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hexonthepeach · 2 years

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dark & stormy 2: disturbance formation

summary: you’re a housekeeper in a seedy hotel working through the worst hurricane of the season when you’re invited to spend the evening with your two sexy but enigmatic co-workers. when you accidentally uncover their secret identities you’re dragged into a darker world—one you may already know too well

pairing: jaehyun (nct) x johnny (nct) x fem!reader (code name: jenny)

genre: the late-70s/early-80s miami vice/nice guys/secret agent johnjae/reader au no one asked for or: a work of madness inspired by the infamous w korea shoot

word count: 9.6k of 63k

warnings: explicit sexual content (m/f, m/m, mmf threesome) [see chapters for detailed tags], dark themes, implied murder, drug-use (alcohol, quaaludes), drugging w/o consent, stalking, kidnapping (non-sexual), bondage, minor knifeplay/gunplay, slight age gap [y/n early 20s, jj late 20s/early 30s],y/n implied dark origins/criminal history (OC vibes but history left open for interpretation), sleep paralysis/nightmares, animal death, walk-on guest appearances from other nct members inc. sungtaro in later chapters

fic masterlist

chapter warnings: dark dreams, sleep paralysis, non-consensual drugging, vomiting, non-consensual bondage, hostage situation, era-consistent sexual harassment, gunplay, jaehyun is a freak, explicit sexual content: fingering, oral [m, f], consensual smut (unprotected, on the pill but wrap it before you tap it)

recommended listening: FANTASY (괜찮아 괜찮아) by Fei, I can't make you love me by KINDA BLUE, Hwasa

Jaehyun brings you back to the bathroom, dragging you inside as you fight the effect of the sedative, needle piercing your neck.

“This will wake you up,” he says. “You have to look.”

The body is there but it’s not that woman; the corpse in the water wears your face. You watch as it dissolves, clouding the water red.

He must have used a psychedelic, you think. There’d been a whole pharmacopoeia in that bag, carefully labeled with strengths and dosages. You'd known that and yet you'd still returned, good girl that you were.

You've always been a good girl. When your daddy taught you how to pass over a $1 instead of a $10 by folding the bill just right you'd learned that quick. Enough gas to get out of Biloxi, both of you forgotten as easily as a goldfish flushed down the drain.

The manhunt that followed had been different, a wider net to slip through. More like eels in the dark, muddy water. You hadn't been caught but your father was serving life in Oklahoma for a crime more easily penalized than the one you'd left on the slatboard flooring of your childhood home.

Your eyes blur, light refracting and fading, red still illuminating the room from the tub. He holds your head up as your hands meet the tacky black and gold countertop, forcing you to see yourself as your features shift and distort into something monstrous.

Jaehyun remains untouched within this nightmare. He’s made of stone, you think, that black-chipped granite dug out of the abandoned quarry you used to play in with the other kids.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. Or maybe you say it.

You really don’t believe him but he’s holding you against the counter, hand working it’s way down your belly, slipping past an elastic waistband. You’re wearing nothing underneath your red-and-white shorts and you feel his gratitude when he finds you ready and wanting.

He could slip right in, you think, and the unzipping behind you confirms he's got the same idea.

"You're a whore," Jaehyun says with the same loving tone of a romantic lead in the movies, gravel voice endeared to you and you alone. You’re already bent back against him, shorts gone, proving him right.

Just like that, just like that, you think as you work back on his unseen cock, pleading for him to fill you. That hardness you'd felt in the planes of his body is back but instead of heat there’s only icy cold, his dark hair falling over your naked shoulder as he bites and chews his way through to your heart. You bleed into the sink in a drip, drip, drip.

He doesn’t offer you anything but hands around your neck, choking you until your vision is taken over by the yellow-red bloom of blood where it meets the water pooling in the porcelain.

"Good girls stay quiet," he says. You look up, ruined, but he won't meet your eyes. He’s so shy when he speaks.

You remember dollar bills and bibles, you remember strange hotel rooms with strangers touching you as The PTL Club played on in the background, knowing every gospel hymn as your father disappeared into the six pack on the nightstand.

"He that opens wide his lips shall have destruction," you respond, prompting him to squeeze harder around your throat. You need to tell him to let you go before you die.

You can sing, you think. You know how to carry a tune. You hum for him, a chant and prayer as Jaehyun drags you to the bath. Your eyes clench shut against what lies there, unable to look.

You beg for anything but this kind of end, legs kicking futilely back against his boots as he forces your face down into the water.

"Shh," he says, as you begin to drown.

Cold water brings you back up into consciousness, stinging your nasal cavity as you snort it out.

“Rise and shine,” Johnny says, adjusting the shower so the low-pressure spray is no longer directly in your face. You splutter awake, moving to protect yourself and finding your wrists and ankles have been bound tightly with electrical tape, mouth stuffed with what tastes like pillowcase.

“We don’t have much time so I’m gonna need you to do me a little favor. If you do what I ask just right maybe I’ll even untie you. Got it?”

There’s no point speaking around the gag, and the lingering effect of the drugs have stolen the fight out of your body. You glare up at him and nod.

“In a few minutes Lavinsky is going to be knocking at the door demanding to know why you’re not on the clock. I already told him we had a little too much fun last night. Now you’ve gotta sell it—”

"Mmhm hhhgggl ghhuu," you answer.

The pounding on the outside door makes him jerk up from the side of the tub, brushing his hair back.

“God that fucker moves fast. Okay. Ready, camera, action," Johnny instructs. "Remember if you don’t comply I’m just going to have to kill the both of you. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”

He waves what appears to be a very large pistol with a muzzle suppressor attached to it before tucking it in the back of his shorts under his now-buttoned shirt.

“We good, yeah?” Johnny asks.

"Mmm," Your face is hot with a combination of shame and absolute fury, but you nod, blinking away the water dripping into your eyes.

