Work Text:
There are few aspects of Doyoung’s life that would be considered ordinary by most other twenty-somethings, but perhaps the oddest thing in the ever-expanding list of odd things about it, is that he loves his job.
Really, truly, wholeheartedly loves it.
He doesn’t know many others his age who could say the same.
Sure, it’s an unconventional career choice and its undoubtedly dangerous at times, but that just makes it all the more thrilling. The higher the risk, the sweeter the reward.
On the plus side, he’s never bored on the job and the money he earns could afford him pretty much any lifestyle his heart desires. Not that Doyoung is the type to overindulge in luxury; rather he finds that living ostentatiously only draws unwanted attention. He keeps enough money to live comfortably, provide his parents with a cushy retirement, and treat his friends to a nice meal from time to time. The rest of his income is parsed out in anonymous donations to various deserving charities.
Really, Doyoung’s sole area of extravagance is his home. He’s got a handful of residences across the world—Seoul, Shanghai, Paris, New York, Amsterdam—but it’s his London flat that he occupies most often and it’s this city that over the last few years, he’s finally come to see as home.
And if the money and the excitement weren’t enough, there’s also the simple fact that he’s really fucking good at his job. Dare he say it, one of the world’s best.
He’s highly skilled, swift-fingered and even swifter at thinking on his feet, and most importantly, he’s discreet. Even Interpol has yet to ID him.
It’s for this reason that his services are in constant demand, to the point where he can afford to be picky about which jobs he takes. When he’s not putting his unique skills to use in carrying out a transaction, he’s meeting with prospective buyers or doing the requisite legwork to make sure his part of the bargain goes smoothly and all his bases are covered.
So yes, his work can be exhausting at times, even all-consuming, and most definitely risky, but Doyoung loves it.
Maybe a little too much.
This is probably why, on one of Doyoung’s much deserved days off, instead of lying in bed and watching Netflix, he finds himself an hour’s drive from London, breaking into the glorious manor of a well-to-do Marquess.
He probably shouldn’t be working, but technically this isn’t a job. After all, he’s not jet-setting across the Atlantic to procure a highly sought after work of art, nor is he expecting to rake in millions for the sale. Hell, he probably won’t even make the front-page headlines of tomorrow’s newspaper.
No, this time he's not here for business, but for strictly personal reasons.
The way that Doyoung learned about this painting was far from unusual. He’d dropped by Sotheby’s one chilly November afternoon—he finds auctions to be a useful way to keep tabs on what is selling while also lending him an air of credibility amongst the wealthy elite—when this painting had been put up for bid.
The unusual part was that this painting had caught his eye.
Under normal circumstances, such a piece would barely register as worth remembering. These days, he almost exclusively steals for direct buyers and his buyers tend to want the big names—Rothko, Picasso, Pollock, Lichtenstein, O’Keefe, Warhol, pretty much any famous modern artist you could think to name, Doyoung’s probably gotten his hands on their work at one point or another.
This painting is by no such big name, however. It’s the work of a contemporary artist from Thailand, known only as Ten, who despite achieving considerable recognition in the art world over the last several years, has yet to reach the heights of worldwide fame. Doyoung would be lucky to even scrape half a million for this piece.
Yet there was something about it when he saw the painting that first time that just spoke to him and he’d taken careful note of who ended up acquiring it after the auction.
He can’t even put into words what’s so special about it, but maybe that’s true of all the best art—that it’s beyond what mere words can capture.
There’s something about the lines and colors that are at once vibrant, yet soothing. It reminds Doyoung of watching a dance or watching waves crash upon the shore. The brushstrokes, at first glance random and chaotic, somehow come together to make something beautiful and rhythmic and when Doyoung first glanced upon the painting he was immediately filled with a deep inner peace. He knew at once that he needed to have it for himself.
Between the demands of his clients and the rest of his life’s obligations, it had taken months before the stars aligned and he’d been able to schedule a date to acquire it. But finally, tonight, it would be his.
In Doyoung’s experience, wealthy people are amongst the most arrogant and negligent when it comes to their home security. It's especially true when they are royalty, however distantly that may be, and the Marquess proves no exception.
As the Marquess and his family have conveniently gone on holiday to Nice, they have charitably given the rest of their staff the weekend off, leaving their home and all its belongings in the hands of two security guards and a ‘cutting-edge’ alarm system that Doyoung could probably disarm in his sleep. (In Doyoung's humble opinion, a good guard dog makes a far better deterrent to robberies than anything else, but the rich tend to only like dogs that can fit in their purse.)
In any case, the lax security just means the manor is perfectly primed for Doyoung to break in.
