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The waiting room of Black Tortoise Team 1 is just a little gloomy in the evening’s shadow. The corner lamp, the only light that Agent Bronze prefers, is on, yes, but it does very little to light up the farthest corners. The whiteboard is a pale smear on the wall, and Jaekwan’s unmoving, hunched form on the couch is only highlighted by the colorful flickers from his phone screen.
Choi sighs, turning as he walks the length of the room. He can’t sit. He can’t, he can’t, and when he reaches the far wall, he turns, striding back toward the lamp and the whiteboard.
There’s a small rustle as Jaekwan sighs, clicking his phone off. “Sunbae,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
As if he doesn’t know what’s wrong. As if he wasn’t there when Choi shattered the bonds of their team, when he pushed aside his fellow agent to capture Kim Soleum in the glass prison.
Better to be overly dramatic about it than to betray his true turmoil. He stops with a theatrical sigh. “I’m worried about him. Did I make the right decision? What if something happens?” He spins on his heel, tracing his path around the dark blue couch. “What if something happens? What if he gets hurt?”
Jaekwan’s sigh is weighty, is tired. They know each other too well. He’s an open book—they both are. Choi knows that Jaekwan knows Choi’s bluff is no more than a bluff, and in the same thread he knows just how very worried Choi is. Jaekwan is probably the same amount of worried, beneath that placid exterior. “You’re not usually this nervous. Calm down, it’ll all be fine.”
“I can’t.” Choi resumes pacing. “I’ll be worried forever, and then I’ll die.”
“So dramatic.” Jaekwan leans back with a frown. “Come here, then.”
That’s enough to halt Choi’s restless pacing. Come…here? In what sense? He’s already here—ah, but perhaps Jaekwan means come closer. Choi takes his pacing near to Jaekwan and stops, eyes narrowed.
“Come here,” Jaekwan says impatiently. “You’ll wear a hole in the carpet if you keep going.” He pats the spot next to him with his non-phone hand.
Tentatively, Choi sits down. They’re close enough to where he can feel Jaekwan’s warmth, can press into the comforting steadiness of his body. His body begins, almost against his will, to relax; his muscles unclench, and the stiffness of his back cracks. With a sigh, he slouches into the couch.
“You’re right,” Choi mumbles. “It does help.”
Indeed, rest is a siren’s call that hovers at his side, and Choi, worn out from the stress and pacing, slumps onto Jaekwan’s shoulder.
Jaekwan makes a choked sort of noise, one that he’s clearly trying to muffle, and Choi glances over. Warm contentment rolls through his entire body, suffused with distant curiosity, and he sighs. “Jaekwan-ie, what are you doing?”
Jaekwan has dropped his phone into his lap, its screen lighting up in the folds of his slacks. His back is ramrod straight, stiff, and he sways away from Choi before catching himself. With clear effort, he leans back into Choi’s body, his lips pressed in a thin line. As if he’s sat on one of the stray snacks Choi’s left on the couch and only just realized it’s crunchy or sticky.
Well, that won’t do. If Jaekwan demands Choi relaxes, then it would be unfair if his relaxation makes Jaekwan uncomfortable instead. He drapes himself over Jaekwan’s body, plastering himself to his side, and swipes at Jaekwan’s phone. “What are you watching?”
“Nothing, you—Hey! Sunbae!” Jaekwan huffs, squirming away, and Choi follows, craning his neck to peer over Jaekwan’s hunched shoulder.
It’s no use. The phone glows but does not reveal its secrets, no matter how much Choi struggles. He presses his hands to Jaekwan’s waist, feeling muscle shift below the thin material of his button-up. Jaekwan drops one hand to his lap, leaving only one defending his phone, and Choi pushes his advantage, bearing down until Jaekwan makes a strangled little sound deep in his throat.
He pushes Choi away, hard enough to where his breath promptly exits his body with a startled gasp. Jaekwan is—Jaekwan is straddling him, has his wrists pinned together above his head, and his expression is fierce, his eyes wide.
It’s a struggle to breathe, to catch both his breath and his thoughts. Jaekwan leans over him, a little intimidating and a lot of something else—he can’t put a name to it, but it’s something a little unknown, a little alluring. Why does his breath catch, so? Why does Jaekwan above him make him feel so…
What is this feeling…?
