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“Excuse me? I’m one of the models,” he said, eyebrows frowning in all seriousness and the same bothered and annoyed expression every other model actually had on their face. On his though, it was a mere caricature.
“No, you’re not,” Yoongi replied, voice tinted with curiosity but cold and distant. “I’ve learned by memory the faces of every single one of them and you’re definitely not among those.” At that the other tilted his head, mimicked curiosity, amused.
“And why would you do that? Doesn’t that sound suspicious?”
“And why would you pretend to be one? Doesn’t that sound suspicious?” Yoongi asked without missing a beat. For some reason, the other looked even more amused now, as if this conversation wasn’t ripping his plans into shreds and shedding them to the wind.
“Fair enough.” Then a pause. A single pause, all empty at that moment but also the premise to everything. “I’m Jung Hoseok.” And it sounded sincere, his voice all crystalline. Perhaps it was that to make Yoongi reveal himself too.
“Min Yoongi.”
“Do I not look good enough to be one of the models?” Yoongi decided that Hoseok was annoying. Frustratingly and exasperatedly and overwhelmingly annoying. Barely a couple of exchanged words but it was enough for him to deem Hoseok as irritating, with his cheeky smile, his high and sharp cheekbones, his words all bleeding amusement. Yoongi really wanted him to just shut up and disappear. He also might have wanted to suck his dick, not that this was something he was going to admit, neither to him nor to himself. If Hoseok was expecting a compliment, Yoongi wasn’t going to give him one though.
“What are your intentions here?” Yoongi knew what were his own and he really couldn’t wait to make sure this guy wasn’t an impediment, so he could proceed with his plan. Getting rich as fucking shit, that was his plan.
“Straight to the point I see,” Hoseok said, in his annoyingly cheeky and teasing tone. It took Yoongi just that to see through him in a second, to add two plus two and label Hoseok as one of those people, those who believe they can have the entire world at their feet, those who think they are impossibly charming and irresistible, those who act like they’re constantly walking on a red carpet. Yoongi couldn’t stand that kind of morons and he clearly had it written all over his face. Hoseok didn’t seem much phased though. “You know Kim Taehyung? That expensive as shit necklace the dude brought here?” And how could have Yoongi not known? That necklace, that piece of luxurious and unique piece of jewelry was worth sixty million dollars, that necklace had made the headlines of every single, fashion and none, magazines and newspapers, that necklace was the reason he was there, that necklace was the pinnacle and center of his entire plan. “I came to steal that.” It was with a disarming nonchalance that he did it, that he stepped all over Yoongi and his plans, that he crushed the other’s daydreams with the same carelessness of spring’s wind. Yoongi definitely wasn’t going to suck his dick anymore, not that he had ever considered it.
“And you think you can steal my sixty million dollars necklace by simply pretending to be a model? Is this your brilliant plan?”
“Actually, I don’t know. My plan was to come here and go with the flow until I- Wait. Wait there pretty face. What do you mean by your necklace?” The other, in all response, looked at him trying to burn holes into his skin and all the way down till his soul. One, two, three. It took it three ticks of his watch to hit him, that they were both there for the same exact reason.
Yoongi, looking at him and displaying his annoyance and distrust all over his features, couldn’t pinpoint the reason Hoseok was smirking. Not until the guy tried to convince him into backing off. “Look at his fuckass,” Yoongi thought. The conversation was quickly degenerating into a fight, words thrown around like knives. Each of them had a valid reason, as much as stealing something could be considered valid, to not want to give up on a piece of jewelry that costed more than their entire existence. Yoongi knew the weaknesses in his own plan, and he could clearly tell the ones in Hoseok’s, and it was only for his own sake that he said what he said.
“Let’s work together.” Finally, Hoseok looked sincerely taken aback; his first instinct was to laugh it off and call the other an idiot, he hadn’t come here to share his money.
“I don’t need you, pretty face,” he replied, at which Yoongi snorted.
“Do you think I need you? I’m only saying this because you clearly have no clue how huge this affair his, nor how complicated and borderline impossible it is. So, I really don’t want you to ruin my plan by butting in and being stupid, but since you ain’t gonna leave, this seems like the only solution.” Hoseok brushed the offense off, clearly not caring enough, and pondered for a bit. Working together meant sharing the money, but thirty million dollars were still thirty fucking million dollars and more than anything else he had ever put his hands on. Moreover, it could have been fun to work with Mister I-clearly-hate-even-existing-near-you.
“Sounds good to me. Now let’s hear your plan out, it’s probably ten times more detailed and better than mine anyway.” Hoseok agreed easily and he looked genuinely interested into listening to Yoongi, sincerely deeming him smart enough to pull up a decent plan. Maybe Yoongi did want to suck his dick after all.
-
Or maybe not. Yoongi’s presumptions had revealed themselves to be right: Hoseok was in fact annoying and arrogant and everything Yoongi would have never wished to work with.
“Taehyung has never been seen once without that necklace since he first created it, we’ll have to find a way to make him leave his room without it though. Any ideas?”
“You make it all sound so complicated. Just bang him while I sneak in and take the necklace,” Hoseok replied, a glass of wine in his hand and a bored expression on his face.
“You think it’s that easy? The necklace is kept in a safe and there constantly are security guards outside the room, and let’s not forget cameras.” It felt like trying to explain something incredibly complicated to a child, a child who was barely pretending to be listening. “Moreover, I’d rather someone bang me instead.” At that, Hoseok’s eyes finally shot up, attention caught by the small piece of personal information. An annoying smirk made its way, breaking his features and suiting him way too much for Yoongi’s liking.
“Is this an invitation? Thought we could wait for the job to be done but-” Yoongi interrupted him growling loudly, anger building in his chest and threatening to burn his skin and melt his ribs.
“If you’re not going to take this job seriously you should just leave it to a professional.” And maybe Hoseok’s reaction was a mere mirror of Yoongi’s anger, maybe it was the dart thrown at his pride to urge him to show Yoongi that he was no amateur indeed. It was a matter of a couple of seconds, fragmented and filled with sharp and quick movements that didn’t leave Yoongi room to think, to grasp exactly what was happening. Hoseok quickly stood up from the couch he was sitting on in his hotel room, hands jumping quickly to the other’s neck and grabbing the tie hanging there loosely. Half a heartbeat later he was untying it, hands working skillfully and quickly, touch so careful it was barely there at all. Maybe it was that to entrance Yoongi to the point that he wasn’t able to process what was happening and therefore to react in any way, that dreamlike touch ghosting over him with uncalled delicacy, like he was a precious doll. And then Yoongi suddenly found himself on the couch, the tie covering his eyes like a blindfold, and Hoseok on top of him and straddling him, his lips hovering his ear, whispering.
