“Hey- are you okay, sweets? I know you were friends with Wendy,” your boyfriend asks, walking up to you and Haechan after being released from interrogation. 

“I wouldn't say friends, but still- it’s just crazy, like… how does this happen?” you ask, still in shock.

One of your sorority sisters, Wendy, was staying at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment and was found dead, both of them having been murdered. You aren’t sure about specific details or even what’s going on, but the cops came to the school and were interviewing everyone in the connected sorority and fraternity- the fraternity that your boyfriend happened to be a part of. You were both in shock at the news.

“Why the long faces?” Johnny jokes with a big smile, walking up with his arm wrapped around his girlfriend Jennie.

“God, Johnny, you dick. Wendy’s dead. You could at least pretend to be respectful-” Jennie chastised.

“Didn’t Wendy dump you for Joshua?” Haechan asks Johnny, sucking on a lollipop.

“What the fuck? I thought you dumped her for me,” Jennie screeches, slapping Johnny’s chest.

“I did, baby. I did- Haechan’s just talking shit-” he replies, glaring at Haechan.

“And did you tell the cops about your previous relations with the victim?” Haechan laughs, still trying to stir some shit up.

“If you have something to say, say it with your chest,” Johnny demands.

“Where were you last night?” Haechan smirks.

“He was with me,” Jennie says suggestively.

“All night?”

“All right. Haechan, fuck off- Johnny didn’t do it.” Jaehyun effectively stops the back and forth. Haechan shrugs and goes back to looking at all the commotion going on at both houses.

“What do we do now?” you mutter to yourself.

“The cops said we have to stick together, so that’s what we’ll do,” Jaehyun comforts.

Sticking together didn’t work very well, and you found yourself alone at the sorority house. Everyone was out studying or with their boyfriends. You’re scrolling on your phone when you get a call from an unknown number and against your better instinct, you answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Who is this?” you hear from the other end. It’s a male voice and one you don’t immediately recognize. It’s gruff and gravelly.

“Well, I was going to ask you that,” you say, sitting up in your bed, your mind running through all the possibilities on who it could be. It doesn’t make sense for Johnny to call because Jennie’s with him right now, and Jaehyun was still in class. It could be Haechan, but again, the voice doesn’t match.

“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours-” 

“I’m not giving you my name- you called me,” you scoff.

“I guess that’s right. Maybe I just want to talk,” he offers.

“I’m sure you can find someone else to talk to. Have a good night,” you hang up and lay back down on your bed only to immediately get another call.

“Hello?”

“Why did you hang up on me?” he says, almost sounding kind of aggressive.

“Well, I don’t know who you are,” you respond, stating the obvious.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Oh- Ha ha, Haechan. How funny. I like the sexy thing you’re doing with your voice- it’s really turning me on,” you tease.

“I’m not Haechan- answer the question. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“I don’t know, Haechan- you know I don’t watch that shit.”

“Why not? Too scared?”

“No, it’s just- they’re all the same. Some big breasted girl always goes out in the open to investigate a noise while this loser man is obviously trying to lure her out to kill her. It’s honestly insulting.”

“Oh yeah? How do you think you’ll fare? What’ll you do when I try to lure you out to kill you?”

“What-” you freeze, and then you hear a noise downstairs.

“You heard me-” he replies as you stick your head out your bedroom door.

“Hello?” you shakily yell out into the house to see who’s there.

“Why would you say hello, sweets? Don’t you know that’s what every ‘big breasted girl’ calls out before the killer gets her?”

You make your way downstairs trying to figure out what that noise was since no one is supposed to be home. You are also still working under the assumption that this is Haechan playing a prank on you. 

“Haechan? Come out, come out wherever you are,” you say halfheartedly, still trying to joke despite the fact that you don’t want him to jump out and scare you.

“You’ll have to come and find me, sweets. And in case you haven’t realized it yet- this isn’t Haechan.”

You don’t see any movement, and no one has made themselves known, so none of your sorority sisters are here. You haven’t heard another noise, but just in case, you walk into the kitchen to grab a knife and find that they’re all gone. Now, you really start to panic, and the voice on the phone hasn’t said anything more but is still on the line.