He reaches down to pull the gag away and you don’t even have a moment to respond before he’s pulled the curtain shut and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Outside you can hear the staff manager’s nasal shouting, Johnny laughing before saying something indiscernible under the weak patter of the water from the shower. You squirm to catch some of it on your dry tongue. The pills have you dehydrated and it’s a relief to have the mouthful you get even as you choke on it.

“Y/N, are you in there? Get out here right now.” Lavinsky sounds furious. You can imagine his eyes bulging out of his red face, his breath that smells like the cheap brandy he sneaks into his coffee.

“Yeah I’m . . . I’m not decent!” you shout back. God, decent? What does that even mean?

“Well get decent and get downstairs, I needed you an hour ago.”

“I. I can’t. I’m si—sick.”

“Sick? I don’t care if you’re dying! If you can’t work your pay is getting docked for your room—“

Rather than withstand the diatribe you violently retch into the tub beside you. It’s a little too realistic because suddenly instead of dry heaving you’re actually spitting up yellow bile that stings your tongue. Your body folds as you puke, sound echoing over the shower.

God, if you can ever get out of here and into a position of leverage you’re going to make Johnny pay for drugging you after how compliant you’d been.

“Jesus Christ. You’re lucky I don’t kick you out of here you dumb slu—“ Johnny cuts off whatever Lavinsky says next by saying something you can't hear. You give up on tracking their conversation and focus on rinsing out your mouth in the flow beside you, spitting out the acid that coats your teeth.

You know your window is over when the hotel room door slams shut, vibrating the bathroom walls. Within seconds Johnny pulls back the shower curtain, his broad smile just for you.

“And the Academy Award goes too . . .”

“Shut up. Just shut up,” you shake your head, trying to free your face from the hair plastered to it with your hands bound.

He turns off the water and drops a towel over you before sitting on the closed toilet.

"You did good," he says, flipping open the knife in his hand. It’s not Jaehyun’s but it still looks lethal: matte black and military grade.

You know Jaehyun must not be in the room. You wonder where he is, but after that dream you’re not sure if you can look him in the eye anytime soon.

“I’m a little sad you didn’t put up a fight. I’ve been wanting to shoot that bastard for the past 95 days.” He laughs at his own joke. “Not you, though. I think I’m starting to like you.”

You’d been wondering how long he’d actually been here. You knew he and Jaehyun had started working around the same time, vacation season hires, but you had never seen them interacting outside of the occasional nod. It had blind-sided you a little that he’d been so familiar with him yesterday, and now everything has finally locked into place.

“A little help here,” you say, pulling the towel off your head to wave your hands between you.

“You gonna be a good girl?” Johnny asks.

There it is, you think, that purr that’s just as predatory as Jaehyun’s silence.

“I already told him . . . I would,” your teeth chattering as the chill sets in. “You did. Didn’t. Even ask.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Johnny says, sawing the tape apart. He doesn’t help you with the removal, leaning back and watching you struggle to rip the sticky bonds off your bare skin.

“Feels personal.” You dry yourself as much as possible with the thin towel, your gray sweatshirt dark and clinging to your goose-flesh-riddled skin.

“Everything about this is business." Johnny smiles as you stand up, hair dripping. "Could be a bit more personal for Jae."

“Could you . . . You not look?” You keep your voice steady. He deliberately stares you down, eyes disappearing into familiar crescents of genuine mirth.

“Jerk.” You close the thin curtain between you and take off your wet shirt and shorts, wrapping yourself in the towel.

It really doesn’t matter to you that you're practically naked with him, if he wanted to do something to you he easily could have taken what he wanted of you last night. It wasn’t like you were giving him credit for not being entirely scum, but you’d learned to count your blessings when it came to dipshits with too much power.

You emerge from the tub, noting the way he sucks in his breath through his teeth, standing up to let you pass him out of the bathroom.

So he is interested, you think. This is an advantage you hadn’t really put a lot of thought into, assuming his constant name-dropping of his partner was a signal he considered you claimed, like you were a piece of meat at the butcher’s.

Even if you preferred Jaeyhun's company you despised the idea of being someone else’s property. You belonged to no one.

Johnny never takes his eyes off you, watching as you fetch your toiletries from your bag, fumbling to keep things in your hands. You brush your teeth making eye contact in the mirror with that stupid grin. You're even forced to relieve yourself in front of him with the door cracked, cheeks aflame.

“You mind?” You look over your shoulder after pulling clothes out of your suitcase where it rests on the floor. He responds like you just told a rather delightful joke.

If anyone has the last laugh it's you, when you drop the towel you've been using to bend down and retrieve your next outfit, relishing the silence that follows.

You put on your underwear while he watches, taking your time under his gaze. You hadn’t packed anything particularly flattering outside of a swimsuit but you find a pair of denim cutoffs and a rainbow-edged embroidered halter crop top you think will keep him on his toes.

He's leaning against the bathroom doorway when you turn around, face shadowed by his wide shoulders filling the whole space. He likes what he sees, you think.

You bend over to dry your hair, making sure he gets a good view of your ass and the exposed sides of your breasts while you’re doing it.

When you’re done with your show you sit on the bed, legs akimbo.

“What’re you, exactly?” you ask. He seems to grasp the meaning immediately.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Johnny picks under his thumbnail with his knife. “Wondered why Jae thought the sun shone out of your asshole but here you are, not crying or screaming. Or begging.”

You narrow your eyes. “That never works on your type.”

“And what type do you think we are?”

“Killers.” You force a little scorn into your voice. He doesn’t need to know how you really feel when you say the word.

Johnny laughs. “So-called good guys kill people everyday, doll.”

Is that how he sees himself, a good guy? Interesting. You note his hotel uniform, the small flicker of indecision on his face when he finally moves into the room.

“You afraid to tell me?”

