Chapter Text
Jeongguk’s fingers glide over the smooth keys of the flute, an ominous tune wafting around them. Yoongi is on a stool in the abandoned warehouse, staring at the man they had plucked from the banquet hall. He was retied to the chair, still out from their last dance, his feet burnt and raw from being set on fire then made to dance. Yoongi supposes he could take it a little easier on the guy, but then he thinks about all the people’s lives he’s screwed over and any sense of sympathy he feels for the jerk dissipates.
Meanwhile, his husband picks up instrument after instrument, strumming, blowing, playing until he finds the one that matches the intense fire burning in his soul, the one that craves revenge and that craves justice. He had settled for the flute in the end, the shrill ominous quality not lost on Jeongguk. The haunting melody that floated easily into the ear and quicker to the heart. Jimin would be able to tell better, but he’s fairly sure they play pieces like the ones plays for the dancers.
“I think I could work at the ballet,” Jeongguk offers up as conversation. Similar to his previous attempts, Yoongi glances back at him momentarily and grants him a soft quirk of his lips.
It’s frustrating.
He hates being iced out, especially by Yoongi. It’s common knowledge that if Jeongguk does not get attention, he gets sulky and no one––other than Yoongi––wants to deal with a sulky Jeongguk because he is the biggest brat to ever brat. Eerily similar to a kitten that doesn’t get its way, Jeongguk will use his own forms of mewling and acting out until he has the desired attention on him. The boy isn’t loud, not by any means; he is quiet, silently inching closer to his goal.
“I love you,” he whispers in a last ditch attempt to get the elder to talk to him. It’s a low blow, he is well aware, but something in the air––the silence––makes him wonder if perhaps he had done something wrong earlier that night.
“I love you too. If Jimin were here, he'd tell you to get out of your pretty little head,” Yoongi teases, turning part way in his seat to look at his husband. “We’re okay. We’re fine. I’m just a little tired and very much in need of some love from my husband. The quicker we can get this done, the quicker I can give you attention––” the words float, suspended in the thickness of the silence. Jeongguk is leaning in to hear the final word fall from the male’s lips.
“––Kitten.” It’s like a spell is broken. The unease that had made a home of the cavernous void in Jeongguk’s heart was quickly being buried under the affirmation of love from his husband.
It’s silly; tremendously and terribly silly that a word could have such an effect on someone. Just the mere acknowledgement of a relationship is enough to mend hours of grief and worry that perhaps it was the end of everything Jeongguk knew.
Before either of them could speak again, the man rouses; attempting to collect his bearings. Jeongguk plays a trancelike tune, keeping the man under their control, slightly groggy as the music seeps under his skin, lingering in pockets of muscles, igniting a need to want to move.
Jeongguk and Yoongi had come to the agreement that they wanted the man to suffer greatly, and what better way than to paralyze someone and restrict their movement as the itch to move dances under their skin.
“I had big plans for you,” Yoongi drawls, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he stares at the man in front of him. “Wanted you to suffer in the way you made those women suffer. But then I thought, that is being too kind to you. You probably know all the back channels and everything. Why give you a chance to escape?”
The man looks at Yoongi, petrification clear as day on his face. A dark chuckle leaves the assassin’s lips.
“Go on. Scream for me.” Yoongi goads, a flame dancing in his palm as he holds it to the man’s throat.
Loud screams and protests leave the man’s busted lips, twisting and turning in an attempt to flee from Yoongi’s heat. Jeongguk picks up the flute again and plays a tune to keep him in his seat, allowing Yoongi to get close enough to leave a blossoming fiery kiss on the man’s jaw. The burnt skin pulled taut over the bone sends a zing of satisfaction through Jeongguk.
“Hyung, I have an idea.” Jeongguk giggles, bounding over to his lover. He leans down and whispers his idea into the older male’s ear.
