Work Text:
“What’s the occasion?”
Hyunjin catches Felix’s eye through the long horizontal mirror that covers the wall of his dressing room. His colleague is halfway through drawing out his eyeliner as he speaks, a brilliant shade of sapphire that compliments the ribbons laced through his hair.
“Does there need to be one?” Hyunjin questions back, swallowing down the tiny white pill in his hand. He turns, gesturing to his corset. He doesn’t normally let any of the other performers share his space, many of them far too nosy for their own good, but he’d taken a liking to Felix from the moment the boy had started working at the club. He’d needed the extra guidance navigating his new surroundings, and Hyunjin enjoyed having someone else around to do his grunt work.
“You don’t usually...partake...unless you’re expecting a particular type of client,” Felix implies, tugging on the strings until it’s as tight as Hyunjin usually likes it, lacing the ends together in a neat little bow.
Hyunjin supposes he’s right. He doesn’t often pop pills before a performance, usually preferring to save it for his off time. But Hongjoong’s supply, while blissfully free of charge, isn’t exactly anything strong enough to hinder him on stage. If anything it keeps him loose and unencumbered enough to really reel in the audience – and their extra dollars.
As for the expected private company, Hyunjin doesn’t think it ever hurts to be prepared to heighten the experience.
Burlone is one of the last remaining burlesque clubs in the city. Nestled just outside the bustling tourist traps of Itaewon, it’s also become one of the central hubs for Seoul’s underground.
Among its lavish walls and exorbitant interior, deals are made under tables and the money flows as thick as the alcohol that runs through the veins of the eccentric clientele. Law and order proper doesn’t exist in a place like this; rules and secrets being kept not under any threat from a government authority, but under the promise of retribution and certain death.
From the regulars that enter through the heavy, ornate wooden doors, to the waitstaff and the entertainment, no one is exactly quite what they seem. And Hyunjin is its star.
Men from all over the country come to watch him perform – the coveted Siren of Seoul, as he’s known in most circles – and his status attracts the highest caliber of audiences. From the rebellious sons of CEOs (whose fathers could never be caught in a place with Burlone’s reputation) to the heads of the cities most notorious gangs, Hyunjin’s wooed them all. Dripping with charm and sharp like a knife, he’s made a comfortable living playing people for fools.
And with access comes privilege, with privilege comes information, and with information comes an endless supply of money and pleasure all the tips of his fingers.
Hyunjin stands, taking a final once over of the outfit he’s chosen for the evening. He’d gone for an embellished black corset with gold accents, the half-bustle skirt flowing behind him in a brilliant deep red tulle. His gloves and garters are a patterned french lace, and the flower print along his stockings accentuates the longness of his legs. Felix often noted that Hyunjin seemed to dress specifically to whomever he was expecting for the evening, whether unconsciously or not, but Hyunjin could counter that Felix was far too observant for someone so fresh onto the scene. Perhaps his unexpected protégé would excel far quicker than he thought.
His evening routine is easy, one he’s done dozens of times. He preens under the spotlight, fluid and captivating as he dances. He moves like silk, unencumbered by the fabric pulled tight around his lithe body – a vision in scarlet and gold. Everything is timed with precision, from the drop of his cape to the twirl of the fan between his fingers, and the audience eats it up every time.
Jisung had talked him up to the club’s manager, Chan, even before his first audition. He'd bragged that Hyunjin’s aura could captivate a nation, and Hyunjin had delivered ever since. And never was his preternatural-like charm more apparent than when he would finish a number and money would flood the stage.
The pill really starts to take effect just as Hyunjin takes his final bow. The glitter on his skin sparkles under the flicker of lights, and the sight of it makes his brain hum with a pleasant euphoria. He extends a hand to accept a generous tip from a man in a crushed velvet designer suit, winking for effect as he slinks down the stairs and sways towards the bar.