“I could but then I guess I’d have to kill you.” Johnny shrugs, tucking the closed knife in his front shirt pocket. “Wouldn’t want that, would you?”

You lean back, rubbing your ankles together.

“Are you mafia?” you ask, looking up at him with an air of coyness.

He laughs. “Ice cold. I love The Godfather movies, though.”

“International assassin?”

“Warmer. I’m a fan of Moore but Moonraker was garbage.”

“Cop?”

That’s it, you see another flicker in his knowing smile. He doesn’t have a quippy response for this one.

"You scared of the police?" he asks.

"Would prefer a spy." You shrug. "Thought cops had to disclose if they were one."

Johnny sits down across from you in the chair you'd seen Jaehyun haunting last night, not losing focus on you as you cross and uncross your legs in front of him.

“Why don’t we talk about you, instead? Make it a little game if you want to. Tit-for-tat.” he says.

Are you five? you think. You fidget, rubbing your ankles together.

“Why ask if you’re . . . ” You make your voice small. “If you’re just gonna kill me?”

“You’re a smart girl. I think you’ll live,” Johnny places his elbows on his knees. “You go to college?”

You nod.

“What do you study?”

“Sociology.” It’s a half-truth.

“What you gonna do with that education?”

You shrug. “Social work, probably.”

“One of those bleeding heart types, are you? Kumbaya and all?” There’s no sneer in the way he says it, more like he’s testing your patience.

“I guess,” you rub your arms. “I just. I want to . . . believe in a better world.”

“Peace, free love . . . ?” Johnny laughs. “Didn’t peg you for a hippy.”

“And you don’t believe in it?” You look up to meet his eyes, frowning.

“What do you think?”

You’ve got him relatively comfortable in having the upper hand, you think. It’s time to play a card.

“I think you were in the war.”

Johnny’s suddenly quiet, sitting forward with that cocksure smile fading on his face.

“Why do you think that?”

You get up and move to stand between his knees, hands trailing over the bright fabric covering his sculpted left bicep, where you’ve seen the crawling panther amidst the roses, the red teardrops dripping from its claws.

“Mmm,” he says, inches from the knit over your chest, looking up at your face. “See many of those?”

“Daddy was a vet,” you murmur, playing with his sleeve absent-mindedly.

“You want to see the rest?”

You nod.

You're not prepared for how quickly Johnny grips the back of your thighs and pulls you forward into his lap, his legs closing so you can straddle him better. He retrieves your hands from where you’ve gripped the lacquered weave of the chair back, placing them on the pearl buttons on the front of the shirt you know so well.

“Go ahead,” he urges. “Nothing you haven’t already seen before.”

This is a test, you think, your fingers trembling as they begin unbuttoning. His large hands return to the chair arms, relaxed. You hear him sigh the moment you splay your touch across his sunkissed collar bone, melting a little. His hair falls across his brow and you fight the urge to brush it back behind his ear.

Johnny knows you know the knife is right there. He’s waiting for you to make a move, maddeningly confident that you won’t be able to do anything. But he’s also soft under your touch, a captive animal already soothed. It makes your heart beat faster having him under you and complacent.

You don’t take the bait, not yet, focusing on the task at hand, the only sound the storm outside and his relaxed breathing. When you’re finished with the buttons your hands go to his brown belt, pulling it open until he stops you.

“What are you doing?” Johnny chuckles, voice raspy. “Looking for more? There’s nothing down—”

“You sure?” You grind down into his lap, making him groan. As much as you can feel his hardness through his shorts, the entire lower half of your body is also tingling, from your core down to your toes, just from the clothed contact.

"Is that what you're looking for?” He grabs your ass, pressing you harder and raising his hips. You mewl a little, the friction of denim and underwear not enough to rub that itch.

If you’re being honest with yourself, that need’s been there for awhile now, unsatisfied. You nod again, meeting his half-lidded eyes, and he takes the non-verbal invitation to capture your lips with his own.

His kiss is gentle at first, exploratory. He must have remembered your confession yesterday because he lets you lead from the backseat, coaxing kisses from you in return.

Sparks ignite inside you with each brush of his soft lips against your own, his nose nudging yours as you kiss clumsily back. Once you've established a repartee he tests your closed mouth with small darts of his tongue across the seam, coaxing it open.

You raise your hands to each side of his face so you can feel where he’s angling and follow, fingers in the short hair of his sideburns, tracing his wide jawline.

Oh god, it feels so good. Your body is a traitor, nipples hardening under your thin shirt, wetness between your thighs from your earlier dream back with a vengeance.

His softness ends when your mouth opens to allow his tongue to tangle with yours. You barely need to move your hips as he grinds you down into his lap with an iron grasp. He tastes a little like coffee and dried blood from the split lip Jaehyun must have given him. You worry at it, hoping it reopens.

You’re surprised when he bites your bottom lip in return, not breaking the skin but reminding you who’s in charge. He pulls you down tighter against his erection, hot kisses trailing to your neck and shoulder to nip at the bare skin, giving you an opening.

You moan and resume removing his clothing, hands reaching not to his chest but snaking down behind his long, narrow abdomen, reaching around him to pull his shirt from his shorts only to find—

—nothing, just the band of his underwear. His back beneath your hands is warm empty space, no gun in reach. You try to play it off, hands moving up his ribs, realizing then that you’re both rocking with the laughter he’s trying to suppress.

“Looking for something?” he asks.

You’re lifted up in a heartbeat, fumbling desperately as he pins you down to the bed, powerful thighs caging your hips. He adjusts his grip, only needing one large hand to hold your wrists down as he wrests the warm metal prize you'd pulled from his pocket out of your fingers.

“Oh you were looking for these,” he dangles something in front of your nose. Not a knife; it's a pair of handcuffs. You struggle to no avail, jaw clenched shut to keep from cursing at the top of your lungs, damning him with your eyes instead.

“Are you into that?”

