does not point this out, and Donghyun moves to one of the little tables, setting the two stools atop it back onto the floor. “Sit,” he instructs. Dongmin can’t tell if it’s a request or a demand, but it’ll be less awkward than looming in the doorway at least. He sits.
Donghyun detours behind the counter before joining him, coming back with a plate of what looks like raw fish and two pairs of disposable chopsticks. He sets the plate on the table, settles on the stool opposite Dongmin, and hands over one set of chopsticks. Donghyun snaps his own in half and gestures at the plate with the utensils. “It’s rockfish.”
Of all the scenarios Dongmin imagined on the drive over, this was not one of them. “… You had me come back to eat hwe with you?”
“Mhmm,” Donghyun replies, serene. He eats surprisingly daintily for someone who was up to his elbows in blood this morning. The fish is already sliced into small, thin pieces, but he chews slowly and carefully, his free hand raised to cover his mouth.
Dongmin watches him eat for a few seconds, then lets himself ask, “Why?”
Donghyun doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze snaps up from the plate and locks onto Dongmin’s, staring hard. The worry that he’s pushed his luck too far begins to bubble up—he really does not want to die in an industrial freezer tonight. But then Donghyun’s eyes seem to soften. “You don’t have many friends, do you?”
The comment comes out of nowhere and hits much too close to home. Dongmin has to fight the instinct to get defensive, partially because he knows how dangerous Donghyun is, and partially just because he’s right. “No, not really,” he admits reluctantly, and finally tries a piece of the rockfish just for something to do. It’s good.
“I can tell,” Donghyun says, and Dongmin bristles all over again. He doesn’t give Dongmin any time to get angry, though, adding, “Neither do I.”
The confession gets Dongmin to lower his hackles once more, especially when he realizes what Donghyun is actually confessing here. Admittedly, up until this point, Donghyun has been more entity than person in Dongmin’s head, like an unknowable angel of death that decided to make his home in a fish market for some reason. But now, Dongmin sees him for what he truly is: a human, despite everything. A human that’s young and tired and lonely. He really is endearing, in his own strange way.
“So,” Dongmin ventures, “you want us to be friends?”
“Mhmm,” Donghyun says again, with a resolute little nod. Then he adds, apparently completely unashamed, “I’d also like us to fuck at some point, but that’s secondary.”
Dongmin starts to laugh, then chokes on nothing when he realizes Donghyun is dead serious. He coughs violently into his elbow, struggling to catch his breath while his brain struggles to make sense of the idea.
He kills people, is the first protestation that comes to his mind, which is quickly countered by the reminder that Dongmin also kills people, just faster and less violently. He’s scary and unnerving, is the second opposing point, but it’s hard to cling to that notion when between them is the hwe Donghyun prepared so Dongmin would be his friend. He’s scary, sure, but he’s also somehow charming. Not to mention that the more Dongmin looks at him, the more he realizes that Donghyun is handsome. There’s something in those dark, sleepless eyes that ultimately leads Dongmin to the crass conclusion of, ‘Yeah, I’d hit.’
Obviously, he does not say this aloud. Instead, when he finally finishes his coughing fit, he clears his throat and attempts small talk about the one thing he knows they have in common. “So, you kill people for the mafia?” It sounded much wittier in his head, but Dongmin at least manages not to wince at himself.
Donghyun doesn’t seem to think anything of it (nor does he seem at all fazed by Dongmin coughing up a lung right in front of him). He shakes his head. “I kill people for me. The mafia just happens to pay me handsomely and protect me for doing something I’d be doing anyway.”
The nonchalant explanation practically gives Dongmin whiplash. One second, he’s thinking that Donghyun is sort of sweet, and the next Donghyun tells him he’d be doing murder of his own accord. Funnily enough, the admission doesn’t even make Donghyun less attractive in his eyes—but Dongmin’s healthy fear of him has definitely been reignited.
He doesn’t realize he’s gotten lost in his own head until, under the table, Donghyun gently nudges Dongmin’s ankle with his foot. “Eat,” he murmurs, and now Dongmin is thinking that he’s sweet all over again. He stuffs another piece of fish into his mouth. It still tastes good.
Donghyun is strange, and dangerous, and Dongmin intends to keep him at arm’s length for his own safety, but… Well, Donghyun is right. He could use a friend.
*
Contrary to his boss’s words, Dongmin doesn’t actually see much more of Donghyun. In fact, in the weeks since their first meeting, he hasn’t been sent back to Donghyun at all. Granted, Donghyun renders a very specific set of services to the mafia, so technically it’s a good thing that Dongmin hasn’t had to return to his shop. But there’s a small, frankly stupid part of him that’s been looking forward to seeing Donghyun again.