Jisung already has a drink ready for him, ever the doting best friend. Hyunjin takes the straw between his teeth, letting the fruit-induced concoction slowly amplify the drugs coursing through his system, and waits…
He carries himself with a practiced nonchalance even though he can feel the eyes on him; a dozen ravenous wolves waiting in the wings. But none of them would dare move first. Not when the shadow of a man like Lee Minho looms behind him, sliding into Hyunjin’s space like he belongs there.
“Care to give me a dance?” Minho asks, a dangerous allure in the sharpness of his smile. He drips with a luxury that can only be bought in blood.
“You can’t afford me.”
It’s part of the game, really. Hyunjin’s eyes flicker to the gun nestled in the folds of Minho’s coat and his body thrums, electric. The only thing better than money in his hands is the cold drag of steel and he burns to feel it pressed against his skin.
Minho laughs and Hyunjin swears he can see it float through the air in color – cherry red.
“I think we both know that’s a lie.”
Hyunjin smirks and drains the rest of his drink, nodding his head when he’s finished and beckoning Minho to follow.
Minho’s second in command, a loud and burly man by the name of Changbin, watches them leave with skeptical eyes before he slides up to the bar and waves Jisung over. Hyunjin’s always thought he was overly paranoid, never leaving Minho’s side for too long, but even he knows nothing would happen here. Chan would never allow blood to be spilled in his establishment – it’s one of the unspoken rules no one dares to break. Whether it’s out of respect or fear, Hyunjin isn’t sure, but he’s grateful all the same.
He leads Minho through the winding hallway back to his dressing room. Felix has long since left, moving to tend to the men on the upper floor. Hyunjin’s been mindful to leave out the various trinkets Minho’s gifted him over the years, displaying them in a neat little way that makes Minho grin when he runs his fingers over the antique Spanish music box on the side table.
“I can’t believe you actually keep these,” Minho remarks. It had matched the deep emerald green of Hyunjin’s favorite chaise lounge and he was nothing if not committed to an aesthetic.
“Of course I keep them. They’re gifts, after all,” Hyunjin replies over his shoulder, moving to unclasp the skirt from around his waist and lay it gently on the chair at the opposite end of the room. He stretches, giving Minho a wonderful view of the lace that hugs the tight curves of his backside, feeling the heat of Minho’s gaze on him already. He motions to his back. “Come help me out of this, will you?”
Minho’s on him in a breath, untying the strings of his corset with deft hands sliding over his skin. The drugs make every touch crackle against his body, bright and heavily charged. Hyunjin feels lips ghost over the back of his neck before Minho pulls away, letting Hyunjin step out of his costume and grab his robe off the hook on the wall. Hyunjin pulls the satin over his shoulders before finally turning to face him.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Minho nods, shrugging off his suit jacket and taking a seat on the lounge. Hyunjin turns his attention to the wet bar, humming to himself while he fixes an old-fashioned with the most expensive bourbon that he has. It’s a recipe he’s perfected over the years, tailored to Minho’s specific taste.
“What do you have for me?” Minho asks, taking the glass from his hands as Hyunjin settles in his lap.
“It looks like our new friends are getting their supplies from an importer up in Busan – those warehouses just off the West Nakdong. The runners come in on the 25th of every month,” Hyunjin informs him. His hands dance along the straps of Minho’s shoulder holster, savoring the sensation of the leather under his fingers. “It’s cheap shit. Doesn’t hit nearly as good as yours does.”
The money Hyunjin makes at the club is good, but what really sustains his lifestyle and offers him the thrill he craves is the information. Minho had heard rumblings of a new gang gaining traction off the coast. They were growing in numbers quicker than expected and pressing soon to make big waves by sweeping into Seoul.
Too much competition is bad for business, and newly-minted leaders always seemed to overstep their bounds while trying to make a name for themselves. Minho had asked Hyunjin to do some digging, knowing if anyone could get this new blood to spill, it would be him. Men are easy to manipulate when they have something to prove, eager to show off and wave their metaphorical dicks around to impress, especially in the presence of someone as cunning and beautiful as Hyunjin.