“Be a good boy and don’t call me an amateur ever again.” Despite the sugar and sweet in his tone, it felt like a command, a threat but somehow an invitation to fight back at the same time. It felt like poison, Hoseok so skillfully manhandling him, almost tying him up and whispering, hot breath and inviting words against his skin, and Yoongi was a bit too intoxicated to bite back, leaning into the touch, leaning into the sharp yet velvety edges of those words. And maybe the tiniest part of him would have given up on all the thirty millions to be called a good boy by him again, maybe in a different context, in any kind of context really.
But the realization that he had been literally put into his place by Mister Arrogant swept all the want away, igniting once again the raging anger swirling in his bloodstream. He quickly shoved Hoseok away, ripping the tie away from his eyes, each movement of his body controlled by tempting rage. Almost but not quite as tempting as the blinding desire still tattooed all over his hot skin, brief memories of the other’s ghostly touch still lingering, feather-like needles pricking his senses.
Before Yoongi could, probably literally, spit his anger on the other, Hoseok smirked teasingly before throwing something at him. A watch. Yoongi’s watch to be more specific.
“My rolex? When the fuck-” He interrupted himself as soon as realization hit him, followed by the painfully widening grin on the other’s face.
“I told you, I’m no amateur.”
-
It took them two entire days to come up with an actual plan, even though they just perfected Yoongi’s and adjusted it to Hoseok. Which meant they only had five more days left before Seoul Fashion Week was over. This was their only occasion to be so close to that necklace to be able to steal it. Being it such a huge and important even meant that it would have been easier for them to get lost and disguised among the sea of people, meant that the chaos would have been on their side. But it also meant strict security, cameras and obstacles everywhere. Those two days hadn’t gone to waste though. They had done what they called research.
Which for Yoongi had meant sneaking into strictly reserved areas, studying cameras angles, guards shifts and the hotel’s blueprint, information printed in the back of his mind. Which for Hoseok had meant sneaking into people’s pants, information obtained in less orthodox methods, as much as trespassing and using windows instead of doors like Yoongi had done can be considered orthodox. Hoseok had to admit he was sincerely in awe, Yoongi’s skills being beyond incredible. When the other had explained to him where each camera of the entire fucking hotel was positioned and where the blind spots where, the compliment came to him naturally.
“How the hell did you even get all this information? Such a good boy.” He expected Yoongi to glare at him in that gelid and intimidating way of his, but instead his eyes met a shy shy cherry blossoming on his cheeks.
If Yoongi had learned all about security, Hoseok had managed to steal passes for literally any restricted zone of the hotel and the venue, yet Yoongi hadn’t really questioned how his hands got onto them nor where else those hands had been. Somehow in between those 48 hours they had managed to get Kim Taehyung’s whole schedule, call it teamwork, call it luck, call it talent, they had everything needed.
“Wait… Won’t he call the police as soon as he notices the necklace is gone? We probably won’t get caught anyway, but that’d be one more danger.” They had been in Yoongi’s hotel room while discussing and, as soon as Hoseok had posed that question, the other had smirked noticeably before heading towards the bed. He had pulled a suitcase from under the bed and opened it with a code. Once its content had been in plain sight Hoseok had furrowed his brows in confusion.
“Is that the necklace? You already have it?” Yoongi had half smirked and half scoffed in response.
“It’s a reproduction, you idiot. We aren’t simply gonna steal it, it’s too dangerous. We’re just gonna replace it with a fake. This way he probably won’t ever notice.” Hoseok had seemed impressed, his lips morphing into the soft hint of a smile.
“You’re a genius, good boy.” And again. That warming blush creeping on Yoongi’s face against his will.
-
Day three of the Seoul Fashion Week. One of the most important stylists was presenting his line and Kim Taehyung, the Kim Taehyung was sitting in the audience, bored expression sometimes ignited by sparkles of excitement.
“How are you gonna get close to him in so little time?” Yoongi asked Hoseok. They were watching the show as well, or to be more exact pretending to while eyeing Taehyung. It would have looked suspicious if everyone else in the room wouldn’t have been doing the same. The stylist was the most famous of the entire Korea and one of the richest man alive, exuding expensiveness and luxury from his mere presence, fame following him like a second shadow. Everyone found watching him more interesting that whatever was going on on stage. Hoseok smirked, already knowing the answer to that question.
“Sex.”
“Oh.” It was with a sharp movement of his head that Hoseok turned to face Yoongi, asking himself if he had imagined that faint hint of disappointment. A hint of hurt that was so barely there that it could have been a mere vision.
“What? Are you jealous?” Here it was, the characteristic roll of eyes and sigh, as if dealing with Hoseok was no better than dealing with a child. Hoseok found it incredibly entertaining to bother the other, savoring every single reaction and keeping them under his tongue like a memory. Perhaps, this whole game of hating each other and flirting was as interest worthy as the job itself. Almost. Almost more. Definitely more.
“I just thought you would have had a better plan.”
“This is what I’m best at though.”
“Care to demonstrate?” It was fun, this weird game that was going on between them, something in between the lines of “I want to get rid of you right this instant” and “I’d fuck you right this instant.”
They waited till the show was over to decide on their movements for the day and part ways. Hoseok, as it was obvious, had the job to approach Taehyung. He was annoyingly and arrogantly and painfully confident about his success, knowing how to twist people around his fingers with a couple of words and subtle gestures. Yoongi had to work on a way to hack the cameras of Taehyung’s suit. Which meant finding a way to get pass through security and not getting noticed by the people working at the security room. The concern and nervousness on his face, despite being fairly masked, didn’t go unnoticed by the other.