You hear another noise coming from the bathroom at the end of the hallway and begin walking towards the noise as slowly as possible, tip-toeing to avoid making any noise.

“Hello?” you say in a voice just above a whisper. The killer jumps out from one of the bedroom doors behind you and tackles you to the floor. He tries to slam the knife into you but you grab a hold of his arms and try holding him off. He grabs your hair with his free hand and slams your head against the floor, making you feel disoriented for a second. You’re now vulnerable again, and he trails the knife across your cheek, nicking you slightly. He lifts his arms high to get as much momentum as possible to stab you when you suddenly kick him in the dick with all your might. He is obviously temporarily incapacitated and falls backwards, clutching his family jewels, giving you the opening to run up the stairs back to your room. 

As you run up, you dial 911 and quickly give them your address. 

“Please help me, he’s here- the killer’s here!” you go into the corner of your room and slide down the wall as the phone operator tries to make sure you’re okay. Ghostface bangs on the door and then suddenly, the banging stops. You stare at your door for what feels like hours, and then Jaehyun hops through your window. You, of course, scream bloody murder.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's wrong? Are you okay? What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetie-” he says, almost smiling. You panic. It feels like you’re going to pass out because why would he say that? It has to be him. He has to be the killer. It's too much of a coincidence for him to have been here at the same time as the killer and not see him. Details about the killer haven’t even been released yet, and he decides to use that turn of phrase? You’d rather be safe than sorry. 

“No. No, no, nonono,” you cry as you run back down the stairs, only to run into a police officer at the front door. 

“It’s Jeong Jaehyun! He’s the killer! Please! Help!!” you scream at the cop as he tries to calm you down. He escorts you outside as two more cops go in to arrest Jaehyun. Haechan heard the sirens and immediately rushed over, already waiting outside the sorority house. He holds you as the police officers take your boyfriend away. Jaehyun’s calling out your name as they put him in the back of the police car, begging you to believe him and to tell them that he didn’t do it. You turn into Haechan’s chest and try but fail to hold back your tears. 

To no one’s surprise, the frat immediately decides to throw a party to celebrate the capture of the killer, not caring that a member of their brotherhood was arrested. Any excuse to get absolutely obliterated on a school night. You, however, aren't in a party mood obviously, so you hang out with Haechan in his room instead.

“Oh my god, that psycho!” he yells, stomping around his room as you recount everything that just happened with Jaehyun. “I always knew he was a freak- I should’ve reported him when I was being interrogated-” He looks up to see that you’re still pretty shaken up and not interested in yelling about your boyfriend being arrested. He takes a seat next to you on the bed and pulls you into his arms. The action makes you start crying again, feeling so overwhelmed.

“It’s okay, sweets. It’ll all be okay-” he soothes and rubs your back softly. You look up at him, and before you know it, he’s kissing you. At first, you’re surprised, but it doesn’t take much time for you to give in and kiss him back. Then a smidgen of logic hits you and you pull back, but not very far, still letting your forehead rest against his. 

“Don’t.. say anything just yet… okay?” Haechan pleads, “I’d like the chance to talk about my feelings for you when you don’t have a boyfriend who’s in jail.”

“Okay,” you whisper, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

The two of you get ready for bed, and you fall asleep cuddled up in Haechan’s arms while the party rages on downstairs. 

And while Jennie’s getting murdered down the road.

You wake up somewhat early the next morning and walk back to the sorority house. You know when you arrive that everyone will still be asleep and/or hungover from the night before. Thoughts of what to cook for the girls before their classes swirl in your mind when you walk up and see Jennie hanging from a tree in the front yard. You scream louder than you ever have before and fall to the floor in tears. Her body is covered in blood and she has been completely gutted, her insides falling out of her.

Jaehyun gets released a few hours later because it’s obviously not him seeing as Jennie was killed while he was in custody. You’re so distraught and you feel so awful and simultaneously responsible. If you hadn’t said it was Jaehyun,  the cops would have kept patrol cars in the area, the real killer could have been caught, and Jennie would still be alive. 

You also feel so guilty for ever thinking it could possibly be your sweet boyfriend who has never given you any reason to doubt him. You’re beating yourself up over it in your head when he stops you in the hallway.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you respond, unable to meet his eyes.