Minho would know that better than anyone.
He was on the rise himself when Hyunjin had first met him – fresh off the streets and ascending ranks quicker than most. Hyunjin had been bartending downtown at the time, heading up one of the dives under the umbrella of protection Minho’s boss had provided.
Hyunjin remembers the old leader vividly – a man so withered and cruel, smelling of expensive cigars and even more expensive whiskey, and full of promises he never intended to keep. Hyunjin’s skin still crawls at the memory of his calloused touch, and he’d celebrated the day Minho had finally put a bullet in his back and claimed the city for himself.
“You work fast,” Minho notes, downing the rest of his drink and setting the glass to the side, hands now free to wander up Hyunjin’s body. One settles at his hip, the other slipping idly around the back of his neck to tangle in the long locks of his hair. He smirks when Hyunjin leans into the touch, not missing the overt sensitivity and the way Hyunjin’s pupils are hazy and blown. “I should have known you’d want to test the product.”
“Research,” Hyunjin laughs. “And it was easy. They shouldn’t pose too much of a threat. Hongjoong is very green. Getting him to open up was child’s play.”
He sees the minute shift in Minho’s demeanor and his body begins to buzz with anticipation.
“Did you fuck him?” Minho asks, hand tightening at Hyunjin’s nape. An intentional warning.
“What would it matter if I did?” It’s an obvious bluff – he wasn't interested in Hongjoong. Despite his few advances, he’d been a little too soft for Hyunjin’s liking, especially for someone in their line of work. But Hyunjin’s favorite pastime has always been pushing people’s buttons, and Minho is no exception. “I don’t belong to you.”
His words elicit the desired response. Minho yanks his head back and before he can blink twice, Hyunjin’s staring down the barrel of a very exquisite, very expensive gun. From this angle he can see the markings along the steel – an intricate red flower etched into the frame – Minho’s moniker and a point of pride Hyunjin’s never really understood.
He feels his lips quirk upwards as he takes in the dark, quiet fury in Minho’s eyes. Hyunjin often wonders how far he could take it; how long until Minho’s patience finally wears thin and it’s his own body lying limp at Minho’s feet. Would he deem Hyunjin worthy enough to leave his final token? His skin warms at the thought of it – he thinks the roses would suit him.
“Why do you always play these games with me?” Minho’s voice is low and dangerous but Hyunjin isn’t afraid. He’s not sure he’s ever been capable of fear. At least not in the classical sense of the word.
“Because you love it. And so do I.”
He leans forward, as much as Minho’s grip will allow, and lets his tongue loll from his mouth. He flicks it up the muzzle just to relish the way Minho’s breath hisses through his teeth. It’s still warm, and when Minho loosens his hold just enough, Hyunjin slips the barrel between his lips.
Minho’s finger isn’t even on the trigger, but just the shadow of the threat makes Hyunjin’s body react – heat crawling up his back and spreading through his limbs, his dick beginning to swell under the thin layer of lace that covers him. He hollows out his cheeks against the metal, humming a contented moan, eyes never leaving Minho’s face. He knows what he must look like and he waits – one beat, two, three – before Minho’s resolve finally cracks.
The gun is pulled from his mouth, and before Hyunjin can even taste the steel on his teeth, Minho is on him. Strong hands grip his hips as he’s thrown back against the chastise, his head spinning from the change in orientation. He wraps his arms around Minho’s broad shoulders to steady himself, keening when Minho bites into his mouth. Minho follows the trail of his teeth with his tongue and Hyunjin whimpers as he tastes the remnants of smoke and blood.
His hands scramble at Minho’s dress shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants, already so desperate to knead the warmth of his skin between his fingers.