You buck up into him, and he responds by settling his weight even more on you. You're unable to move enough to make him hurt the way you want him to. No, you’re the one in pain now, arousal unsated as that heavy, warm body settles over you and sinks you deeper into the bed.

Johnny snaps the cuffs around your wrists, huffing deep breaths into your hair. With one hand he reaches between you to finish the job of removing his belt. He sees your wide eyes and smiles at you wickedly.

“You want this too?”

You whimper, unable to sound anything but pathetic. He trails the body-warmed leather over your cheek before looping it through the cuffs, yanking your hands above your head. Soon you’re firmly attached to the thick post under the headboard, still under him, panting as you twist like a fish in your bonds. He’d put you on the far side of the bed, away from the nightstand, so you kick the mattress instead.

“See, I knew you couldn’t play nice. It’s a shame, I was having so much fun,” he says, rolling off you.

The snap of your right knee into his groin misses, but your bare foot catches him in the diaphragm. The breath leaves Johnny's body almost cartoonishly. You smile to yourself as he collapses on the floor next to the bed.

“For drugging me. Asshole.” You say, rolling over to face him. “Tit-for-tat.”

“Fair enough.” Johnny wheezes.

You savor the sight of the blooming red bruise on his left side, the tenting in his unbuttoned white shorts.

"Wasn't that bad, was it?" he asks. "For a first kiss?"

"I've had better," you say, but your eyes can't meet his. Instead you take in his ruffled hair, his bow-like lips still swollen and wet from where you’d kissed.

Of course he doesn’t miss that, a smile breaking on his face like the sun appearing from behind the clouds.

“Oh there you are,” he says, carefully smoothing a strand of damp hair from your forehead. He has to snatch his hand back when your teeth snap at it.

“That’s what he sees in you.”

It’s strange to you how light it is outside, from what you can see through the windows, the clouds obscured by sheets of water dancing across the glass. It looks like the building is moving through gray space, a transport to another destination. Probably Hell. You stopped trying to cry out awhile ago, duct tape gag painful on the sensitive skin of your face.

Johnny had left you for his shift with nothing but the television blasting re-runs of nightly game shows and the occasional news report. Landfall had slowed the storm to fading, the eye hitting sometime tonight.

Technically it's safe to go outside if you don't mind being buffeted by the winds, but the storm surge has flooded the streets. Bus and car travel were out of the question. You just have to make it another 12 hours, another eternity in a hotel room with your two captors. When this is all over, you think, you won’t come back.

They’ll be lucky if you don’t burn down the hotel and everything in it.

You drift in and out of consciousness, still tired, but the position you’re in makes sleeping on your side impossible. You keep falling asleep only to find yourself back in this same hotel room, shadows flickering in the corner, strange voices whispering in your ear. Your body is frozen, unable to move or escape it, eyes unable to shut.

You struggle to even just move a toe, feeling the encroaching darkness in the space past the hallway to the entrance, something else in the bathroom just in front of you moving past the mirror. You will yourself to wake up, rapid heartbeat and nausea twisting your gut, but you’re carried back down again until you lose track of the cycles of sleep and false awakenings.

When Jaehyun appears you don’t believe it’s really him, sure he’s just part of the tapestry of your nightmare, trying to turn away from the weight on your bed as he sits beside you.

“Open your eyes,” he says, and you think they’re already open until he rips the tape from your mouth and the breath that fills your lungs brings you up to the surface a final time.

Tears spring to your eyes as you gulp in air, sobbing against the pillow at the side of your burning face.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jaehyun mutters, undoing the belt tying you to the bedframe. He lifts you up into his arms once you're released and you curl into his chest as he extricates the tape from where it had been wrapped around your head, gently pulling it from your hair.

"I'm sorry," he repeats over and over again.

"It's my fault," you say, but the words are a rasp.

He props you against the headboard and hands you a green bottle with a straw. Even dying of thirst you shake your head.

“No,” he says, closing your fingers around the cold glass. “I would never do that to you. Drink.”

Oh god that first sip of Sprite tastes like heaven. You drink slowly, wincing when an icy cold stings your face. Jaehyun wipes away the tape residue with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, afterburn soothing the throb from the quick removal.

You watch him through gummy eyelids, sniffling, drinking, until he’s done and let’s your face go.

“You think you can eat?” he asks. Oh yes, you can.

The pimento loaf sandwich is another miracle, though it’s made with overly-sweet salad dressing and limp lettuce. He watches you wolf it down, clutched in your cuffed hands. He wipes your mouth clean when you’re done. It doesn’t surprise you he’s gentle, you’re just wary of this good cop routine. Especially after what Johnny had said, earlier.

He looks as exhausted as you feel, his eyes red and hair slicked back like he’s been running his hand through it all day.

“Do you need to use . . .?” He looks behind him.

You almost start crying out of relief when he picks you up and carries you there, awkwardly unbuttoning your shorts but no more before closing the door behind you. You take your time, blowing your nose, washing your hands and face in warm water and then cold, drinking more from the sink. It had been a long time since you’d relied on small luxuries for comfort, and you try not to let it go to your head.

When you come out, the television is no longer on. His large body is folded over where he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Fuck.” He says, not looking up. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

How was it supposed to be? You can’t possibly imagine another timeline. Would you have stayed in this room to finish your drinking game and ended up between two men, oblivious? Would he have fucked you in the third floor room knowing the bodies in the suite next door wouldn't file a noise complaint?

“Don’t leave me alone again,” you order once you've found your courage. His head flips up to you, surprised. “Not with Johnny, not in this room.”

“Alright.” He nods, face neutral again.

“I already said I’d help you,” you say. “Do you trust me?”

Jaehyun hesitates, mouth opening slightly before closing again. He nods, swallowing.

“Off.” You lift your hands in front of you. He shakes his head.

“Johnny has the key.”

“Then we’ll go get it. Together.”

Jaehyun stands up, reaching for you, and you step back.