Something tugs in his gut. His cock stirs, and ah, it’s arousal that roars to life in his gut, a barely-familiar sensation that’s as thrilling as it is terrifying.
“Jaekwan-ah,” he gasps, but Jaekwan has already let him up and is leaning away from him, his face pale.
“I’m sorry—” Jaekwan gasps, and Choi can see he’s shaken. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry? “Don’t apologize,” Choi says earnestly. “It…”
Hm. Should he tell the truth? It was clearly a familiar gesture, perhaps too familiar, but it wasn’t bad, no, more the opposite.
Ah, well, what is there to lose? He’s already shattered their team in one way. What’s another to his now stained and soiled track record?
“I didn’t mind,” Choi says. He looks, now, to Jaekwan’s pants, where he’s still trying to hide what is now very clearly an obvious erection. Ah, but he’s Jaekwan’s superior. He’s supposed to be calm and collected and in charge. “We’re both very stressed,” he adds kindly. “Stress makes people behave in strange ways.”
Jaekwan makes a strangled sort of sound. “Strange,” he repeats. “Yes, that’s it.”
They lapse into uncomfortable silence. Choi, rather desperately, wants Jaekwan over him again, wants his warm body against his, and some of the anxiety starts to creep back. He knows he handled himself fine, but what about Jaekwan? What if he’s ashamed, or nervous?
No, the best course of action is to reciprocate. They’re both tense, both strung up from a mess that is now out of their control, and although Choi’s never bothered to indulge, never really cared about it, there is something all too tempting about the concept.
Perhaps it’s because Jaekwan is beside him. Perhaps it’s because not three minutes ago, Jaekwan had him pinned, back flat against the couch, and the expression he wore was one of focused ferocity that Choi’s only seen in the absolute heat of danger.
Jaekwan’s gasp is satisfying, sending heat coursing through Choi’s body. Choi swings himself over Jaekwan’s lap, draping his hands over Jaekwan’s shoulders, and fuck, the pressure is exquisite, is shockingly good. Jaekwan’s hands curl around his waist, drifting to his ass, and his face goes even paler and then flushes with heat.
“Agent…?”
“Is this not what you wanted?” Choi asks, breathless. Like this, he’s taller than Jaekwan; Jaekwan has to tip his head back to look him in the eyes.
It’s a delightful realization, and he wants more. He wants to make Jaekwan blush, wants to rile Jaekwan up enough to where he once again traps Choi with an iron grip, forces him to—to submit.
Choi’s grip falters. Where…what? Where are these thoughts coming from? Why does he hunger, why does he crave?
Perhaps his weakening grip is a blessing in disguise. With a strangled sound, Jaekwan shoves Choi’s hips off his lap. They tumble onto the couch, Jaekwan above Choi, and Jaekwan’s body presses heavily into his. Jaekwan’s breath comes in shallow gasps, but Choi can only focus on—on…
Jaekwan’s cock is hard, is warm even through his trousers, and Choi gasps at the friction. Their hips come together in a slow grind, and he raises his blurry eyes to Jaekwan’s face to see a library of emotions.
Hunger. Voracious, world-ending hunger. There’s guilt, yes, along with disbelief—Choi’s always been good at reading people, and Jaekwan is his closest companion.
“How long,” Choi gasps. The heat, the decadent drag even through their pants is too good, and he wants to tear the fabric between them to shreds. Wants to feel Jaekwan’s cock against his, warm and slick. “How long have you wanted this?” Wanted me?
Jaekwan makes a disbelieving noise that doesn’t quite make it out of his throat. “I…”
Bold, he’s too bold, for not knowing what he’s doing. For only discovering this now. But confidence on the right person turns into truth—and Choi is the right person. Has worked hard to become it, powering through circumstance and designation. “Don’t deny it,” Choi says, rocking his hips up, up into the cradle of Jaekwan’s body. He chases pleasure like he chases his freedom—with single-minded determination, wild and untamed. “Don’t lie.”
It’s the right thing to say. Jaekwan’s body stiffens, and he makes another incredulous sound. “I wouldn’t lie, Senior.”
“Then?” Choi stares up into Jaekwan’s conflicted face. Wants to press their lips together, regardless of the consequences.