“There are three people who watch over the cameras of the VIP section of the hotel. Between one shift and the other there are seven minutes of pause, which is the fraction of time you have to go into the room and hack the cameras. Do you think you can do that?” Yoongi was left speechless, the vital information thrown casually as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. And he had to admit, even though only to himself, that he was highly impressed by the other. The facility with which he could obtain any information that he wanted was incredible, almost magical. And definitely arousing.
“How many people did you sleep with in in this hotel?” Hoseok laughed, sincere and amused.
“None as per now. I studied psychology, I’m just very good at using it to get what I want.” It threw Yoongi off. Every time a glimpse of what was under Hoseok’s surface would show, something in Yoongi’s chest would sting. Painful and interested and maybe attracted. Maybe more.
“Are seven minutes enough?” Yoongi smirked in response.
“I can do that in four, baby,” he said, before turning on his heels and leaving Hoseok there, dumbfounded and kind of turned on.
“Well, shit. That was hot.”
-
Four minutes and fourteen seconds.
That’s the exact time it took Yoongi to enter the room from the air condition system and hack the cameras. He put chips into them, a click on his phone and the room would look completely empty, another click, and the cameras were back to normal. Once he could play with the cameras as much as he wanted, Yoongi took his time to study the safe in which Taehyung would leave the necklace in the rare occasions he wasn’t wearing it. He wasn’t a big expert of safes though, so he took a bunch of pictures to show Hoseok later on. As soon as the other’s name came through the wall of his thoughts, something pocked painfully at his ribs, as if something inside his chest was trying to escape and run away, far far away. He shook his head to get rid of the odd sensation before climbing up in the conditioner system again and disappearing from the suit.
One glass of champagne and two purposely missed eye contacts with Taehyung, one less than he was expecting, and the stylist was approaching Hoseok.
“You’re the only one in this room who hasn’t bothered me yet. Am I not that interesting anymore?” They were at one of the many after parties that follow each show, alcohol flowing alongside boring conversations and expensive gossips. Hoseok had been pretending to be incredibly interested in literally everything but Taehyung, knowing that the lack of spotlight would have attracted this moth to his light. Attention seeker. That was enough to describe Kim Taehyung. Attention seeker with sparkles of genius and immense creativity. And attention was exactly was Taehyung was suddenly dying to year from the only person in the room that wasn’t kissing the floor under his feet. Hoseok smirked to himself before turning to face the stylist, pretending to not even notice the necklace he was wearing. Half an hour later they were both scrambling in Taehyung suite, clothes and inhibitions falling apart and the con artists’ plan falling together, piece after piece.
How, in the mid of fucking, Hoseok had been able to obtain the final and crucial information that could finally complete their plan, Yoongi wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Hoseok knocked at Yoongi’s door in the middle of the night, after leaving Taehyung in his bed with a string of whispered promises to keep him company. When Yoongi opened the door, the cheeky smirk of the other was so ragingly blinding that he shut the door right into his face, taking a couple of moments to collect himself before opening it again and letting him in. He unceremoniously crashed on the other’s bed, cheeks threatening to break from the smile wide wide wide, Yoongi’s heart threatening to collapse from annoyance. Definitely annoyance.
“Saturday.” As if that alone was enough as an explanation, as a full sentence. Yoongi felt a strong desire to kick him in his calves. “Saturday Kim Taehyung has a meeting. He didn’t want to disclose all the information, apparently it’s some huge affair that he’s trying to maintain a secret.”
“This wasn’t in his schedule; how did you even find out?”
“The boy’s talkative when he has a mouth around his dick.”
“That’s definitely not something I needed to know… Anyway, what about the meeting?” And if it was possible, the other’s smile got even widen at that.
“Oh, nothing much to be honest. You know, he just said stuff like it’s really important and gonna make me so rich and it’s too formal I can’t wear this necklace. Nothing important.” It took Yoongi a couple of seconds to entirely register the new information. As soon as something in his mind clicked, he was launching himself on Hoseok with all the intentions to strangle him.
“And why the fuck couldn’t you tell this from the beginning instead of acting like an idiot?!” He shouted, hands going straight, half playfully and half not, to punch the other. Hoseok was faster too. He grabbed his wrist with a quick movement, trapping him with careful careful handcuffs. And suddenly their positions got switched somehow and blood was running dangerously south in Yoongi’s hot body. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint whether his instincts were telling him to knee Hoseok in his stomach or to grind against his hips.
“We’re gonna get fucking rich, baby,” Hoseok said, the excitement in his features soothing the anger that was boiling in the pits of Yoongi’s stomach.
-
The plan was easy and complicated at the same time. Yoongi was both crying its success and its defeat at the same time. He knew he had planned everything and that there was nothing that could possibly go wrong, but then a quick glance at Hoseok and he was suddenly scared, nerves itching terribly terribly. It was already Saturday and Taehyung had his meeting in exactly three hours. Yoongi and Hoseok were waiting, clutching Yoongi’s phone and shamelessly spying on the stylist through the hacked cameras.
“Why do you keep calling it spying? We’re just… Doing research.” Hoseok snorted. His eyes though were attentive and following their targets movements like those of a predator studying his prey, seconds away from jumping at their throat. Pupils dark like abysses and fingers drawing senseless patterns on his own hands, as if in his mind he was already working, hands never still, itching to move, itching to own, to possess. And Yoongi should had been damned for thinking he looked hot like that. But it wasn’t enough to calm his nerves down, to replace the almost paralyzing concern with the much more needed adrenaline. However, something in Hoseok sensed it, might it be his undying talent to figure people out, might it be something he had learned for Yoongi only. His fingers stopped, before curling and uncurling in themselves for a couple of times, like he was considering, unsure but wanting. And then, tentative and silent, all cool surface and mellow insides, he reached Yoongi’s hand in a voiceless attempt to comfort him. For once in the past week, Yoongi didn’t feel like showing his middle finger right in his face.
Tick tok. Target in movement. Kim Taehyung was wearing the closet thing he had to a sober outfit, a black suit with lazy details all over the edges. He was known for wearing and creating eccentric outfits, pieces that critics all over the world would call visionary and the peak of creativity ad high couture. Right before leaving, he checked if the safe with the necklace, his most precious possession, was in order. Then he left, door closing behind him. Tick tok. Plan in motion. During the days that had preceded this, Hoseok had taken his time to sneak into the suite a couple of times to study the safe. He had smirked all satisfied and annoying annoying annoying when Yoongi had shown him the photos. He had said it was nothing he hadn’t worked with already, and Yoongi wasn’t exactly sure whether the slimy consistence of those words meant that he really knew how to open it or that he was arrogant enough to consider himself capable of everything. Therefore, Yoongi hadn’t been sure whether feeling turned on was excused or not.