Slipping past the guards turns out to be embarrassingly easy and he makes his way effortlessly to the traditional servant's entrance of the manor which he’d determined would be the easiest lock to pick. To Doyoung’s uneasy surprise, he finds it already unlocked. It’s possible, of course, that the staff were simply careless when they left for their holiday, but it sets Doyoung’s nerves on edge and he enters the manor with extra caution.
His footsteps are no louder than a whisper as he creeps to the alcove where the control panel for the security system is supposedly located. It's set to some fancy motion-sensing setting in the Marquess’s absence, so he only has about a minute to deactivate it before all hell breaks loose.
Yet again, however, when Doyoung gets there, he finds he’s been beaten to the punch and it’s already been deactivated.
While Doyoung expected that breaking into a private residence would be considerably easier than say, breaking into the British Museum (which he’s done on multiple occasions), this is too easy. It’s unlikely that the staff would’ve made two careless mistakes. Something is off.
Eyes and ears attuned for any unusual movement or sound, Doyoung sneaks into the dining room where the painting ought to hang, one hand holding the switchblade he keeps on him during all his jobs (most used for slicing canvas or cutting wires, but useful for self-defense in a pinch).
It really shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does that when he gets to the place where the painting should be, there hangs nothing but an empty frame.
Did he get played? Is this a setup? But Doyoung is always overly-thorough in his prep work and he just doesn’t make mistakes like this.
He waits in the shadows for another minute and after he’s certain he’s alone he walks noiselessly to the frame, inspecting it gingerly with gloved hands.
It’s not the usual slash-and-grab job; the canvas with the painting has been removed entirely from the frame. There aren't any traces of fingerprints either. Whoever removed the painting was careful and covered their tracks, so it probably wasn’t any of the house staff or the Marquess himself.
It can only mean one thing: Doyoung isn’t the only thief around. But who? Based on Doyoung’s intel, it could’ve only happened tonight, perhaps only minutes before him.
He wracks his brain trying to think of who in the circle of criminals he casually 'knows' would be in town and have both the ability and interest in stealing this work. No one comes to mind… unless… but no, their paths hardly ever cross in the field anymore. A painting like this surely wouldn’t be worth his time, right?
Following his hunch, Doyoung slides the blacklight torch from his toolbelt and flashes it across the wall. To his dismay, the beam of violet light illuminates a word written on the wall in the very center of the empty frame. In loopy, familiar handwriting is a simple message.
Bedroom ;)
Now that he knows he’s not alone, there’s no point in hiding anymore.
Doyoung doesn't bother to quiet his footsteps as he climbs the stairs to the master bedroom, ripping his mask off in frustration as he goes.
It figures he’d be here to make a mess of Doyoung’s one day off, despite the fact that Doyoung had it on good authority that he’s supposed to be in Rome this weekend ensuring the sale of some 14th century triptych or whatever.
Sure enough, as soon as he enters the moonlit room, his attention lands on the handsome figure reclining on the bed, looking for all the world like he’s here to model for a work of art rather than to steal one.
Doyoung narrows his eyes at the unwelcome intruder. “Jung.”
The man in question smirks mischievously, deep dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Fancy seeing you here, Doyoung.”
If Doyoung were the poetic type, he might spare a moment to appreciate how the light from the full moon spilling through the window highlights the man’s chiseled jaw and flawless skin, or how it makes his dark eyes glimmer with reflected light and suppressed laughter.
As it is though, Doyoung is mostly irritated by the man’s audacity at forgoing a mask. Not that there’s anyone to catch them, but flaunting one’s identity while breaking in is just asking for trouble.
“What are you doing here, Jaehyun?”
“Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood,” Jaehyun says breezily, rising to his feet. “Peeked into the window, saw this nice painting on the wall, and just knew I had to have it.”
Doyoung’s gaze instinctively drifts down Jaehyun’s lean form as he walks closer to him. There are practical reasons for wearing dark, tight-fitting, stretchable clothes while on the job, but Doyoung definitely isn't thinking about them as he admires the way Jaehyun's outfit clings to every contour of his toned body.
After the silence stretches on a beat too long, Jaehyun clears his throat pointedly and Doyoung flushes at being caught. He hadn’t meant to check him out, it’s just been a long time since he’s seen Jaehyun like this, and honestly, Doyoung wouldn't have chosen this line of work if he didn't have a taste for beauty.
Doyoung looks back up, meeting Jaehyun’s eyes and ignoring how his smirk widens. He tries his best to mask his embarrassment with exasperation.
“Cut the crap, Jung. You wouldn’t steal abstract art even if the Tate Modern itself gave you a full-clearance security pass and access to its private collection.”
Jaehyun shrugs and runs a hand carelessly through his dusty-rose colored hair, which wasn’t even messy to begin with. Of course, it falls irritatingly, perfectly back into place. What type of self-respecting thief goes around with pink hair anyway? “Maybe I had a change of heart.”