Eventually, the stupid wins out, and Dongmin uses his next free evening to return to the wet market. He dresses up for it again, too—a nice sweater, a sturdy pair of jeans he found recently at a vintage shop, his warmest coat because winter has yet to release its clutches on the world. The style gets him a few odd looks from the ahjummas and ahjussis closing up their stalls for the day, and he feels slightly self-conscious when he realizes they probably think he’s a lost tourist or something, but he continues on his course nonetheless.
Dongmin has only been to the restaurant twice before, but he finds his way back considerably faster this time. One of the two older men he saw here the first time is busy flipping the stools up onto the tables. Otherwise, the shop is empty.
The man looks up when he hears Dongmin approach, squints at him for a second, then makes a noise of recognition. “He’s in the back,” the man informs him. “You can go ahead.”
Dongmin doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about, and he also doesn’t have to ask what Donghyun is doing in there. “Thanks,” he says, and heads into the back room.
It looks exactly the same as he remembers. Donghyun still isn’t anywhere to be seen, which undoubtedly means he’s in the walk-in freezer. Dongmin isn’t keen on interrupting him, so he just pokes around idly, at least until he hears the door creak open not a minute later.
Dongmin turns and finds Donghyun leaning in the doorway of the freezer almost enticingly, his forearm propped up on the frame like he’s awaiting a lover. (Or maybe Dongmin is just projecting a little—he hasn’t forgotten his boss’s words; “I guess he likes you.”) He’s wearing black again, with that same apron tied over his clothes. For a moment, Dongmin thinks he’s wearing red gloves too, until he realizes that, no, Donghyun’s hands are just completely covered in blood.
Dongmin clears his throat. “Hey,” he greets.
“Hey,” Donghyun echoes. He’s looking at Dongmin with that now-familiar wide-eyed, emotionless stare. “Does your boss have somebody for me?”
“No, I’m just here to see you.” Donghyun’s expression doesn’t change, but somehow, Dongmin can tell he’s pleased. Unthinkingly, he adds, “What are you doing?”
“Murder,” Donghyun says—and really, what did Dongmin expect him to say when he’s up to his wrists in gore? “Come in.”
It doesn’t seem like a command, but Donghyun does nudge the freezer door open a little wider with his knee, and he waits right there in the doorway. Dongmin could refuse again; Donghyun didn’t make a fuss when he declined to watch him work last time. But for some reason, the option doesn’t even occur to Dongmin today. He approaches the freezer.
Donghyun doesn’t get out of his way when Dongmin is close enough to enter. Dongmin has to sort of squeeze past him, shuffling sideways into the frigid interior. The overpowering scent of iron hits him before he’s even fully inside. But beneath it, as he slips past Donghyun, Dongmin thinks he can just barely smell his perfume. Woody, citrusy, with a hint of floral sweetness. He pushes down the impulse to go back and smell Donghyun just to see if he’s right.
In his time with the mafia, Dongmin has seen some fucked up things, so he doesn’t flinch at the scene inside the freezer—the bloodstained floors, the wicked-looking tools, the big garbage bags on the shelves whose contents Dongmin can easily guess. There’s a metal chair in the middle, tied to which is a partially mutilated body, and even that doesn’t particularly bother Dongmin. But he can admit that it’s a little gross, and it’s hard to reconcile this level of damage with the same person who made him hwe a few weeks ago. The same person shutting the freezer door behind him with hands sticky with blood.
Dongmin sets his own hands on his hips, looking over at the body again. “I thought you were only dealing with me now,” he says, just speaking as the thought comes to him. The words leave his mouth as steam, and he’s suddenly grateful for his choice of coat. How Donghyun manages to stay in here in just a sweater—with the sleeves rolled up nonetheless—is beyond him. “Where did you get this guy?”
Donghyun steps around him, but his empty gaze is fixed on Dongmin, not the chair. “Why? Are you jealous?”
“Maybe I am.” Dongmin is half-joking, but Donghyun answers him seriously.
“Don’t be. This one is personal.” He kicks lightly at the leg of the chair. “He tried to feel me up while I was on a smoke break yesterday.”
Dongmin looks at Donghyun, then at the mangled body, then back again. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He means it—the thought of somebody touching anyone he cares about against their will is enough to make him murderous, and he’s not even inclined to kill people like Donghyun is. (Hm. But when did he start counting Donghyun among the people he cares about?)