Tick tok. Yoongi was following Taehyung. Phone and computer into his suitcase, the adrenaline finally settling in in the form of painful electricity swimming in his bloodstream. His mind though kept coming back to Hoseok, running to his hands and his grin and the fear that he might fuck everything up. Or maybe Yoongi was simply doubting his plan, hands steady and still but everything inside him shaky and dizzy dizzy like he was drunk, like he was about to drown, to get caught and have to sink in deep into misery. Tick tok. The target had finally approached his own target. It didn’t take much for Yoongi to recognize Kim Namjoon, owner and CEO of the biggest fashion magazines in the entire continent. He smiled to himself, releasing a breath he hadn’t been aware of being holding. Hoseok hadn’t lied when he said that, whoever Taehyung was going to see, the meeting was already smelling of mad money. Tick tok . Yoongi was invisible. One of his many talents and one of the most useful ones in his job. He had learned, even though the hard way, how to be right under the cameras but never get caught. He had learned the position of every single security camera of the building, but there was no way one could possibly avoid them all without having to disappear into thin air. During his career as a con artist Yoongi had learned though. Walk into blind spots. Keep your face down, eyes low. Glass always at his lips. Walk behind that person. A series of small steps he had to keep repeating to himself to avoid getting caught. It was intoxicating. He would always feel like a shadow, always on the verge of falling from the cliff, from hurting hurting hurting. Always succeeding.
Tick tok. Time to start. According to Taehyung and Namjoon’s body language they wanted to take the meeting elsewhere, Yoongi not bothering enough to understand if it meant into the sheets or to simply be more careful. He had quickly moved to the bathroom, the only place of the whole building with no cameras. Yoongi pulled one of the many passes Hoseok had gotten for him, the one of a security guard, and set his computer in one of the cubicles. Locked from the inside. As soon as he was sure no one else was in the bathroom he climbed out, leaving everything set and impossible to be caught. Putting the pass around his neck, he left the bathroom. Taehyung and Namjoon were walking towards the VIP elevator, the one that would bring them directly into the stylist’s suite. Yoongi reached them quickly.
“Good evening, sir. We apologize but this elevator has to be shut for repairs, please use the other one.” Despite the annoyed roll of eyes Taehyung gave him, he followed the instructions anyway with the other silently tagging along. Yoongi smiled satisfied. The private elevator was harder to hack, almost impossible if not from the security room, while the normal one was ready to be played with by his skilled hands. Yoongi walked towards the bathroom once again. Once he was in the cubicle, computer on his lap and phone in his hands, he realized that the real deal was about to start now.
Tick tok. Seconds flowing dangerously quickly, piling up inside and around him, choking him lightly. Adrenaline fighting back, the image of piles of bills bills bills igniting his veins. Tick tok. Quick clicks of the keyboard, fingers working fast fast fast. And then, it was all a click away. At the same time, Yoongi pressed the last command, abruptly forcing the elevator to stop midair, and the message on his phone ready to reach Hoseok. A sign. The sign. Taehyung was trapped. Hoseok had now approximately thirteen minutes to open the safe, take the necklace, replace it with the fake copy, and leave the suite. Tick tok. As expected, the only impediment was lifting itself off of their way exactly like they were expecting. Kim Taehyung being trapped and in danger meant that protecting him was more important than protecting whatever was inside his room. Which meant that the two guards that would always stand outside the suite doors had to rush to wherever he was and help him, leaving the room lonely lonely lonely, all for Hoseok. Guards standing outside the suite meant them not hearing Hoseok opening the safe, loud tools and louder ways. Guards running away meant thirteen minutes. Thirteen minutes for Hoseok to do his job. It was Hoseok himself the one who had decided on that specific number, counting something in his head and making Yoongi want to peak in, to see what he had been seeing, to know what he had been thinking, to know Hoseok, to know him all. Hoseok had supplied, more or less, trying to explain how he had come up with that number.
“The guards will get an automatic alarm, signaling that the target is in danger. They have to rush to wherever he is and save him. The problem is that the dude is simply stuck into an elevator and, as soon as his dramatic self will realize that the only, he can do is wait for it to be repaired, he will order the security to come back to the suite and check on the safe. More or less, it means I have thirteen minutes.” Impressive. The way he could predict people’s movement before they would be given the occasion to move, to be, it was impressive. Impressive and incredibly hot. Not that Yoongi could ever admit it.
Tick tok. Just as predicted, the two guards were leaving the suite. Yoongi smiled, eyes on his phone, the cameras of the room manipulated so that he only could see what was happening inside, while the poor souls of the security room were spending their hours watching what was an empty room. Hoseok was inside. Yoongi didn’t even try to understand what the hell he was exactly doing with that safe.
Tick tok. The seconds were falling on the floor, each one with a loud thump, each one followed by Yoongi’s heartbeat, by Hoseok’s pulse. Seconds piling up like paper, like letters written and then all scrunched and thrown on the floor, words coming out all wrong. Soon it was minutes. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Time was being eaten, pieces taken away from them. Nine. Nine fucking minutes and Hoseok was still there, hands working but no sign of the thing budging at all.
Tick tok. Seconds falling. Paper piling up. Minutes like endless letters, words thrown away. Ten. And then it hit Yoongi. They were going to fail. Eleven. Going to get caught. The security was coming back to the suite. Necklace lost. Money lost. Everything lost. A shy shy thought was creeping in between the bubbling anxiety, whispering that at least Hoseok had been deadly right on the thirteen minutes thing.
Tick tok. Seconds choking him, drowning him and keeping him down down down. Fragments of instants cutting his skin with all their sharp edges, breath hitching, heartbeat somewhere between nonexistent and too fast to be bearable.