“Oh my- don’t tell me you still think it’s me-” he says in disbelief. That makes you look up at him immediately.

“No! No, I don’t. I just- I feel so bad that I’m the reason you were suspected. I’m so sorry-” you blink up at him desperate for forgiveness.

“Let’s talk about this later, yeah? Come over after my last class tonight and we can talk then.”

He kisses you softly before you two part ways. 

You’re incredibly anxious, and you’ve been dreading this conversation since seeing Jaehyun earlier. Is he going to break up with you? You probably would if you were in his shoes. How do you date someone who so easily turns you into the police for a crime you didn’t commit? 

As you walk up, you see him already waiting for you outside. 

“Hey!”

“Hi.”

“Maybe we should move on from monosyllables,” he jokes, leading you inside, “No one’s home, so we can have our conversation without worrying about anyone else listening.” 

Once you get to his room, you feel the words bubbling up out of you like word vomit.

“I’m so sorry. I was panicking! And you just happened to be there at the perfect time- and I guess I just got sort of scrambled? I don’t actually believe that you could do something like that,” you promise. 

“I’m glad that you don’t think I could do that because I’m not sure that I’d like the idea you have of me in your little brain. You had me scared, baby. I thought that you didn’t trust me-” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist. He begins kissing you and slowly leads you over to the bed. He lays you down and starts kissing your neck, your body relaxing at his touch.

“You trust me, right, baby?” he asks, kissing the swell of your chest.

“You’re not gonna break up with me?” you ask through a sigh.

“Break up with you? No, pretty girl- I’m gonna keep you around,” he slides his hand under your shirt as he continues to kiss along your jaw and neck. Slowly, he peels your shirt off and ogles you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you. 

“You’re so pretty for me, sweets.” 

You squirm under his gaze and pull him back down so he can kiss you. He’s slow and deliberate and licks your bottom lip to ask for entry, which you immediately grant. His tongue massages yours as his hands move up to knead your breasts through your bra. He once again begins to trail down leaving kisses in his wake until he gets to your lower abdomen. His proximity to you means you can feel his breaths causing your back to involuntarily arch.

“Aw, baby, did you miss me?”

“Yes, Jae, please-” you whine, eyes closed. You’re already lost in subspace.

“Please what, sweets?”

“Please use me-”

He groans at your response and quickly rips your pants and undies off your body as you remove your bra, leaving you completely bare. The feeling of his breathing so close to your body continues to give you goosebumps. Despite your growing need, Jaehyun teases you and kisses your inner thighs getting closer to your heat, but he avoids it completely. He continues kissing just outside of the area where you need him, even leaving a wet kiss on your mound. 

He can tell you’re feeling restless, and he doesn’t want to be that mean. Deciding to be slightly nicer, he gently licks at your bud, and it only amplifies your desperation. It’s not nearly enough pressure, but you know that he has every right to fuck with you and you do not want to be punished. Unfortunately, your body starts involuntarily grinding against his face. Realizing just how needy you must be, he gives in and gives you what you want, sloppily eating you out, stimulating you in all the best ways. You feel his tongue everywhere and the way he licks your bundle of nerves is delicious. It doesn’t take long before you feel the cord in your stomach snap. You moan and try to squirm, but Jaehyun holds you down as he licks you through it. 

When you come back to earth, Jaehyun pulls back and looks at you with an unreadable look. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and asks, “Do you want me to fuck you, sweets?”,

You lazily nod.

“Words, baby,” Jaehyun says in a low voice.

“Yes, Jae- please fuck me,” you whine. That’s the confirmation he was looking for to line himself up with your entrance, and he slowly pushes in letting you adjust to him. 

“Jaeeeee,” you whimper, and he knows it’s his cue to start moving. Your boyfriend’s dick fills you up so nicely, and you’re so sensitive- the feeling of him already has you approaching your second high. Your legs are wrapped around him as he pounds into you, hands gripping your hips so hard you’re sure you’ll feel the bruises tomorrow. He can feel from the way you clench around him that you’re close again.