This is the part Hyunjin hates the most. He prides himself on his control – it’s the only way he’s survived as long as he has. Everything he does is placed under the veil of a carefully crafted facade, but Minho’s touch creates fissures in his skin, unseen by the naked eye but felt deep within the shudders of his breath and the aching of his bones. Hyunjin loathes the honesty in the way his body reacts, coming alight when Minho presses him down with a roll of his hips.
Minho drags the blunt edges of his nails down Hyunjin’s chest, grinning against his lips when Hyunjin arches into the touch. His rough hands trail downwards to grip the meat of Hyunjin’s thighs, tearing at the garters as he works to get him bare beneath him.
“You fucker, those are expensive.” Hyunjin gasps when Minho tugs his panties down his legs, nearly choking on his breath when Minho dips back to sink his teeth into the meat of his neck.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” Minho growls, voice like gravel in his ear.
“So impatient,” Hyunjin chides, hypocritical in his own right as he claws at Minho’s belt, pulling the leather from the loops and getting his pants undone in record time.
Hyunjin reaches back to rummage through the side table drawers, almost dropping the small bottle of lube when Minho takes him in his hand.
“You’re one to talk,” Minho simpers, giving him a few firm strokes and reveling in the way Hyunjin leaks easily into his palm. “You’re so wet for me already, baby.”
Hyunjin shudders, briefly considering the placement of the gun on the coffee table beside him, an easy way to wipe out Minho’s smug and insufferable expression. But the moment is short-lived as Minho twists his wrist over the head of Hyunjin’s cock. Hyunjin mewls, a despondent little sound, shoving the bottle into Minho’s chest. He hates it when he’s right.
“Hurry up and fuck me then, if you think I want you so bad.”
Minho chuckles and coats his fingers, taking the bite out of Hyunjin’s words as he presses two of them at once past his rim.
“You don’t have to– ah,” A sharp moan gets caught in Hyunjin’s throat when Minho adds a quick third, the stretch burning beautifully as Minho curls his hand against him.
He knows this part isn’t necessary – Hyunjin preps himself beforehand when he knows they’re due to meet, a lesson learned from Minho’s hastier early years, but Minho’s favorite part has always been the breakdown. He adores the way Hyunjin fights him through every step, never being one to enjoy a partner that just rolls over and takes it. He longs for the way Hyunjin’s body shakes with conflict, hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise when Minho angles his fingers just so. He wants to earn it – the heady, all-consuming moment when Hyunjin finally relents and begs Minho to take him apart.
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re ready for me, darling.”
“I’m a-always ready...you in-insufferable– fuck–” Hyunjin stammers, panting as he strains to resist the urge to fuck himself back on Minho’s fingers. He feels debauched – his usually pristine hair a tangled mess, robe slipping off his shoulders, stockings torn down his legs. “Minho please.”
He knows that one word is all it takes. Minho is predictable and Hyunjin’s becoming increasingly strung out with need. He’d blame it on the drugs but he knows within the hollow of his chest that his traitorous body simply craves.
Minho’s quick to remove his fingers, shuffling to get out of his pants just enough to slick himself up and wrap Hyunjin’s long legs around his body. He pushes inside, a steady groan falling from his lips. No matter how many times they’ve done this, Minho doesn’t think there’s anyone else on earth that feels this good.
He wastes little time as he fucks into Hyunjin’s tight heat, hard and demanding, swallowing the pretty little noises Hyunjin makes with his lips before moving them across his cheek and down the never-ending landscape of his neckline. Minho’s mouth buzzes with the need to claim, to brand a path along Hyunjin’s skin that sends a message. Touch him and you’re dead. He’s mine.
Hyunjin scrabbles at his back and grips at his arms, tension building bow-tight in his gut with the way Minho plays his body like a well-worn instrument. He knows Hyunjin too well and it’s terrifying – the longer whatever this is festers between them, the prospect of attachment dangles closer in front of his eyes.
Familiarity is dangerous, but commitment is a death sentence.