While he ponders this shift, Donghyun moves to stand in front of the chair, head cocked to the side, appraising. He lets out a quiet huff, somewhere between amused and derisive. “He’s still alive.”
How anyone could be in this state and survive is a mystery to Dongmin. But it’s clear he isn’t going to be surviving much longer: Donghyun’s posture is tense, like a panther about to spring. He reaches for the shelf of tools, his blood-soaked hand closing around the hilt of a kitchen knife without looking.
“For the most part, my interest in pain and death is… scientific,” Donghyun tells Dongmin over his shoulder. “But your boss likes me because I don’t mind making a mess.”
With that, he abruptly rams the knife into the man’s chest. Dongmin thinks he hears a faint, garbled noise that dies off as quickly as it started. Donghyun slowly twists the knife, blood gushing out of the wound to the symphony of cracking bone.
He glances back at Dongmin then. Donghyun isn’t expressive at all, but Dongmin has started to realize that his eyes say a lot. Now, he peers at Dongmin through his lashes, and there’s a subtle warmth in his gaze that makes Dongmin feel strangely flustered.
Donghyun’s hand slips off the knife, leaving it protruding from the man’s chest in favor of wiping his hands off on a dishcloth that was probably white once. “It’s late,” Donghyun says. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you something.”
It suddenly hits Dongmin—Donghyun is flirting. Or at least he’s trying to, in his way, between those subtle looks and the quiet eagerness to feed him. Dongmin is a little disappointed in himself but largely unsurprised when he realizes it’s working. After all, Donghyun is beautiful, confident, competent. He’s also dangerous and kind of weird, unsettling, blunt—“I’d also like us to fuck at some point, but that’s secondary.” Who just says things like that? And yet somehow, the things that make him off-putting are the things that attract Dongmin more.
Maybe Dongmin needs professional help. Or maybe, he just needs to get in Donghyun’s pants.
The words leave his mouth before he even realizes he’s going to say them. “Can I blow you, actually?”
Donghyun stares at him, apparently blankly, until Dongmin starts to recognize amusement in his eyes. His lips twitch like he’s thinking about smiling. Ultimately, he doesn’t, but he does take off his apron, dropping it to the metal floor of the freezer as he prowls closer.
“Do you get off on this?” Donghyun asks, voice low and half mocking. “That’s fucked up.”
Despite the words, once he’s within reach, he slides his hands up Dongmin’s chest, and Dongmin instinctively draws him closer by the hips. “You’re fucked up,” Dongmin reminds him.
Donghyun cups his cheeks with hands that smell like blood. “Yeah,” he agrees, and kisses him.
Donghyun’s lips are cold against his own, but they warm right up under the insistent pressure of Dongmin’s mouth. He lets Dongmin back him up against the wall, but he doesn’t just hand over control of the kiss; their lips part as it deepens, and then Donghyun’s tongue is pressing determinedly into Dongmin’s mouth. There’s a clumsiness to it that tells him Donghyun doesn’t have much experience doing this—if any at all. For some reason, that only makes Dongmin find him hotter.
And inexperience doesn’t seem to diminish Donghyun’s enthusiasm either. His hands slip back down from Dongmin’s face until he can slide them underneath all the layers he’s wearing. His fingers are like ice against the bare skin of Dongmin’s torso. Donghyun barely seems to notice it when he shivers, only inching his hands up higher, smoothing over Dongmin’s ribs and back like he’s trying to leech the warmth from him.
Dongmin’s retaliation is to get his hands up under Donghyun’s sweater too. He doesn’t shiver or flinch, but he tenses slightly, his nails digging briefly into Dongmin’s skin. Coming from Donghyun, though, that’s more than enough of a reaction to satisfy him. Dongmin strokes his thumbs against Donghyun’s sides, then slides his hands around to unbuckle his belt. It’s difficult to do while his lips are still firmly locked with Donghyun’s, but the few extra seconds of struggle are worth it to keep the kiss uninterrupted.
He only pulls away when he palms Donghyun through his underwear and finds him already half hard. Dongmin pushes the thin layer of fabric out of the way so he can see him. As far as cocks go, Donghyun’s is quite average, maybe a little on the narrower side. Dongmin curls a hand around him, stroking him slowly to full hardness, and Donghyun does shudder faintly at the temperature then.
“What’s this?” Dongmin says, unable to resist teasing. He gives Donghyun’s cock a gentle squeeze and gets a shaky exhale in return. “I thought your interest in murder was purely scientific.”