“I distinctly remember you calling modernism ’the greatest con job in all of art’s history,’ and saying that anything you could paint yourself was not even worth having,” Doyoung quotes from memory. It still rankles him years later, and he’s unable to stop himself from scoffing and adding, “and yet you think rococo is a valid art movement.”
Jaehyun, who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by Doyoung’s derision, just laughs.
"Tell me, Jung. What are you actually doing here?”
“Now, come on, Doie. Don’t be so bitter. I’m a man of varied tastes. And is this any way to speak to your favorite colleague?”
Doyoung watches as Jaehyun walks past him toward a rectangular package leaning against the wall. It's clearly Doyoung's painting, already wrapped up neatly for transportation.
“I think the word you’re looking for is competitor, not colleague.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Jaehyun mutters, busying himself with the package, but he says it so quietly Doyoung can’t be sure he didn’t imagine it.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Jaehyun replies, lifting up the painting carefully. He flashes Doyoung a placid smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not that it wasn’t lovely to run into you like this, but I really should be going.”
He makes to leave, but Doyoung quickly blocks his path to the door. Jaehyun raises his eyebrows in surprise, but it's mostly for show. He should’ve known Doyoung wasn’t just going to let him walk out with his prize.
“Jaehyun,” Doyoung says as calmly as he can, taking the painting from Jaehyun’s grip and setting it down by his side. “I’ve been planning this for months. The painting is mine.”
“You know that’s not how theft works, right? It’s usually a first-come, first-serve sort of deal.”
Doyoung’s left eye starts to twitch with annoyance. He knows Jaehyun is riling him up on purpose, but calmness be damned. “There’s a very beautiful spot in my living room that I’ve been reserving just for this painting. As you can see, I have a personal interest in this piece, so if it’s a money thing, name your price.”
Jaehyun eyes Doyoung contemplatively. “Wow, you must really want this one.”
Doyoung shrugs in response, refusing to admit anymore and give Jaehyun even greater leverage over him. Though Jaehyun can probably read the desire in his eyes anyway; he’s always been disconcertingly good at reading him.
Jaehyun chews on his bottom lip, considering Doyoung’s offer. Finally, after what feels to Doyoung like an eternity of deliberation, he shakes his head. “Sorry, no dice.”
“What?!” Doyoung bursts out before he can stop himself. It’s not even that special of a painting (to anyone, but Doyoung, that is) and it couldn't be farther from Jaehyun’s area of interest. Jaehyun steals Michelangelo’s, Da Vinci’s, Rembrandt’s, Caravaggio’s, not the works of moderately well-known contemporary artists. He’s clearly being stubborn on purpose.
Jaehyun breaks into a teasing grin. “I’ve been redecorating my home office and this would really compliment the new desk I just bought. I think I’ll keep this one.”
“Jung, I swear you do not want to mess with me," Doyoung hisses. "I’ll pay the difference and then some.”
“I told you. I’ve grown rather fond of this piece. Makes me think of roaring oceans and serene skies and lying on the beach with my lover.” He rolls the last word off his tongue, implication heavy in his tone.
Doyoung wills himself not to blush. Leave it to Jaehyun to make such a sweet statement sound so filthy.
“So what do you propose then? You got here first, fine. Though let’s be honest, you’ve obviously been tracking me or you wouldn’t have known about this painting in the first place. This type of work doesn’t normally merit your attention.”
Jaehyun doesn’t even try to deny it, shooting him another unabashed rosy-cheeked and dimpled smile.
“And since you’re only here based on stolen intel,” Doyoung continues through gritted teeth, “I have as much a claim to this as you do. And I’m not leaving until I get it, so unless you want us both to be caught by the cops, I suggest you either hand it over or spit out whatever bargain you had in mind.”
“I think there’s a fairly simple solution here that you’re overlooking, Doie,” Jaehyun says, calm as ever. Like always, he appears completely unphased by Doyoung’s rising temper. Instead, he looks, well, fond.
“And what’s that?”
“You want this painting for your home and I want it for mine. But those don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
Doyoung goes rigid at Jaehyun’s words. His fingers begin to tingle in anticipation yet he feels rooted to place, like he couldn't move a muscle if he tried. He swears he feels his heart skip an actual beat before it begins hammering at twice it’s usual speed, as though trying to break free from his chest. He has to swallow twice before he can get his next words out.
“What are you saying?”
All of Jaehyun’s earlier bravado and teasing have disappeared and the Jaehyun he’s faced with now looks at Doyoung with nothing but warmth and affection. Jaehyun ducks his head for a moment, overcome with shyness for a beat before he gathers the courage to meet Doyoung’s gaze again, expression terribly earnest.
“Doyoung, would you mov—”
“Wait!” Doyoung cuts Jaehyun off, raising his hands in panic. “Don’t say it yet.”