Tick tok. Thirteen minutes. Yoongi had already stopped watching when the watch had hit the eleventh. Defeat. He vaguely thought that defeat didn’t taste like anything, before finally letting the elevator to run again and then wrapping up. Computer in the suitcase. Heart into his throat taking the place of his Adam’s apple. Hoseok didn’t manage to open the safe. Thirteen minutes had passed, the security was back and Hoseok wasn’t. Dragging his feet Yoongi, praying to get his heartbeat back to normal before he could be struck by a heart attack on top of everything, he still went towards Hoseok’s room. They were supposed to meet there together and celebrate. Now he was probably going to stare at the ceiling for a bit, before a just as much defeated Hoseok could come back just so that Yoongi could punch him, right onto his handsome nose. Yoongi opened the door, something in between his ribs scratching, something like pain, something like defeat.
“Tick tok,” the voice inside the room said. Yoongi lifted his head to meet that voice, snapping his neck so quickly that it nearly broke.
Hoseok. Jung Fucking Hoseok. Mister Arrogant. Sitting on the bed. Sitting on the bed and necklace in his fingers. Sitting on the bed, necklace in his fingers and the happiest grin on his face, features all beautifully broken and rearranged into the most heartbreaking happiness.
Tick tok . Yoongi trying to process. Tick tok . Hoseok smiling. Tick tok. Pearls of tears at the corners of Yoongi’s eyes.
“What the fucking fuck Hoseok?” That was the only thing his brain could come up with. Unsurprisingly enough, that was exactly what Hoseok was expecting. He grinned in response. And when Yoongi started yelling, adrenaline morphing into mad anger and bruising hatred, Hoseok didn’t even flinch, waiting for the other to calm down. Then, characteristically enough, he lifted his hand, showing their price into Yoongi’s face.
“I told you, I’m no amateur.”
-
The ghostly color of white gold and the faint reflections of the string of diamonds matched the pale of Yoongi’s skin. “He looks breathtaking,” was the first thought Hoseok had when the other tried the necklace on, all giddy and triumphant. A rush of adrenaline ran all over Hoseok’s spine, a memoir of the events, steps falling into each other until their success. But there was more, something louder, something more calling louder than all that money and all that luxury and all the relief for the success of their plan. They did it, they won. They got what the both of them had come there for, hands on their price. Yet Hoseok wanted something else, something more, wanted to win again, wanted to put his hands on something else. On Yoongi. Here he was, standing in front of a sixty million dollars’ worth necklace, only a touch away, all his, finally his. But his thoughts were resting, restless, somewhere else. Yoongi and his disheveled messy hair, locks of dark hair clashing against the pale of his skin. Yoongi and his pouty, irresistibly pink lips. Yoongi and his sharp mouth, sharp words, sharp tongue, and all those soft and leaning edges hidden everywhere underneath them. Yoongi and his eyes locked with his, mirror of all his want, of the same deep deep desires. For a moment it was nothing, them standing one in front of the other, eyes talking loudly, screaming softly, wishing dearly, praying deeply, words too hard to say. And Hoseok thought, that his thirty millions were nothing if compared to Min Yoongi, dead leaves against spring.
It felt so natural to close the distance, his heart whispering finally finally finally in his chest like an orchestra of secret desires. He slid his hands around Yoongi’s neck, touch careful, ever so careful and tenting, testing, waiting, because he only was the most precious item in the room. Fingers playing with the necklace, a mere excuse to linger his hands around his neck, slipping touches from time to time.
“We did it. You did such a good job, you’ve been a good boy.” It was sincere but also a test, a search to find if the other was thinking the same thing, wishing the same things, pleading the same touches, the same words. The spring in Yoongi’s heart bloomed on his cheeks, blush spreading everywhere. Words almost burning his throat but still dripping from his lips.
“Want to be a good boy for you.” It went straight to Hoseok’s blood. Those words, the way he pronounced them all tempting and sweet, the way he was looking at him through his eyelashes, the way his still parted lips were waiting. And Hoseok didn’t really want to leave them waiting, but he couldn’t resist the need to tease, to rip more and more from those lips. Closing the distance between them, Hoseok brought his mouth to Yoongi’s neck, one tentative kiss after another, words sprinkled in between. Naturally, the other’s hands went to his hair, tugging tight, silently asking for more, more more more. Hoseok suddenly bit at the skin at his pulse point, earning a muffled moan, a sound that went straight to his dick but that wasn’t enough. Not enough, nothing was ever enough. He wanted all of him, piece after piece, inch after inch. Wanted to taste him, to hear him, to have him.
“You’re my pretty baby, aren’t you? My good boy.” It was that to finally undone him completely, tensed muscles relaxing, filters and inhibitions being thrown on the floor and forgotten. Yoongi hated Hoseok. He had told himself that he hated his arrogance and carelessness, but he had soon learned that under that there was so much more. All the times he had caught himself staring, trying to tattoo the fascinating expression of pure concentration and seriousness he had when working, the enchanting laugh that followed his own jokes, the smirk of satisfaction printed on his face after skillfully succeeding something. And all those endless and endlessly burning praises. They would slip Hoseok’s lips naturally, every time he was impressed by Yoongi he would voice it, leaving the other breathless and blushing and hating him. Hating him for putting a tight grip around his mind. Hating him for wanting him. Wanting desperately. And he wasn’t going to swallow it down anymore, to hide his raging desire with hate and spite and distaste.
“I want you,” Yoongi said, finally voicing what had been swirling in his blood since the first instant. Hoseok mouth moved upwards slowly, skin plastered with wet kisses, tongue playing with his neck and teeth biting carefully.
“I want you too, always did,” Hoseok whispered against Yoongi’s lips, before finally finally kissing him. Yoongi tasted of caramel and vanilla and expensive champagne. He tasted how beauty would taste and kissed the same way he worked, with his whole self, mind and soul, on edge. Hoseok tasted of pomegranate and raspberries and hot wine. He tasted how love would taste and kissed the same way he worked, passionately and deeply and thinking he’s the best, knowing he is.
When Hoseok broke the kiss he was smiling, not his usual cheeky and arrogant one but a sincere and fragile one, as if he was on the edge between happiness and pain, afraid of falling on the wrong side. But it was gone soon, replaced by a smirk. He walked backwards, eyes all over Yoongi, burning as deep as physical touches, until he was sitting on the couch in the middle of the room.