Donghyun tilts his chin up and Dongmin obliges him with another kiss, only to feel Donghyun’s teeth nipping sharply at his lower lip. He flinches back and finds Donghyun looking at him through his lashes again. “I said mostly,” Donghyun corrects. “Don’t you think there’s something erotic about looking into someone’s eyes as their life drains away into your hands?”
Dongmin has simply never thought that on any occasion where he had to kill somebody. But Donghyun makes it sound erotic. He could make the even darkest things sound sensual and intimate with that mellow voice of his.
“You’re fucked up,” Dongmin repeats. It comes out just a little bit too fond, and it doesn’t help his case when he steals a kiss that’s long and chaste before he slowly lowers himself to his knees.
He can feel how cold the floor is through his jeans, not to mention the layers upon layers of bloodstains he’s kneeling on. It occurs to him belatedly that they could have—and probably should have left the freezer for this. But now that he’s already eye-level with Donghyun’s cock, there’s no stopping him.
He wraps his hand back around the base, thumbing gently at the underside of the shaft. When he blows on the head just to tease, Donghyun shivers again. “Hurry up,” Donghyun murmurs.
Dongmin does not. He licks teasingly over the tip, tongue dipping into the slit to lap up the precum leaking out. Donghyun exhales hard, then breathes in sharply when Dongmin gets his mouth around him properly. Since they stopped kissing, his lips have gone slightly numb from the cold. Luckily, it doesn’t take much finesse to lower his head down Donghyun’s cock, taking him in steadily until his lips meet his fingers at the base. Dongmin lingers there for a few seconds, just savoring the taste, the weight of Donghyun on his tongue, then swallows around him.
Donghyun is still silent, but his hands fly to Dongmin’s hair like he wasn’t expecting it. He only grips tighter when Dongmin draws back and starts up a slow rhythm, fingers flexing against his scalp with every stroke of Dongmin’s tongue.
It’s not long before Donghyun tires of the pace, though, and he seems to realize he can use his grip on Dongmin’s hair. He pulls tentatively at first, then soon enough roughly, mercilessly, coaxing Dongmin into a quick rhythm until Donghyun is essentially fucking his face.
Dongmin has no qualms with this. He’s not surprised by Donghyun’s disregard for Dongmin’s comfort while chasing his pleasure. He doesn’t fight the grip on his hair, just settles his hands on Donghyun’s hips to steady him, listening close to all the subtle changes in his breathing to figure out what he likes.
It makes sense that Donghyun isn’t loud, but just like how his gaze seems to speak for itself, his little reactions speak volumes, too. Dongmin swallows around him and Donghyun’s breath hitches; he lets his teeth just barely graze the shaft and Donghyun’s next exhale holds the faintest suggestion of a whine. It’s nothing short of addictive, drawing these subtle responses from someone so stoic. Dongmin practically glows with pride when he spares a hand to cradle Donghyun’s balls and he moans quietly, soft and airy and sweet, and totally incongruous with his deep voice.
It’s much more characteristic of him when, immediately after, he pushes Dongmin’s head down on his cock until his nose is pressed into the hair at the base. Maybe it says something about Dongmin that his dick twitches when the action makes him choke. But really, how can he be anything but delighted when Donghyun—violent, dangerous, sadistic Donghyun—is coming apart because of his touch?
It backs up his theory that Donghyun is inexperienced when, not long after, he comes without warning, spilling over Dongmin’s tongue with a shaky sigh of his name. He thrusts a few more times into Dongmin’s mouth, then pulls him off by the hair.
Dongmin rests his forehead against Donghyun’s hip for a long moment, gasping in lungfuls of frigid air. He feels dizzy, both from the oxygen deprivation and from being so unbelievably turned on. He presses a wet kiss to Donghyun’s abdomen, and surprisingly, Donghyun combs his fingers through his hair in a gesture that’s unexpectedly sweet. Dongmin stands before he can think about it too hard.
Now that he’s back on his feet, he can see how debauched Donghyun looks, his cheeks and neck flushed red, his normally perfect hair clinging to his temples with sweat. His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
Donghyun lifts one hand to cup Dongmin’s cheek again, brushing his thumb across his abused lips. If Donghyun looks this wrecked, Dongmin expects he must look even worse, but clearly Donghyun is into that. His intense gaze roves slowly over Dongmin’s face. The anticipation is maddening, but Donghyun doesn’t make him wait long—his mouth twitches with that almost-smile, and then he shoves his other hand down the front of Dongmin’s jeans without even bothering to unbutton them. Dongmin has to do that himself, struggling to get the zipper down to give Donghyun more room while Donghyun himself, uncaring, is digging his thumb into the slit.