Doyoung would be lying if he said that Jaehyun’s crestfallen expression didn’t make his heart ache, but he focuses on closing the distance between them until he’s standing right in front of Jaehyun. He’s not ready. Doyoung takes a deep breath as he tries to collect himself, speaking only when he’s certain his voice is stable.
“Jung, is this a proposal?”
Jaehyun, bless him, turns scarlet to the very tips of his ears. “Uh, I mean, not yet? I just thought it might be nice if we moved in together?”
“Oh good,” Doyoung breathes out in relief, ignoring the way Jaehyun’s smile freezes awkwardly on his face and hurt floods his eyes. He levels Jaehyun with a grave look. “Because when I stepped out for groceries last Sunday, I may have also made a pit stop at the Tower of London and picked out a few Crown jewels and I’d be really pissed off if you stole my thunder.”
“Wait, w-what?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Then, unable to help himself, Doyoung giggles. It’s the sort of delighted laughter that bubbles up from within him when he’s truly at his happiest. Painting long forgotten, Doyoung finally allows himself a true smile, one of his genuine, beaming ones that he reserves only for the people he loves and trust most in his life. People like Jaehyun.
Jaehyun barely has time to process what’s happening before Doyoung has launched himself into Jaehyun’s arms for a hug. Thankfully, Jaehyun’s reflexes are some of the sharpest and he catches him on instinct as Doyoung wraps his legs tightly around Jaehyun’s waist.
“Of course, I’ll move in with you, you dolt,” Doyoung says, choked with emotion so that it comes out more of a whisper than he intended. He presses a firm kiss against Jaehyun’s lips, feeling the familiar comforting smile against his own. And now he’ll get to do this whenever he wants.
“Really?” Jaehyun asks once they pull apart, sounding awestruck. He’s smiling so wide that adorable little whiskers appear at the sides of his nose and he’s looking at Doyoung like he’s the most precious person in the world. Doyoung feels almost overwhelmed by the amount of tenderness in his gaze.
“Yes, really. I’ve been waiting for you to ask forever,” Doyoung says, as Jaehyun carefully sets him back down on his two feet, though his hands remain on Doyoung’s waist. “Ever since you started buying houseplants even though we both know you have a black thumb and the only reason they’re still alive is because I water them. And what’s with the new couch you bought for the living room you never use unless I’m there?”
“I just wanted you to feel at home whenever you came over.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Yeah well, it worked.”
Then he smiles again, because yeah, maybe the timing isn’t ideal what with them trespassing in some stranger’s bedroom, but his boyfriend just asked him to move in with him. He’s going to get to wake up next to this wonderful, handsome, talented, kindhearted man every day. (Well, almost every day. Neither of them is ready to give up the life of crime quite yet.)
“Although you didn’t need to orchestrate this whole charade just to ask me to move in with you.” He taps his finger on Jaehyun’s chest, vaguely accusatory. “You were supposed to be in Rome.”
Jaehyun shrugs. “Rome can wait.”
“And how do you explain this?”
Jaehyun’s bright grin turns slightly sheepish. “To be honest, this was supposed to be your anniversary gift. I saw it in your bookmarks the last time I borrowed your laptop, but I didn’t realize you planned to steal it yourself. When I saw you sneaking past the guards, I had to act fast.”
Doyoung snorts before he can stop himself. Only they would have this sort of unfortunate timing.
“You’re an idiot romantic,” Doyoung says, tracing his fingers fondly along Jaehyun’s jaw. “Or a romantic idiot. I don’t know.”
“You love it though.”
It’s the undeniable truth. He loves this idiot romantic with every fibre of his being, even if he’s a terrible art snob who ruins Doyoung’s carefully planned heists with poorly timed grand gestures.
He draws Jaehyun in for another lingering kiss, pouring every ounce of heartfelt agreement and love into it. They kiss slowly, sweetly, and entirely at odds with their current circumstances.
It’s only with great reluctance that Jaehyun finally pulls away. “Not that I wouldn’t stay here forever with you if I could, but unless your cohabiting plans involve a cozy prison cell, we should probably get going.”
Doyoung nods his agreement, already slipping back into work mode. Despite Doyoung's earlier internal griping, Jaehyun is the consummate professional and he’s got his timing down to the second. In a few minutes, the guards will make their scheduled rounds and probably not even they will be dense enough not to notice that the security system has been disarmed.
Doyoung picks up the bundled painting with one hand and slips his other into Jaehyun’s own. He feels the adrenaline beginning to course through his veins, that wonderfully familiar sensation, like the feeling right before a roller coaster drops and you know it's going to be one hell of an incredible ride.
From the way Jaehyun squeezes his hand, Doyoung knows he feels the same way. Doyoung flashes him a dazzling smile and steps towards the door.
“Let’s go home, shall we?”