“Wow, sweets- you really needed me-” he smirks, and he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb to get you there faster. You close your eyes relishing in the feeling, getting closer and closer. But then you feel him stop moving. When you open your eyes, you see Ghostface holding up a knife to Jaehyun’s throat, and you scream, feeling like you’ve walked into a nightmare.

“Please- please, please, please don’t hurt us” Jaehyun begs, face pale and dick still inside of you. You forget how to breathe watching the scene unfold, and there’s a brief pause before the killer begins to remove his mask to reveal-

“Johnny?!” you scream. “But… but you killed Jennie? Why would you do that?”

“Because I can-” he responds using the voice changer with a smile so wide you’d swear it was the best day of his life. His expression is so contradictory to the macabre topic at hand, and you’re confused, so confused. Your brows furrow as you look from Jaehyun to Johnny. 

Suddenly, Johnny removes the knife from Jaehyun’s neck and your boyfriend’s fearful expression drops. As if the quick change in demeanor wasn’t shocking enough, he resumes fucking you again as if nothing had happened, leading you to feel even more disoriented. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, and it actually feels like you might pass out. You’re also being fucked hard and you were already so close before Johnny came in, so that feeling is coming right back.

“I can’t believe you turned me in, baby- I thought we were stronger than that,” Jaehyun says, slamming into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Johnny was so gracious to help get me out, but- he didn’t do it out of the kindness in his heart. He wants something in return.” you stare up in horror at Jaehyun’s implication, rendered speechless.

“Don’t you wanna know what he wants?” Jaehyun grins.

“How about a hint?” Johnny says from his spot next to Jaehyun, “You know… I’ve always had a thing for you, Y/N-” 

You involuntarily clench at the confession. Fuck- why did you do that.

“Oh? Dirty girl. You want Johnny, sweets? You squeezed me sooooo fucking tight just now,” Jaehyun teases.

You whine at his words and feel so conflicted. Turning your head away, you close your eyes and try to focus on anything but how good Jaehyun feels inside you right now. Johnny makes his way to your side and lightly drags the knife across your skin, tracing from your jaw down to your neck and chest. 

“Do you want me, baby?” Johnny asks, knife pressed against the base of your throat. Yes. No. Fuck! 

They're murderers! They killed your friend, and they might kill you when they’re done with you! 

(But you’ve never felt so turned on in your life.)

You nod shyly, avoiding eye contact with Johnny.

“Say it baby. Say that you want my loser killer dick inside of you-” Johnny orders, using your previous words against you, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him. He really is so pretty even with that deranged look in his eyes. 

“I want you inside of me, Johnny. Please!” you whimper, your face heating up at the embarrassment you feel at being turned on right now.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

The two deviants reposition you so you’re on your hands and knees as a naked Johnny gets situated against the headboard. He’s so big and thick, definitely bigger than Jaehyun, and your mouth waters as you gaze upon what you’re working with. 

“Already cockdrunk, sweets?” Johnny smirks at your reaction to him, “I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re drooling-”

You lower yourself to a comfortable position and look up at Johnny as you lick a stripe from base to tip making him groan. 

“Fuck, baby- don’t tease me,” he growls, his hand moving to your head to ground himself. 

And so you don’t tease. You decide to give it your all, but his dick is way too big for you to suck him off the same way you do for Jaehyun. You start with the head, but the second that you put the tip in your mouth, Jaehyun starts fucking you again and much harder this time. You think he must be turned on by watching you suck off Johnny, and you tighten around him at the thought. You begin bobbing your head on Johnny’s cock (or at least what you can fit in your mouth), and you moan and whine as Jaehyun continues to brutally fuck into you. 

“Fuck, look at you-” Johnny groans, “Your boyfriend and your boyfriend’s best friend killed people and you’re letting them fuck you.” 

You’ve been holding back your orgasm for so long, and Johnny’s words are enough to launch you into it. You pull off of his cock and you feel your orgasm wash over you, your moans filling the room. It’s so intense and you’re gripping onto Jaehyun’s dick so tightly that you rip his orgasm out of him, forcing him to cum deep in your hole. 