“Fuck, Donghyun,” he groans, slightly self-conscious about how much louder he is—the moan echoes metallically off the interior of the freezer. But it seems to spur Donghyun on. He wraps his cold fingers around Dongmin’s cock, jerking him off with quick, efficient strokes, and Dongmin realizes with resignation that he’s going to finish even quicker than Donghyun did.
He savors it while he can. He watches Donghyun’s face—he’s looking between their legs, brows furrowed in determined concentration, teeth digging into his plush lower lip. It’s shockingly cute. Dongmin wants to kiss him. He leans in to do just that, but Donghyun startles and, apparently not wanting to look away from Dongmin’s cock, hastily shoves two fingers into Dongmin’s mouth.
He makes a surprised noise around the digits, gagging once before he can get a hand around Donghyun’s wrist to steady him. He means to use the grip to pull his fingers out, but… Fuck, it’s hot. It’s not like Dongmin has never had another person’s fingers in his mouth, but somehow it’s different knowing it’s Donghyun’s fingers pressing against his tongue. He laves over them, between them, then gets the coppery taste of blood and moans.
Donghyun laughs. Just a soft little huff, but that, the taste of blood and salt on Donghyun’s skin, and the way he twists his wrist perfectly all have Dongmin coming into Donghyun’s hand far sooner than he would have liked. Donghyun strokes him through it, then withdraws his fingers from Dongmin’s mouth and jeans.
When they lock eyes, Donghyun brings his hand up to his mouth, licking up Dongmin’s cum with teasing little flicks of his tongue. He sucks his index finger into his mouth, then the middle, and then Dongmin yanks his hand away by the wrist so he can replace it with his lips.
His body is still thrumming in the wake of his orgasm, and the kiss feels electric. Donghyun’s tongue moves with a little more finesse this time. Clearly, he’s a fast learner, and maybe it’s the lingering haze of lust making everything more romantic, but Dongmin wants to keep kissing Donghyun until he’s a pro.
They make out until Dongmin starts to realize the joints in his fingers have gone numb. Donghyun seems to have a similar realization at the same time. He breaks the kiss first, rubbing absently at his nose that’s turned pink from the cold. “Okay, it’s fucking freezing,” he says, doing up his pants and buckling his belt again. Dongmin takes the cue to zip his jeans back up as well, laughing in agreement. The noise comes out raspy. Donghyun takes notice, and he slips out from between Dongmin and the wall to pull open the heavy freezer door. “I’ll make you tea.”
Dongmin gratefully follows him out into the back room, then the restaurant proper, grimacing at the strangle tingling feeling in his fingers as warmth begins to return to his extremities. Donghyun moves around behind the counter, methodically washing his hands, while Dongmin lowers the same two stools they occupied the last time he visited.
A few minutes later, they’re sitting across from each other, a pot of hot green tea and two cups on the little table between them. Dongmin wraps his hands around his cup gratefully. The surge of heat through his body when he takes the first sip is more than welcome.
When he sets the cup back down, Donghyun reaches for his hand. Dongmin lets him do as he pleases, but he watches curiously—he doesn’t know Donghyun well by any means, but forward and blunt as he is, post-hookup handholding doesn’t really seem like his style.
After a second, Dongmin realizes what he’s doing. He’s testing the temperature of Dongmin’s fingers, making sure he’s properly warming up. It’s even more shocking than if Donghyun had just wanted to hold his hand. The wordless, subtle gesture makes his heart squeeze in his chest, which is honestly pretty telling of how messed up Dongmin is: he’s touched because the murderer he just got off with is making sure he didn’t get frostbite from fucking around with him in an industrial freezer in front of the body of the guy he just killed. That last detail may have slipped Dongmin’s mind once he got it in his head that he wanted to suck Donghyun off.
He still doesn’t regret it. Especially not when Donghyun carefully, pensively slots his fingers between Dongmin’s so that their hands are properly clasped. (Maybe post-hookup handholding is his style.)
“Some first date, huh?” Donghyun says.
Dongmin blinks. First date? That’s not what he thought he was getting himself into at any point tonight. He may be in over his head. But Donghyun raises his gaze from their hands to meet Dongmin’s eyes, a soft little smile gracing his lips, and Dongmin finds himself saying, “I’ve been on worse.”
Donghyun laughs.
So maybe Dongmin is in over his head, but he’ll gladly drown, be it in water or in blood, just as long as Donghyun keeps looking at him like that.