“You feel so good, baby. Gonna come inside you, mark you up so everyone knows who you belong to.” Minho moans and shudders above him, and Hyunjin knows he’s close.
Hyunjin grips Minho’s tie between his fingers, shifting the fabric back along his collar so he can wrap it in his hand. He fucks his hips up as he constricts it around Minho’s throat, just tight enough so he can really feel it – the threat of a real fight, the promise of Hyunjin’s own strength – just the way Minho likes it.
“Come for me, Min...I need it…I’m yours.”
Minho groans at his words, hips stuttering when he comes with a choked cry. Hyunjin drops the tie from his grip, leaving Minho coughing and panting to catch his breath. He stares at Hyunjin with an unreadable expression, something bold and intimate passing across his eyes, if only for a brief moment.
Minho shifts back and pulls out, crawling down Hyunjin’s body. He presses a kiss to the tip of Hyunjin’s cock before moving between his legs and licking a long stripe against Hyunjin’s hole. Minho swirls his tongue around Hyunjin’s fluttering rim and dips it inside, lapping up his own cum with a delicacy that catches Hyunjin off guard.
Minho doesn’t do this often and it doesn’t take much until Hyunjin’s brought back to the edge, squirming in Minho’s hold and legs shaking with the need to buck against his warm mouth. The mere picture of Seoul’s most powerful crime boss eating him out like he was made for it is enough to make Hyunjin finally snap – a mortifying, needy sound ripped from him as he wraps a hand around himself and spills over his fist.
Minho sits up, wiping the excess cum off his smug lips with the sleeve of Hyunjin’s robe. Hyunjin scoffs with disgust and kicks him with the side of his foot, mentally adding it to his tab. Minho’s laugh follows him through the air as he stands on loose limbs and moves to the en suite bathroom to clean himself up.
When Hyunjin returns, Minho is as presentable as he was when he’d entered, jacket slung over his arm and gun tucked neatly back into his holster. He looks like he belongs there – a fitting, final piece amongst his things, and all at once, Hyunjin feels sick. Before he even registers the movement of his own feet, Hyunjin is pressed against him. He wraps his arms around Minho's waist, chest tight with an ugly emotion he’d never voice out loud.
“It’s a setup,” Hyunjin breathes against his neck, unable to look him in the eyes. The words tumble from his mouth like an avalanche and the bile rises in his throat with the overwhelming compulsion to tell him the truth. “On the 25th. They planted the information because they wanted me to lead you into a trap. You can’t go.”
He expects to feel Minho tense; to swear at him, to strike him, anything. Instead, he feels a hand on his chin, tilting Hyunjin’s head so he’s looking him in the eyes.
“I know,” Minho states. There’s a knowing smile on his cat-like face and Hyunjin’s stomach drops when suddenly everything clicks.
“There’s been too much talk amongst my men,” Minho continues. “I told them I could trust you, and they thought I was going soft; that you were just getting inside my head. Rumors can lead to discourse, and I don't need an uprising on my hands. I had to find a way to prove you wouldn’t betray me. And it just so happened to turn out that I was right. I mean, I usually am...”
“You played me.” Hyunjin shakes his head in disbelief. He almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of his own misstep in judgment.
“I was testing you,” Minho shrugs. “Thankfully you passed. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t somewhat relieved. Killing you...well, it’s not exactly something I would have enjoyed.”
Now, Hyunjin does laugh, a dry sarcasm laced in his words. “How romantic. Can you say the same for Hongjoong when he finds out I’ve spoiled his little plan?”
Minho’s eyes harden, his voice firm. “I’ll break every bone in his body if he even so much as speaks your name. How’s that for romance?”
“It’s a start.”
Hyunjin leans in and kisses him long and slow, savoring the way he can taste himself on Minho’s lips. They make for a fucked up pair, but Hyunjin’s always known his life would be far from the picturesque normalcy he used to crave when he was young. And as for letting Minho get one step ahead of him, well, that certainly wouldn’t ever happen again.