“Too long,” Jaekwan admits. “I wanted—ever since—”
Choi moves. He surges up, capturing Jaekwan’s lips in a hungry kiss. It’s a little awkward, a little clumsy—he hasn’t done this before, not even once—but he’s seen people do it, seen videos that one time he was dared, so many years ago—
Jaekwan’s lips are soft. Are warm. He parts them on a hungry gasp, and Choi pushes his tongue into Jaekwan’s mouth.
Hunger claws at him, awakened from dormancy and transmuted into something feral. Jaekwan doesn’t let him run wild; his tongue, perhaps, is too clumsy, too demanding, but Jaekwan’s tongue sweeps in, taking, claiming. He tastes of vanilla, of sugary sweet candies, and usually it would be offensively sweet.
Not now. Now, it’s addicting, enlivening, and he wants more, wants Jaekwan to lick into his mouth and touch him until they’re both boneless puddles.
A whine slips from his lips, needy and borderline desperate. Crazy, he’s going crazy, slipping into insanity with every rock of their hips, every shared breath. Jaekwan echoes his whine, drinking it down, and his hand pushes at Choi’s pants.
Sweet relief, as the pressure from his pants vanishes, as Jaekwan pushes his underwear down, too, and his cock brushes against the fabric of Jaekwan’s pants. Gone is Choi’s bluff, his confidence, melting to nothing as Jaekwan undoes him as easily as the string on his pants.
A warm hand wraps around his length, and Choi tears himself away from the kiss to cry out in shocked pleasure. Jaekwan’s breath is soft on his cheeks, and he drifts down, down until he’s pressing suckling kisses to Choi’s neck, nipping at sensitive skin with barely-there flashes of teeth. His hand strokes down his cock, warm and calloused and so unlike his own, and Choi is a gasping mess of too much, overwhelmed.
“Is this what you wanted?” Jaekwan asks, his eyes narrowed, as if he’s weathering a strong wind. “Was this your goal?”
No, Choi wants to say. No, it wasn’t. No, but it’s happening now, and he wants more, wants everything Jaekwan has to give, and all that escapes him is a desperate whimper.
It’s good enough for Jaekwan, who shoves himself off Choi’s waist to strip his own clothes. “Good,” he says, his voice breathy and thin. “You don’t know—I’ve wanted this for so long. I thought you weren’t—” He cuts himself off with a snort. “I thought you weren’t gay,” he says.
Pleasure drowns him as Jaekwan returns, as Jaekwan settles over Choi’s hips with a breathy exhale. Slowly, carefully, Jaekwan leans over Choi’s body, pushing his shirt up with featherlight touches. Choi wants to respond, truly, wants to shout that he’s not, that he’s not anything, he’s never cared about anyone other than Jaekwan and perhaps Soleum, but Jaekwan’s cock against his feels so good, too good, burning heat and aching softness against his own. He sinks to the bottom of that endless ocean, the feeling of Jaekwan against him both the anchor and chain that seals his fate.
“Tell me,” Jaekwan demands, his lips soft against Choi’s neck. “Tell me how it feels.”
Good. He’s burning, he’s drowning, he’s everything in between; a kite set loose, a star falling from the skies, celestial in his pleasure. He gasps, he moans, and Jaekwan rocks their hips together, as if moving faster will drag words out of his mouth as it does for his pleasure.
“Yeah,” Choi manages, which is not at all what he means to say, but Jaekwan’s hum of satisfaction soothes him, comforts him, even as the rocking of their bodies ratchets him ever higher. Jaekwan is everywhere, in the gentle stroking of skin, the wet trail of kisses he leaves down Choi’s chest. His hips roll, lazy and languid, but underlying the smooth control is a burning heat, a controlled sort of frantic stillness that Choi recognizes intimately from their shared battles, from their joint expeditions.
Perhaps it’s not as intimate as they are now. Skin on skin, sharing breath. Jaekwan’s tongue on his nipple. The huff of breath as Jaekwan shifts down his body, his mouth pressing kisses over his chest. Lower, mapping the planes of his stomach. Jaekwan’s fingers tracing patterns on his body, cradling his neck, where that accursed scar mars pale flesh.
“Beautiful,” Jaekwan murmurs against his skin. “You’re beautiful. So fearless, so brave.” His breath ghosts over Choi’s cock, flushed red and dripping precum. “So sure of everything you want, save this. How could I not want you?”