“Don’t touch me.”

He grabs the short chain between the cuffs, keeping you from moving away, searching your face.

“Did he do something to you?”

You can see it now, in the half-light of the day: he cares. There’s sincerity written in his midnight eyes searching your face, the twitch in his jaw. It makes your insides disintegrate into so much mush. As much as you think you’re immune to a pretty face, his is an exception.

“No.”

You think if you said yes Johnny would get more than a left hook. A small part of you preens, another registers it as useful.

“I did something," you say, wincing. "Dumb."

If he’s confused he doesn’t show it.

“I’ll take you to the bar, but not until later. Between first and second shift.”

Right. You were supposed to be working today, but there’s not much you can do with the hotel acting as a prison for everyone who’d agreed to stay, including being beholden to the poorly catered meals being served in the break room (that sandwich had to be a casualty). Best to avoid any unnecessary conversations.

You knew Lavinsky’s fat mouth and the speed of gossip well enough that your sleepover in Johnny’s room last night was already public information.

Ruby was absolutely going to murder you before your captors did. She'd probably ask you how the sex was first. You suppose that even if things had been cut short you had a much better idea than she did, now.

“When’re you leaving?” You ask. You need to be sure he’s not going to abandon you tonight in the break in the weather. You shiver at the idea of being left alone in the hotel with his partner.

“My contract is up next week,” he says, looking around the room, eyes landing on your calculating expression. “The hotel job. Cover. Not the other thing.”

You hadn’t been confused about his answer, although his over-explanation is funny. It’s more the budding understanding that he’s the opposite of Johnny: he’s disclosed information without even being asked. You don’t even think he’s lying.

Knowing that, you have to ask. “What happens to me after this?”

He smiles wryly, hands on his head again, just like an embarrassed teenage boy who’s porn stash had been found under his bed by his mother.

“We’re playing it by ear.”

“It’s my—“ you say, aghast, “I need better than improv.” You fist your hands in the canvas over his ribcage, tugging on it to stress the importance, barely moving him.

His hands close over yours, leaning down to look you directly in the eye. “You and I were never in that room. Do you think the cops are even going to question what happened?”

What if they do? You don’t think you're able to say it aloud, not with the panic bubbling in your throat, but he answers anyway.

“If they do, you don’t even work up there, do you?”

What if they do? You can feel the uncertainty radiating off you.

“Listen,” he says. "What you saw was an accidental overdose and a suicide. When the news breaks this place will be a circus. No one’s gonna be asking you anything unless it's the National Inquirer.”

You aren't aware you’ve backed yourself to the bed until he kneels down in front of you, still holding your sweating palms. His unkempt hair falls over his forehead as he makes his supplication, unable to meet your eyes.

“You have a very easy choice to make. Keep quiet, keep your head down. Like you always do. Or,” he pauses, dimples appearing, canines showing. "You know."

“Or,” you say, the finality of it hitting you, “I become an accessory to murder.”

“Doesn’t have to be that,” he says, looking up and frowning.

You could just be pulled into a federal investigation. Your entire life picked over to chase a conspiracy you’re the only key to. Drowning in a sea of red tape. Discredited publicly.

You chew the inside of your cheek.

“You don’t want them looking for skeletons in your closet,” he says, finally and quietly, and it’s the way he says it more than what he says that sends the klaxon off in your head.

“What . . . do you know?” Your pitch rises.

“Enough.”

Jaehyun says the word like it doesn’t even matter at all. It matters to you, you think. It's the most important thing in the world.

“How?”

“It’s easy for people like us.”

It feels like the hurricane is in your head. People like us. You’d changed your name, moved far away and back again. Why would someone go searching for that information unless as a threat, subtle or otherwise, that your life is in their hands?

“If you’re going to blackmail me you might as well just kill me—“ you blurt out.

“For the last time, that isn’t going to happen,” Jaehyun says dismissively. “You watch too many movies.“

“Johnny said—“

“Fuck Johnny!” Jaehyun yells, startling you. He immediately regrets it when you burst into tears. You're grappled in a clumsy embrace, chin digging into your shoulder as you sob.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby.”

He rocks you gently, circles running over your back. “What did he tell you?”

“He threatened me . . .” you choke out. "He had a gun. A knife."

Jaehyun sits back to ball a fist against his mouth. “That dumbass.”

You stop crying, hiccuping, as he reaches up to wipe the tears from your eyes, holding your face in his warm hands, cheeks squished.

“Listen. The guy’s sense of humor is twisted six ways to Sunday. But I swear on my mother’s life, Johnny’s mother’s life, we do not deliberately murder innocent people. Ever.”

“I thought . . .”

“I know, I know. I just need you to trust me.” Jaehyun taps his ear and gestures around the room.

“Oh.” You hiccup again, eyes widening. He mimes a tape loop spinning with his finger and you’ve seen enough police procedurals to know he means recording.

“Fucking oversight committee,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “What exactly did he do to you. Details.”

“Oh god.” You cover your mouth with both hands, horrified. You couldn’t imagine speaking it aloud, much less if someone could be listening in. “He . . . Well . . .”

“Don’t tell me he tried to fuck you?”

“No,” you say, wincing. “I mean, yes.”

“Sick fucking idea of foreplay, man.” Jaehyun gets up, pacing the room.

“I sort of,” you grit your teeth, realizing the fact that it’s recorded means you have nothing to hide. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I—I tried to seduce him.”

The other man freezes, looking over at you.

“I was trying to get his gun. Or his knife. I wasn't thinking that far ahead."

You brace yourself for an unhinged response, disgust or jealousy or some other patriarchal knee jerk that will have you back to square one of fighting for autonomy. You don't expect what happens instead: Jaehyun crosses the room in a heartbeat, lifting you up to crash his mouth down on yours.