“Fuck- did you just cum because Johnny reminded you that we’re killers? Shit, sweets, you’re just as fucked up as we are,” Jaehyun says moaning and groaning as he keeps shooting cum deep into your pussy. He fucks you to the point of overstimulating the both of you until he genuinely can’t take it anymore. He stills but stays buried in you, trying to recover, throwing his head back and catching his breath. You then come to the realization that he has never fucked you unprotected before, and he has definitely never finished inside you. 

“Fuck, baby- you can’t squeeze me like that,” he croaks, his eyes squeezing shut. 

“Alright, get out of the way, Jeong- it’s my turn.”

“Alright, asshole, relax!” Jaehyun snaps, pulling out of you and hissing at the feeling.

Johnny slides into the empty space that Jaehyun leaves, flips you over, and says, “Alright, perfect. I want you to see who’s fucking you this good, okay, sweetie?” 

He pushes into your entrance and stretches you out way more than Jaehyun’s dick did but he does not give you the same amount of time to adjust and instead immediately starts driving his cock into you hard and fast. 

“Fuuuuuuck, sweets. This is everything I've dreamed of. Do you know how long I had to watch you from afar and deal with all these fucking bitches? I could give a shit about Jennie or Wendy or any of these other girls. Shit- how could I pay attention to any of them when this sweet pot of honey was right here waiting for me?”

Your pussy flutters at the compliment and Johnny chuckles. 

“Damn, you got so tight around me, baby. Do you like hearing about how we killed for you? Got rid of Wendy and fuckass Joshua for you. I know Wendy was a huge bitch to you, and Joshua spread your nudes around so obviously we had to get rid of them.” 

You’re shocked at the fact that they killed for you, shocked that they even know these things since it wasn’t very well known that Wendy was consistently trying to ruin your life. The Joshua thing is more public given the nature, but it happened years ago. 

“And Jennie? You know, Jennie wouldn’t have had to die if it wasn’t for you telling the cops to arrest Jae and her being so easy to get rid of. Honestly, don’t feel so bad- we probably would have killed her anyway, but it wasn’t part of our grand plan,” he monologues over your moans while sharply bucking into you. All of it is too much- his words, the fact that Johnny is inside of you and Jaehyun is watching, how sensitive you are from the last 2 orgasms.

“Johnny- please. I’m gonna-”

He wraps a hand around your throat and pounds his length into you harder and faster than you thought was humanly possible. The combination of the pressure on your pulse and the strength with which Johnny is pounding into you sends you toppling over and you convulse under the large man. You feel the pleasure pulsing and radiating in a way you’ve never felt, experiencing absolute ecstasy. Johnny fucks you through your high and shoots his release into you, shuddering at the feeling of your gummy walls milking him for all he’s worth. 

“Oh my god, angel-” Johnny starts.

“Johnny’s dick made you squirt-” Jaehyun finishes in awe.

You’re laying on Jaehyun’s bed absolutely spent, their words hardly registering in your brain. You feel someone cleaning you up and you shiver. It feels like you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life, but you suppose the fear of being killed in the middle of sex will do that to you. You begin drifting off to sleep when you hear-

“I can’t believe you fuckers started without me-”

“We’re changing the ending, Haechan. That pussy is too good to waste.”

divider^ by @/strangergraphics (perfect for this fic thx so much!!!)

chapter warnings: nothing you haven't seen before but! explicit sex, discussion of kink, heavy sir kink, service top!johnny, double penetration [f receiving], anal penetration [f receiving], blindfolds, edging, coming inside (established earlier y/n is on birth control)

recommended listening: Roberta Flack's 1973 album Killing Me Softly

"Rise and shine," Johnny says, voice filtering though layers of sleep as Jaehyun re-enters the world.

Jaehyun’s left hand dips heavy with the loaded Browning, swaying as he aims it for the wall instead of the man obscuring his bedroom doorway.

"You know if I wanted you dead you would have been gone five minutes ago."

“Go away," Jaehyun mutters. His mouth is sour with sleep and day-old bourbon as he turns to set the gun on the nightstand rather than tucking it back under the unused pillow on his bed. The clock reads a quarter past ten. It’s not late but later than he expected, having crawled into the sheets at dawn that day.

"How'd you get in?" Jaehyun asks when he finally accepts that Johnny isn't leaving.