“Strip for me.” Yoongi would have usually hit him for giving him an order, but all his thoughts could focus on was his mouth and the wish to have it on himself, for himself, kisses and praises all dedicated to him and him only. Yoongi let his hands wander on his body leisurely, undoing the buttons of his jacket, the ones of his pants, the ones of his button up shirt. He was teasing him without actually taking anything off, waiting.
“You’re so beautiful.” That. Waiting for words that would melt the chains around his heart. Waiting for the words that would make him want to drop on his knees. He took his clothes off, not once breaking the eye contact, fabric sliding against his skin, until he was completely naked. When his hands went for the necklace, Hoseok’s voice stopped him.
“Leave it on. It suits you, makes you look prettier.” Each praise went straight to Yoongi’s already hardening dick, blurring all the already messy thoughts in his mind. “Come here, baby.” He was expecting for Yoongi to come sit at his lap, not to fall on his knees, hands on Hoseok’s thighs and flushing cheeks.
“I’ve been wanting to suck you off since the beginning. Please, can I?” That definitely wasn’t something that needed to be repeated twice and a couple of seconds later Hoseok’s pants and boxers were carelessly thrown on the floor. Yoongi took Hoseok’s already hard dick in his hand, stroking slowly. When he leaned closer to lick leisurely at the underside Hoseok’s breath hitched loudly, mouth going dry and lips parting. It looked like the other wanted to play, his hand barely moving, tongue teasing the head of his dick but not enough.
“Will you be a good boy and stop teasing- ah, fuck.” His sentence was left hanging like that when Yoongi finally took his length into his mouth, tongue twirling playfully, hand in a firm grip around the part that couldn’t fit in his mouth. Yoongi was a methodical person, every single detail around him always carefully studied and curated, always knowing what he was doing and how to do it. Apparently, sucking dick was part of the endless list of things he was incredibly talented at. He had every single movement under control, every detail drawn out to make Hoseok dizzy, to make his head spin and words flow almost unconsciously. Yoongi bopped his head a couple of times before stopping, sudden and abrupt, and taking the dick out of his mouth with an obscenely loud bop. He looked at Hoseok and, without breaking eye contact, he leaned closer again, tongue dancing playfully on the head of his dick. Then stopping again, taking him in again, head suddenly bopping quickly and cheeks hollowing. And then stopping again, tongue playing on the head, on the underside, lingering too long and not long enough on the vein right on the underside. And then taking him in again. The alternating pace, this little game of accurately studied movements was drawing shameless moans out of Hoseok’s mouth.
“You’re doing so good, baby. Such- ah, such a good boy.” When Yoongi hummed at the praise, almost purring, sound vibrating and pleasure hitting Hoseok, he immediately tugged Yoongi’s hair hard, pulling him away. For a second Hoseok forgot what he was about to say, the sight of Yoongi’s red red red lips and redder cheeks taking his breath away.
“I’m not gonna cum before wrecking you.” It was with incredible ease that Hoseok suddenly stood up and picked him up, making him lie on the couch in his place. It was with incredible ease that Yoongi admitted to himself that he adored being manhandled by him, his twitching dick agreeing. But it was Hoseok’s turn to tease. A constellation of wet kisses was blooming on Yoongi’s thigh, on his chest, on his neck. Teeth biting and tongue smoothing immediately after, bruising glimpses of pleasure left on every inch of his skin. Every time his mouth would go close to where Yoongi actually needed it the most he would stop, cruel smirk plastered on his pretty face.
“My pretty boy.” A praise, a kiss. Tongue impressing each word on his body. When he started sucking at the skin of Yoongi’s inner thighs, the other’s hips bucked up involuntarily, desperate. The grip he had on his thighs tightened in response, mouth stopping and pupils widening, darkening. “Never gave you the permission to move. Now, be good if you don’t wanna get punished.” And so kept on teasing, sucking marks and licking skin everywhere except where Yoongi really wanted it, making him go insane second by second. Making him want and want and want more and want everything.
“Please.” It came out breathless. The other smiled cheeky, satisfaction swirling in the pit of his stomach at the idea of having him already so wrecked.
“Please what? Use your words, baby.”
“Please, touch me. Hoseok, plea- fuck.” Right there and then, when Hoseok finally took Yoongi’s hard length in his mouth, everything else lost its meaning. All the efforts, the money, the luxury, everything vanished from his mind, every single one of his thoughts dancing circles around Hoseok like a prayer, his name a curse poisoning his blood, blurring his vision, tightening his throat, playing with his breath and heart. Hoseok was going slow, so slow it seemed like they had all the time in the world for themselves only, and maybe they did, but it was driving Yoongi insane. He was yearning for more, for everything, more more more. When he bucked his hips up again in a desperate attempt to get what he wanted, Hoseok stopped altogether, pulling back. The expression in his eyes tasted a bit of everything, lost entangled with bits and pieces of pure fondness, glimpses of desire and blind want stretching until they melted into love and adoration. It took Yoongi’s breath away, heart following right after.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay still? Does baby want to get punished?” There was a brief pause then, a still and dense moment of waiting. Hoseok was waiting for permission, for a sign that yes Yoongi was comfortable and that yes, he wanted that. It hit him, the subtle but always there, of care, as if Yoongi was some precious and fragile and worthy thing that Hoseok felt the need to take care of. It made his heart do back flips in his chest. Hoseok stood up and searched for their clothes scattered carelessly on the floor. After a couple of moments, he came back, his tie in hand and a dark dark dark expression in his eyes.
“My pretty baby, come here.” And how could Yoongi even consider not listening? He went to stand in front of the other, dark dark pupils swimming in unbearable anticipation. With a quick gesture Hoseok ordered Yoongi to turn around and give him his back. The cold fabric of the tie against his hot hot wrists and the idea of being tied up by Hoseok took all the air out of Yoongi’s lungs.
“You’re gonna be a good boy for me now, right?” He asked, hands trailing from his neck to the curve of his ass, following slowly the line of his spine, fingertips igniting fires all over his skin. Yoongi leaned into the touch, scattered thoughts trying to catch on the bruising sweet sensation of his fingers on his skin. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.” And Yoongi thought he could have cum only of those praises, every single word going straight to his dick, every string of syllables like a shot of alcohol straight into his veins, vision going all blurry. It didn’t go unnoticed to Hoseok, it never had. He had always noticed, the way every time he couldn’t stop himself from spilling compliments for him at the littlest and tiniest details, and the way the other couldn’t stop his cheeks from burning softly at the littlest and tiniest words. It was always so endearing, to see the soft side of him peaking from under his cool and composed self. It was endearing right now as well, the way he melted at his touch, whether it be words or kisses or words, the way he was sinking into his presence, into his warmth. Hoseok was getting lost, thoughts trailing deep deep into him, searching through the pits of his heart, settling there and whispering at him of fond and scary things like love.