Choi shudders. Jaekwan radiates warmth, yes, but the room is just above a comfortable temperature for wearing clothes, and with none, he’s cold, nervous in a different way than earlier. Jaekwan’s hand cups at his balls, gentle and soft, branding pleasure into his very flesh, and Choi’s body jerks so hard that he ends up several inches away from where he started, the coolness of the couch shocking against his sweat-slicked back.
Jaekwan’s laugh is soft, warm against his aching need, and yet he waits, patient, until Choi relaxes. Until he’s panting with want, until he’s whining, rocking his hips up for any relief Jaekwan deigns to give.
He gives nothing. He presses sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin near Choi’s weeping length, suckling marks onto his thighs, and his hands pin Choi’s legs to the plush cushion. Like this, Choi is unable to move, unable to grind his body, his cock, against Jaekwan.
“Shh,” Jaekwan murmurs, as if he’s not methodically taking Choi apart. As if Choi isn’t one caress from madness, as if every part of him doesn’t ache and need and want. As if they have all the time in the world.
“Jaekwan,” Choi gasps, he pleads, he begs. He’s falling apart, he’s cracking, and he doesn’t care if this is some game that Jaekwan has devised. Doesn’t care if losing makes him less.
Let him lose, as long as it means Jaekwan’s hand on his cock. As long as it means more, as long as it means this sweet, exquisite pleasure.
“Let me take care of you,” Jaekwan murmurs. His eyes are soft, so soft as he pulls himself up the length of Choi’s body, as he finally drags their cocks together, decadent and exhilarating.
His cry is muffled by his own hand in his mouth—they’re in the waiting room, it’s unlocked; anyone can walk in. Jaekwan makes no attempt to quiet him. No, his eyes are amused when they’re not focused on pleasure, are fond when they’re not fixated on Choi’s body.
A hand, soft and gentle, strokes up his leg, and Choi shudders. Shudders, not with fear, not with apprehension, but with want. With eager trepidation.
“How do you want me, Senior?” Hot breath skates across Choi’s neck. Fingers—finally, fingers, ever so gentle—skim up his cock, and Choi moans, his head falling back. Jaekwan’s lips on his neck are hot, searing heat into his very bones, and it’s good, it’s so good.
Those fingers pet down his length, over his balls, and fuck, he could cum, could cum just from this, except Jaekwan encircles his cock with a wicked curl of his fingers, halting his orgasm.
Choi cries out. His hips rock, chasing friction Jaekwan doesn’t give, chasing anything, anything.
“Please,” he rasps, cracked and broken.
Jaekwan laughs, soft and kind. “Tell me,” he says, coaxing moan after moan from Choi’s numb lips. “Tell me what you want.”
“Anything,” he gasps, grasping at Jaekwan’s shoulders. He presses Jaekwan’s head to his neck, craving anything that gives more, that layers more of that lurid pleasure to his strung-out body. Anything, as long as it’s you.
He thinks he’s said the thought out loud, thinks those words have shimmered in the air, a bright truth, before fading into the darkness.
Those fingers on his cock disappear. Choi cries out in broken protest, twisting blindly in Jaekwan’s direction. He wants—he needs—without them, without the pleasure, he’s unmoored, floating away, and the soft pop of a cap isn’t enough to bring him back to earth.
Oil, cold and slick, drips down his hole, and he groans, eyes unseeing. “Now,” he says, imperious. Demanding. Now, before he breaks. Now, so Jaekwan can be the one to shatter him.
A finger presses to the furl of muscle below his perineum, and Choi sobs. He’s too far gone for it to be anything other than astringent pleasure, electric and so very good, and he rocks his hips as Jaekwan’s finger catches on the edge of his hole, gentle and probing.
“Good?” Jaekwan asks, mouthing at his neck.
Good, yes, but he wants more, wants everything, and he’s not sure how to ask for it beyond offering gasping whines and wordless pleas. Still, Jaekwan only plays at penetration, only teases as he waits for Choi’s reply.
Forcing words from his mouth borders on too much. Speech is almost entirely out of his grasp, but he manages to dredge one pleasure-soaked word from the depths from where he floats. “S’good,” he murmurs, blinking up at Jaekwan, half-unseeing.