When Jeongguk pulls away, he watches a fire ignite in Yoongi’s eyes. His previous fatigue extinguished and instead replaced with Jeongguk’s ember that grew with every melodious word from his lips that registered in Yoongi’s brain.
“I knew I called you kitten for a reason. Your claws are very sharp and dangerous.” Yoongi chuckles breathlessly. Jeongguk is a little in love with the sound, the utter fondness that drenches the sound of amusement sets his heart aflame in the most pleasing way, unlike their friend who will not be aflame in a pleasing way.
Unless of course, they like being warm and working up a sweat.
It’s silent for a moment before Jeongguk is pulling out his bass. His husband looks at him with confusion for a moment before shrugging. Whatever Jeongguk needs to get the job done, he will support.
For the time being, as Jeongguk sets up, Yoongi knocks the former officer out with the butt of his gun. The warehouse was usually desolate, but it was still Jeongguk and Yoongi’s shared space away from everyone else. It is here that even after having honed in on his skills quite a bit, Jeongguk tested things with Yoongi in regards to both of their gifts. It was here that they discovered that Yoongi’s flames respond to Jeongguk’s music if the elder is under Jeongguk’s charm before he casts his flames.
And yet, despite the fondest memories, if it takes the place burning down for them to ensure that the officer died; they would gladly sacrifice their sanctuary.
When the speakers are plugged in, Jeongguk plucks several strings just to test his gift. Yoongi, always an avid fan of his husband’s talent, listens keenly as Jeongguk strums a melody that sounds familiar to the music he had been listening to in the car through their shared AirPods.
“Rock?”
“You know it. Nothing makes you want to get up and dance more than this song. Every time it comes on, I always get up and move around. Even if it is to pretend that I’m the singer and bang my head.” Yoongi laughs softly as he brushes his husband’s hair back, minty strands falling into the younger’s face, partially hiding his piercing. The elder cups Jeongguk’s face, his thumbs brushing over the snake bite piercings.
Unable to control himself, he pulls Jeongguk down and gently presses their lips together. It’s the gentle pressure of the metal biting into his skin that has Yoongi desperately licking against the seam of Jeongguk’s lips. It’s a request that the younger one gladly permits, opening his mouth to allow Yoongi licking access. Without wasting a moment, the elder swipes his tongue over the younger’s bottom lip, savouring the metallic tang on his tongue. A groan leaves his parted lips as he pulls Jeongguk closer to him, aching to be flush with the man.
“You know I am the last person who would deny you kisses,” Jeongguk chuckles softly, pulling away, despite the whine on Yoongi’s lips. “But, the sooner we can dispose of the man, the quicker we can go home and I can give you husbandly affection.”
And that. That is an offer Yoongi refuses to pass up.
With nimble movements, the arsonist douses the former officer in gasoline, kicking the empty canister off to the side after drizzling a line towards him. He shares a look with his husband, and the two silently agree that Yoongi should be under Jeongguk’s charm for a little bit to set the flames and essentially hand them over to Jeongguk.
The musician strums several chords, playing an extended intro of the song that he wanted to play. Yoongi closes his eyes and sets the music wash over him. The notes and melodies shake awake parts of him that remain dormant unless the group decides to go to a club and the bass makes his heart tremble with excitement and adrenaline. It’s the same feeling now, the nervous energy, the need to do something reckless and let go of his inhibitions.
He’s itching to set something on fire, watch the roaring flame dance and thrum to the pulsating rhythm, growing and engulfing its surroundings until there is nothing left. Until all that is left in its wake is destruction and the telltale signs of a fucking good time.
“That’s right,” a soft voice murmurs, low in Yoongi’s ear. “Give into your instinct. Bend down and let a flame dance to the rhythm onto the ground in front of you.” Without even questioning what he is doing, Yoongi follows the directions, crouching and letting a generous flame feel its way to the flammable liquid, instantly latching on. It’s only then that Yoongi opens his eyes, when the warmth leaves his hand and is replaced with a warm yet firm grip on his wrist.