“Hoseok, fuck me.” It came out in a shaky voice, enough to rip the other from his thoughts. “Please… Please, fuck me.” And he felt his dick twitch at those words, the plea laid there for him, words and soft moans all entangled and hot hot hot. No matter how strong the desire to comply was, he took a step back, watching Yoongi shining, nights lights from the ceiling-floor window dancing on his skin like little firecrackers. Wrists tied together and bare skin, every single inch of it exposed and sweet sweet sweet for Hoseok only. The diamond necklace was a mere nothing compared to his beauty.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, my pretty baby” he unconsciously voiced and the literal purr he gained in response veiled his lucidity. It was with a smirk on his face that he moved but, much to Yoongi’s disappointment, away from him and towards the window, lustful eyes glued on him. He waited there, bare shoulder against the icy glass. It took Yoongi a couple of seconds to register what the other was silently asking him, waiting patiently and not pressuring, making sure he was comfortable with it. And maybe it was that, that caring, that made Yoongi walk, a bit unsteady but wanting wanting wanting. When he reached Hoseok, he put his firm hands on his shoulders, turning him around and pressing him chest flat to the cold of the window, the night view right in front of them, lights swirling in their dark eyes. The sudden ice-cold glass against his hot skin made him gasp in surprise, gelid window against his body burning in all the right ways. The dark of the night was enveloping the world outside and them, a black and white photography, pale skin against the deep black of the sky. Their floor was high enough but not enough, if anyone had decided to look upwards, they would have caught the image of bodies panting and pressed against the window. And something about it, the idea of being caught, being seen, turned Yoongi on even more, throbbing dick getting somehow even harder. Ever so reserved and attentive, painfully methodical and careful careful careful because of his job, he had never realized that it has always been that idea, even more than the money itself, to make him love being a con artist so much. Being caught, the moving right under the surface of things and constantly being there, on a cliff, on the verge of being caught. He got so lost in his train of thoughts that he didn’t notice how Hoseok had disappeared for a couple of moments, to reappear with a small bottle of lube from who knows where. The idea of him carrying it around with the intention of eventually using it with Yoongi made arousing anger bubble up in his stomach.
“What does my baby want?” Hoseok asked, hot breath tickling his ear and hands firm on his ass.
“Please, please fuck me against the window. I want- Please, here, I- Please. I want you so bad.” He was already a wrecked mess, words coming out in confused stutters. It made Hoseok dizzy to see him like this, like this because of him.
“Do you like it? Being exposed like this?” he was asking, words dripping on Yoongi’s skin like hot hot honey, all dense and sticky and burning into his skin like little fires, delicious honey. “Wanna be watched while I wreck you? Want everyone to see how pretty you are while I fuck you?” And Yoongi just nodded, eagerly and with pearl teardrops forming at the corners of his sharp eyes. He was still dazed, drunk on those words, that when Hoseok’s lubed fingers entered his hole with no warning a whimper, soft and surprised and small small small, escaped his parted lips. And Hoseok thought that he wanted to eat the sound, to take in on his tongue, taste it and taste it again and roll it around in his mouth and swallow it down. He kissed Yoongi’s neck, teeth and tongue playing with the skin, finger moving slowly, barely, giving him time to adjust to the abrupt stretch.
“You’re being such a good boy,” he whispered into his ear when adding a second finger, enjoying the moans dripping loudly from the other’s mouth. Yoongi had had his fair amount of hook ups and a couple of serious relationships, but it had never been like his. The sweetness of it all sinking deep deep deep into his bones, even in the roughest moments that caring and loving, so achingly loving, expression was still there in Hoseok’s eyes. But then Hoseok added a third finger, hitting his prostate just right, and everything besides the blinding pleasure disappeared. With every thrust of his fingers Hoseok would murmur sugary nothings into Yoongi’s ear, onto his skin, as if he was trying to tattoo the words deep beneath his skin, to leave his voice under his skin and into his bones, like it belonged there. He took the fingers out all of a sudden, the abrupt emptiness making Yoongi whine, a cute sound reaching every single vein in Hoseok’s body, everything blurred and dizzy.
“Do you want my dick, baby?” His voice was just as wrecked.
“Yes, please, I- Please, I’ve been a good boy for you, please. I want you so bad.” Hoseok’s hand went to his hair, petting softly and with bits of love on his fingertips now all entangled in Yoongi’s locks. A soft gesture that melted all the cages that were towering the other’s heart.
“The best boy. I’m gonna make you feel so good, that’s the only thing I want,” he said, pressing Yoongi against the glass with slightly more force and kissing his neck, trying to impress on the skin all the vulnerable and fragile words he wasn’t able to say. Fragile and small words like snowflakes, swirling around his lips, melting on the tip of his tongue right before being able to leave. Never stopping kissing his neck to distract him from the stretch, Hoseok finally filled him, earning a loud moan all sugary and dizzying and pretty pretty pretty. He waited for Yoongi to adjust and then waited more and more and more, playing, teasing cruelly. Yoongi was panting, barely audible please leaving his pink pink lips, countless strings of “Please” and “Move, I beg you” and “I’m going insane, please.” And then Hoseok finally gave in, losing all of his composure in a single rough thrust. And then another and another and another, a ballad of contrasts, rough thrusts and leisure kisses plastered in constellations in between the other’s shoulder blades, hot skin tasting like salt on pomegranate on his tongue. Yoongi felt on fire, each centimeter of his body and soul filled with Hoseok, his scent, his voice, his hands, his touch, his everything. Intoxicating.
Hoseok felt Yoongi’s muscles tensing ever so slightly under his touch before he could hear him beg, dazed.
“Hoseok, please- ah. Touch me, please. I wanna… wanna cum, please.” But Hoseok had other plans and he only started thrusting harder and quicker, hitting his prostrate in excruciating pleasure.