Jaekwan’s smile is a soft, secret thing. He brings his lips to Choi’s, gentle and sweet, as his finger slips into Choi.
Electricity, bright and shocking, jolts through him. Jaekwan’s finger is thick, is good. It stretches him, and even though he doesn’t push deeper, doesn’t move, Choi does. He twitches and shudders, twisting himself onto that finger, wanting it deeper, wanting it out, wanting more of that strange sensation of being filled, wanting to fling himself away. Jaekwan plies him with kisses, sugary sweet, and Choi chokes through a scrapbook of emotions before his body relaxes enough for the fog to clear.
Hunger wins, clawing at his gut, scorching his bones.
“Good,” he pants, his breath shallow and desperate. “More.”
“Breathe out,” Jaekwan murmurs, his nose brushing Choi’s. He exhales, overly loud, and Choi follows his example, his gaze fixed on Jaekwan’s ocean-blue eyes. “That’s so good. You’re doing so good.”
His finger slips deeper, an exquisite stretch, and Choi moans, overcome. Blinding satisfaction sweeps in, all-devouring, and Jaekwan works his finger to the song of Choi’s pleasure, working it deeper, pressing against muscle that’s never been touched before, so very sensitive. He drinks down Choi’s moans, suckling gasping whines from his lips, and it’s so much, too much. He’s drowning, drowning in all that Jaekwan is, dissolving in a sea of ecstasy.
“Feels good,” Choi slurs, his eyes fluttering closed. Jaekwan pulls that finger out, pushes back in, a sinful sensation that has his hips rocking up. He wants to take more, wants to take that finger deeper, wants there to be nothing in his mind except Jaekwan, except that finger, except pleasure, raw and unadulterated.
Jaekwan whispers sweet nothings into his ear, whispers soft encouragement that has Choi keening, has him gasping on his own breath, and one finger is no longer enough. He wants two, wants more, wants—fuck, he wants Jaekwan’s cock carving into his body. Wants Jaekwan to fill him, wants his whole universe to be Jaekwan, Jaekwan, Jaekwan.
He can survive in this nightmare world if it’s Jaekwan by his side; they’ve survived thus far, the two of them. Together, they are complete. Unstoppable, unfettered.
Soft laughter, delivered through peppered kisses, by way of the soft press of fingers to skin, skims across his nerves. He’s a live wire, sparking and skittering, and he shudders, tears slipping over his cheeks. “You’ll get that,” Jaekwan says, his voice fond. “You’ll get that, but you have to be good for me. You have to be patient. Can you do that?”
Soft, his voice is so soft, a lover’s croon, and Choi wants that, wants it all. He wants to drink Jaekwan’s essence, wants to crawl under his skin, wants to baste himself in their pleasures.
A second finger. It fills him, presses against tender muscle, and Choi moans, pressing his cheek to the scratchy couch. What was soft and luxurious before is now too textured, too much, and he groans. “Need you,” he gasps out, reaching blindly for Jaekwan. “Need you in me.”
“Patience,” Jaekwan says, his brow furrowed. His fingers press deeper, stretch wide, and pleasure, incandescent and bright, sears through him. It’s shocking, it’s too much, and Choi cries out, shuddering. He’s so close, it’s too good, and he wants, he needs.
He moves with single-minded determination, chasing Jaekwan’s fingers as he pulls out, sighing as he presses in, as Jaekwan opens him up, stretches him, fucks him. When those fingers press against that blinding point of pleasure again, he gasps, twitching, and Jaekwan forces his tongue into his mouth, fucking into him with both fingers and tongue.
Good, it’s so achingly good, a burning heat that grows ever hotter, and Choi is done with waiting.
“Fuck me,” he demands, tearing away from the kiss. “I need you.”
“Soon,” Jaekwan breathes. “Have patience.”
He aches, he’s a pyre of pleasure, an offering of blood and bone to the many gods that rule this corrupt world, but he’ll worship at Jaekwan’s feet alone—his pleasure, his patience, his pain are at Jaekwan’s behest. Breathy moans drip from his lips, but he forces himself to go still. Slips his hand down to tug at Jaekwan’s wrist.
Perhaps his patience needs some cultivation, but it’s the saccharine sweet drag of Jaekwan’s finger in his ass that scalds him, makes him want, makes him need.