“You with me?” Jeongguk asks. The silvery haired male nods, exhaling sharply.
“Play your music, the fire won’t cooperate properly since you can’t wield fire.” The youngest gives his partner one last glance before he plucks the guitar and gets into the song. The flame instantly reacts, growing and hurtling towards its final destination with growing ferocity. The flames are as tall as Yoongi by the time Jeongguk reaches the chorus.
The arsonist, however, is hugging his husband from behind, a last ditch attempt to evade the effects of what Jeongguk is playing.
Screams of anguish soon replace the crackling, drowning the sound out momentarily. It starts up again within seconds, except this time, the man is screaming in amusement as the song gets to its crescendo.
As soon as the pleasured screams begin, Jeongguk ceases to play and watches the scene unfold. He gently squeezes Yoongi’s hand, something they had figured out is enough to snap Yoongi out of his trance-like state. The male then stands next to his husband and watches in utter fascination the way that the orange engulfs the officer, flouncing rhythmically to the previously there beat, melting away the man’s skin.
They watch transfixed from a distance as the man burns to a crisp before them, his final moments––after his chair burned away–– were spent dancing in fire.
– 🎵 –
There’s no conclusion to a pair that gets off on killing and luring those deserving of their demise to their end, but there is a conclusion to this assignment in particular.
They leave the man to rot in his own pre hell before the demons in the underworld decide his fate. Jeongguk packs everything of his into the car, before the flames could get closer to his precious instruments and his equipment.
The drive back to their shared home on the outskirts of town is a quiet, but comfortable silence that has both the men thinking and reflecting on the night they had. Jeongguk is still thrumming with excess energy from the music he had played earlier. The giddy excitement is something that takes a lot of time to leave his system. However, he knows that tonight, Yoongi is probably as equally wired as he is.
When they get to the house, Taehyung is the first to greet them, pulling both into a suffocating embrace; but they welcome it. The confirmation that there are people who care for them besides each other stokes the flame in one’s heart and makes the other’s, sing in contentment.
One by one, the rest of them hug the straggling two members of the agency, congratulating them for getting rid of another scumbag.
– 🎵 –
It is late in the night, Jeongguk is on his back next to Yoongi who is also staring up at the ceiling. There is considerable space between the two, yet, despite that, their hands are touching in the way that new couples reach for each other. The shy holding of hands that seems silly for a pair that have been together for over a decade.
Truth is, after a thorough session of physical loving from his partner, Yoongi can’t seem to look at Jeongguk without his cheeks erupting with an angry flush that made it seem like his face was burning. Naturally the younger male had laughed at his silliness but complied with his request to not crowd him.
“We make a fucking great team.” Jeongguk says, turning his head a fraction to look at his husband, only to see that the older male is already looking at him. He is looking at Jeongguk with tumultuous love engraved in his stare, fondness seeping through crescent eyes, pushed up by round cheeks. An adoring smile worth more than any frivolous and outrageously priced heirloom or painting is resting peacefully on Yoongi’s lips.
It was a silent act of worship and devotion.
Min Yoongi loves his husband and has always been loud about it in his own way––letting his actions and his embers speak volumes for him.
The intensity and rapture with which Jeongguk drinks in all of his husband, is his act of worship and devotion. His language of love.
Jeon Jeongguk loved loudly through his words and his touch. His words when he waxed sonnets about the elder as the moonlight streamed into their room. His touch when his fingers press, pluck and wrap around an instrument to let a melody convey to Yoongi, what his words fail to.
In the moments when they’re alone, there is silence that seems absurd for someone with a musical gift.
For someone who had deemed long ago that his silence consisted of acrid notes and muted tapping, the silence––true silence––was welcomed.
Together, the two are a whirlwind. A devastatingly beautiful and dangerous whirlwind.
They are a whirlwind of fiery melodies hunting for justice.
They are fiery melodies of death.