He kisses you so hard you think you'll pass out from lack of air, lips closing over yours to open them, teeth clicking against yours. Unlike yesterday night he's not holding back anything, answering your internal curiosity on whether that three months of just watching hadn’t been enough.

When you finally break apart he's almost shaking with excitement, breathing through his mouth.

"Did you get it?" He asks, eyebrows raising.

"What?"

"Did you get his gun?"

You'd fantasized about kissing him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him but the preceding events and revelations have your head spinning. Him being turned on by the idea of you trying to escape Johnny is the least surprising thing in the past day.

"No," you say. "He was testing me."

"Wish I could have seen it," Jaehyun sighs, rubbing his thumb on your wet mouth.

"You want me to show you?"

You take the excited noise he makes in the back of his throat as a yes, as well as the return of his enthusiastic kissing. You guide him back to the chair and straddle his upper thighs like you did with Johnny, fingers playing with his work suit zipper.

"Do you have any tattoos under here?" You ask.

"What? No."

"Good."

"I have a gun though," he says, voice rough.

Jesus, this man, you think, settling onto his lap, making him pant. He really is going to be the end of you. His hips move up into yours, holding you down by the waist as you struggle to undo the brown coveralls he's wearing while you feel him hardening under your bare thigh.

That itch to be touched only grows as he teases you, lifting your shirt, thumbs on the underside of your breasts, the contact sending you arching into his face.

"Please," you beg, rubbing against him. He plucks at a nipple through your shirt, tongue against the crocheted fabric before pulling you down.

"Can see you're easily distracted," he murmurs. You don’t disagree, resting your chin on his head as he laves your collarbone.

Finally you unzip him to the waist, distractedly kissing around his mouth as you eye the brown leather of his shoulder holster over the white t-shirt he wears underneath.

You jerk as his hand reaches between you to press against the strip of denim between your thighs, rubbing exactly where you’ve needed to be touched since Johnny left you on the bed. You hadn’t been unable to button your shorts so the contact feels even more obscene, like if he just moved a few inches higher he'd be where you needed him to be.

Right there, right there. Your task is forgotten, your linked arms encircling his head, nails on his scalp under his thick hair. “Please touch me.”

He doesn't stop stroking you through your shorts, applying more pressure while his other hand moves up to your ass. His strong fingers dig into your hip, helping you work yourself on his fingers. You grind against the heel of his hand, zipper hard against your clit.

"Such a good girl," he says, watching your face intently. When you don’t resist he slips his hand into your shorts, his two fingertips pushing the soaked cotton into your entrance.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" It's the unsure way he says it that has you rolling down against his touch and moaning. He kisses you again as you ride his fingers, thumb rolling deliberately over the top of your mons.

“I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna,“ you squeak, words swallowed by his mouth. His thumb circles tighter, with just the right pressure, making you whine.

“Come for me,” he orders with that gravelly voice.

The orgasm hits you like a fastball, thighs quaking and heat flashing across your back and chest. He kisses you through it, not stopping the slow rub of his palm on your cunt as it throbs around nothing.

You wind down but you’re still buzzing with arousal, burying your face in his shoulder as you return to Planet Earth.

“Did Johnny make you come like that?” Jaehyun asks, nuzzling your ear.

“No . . . Nobody’s . . . No one’s made me . . .” you say. Self-consciousness floods in like an ice bath. When you don’t finish he pulls back, face shifting from a pleased smile to a brow pinched with concern.

“I’ve . . . I’ve had sex.” You play with the shorter hair at the back of his neck. “Before.”

Your few experiences as an adult have been unfulfilling, sloppy open-mouthed kisses on your stiff body in the back of cars or movie theaters. Amateur attempts at foreplay that did nothing to ready you for quick, uncomfortable fucks. You’d wanted to enjoy it but looking back on it now it wasn’t just a lack of skill on your part, it was the fact that men expected you to get off on their presence alone.

The irony that you could come from a man who hadn’t even touched you skin-to-skin is not lost on you.

“I don’t think you really have,” he says. It’s not a denial, it’s an invitation. He wants to guide you, you think, and your mouth waters at the thought of seeing him over you, inside of you—

You kiss him, telegraphing your desire to continue in your body pressed against his. What you thought was hesitation on his part, you realize now, was sheer will. He’s still tense, treating you like you’re delicate enough to break.

“We should wait,” he says, extricating your arms so he can push you back. “Get those cuffs off you first.”

You pout, and he smiles gently.

"Don't want to rush this." Jaehyun holds your cheek, kissing you on the nose. "I want to ma—"

You cut him off as soon as the holster snap releases and you're able to pull the surprisingly-light-for-its-size pistol from his shoulder rig. You thumb to check the safety and the magazine release before digging the muzzle into his ribs.

He freezes, hands raising slowly. You know he was turned-on before but now he's flushed to the tips of his ears, mouth open so you can see his tongue play at his sharp white teeth.

"What are you doing, baby girl?" He’s a tiny bit uncertain again, and it makes you squirm a little as your core continues to throb with the little release he'd given you.

"You think you can make me wait?" you scold. "I think you should do what I tell you to do."

You scoot back off his lap, adjusting so your left hand cradles the bottom of the checkered wood grip. It's hard to keep your face straight as you fight the training screeching at you to point the gun away from him, not at him.

"You look like you know how to use that."

"I do," you say. You're careful not to trip over anything as you move back to the bed.

Jaehyun’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, eyes going between the gun and your lips.

"God you're—"

"No talking," you order, sitting down with your legs wide.

"Come here. Get on your knees for me."

He moves slowly, but you can tell he's a greyhound at the gate the way he drops in front of you, eye level at your collarbone. You press the gun into his shoulder to move him back a bit.

"Hands where I can see them," you remind him.

He reaches for your bare knees, making you knock his hands away with the 9mm. He still pushes your boundaries by gripping the mattress edge, caging you, forcing you to close your legs to avoid contact.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

He shakes his head, lips disappearing in a closed-mouth smile.