“Can my baby cum untouched? From my dick only?” There was something in his voice, that undying lovely caring mixed with want and lust, breath heavy, voice all wrecked and shaky but with only soft edges. Something a bit like want, something a bit like love, something a bit like both, like everything. And Yoongi made a sound that kind of died in the back of his throat and then another one and another one until they all bubbled up and spilled in a string of moans that all painfully sounded like Hoseok’s name. Just a few more thrusts and they both cum, blinding and witchery bliss morphing their blood into wine, vision getting blurry, the night view in front of their eyes distant and incomprehensible like a photograph never developed.
It took them a few long moments to put themselves together, letting the cold glass of the window and the darkness of the night cool their bodies. After pulling out Hoseok took Yoongi by his still tied wrists and guided him to the bathroom of his hotel room, both comfortable in the hovering silence between them. Yoongi’s cheeks were flushing prettily, a shy pink tainting his skin like the first strawberries of the season, and his lips were arranged in a content pout. It was enough for Hoseok to see him like this, words all futile when faced with the happiness lingering right under the surface of Yoongi’s being. It was with a smile that Hoseok helped him clean up and untied his wrists, making sure they weren’t sore nor hurting.
“You’ve been a good boy,” he told him, eyes glistening with something like happiness. Yoongi smiled fondly, blush deepening dangerously and threatening to set him on fire.
Yoongi stayed. Tired, with eyes a bit puffy and lips red red red , muscles a bit sore and heart full full full. He climbed in bed together with Hoseok, making little content noises but swallowing them down before they could leave his lips, as if he was embarrassed, all small and flustered. It made something in Hoseok’s heart ache, a mellow pain that tasted distantly like love. Yoongi stayed, in his bed and in the spaces between his ribs, like he belonged close to his heart. Before falling asleep, in that nothing that exists between real life and the realm of dreams, Hoseok kissed Yoongi on his head. It meant “Thanks for staying,” and “I might be falling in love with you,” and “I fell deep since that time you ruined my plan, but it was wort it because I got to know you,” and “Goodnight.”
-
The faint morning light coming from the huge window tickled his eyelids to open. The cold sheets where gently pricking Hoseok’s warm skin, waking him up. Cold sheets. Empty. It tasted sugary, that emptiness, like bile coming right from his heart and settling under his tongue, waiting to be cried away. He didn’t need to do it to know, yet he still stirred an arm to search for the other side of the bed. Empty. Yoongi didn’t stay. The smile Hoseok threw at the ceiling had a bit of everything, a bit of hurt and a bit of love and a lot of knowing. He had known it, a realization sticky on his skin and impossible to wash away, he had already known since the very first moment that Yoongi would have never stayed. And he never really asked him to anyway. He wasn’t surprised, nor disappointed, yet something in his chest was twisting nonetheless, displeased and hurt. Then the smile morphed into one of happiness anyway, for some reason. Slowly, he sat up, back against the headboard and eyes roaming around the room, desperately trying to catch glimpses of Yoongi’s traces, as if he could have left his shadow in a corner, or the pink of his cheeks in another. Yoongi was gone. Yoongi and their sixty million dollars diamond necklace. Adios to his part of the share. Adios to thirty fucking million dollars and mostly adios to that peachy shade of pink on Yoongi’s cheeks, to the sharp expression in his eyes mellowed by the sweet sweet dark of his pupils, to that feeling of longing and belonging he left behind himself. At least Hoseok could make up for the money loss. The bittersweet smile turned into his so characteristic cheeky smirk when he reached for the drawer of the nightstand. He didn’t even think of hiding the contents better, knowing there was no way anyone would suspect of finding anything in there anyway. He opened it slowly, enjoying how the shiny inside seemed to come to life just for his eyes only. It was a nice collection, watches and jewels lying on display for him. He smiled satisfied.
Hoseok had fast hands, fast hands and that charming aura all around him that could trap everyone into the black holes that were his pupils and his words. It hadn’t been hard to steal all of that stuff, a watch from a stylist, a necklace from a model, some earrings from another model, a bunch of expensive things that all together couldn’t exactly compete to the masterpiece Yoongi took with him, but still enough to be considered a success. A glass of champagne handed along with a barely there smirk, compliments whispered into the ear in a breathless tone and suddenly the other person wasn’t noticing how Hoseok’s was sliding the Rolex from their wrist. It was a fun game. And a backup plan. He knew, he had known since the beginning, since the words “Let’s work together” had left Yoongi’s mouth. A backstage full of chaos and nervous people running back and forth, not noticing him walking around like a shadow, taking gifts from right and left, like the whole world belonged to him. He did feel that way, like everything his eyes would lend on belonged to him, because there had never been anything he couldn’t get. And then Yoongi came around, Yoongi with his cool and practical mind and so much talent and so so much cotton candy softness underneath it all. And Hoseok knew he could never have him, yet that sharp love was still there, dancing slowly in his blood.
Hoseok got up slowly and went to stand in front of the huge window, the streets full of life making him feel kind of sleepy, kind of excited for the unknown. Altogether the items in his drawer could make up a good ten million dollars. He smiled to himself.
-
The hotel was pretty and pretty expensive. There wasn’t a need for Hoseok to be here, barely a couple of months after his job with Kim Taehyung and the lost necklace. He still had lots and lots of money after that affair, enough to stay still for years, but he couldn’t say the idea of robbing a royal wasn’t exciting. He had followed the news and then booked the same hotel his target was staying at for vacation. Hong Kong. A nice place. The way his last job had ended was still burning right under his skin, but he would have never admitted that he was missing a certain someone. This would have been a nice distraction, all the glistening lights and gold engraved in everything, another opportunity to use his skills and take what he wanted to be his.
Hoseok was sitting at the bar of the hotel, eyes roaming around the room aimlessly. Until a hand handed him a glass of champagne.
“I hope you weren’t planning on pretending to be a model again.” The voice tasted painfully of familiarity and sugary champagne like the one he was taking in his hands. And it was like pomegranate and wine, that melancholic familiarity, that sweetness engraved in the other’s voice, that love whispering through his rib cage.
“I was actually waiting for you to come up with a plan.” And he couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from turning upwards. And like always, the perspective of money was suddenly mere dust in comparison to the beauty of Yoongi, sitting next to him again and smiling fondly.