“Fuck me, Jaekwan, or so help me—”
Those wicked, wicked fingers withdraw. Through blurry eyes, Choi watches as Jaekwan drips more oil over his hands, over his cock. He strokes himself, quick and perfunctory, and Choi whines with need. You made me like this, he wants to say. Fix me, fuck me, I’m yours, I’m yours.
The blunt head of Jaekwan’s cock presses against his hole, and Choi moans, low and hungry.
Searing warmth. Aching fullness. It’s a stretch, yes, but he’s so desperate for it, pushed to the edge for so long that it doesn’t register as anything but a searing relief. Finally, he’s full. Finally, Jaekwan is in him, so very deep, and their moans twine together in the soft light of the room.
“Yes,” Choi gasps, arching his back. Jaekwan’s cock twitches, and fuck, he can feel it, can feel every muscle straining in Jaekwan’s body as he holds himself back for his sake.
Too slow. Jaekwan is too slow, too careful, and Choi rocks his hips up to work himself deeper onto Jaekwan’s cock. It’s thick, heavy inside him, but so blindingly good. Too good, and he slumps back onto the couch with a breathy moan.
“More,” Choi groans, grabbing at the air between them. Jaekwan catches his hands, holding them tight, and it’s perfect, this searing heat that presses into him. Jaekwan’s hand steadies him, grounds him, and so he does not shatter when Jaekwan’s cock presses into his prostate, when Jaekwan starts a slow, steady pace.
He floats, held together by Jaekwan’s hand, by the hot kisses that dot his chin, his neck. By the tongue that tracks down his scar, licks at his throat. He’s full, it’s too much, it’s not enough, and he whines, he twitches, and he moves with Jaekwan, their bodies coming together in an exquisite dance. They know each other so well, on the field and off, and what is this but another extension of that knowledge, of that familiarity? What is this but the obvious next step of their partnership?
Long gone are his worries; he’s above them now, soaring on wax wings, and Jaekwan is the sun, is his salvation, his panacea to the sorrows of the world. They move together, their hips rolling, and Jaekwan’s cock drags against his prostate with every indolent roll. Pleasure builds, builds and builds, towering higher than he can fly, and his moans grow choked, twisting on Jaekwan’s name.
“Jaekwan,” he gasps. “I…”
Pleasure rolls through him, a thunderhead, and fuck, it’s good, it’s overwhelmingly good, and something inside him snaps and then shatters. The wings fail, he slips, it’s so good, he’s falling, falling. White paints his stomach, splattering onto Jaekwan, too, but he’s too lost to care. His body is weak, is nothing but boneless jelly in Jaekwan’s capable hands, and that, too, is a shocking relief, a letting go of stress long since assimilated into his very being.
Jaekwan fucks him through his orgasm, steady and firm, and Choi moans. He’s toeing the edge of too much, now, but Jaekwan is gasping, is panting his name, and it’s not long before he, too, tips over the edge, his uneven thrusts slowing and then stopping as he spills in him, thick warmth filling him up.
For several heartbeats, there’s simply distant ringing in his ears, then Choi registers his own ragged breaths, hears Jaekwan’s gasps as they both blink awareness back into frayed nerves.
Something akin to shame washes over him. He—they—Jaekwan—fuck, he’d pushed Jaekwan into this, had not even realized he wanted it, needed it, but it was good, and—
“Hey.” Jaekwan presses his forehead to Choi’s even as he slips out with a low groan. “You’re thinking too loud. We did this so you wouldn’t have to think.”
His bravado—where has it gone? Had Jaekwan fucked it out of him? Ridiculous. “I’m fine,” is all he manages.
Jaekwan smiles at him, soft and smug, before sliding off him and the couch. “Sure,” he says, in the tone of someone who definitely does not believe his superiors.
Ah, well. What does he have to lose, now?
“If I overthink again, perhaps I’ll allow you to assist me,” he says, reaching for the swagger that’s never let him down save for this very moment.
Jaekwan’s laugh is so very lovely, soft and secret. “Sure, Agent-nim,” he says as he picks up his clothes from their rumpled pile on the floor. “I’d be delighted to assist you.”
Although they do not come together again for many months, although they do not talk of it, there is a certain gravity that pulls them together when they meet the very next day, and then the next. When one moves, the other bends around their very being; two partners who finally, finally know each other in their most earthly ways.