"Maybe I'll let you use them if you're good," you say in a hushed tone. You savor making him wait for your next instruction; you can see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. You scoot a little so you're balanced on the bed, gesturing with the muzzle.

"I want you to use your mouth first."

The groan that comes out of him is music to your ears, and you think maybe he's disassociating just staring at you until you realize he's waiting for your next instruction. Not once in your life have you had an outlet for this, and never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined it would be with him.

"Go ahead," you say. You brace yourself for an attack but he's careful, kissing your belly in the briefest moment of disobedience before pressing his face to the front of your already open shorts. He's clumsy but he makes quick work of pulling the zipper down.

The next part proves painfully difficult, the fabric sticking to your skin. You end up halfway off the bed with your elbows holding you up, underwear still on, as he guides you out of your shorts.

"Those too—" you order but then he's on you, licking your already soaked panties. He laps at you with his broad tongue in a short sweep that avoids your most sensitive area, making you writhe.

"Off, puh—" You bite your lip to keep from begging, trying to adjust yourself on the bed to get him closer to your core. He responds by biting the inside of your thigh, teeth scraping across the skin to pull the fabric over so you're half-bared.

And then his tongue is on you again for real and that warm, soft wetness is heaven. You watch the top of his head in awe, keening a little as you feel him work around your panties to taste your wetness. The friction is so good you don't mind that he didn't listen, but you don't want him to stop here.

"You can–" you pant, unable to take another second of teasing. "You can use your hands."

He only follows your instructions partially, holding your panties aside so he can bury his face into your already dripping entrance. You cry out, thighs locking only to be pushed apart by an unmoveable grip. He holds you open and god you've never been so alight.

Every thrust of his tongue is rough and needy, like he can't get enough of the taste. Your neck cramps but you can't stop watching, in awe of the way he fucks you with his mouth, tongue circling up into you. He rubs your slick core with his lips, avoiding your clit, until you're squirming in his grasp.

"Inside me, please, inside me," you beg. It makes him chuckle into your cunt, never stopping his sloppy attack on you when he curls a finger between the fabric and up inside, massaging the rough spot on the top of your walls you could never reach on your own. He presses in a way that has an orgasm building within you in seconds.

You didn't even know it was possible to come this fast but you're learning a lot today.

And then he's off you, leaving you crazed.

“If you stop now I’ll–”

He pushes you back on to the bed, yanking down your underwear until you're released and spread wide, messing the sheets. The next time he's inside of you it's two fingers stretching you open, pistoning mercilessly. You bite back a scream, the gun's grip slipping in your hands.

"God, fuck, please," you beg, rocking into the bed.

"Tell me," he says, digging into the spongy part of your cunt, forearm flexing.

"Please–" you begin, cut off by him slowing down and the slight shake of his head. It takes you a few seconds to register, all the time squeezing desperately around his thick fingers.

"Make me come," you order.

He dips down immediately, his tongue and lips sucking at your clit, and you’re quickly coming undone with a cry of his name to the heavens you hope won't carry through the walls.

The aftermath has him finger-fucking you slowly until the spasms fade out, head resting against your bare hip, breath chilling the sticky wetness over your core.

After awhile he crawls back up on the bed, plucking the gun from your limp grasp. You watch as he inspects the already partially-ejected magazine with a sly grin.

"Most people don't like the disconnect safety on the Hi-Power," you say, chest heaving.

“Wish you would have kept the magazine in,” he says as he snaps it back into place, reaching to the nightstand to place the gun far enough away you know it will take work to get back. Meanwhile you’re boneless, tingling and growing cold from the wetness dripping down your thighs and belly.

“Didn’t trust myself,” you whisper as he lies down beside you. He kisses you sweetly, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. You curl into him, savoring the way his hands smooth back your hair and play at the strings of your halter top–the only piece of clothing keeping you from being completely bare before him.

"You still gonna make me wait?" you ask.

He grabs your hands to bring them down to his crotch, your face hot when you realize what the warm damp seeping into the fabric is.

"You . . . came?" You'd been so present in your own euphoria you hadn’t even noticed. "Just from that?"

"It's been awhile," he breathes, shy but not ashamed. "I don't think you understand what you do to me."

"I'm getting the idea." You kiss him, softly.

The glow radiating inside you isn't just from that second hit of serotonin. You were already addicted to being wanted but this is so much more than that.

"Do I still need the gun to motivate you?" you ask once you pull back. He laughs.

"Keep talking dirty and we'll see how far this goes," he says, tugging on the strings of your shirt.

"I'm surprised you haven't modified the magazine eject," you continue as he tosses it aside, "thought you'd need a quicker reload."

He works his way down your throat, pausing to suckle the skin in the way you know will leave a mark. The first time he tongues your nipple you lift off the bed, shocked at how sensitive they are. His mouth trails over your pebbled skin, nose nudging each time he licks and sucks at your curves. He stops after a few moments, eyes narrowing with his smile.

"You're distracted again." he says, laughing when you glare down at him. "Go on."

"You have modified, ah." You sink your hands into his hair, massaging his scalp. "You have a straight ramp barrel—ouch!"

He bites the meat of your breast to correct you. "Not modified."

"But you’re using hollow point—" You squeak as he tugs your other nipple with his teeth.

"You can do better than that," he says, getting up to shrug out of his clothing and shoulder holster. He pauses when you don't continue, your breath stolen when you see what's under his t-shirt. He's more cut than you expected, wide torso so lean you could trace every muscle.

“Daddy's P35 didn't have the ambidextrous safety . . ." you murmur once you’ve regained your words. "Is it a newer . . .?"

Then he's kicking out of his clothes and underwear, fully naked and you can't even breathe much less talk. He smiles shyly at you, kneeling between your legs on the bed.

"Mark II," he says, softly.

You didn't even know you'd sat up, reaching for him. His eyes flutter closed when your hands wrap around his cock, delighted to find it already rigid and weeping precum. It's bigger than you expected, long and slightly curved.

"Can I taste you?" you ask and he nods with a careful swallow, helping you down to the bed face down in front of him, on your elbows.

You'd never thought you could say a cock was pretty but you think there isn't a square inch of him that could be described differently. You curve your back to meet his height, angling your head to take him stem to tip with one long drag of your tongue.

You explore every vein and groove, cleaning the velvety smooth skin of his earlier release before sucking at the bead of white leaking from his swollen tip. He tastes just as good as you imagined–and you need more.

He doesn't make much noise but the little he does sends waves of pleasure down to your toes, each caught breath and throaty whine an indication you’re doing well. He places a hand in your hair when you take him into your mouth, getting only halfway before he's hitting the back of your throat and making your eyes water.

"You take me so good," he murmurs.

His belly twitches when you drag your nails through the short hair on his balls, loving the way he jerks and gasps as you squeeze the base of his cock with your bound hands. If you're a little sloppy he doesn't seem to mind, only allowing short thrusts into your relaxed mouth. From the looks of it he's coming undone again as quickly as you did. Even just looking at him is making your walls spasm.

"You wanna fuck my face?" you offer once you take a moment to catch your breath but he lifts you up to hold you against him, erection tucked against your belly as he kisses you deeply.

"You're too sweet for me," he says. "I'm going to fill you with my cum instead."

There's a moment for you to catch up with what he said as he nips at your neck.

"You're on the pill aren’t you?" The way he says it, it isn't a question. He'd packed your stuff, you remember, but you're still surprised by how assertive his tone is. "Yes, but . . ."

"Whatever you're comfortable with."

He starts to move away, presumably to get a rubber, making you cling to his forearm with both hands.

"No," you say. "Please. I want it."

"That's my girl," he says, stroking you lightly from your face to your breastbone, fingers trailing down until they're between your legs again. "You're going to come for me again around my cock?"

"Yes," you shiver. Another first for you he's earned.

"I'm going to take my time with you," he says. He means it, touching you until you melt into him, letting him work at you externally until you're clenching at air, your cheek pressed against his sweat-slick chest. You lower your hands to return the favor, slowly stroking his length between your cuffed hands before pulling him down and between your legs when you can no longer stand it. The first brush of his warmth between your thighs has you both groaning.

"Hold on tight," he says.

Jaehyun helps you get your arms over his head so they're resting on his broad shoulders. Your body is vibrating like a struck glass as he lays you both down, holding himself up so he can rut over you, cock sliding over your folds with ease.

"Do you know how much I wanted this?" Jaehyun looks into your half-closed eyes as he drags his length over you. His eyes are almost black with controlled desire and you find yourself drowning in what you see there. "Know how long I waited?"

"I was waiting for you, too," you say, gasping, fighting each time he almost reaches your entrance. You think if you could just lift your hips he'd be inside you already, but he's got you pinned. The teasing is too much after coming twice without that warmth and girth.

"Every day, every hour," he says. "Wanted to take you wherever I saw you. Let them all watch."

You pull him down to kiss you, not caring where your lips land on his face. When your mouths finally meet he cants his hips on a downstroke and enters you. Suddenly you're stretched so much better than his fingers, shallow thrusts easing in excruciatingly slow.

"Wanted. Want it too," you're incapable of speaking clearly, burying yourself in his shoulder as he drives in deeper with each stroke. "Please. Please fuck me."

"Make love to you," he corrects, biting your ear.

He lifts you both momentarily so you can better wrap your legs around him, driving in forcefully as soon as your ankles hit his backside. You moan as he bottoms out, hitting deep before he's back to half-thrusts you know are less a tease and more his own fight to keep from coming.

He finds the right angle to fuck into you by following the sound of your cries changing from shock to pleasure, your back arcing up to bring your chests together when he goes slow again.

He shifts on to one arm supporting you and then you feel a searching touch on your labia. His calloused thumb circles your overworked clit, lifting the hood each pass. You hold onto him for dear life, slipping in the sweat that runs down his skin, salt joining the lingering taste of semen in your mouth.

"Can feel you get tighter," he says. "Such a perfect pussy for me."

Each rotation brings you closer to the peak until you're sobbing inarticulately, clamping onto his shoulder with your teeth.

"Don't be quiet. I want to hear you."

You stay quiet but let out a stream of small cries that has him fucking into you so deeply you can feel him hitting parts of you never touched before, angled into that perfect spot he'd found so easily with his fingers earlier. The tension in your walls ramps up with zero control, your legs clamping around his body.

"I'm come—I'm come—oh god," you cry out, and when you finally break you see stars from how powerful the contractions run up your spine and down to your toes.

He doesn’t stop thrusting, strokes becoming erratic as he kisses you through his own release. The gush of warmth inside you is so good that tears spring to your eyes, and he kisses those away too, collapsing into your shoulder.

His hair is damp against your ear and you turn your face to kiss his heavy head, loving the purr that rises up from his chest as you nuzzle his scalp with your nose. He moves to kiss you back, sweet as sugar even though he's bruising your lips with the force of it until you pull away for air.

"Can we stay this way a minute?" He asks breathlessly.

"Yes."

He rolls you both over, still connected skin-to-skin as he softens inside you.

"We should have done this sooner," you say, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

"Mmm," he blows a hot breath against your forehead. "We have a lot of time to make up for."

"Thank you," you say, not expecting an answer but surprised to find he's fast asleep within seconds, his mouth parted in a smile that makes your heart flutter.

You watch him for what feels like eternity but you can’t find a similar peace. Reality sets in as the aircon turns on and the sticky warmth begins to cool on your bodies. Rather than pull away you burrow deeper into his embrace, not minding the mess for as long as you can pretend like this isn't temporary.

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