"You gave me a key, dumbass. What are you doing out of the hospital?"

"Then lock up on your way out,” he answers, collapsing back into the pillows. The minor gesture has him wincing at the throb from his Frankensteined shoulder. In a better world he'd be operative by now, but he’d learned all too well a side effect of untreated open wounds was blood poisoning.

“Brought you a gift," Johnny says, shaking an orange plastic container. He eyes the whiskey bottle on the nightstand. "Probably not a good idea to mix."

"I already told Zhong I'm not taking that shit," Jaehyun grumbles.

"Different kind of pain, huh?" Johnny tosses something on the bed. “Brought something for that too.”

"Shouldn't have." Jaehyun kicks the bundle off his legs–flowers from the shape and the rustle of plastic.

"They're not from me."

He can’t remember waking up but he can read between the lines of his partner’s words. It's as effective as an ice bath, making him sit up again.

"Figured you'd need a few extra hands since yours is out of commission," Johnny’s silhouette nods towards the cloth arm brace he's wearing, a requirement for leaving observation. It's annoying but a useful reminder to not to put weight on the healing muscle.

“Who's here?” Jaehyun asks, guarded.

“Who do you think? Get up and eat.”

The smell hits him, warm and fragrant. He feels like one of those cartoons following the smell of a pie on a windowsill as he shuffles out of bed, the cool air a shock with the way his sweats are plastered to his skin.

"God you need a shower," Johnny jokes, helping him when he finds it difficult to stand. Jaehyun shoves his good elbow into his ribs half-heartedly.

This close he can read so much more from his partner: the restaurant smell of fried food and beer, but also the faint trace of lipstick on his collar and the brightness in his eyes.

Johnny is always performing some kind of act when he's feeling anxious but this is different. Seven years of shared service had given Jaehyun a view behind the curtain enough times to know he’s troubled.

“Why did you bring her here?” he asks.

“She asked me to,” Johnny says with a trace of dishonesty, letting his arm go.

It's been unseasonably cold in April, and the rain is a sheet over the windowed attic roof overhead. Everything else under it would seem to be in the right place, if not for the figure in his kitchen, straining to reach the dark-glazed bowls he’s sure have gathered dust since he’s last used them.

You're still wearing a thick, wool coat and he’s reminded how dismally cold it is in his apartment, with its exposed brick interior and practically non-existent glass walls and ceiling. At the best of times he has a view of the stars beyond the city lights, but now the space feels so much smaller.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You turn around, just slow and deliberate enough that he knows you’ve been hanging on every word of exchange behind you. It's hard to have privacy in a loft. Jaehyun hadn’t bought it expecting company.

Seeing the pitiful look on your face has him ready for flight. Not just pitiful because of the obvious discomfort but in how you’re looking at him right now, like you’re afraid he’s going to break if you speak.

"Hey," you say, forgetting the dishes. "Are you alright?"

He wants to go back into his room but Johnny is right behind him and there really isn't an exit besides his front door or the rickety old fire escape.

"Yeah." Jaehyun says. He forgets not to lift his right hand to his head until the pain of movement has him reeling.

In the few moments between accepting he might pass out a second time in front of you and still finding himself upright you wrap your arms around his middle. Moisture seeps into the cotton of his shirt as you pretend not to cry in the same stubborn manner he’s seen before.

"It's really not that bad." Jaehyun pats your back awkwardly with his left hand, angling away his brace. It hurts but not nearly enough to break contact, not with you holding him like your life depends on it.

"I missed you," you say into his breastbone. The tone of your voice is heavy enough he knows you're not talking about the last week.

"I missed you, too," he admits, resting his cheek on the top of your head. It's like you'd never been separated since that last conversation in Verona, the joy of having you back in his life just as fragile.

Still, this is what he really needed, he thinks. He recognizes the lemony, powdery scent of Love's Baby Soft under whatever expensive products you're wearing these days. It's comforting to know that beneath that newly polished exterior the girl who'd hid from him in an empty room whenever he was in the same hallway would always be there, just under the surface.

He's never told you what it was like to wait. He'd only been able to show you, in that weird way that had you as still and braced for flight more times than he could count. You were always the predator waiting in the grass in his mind: too smart for your own good, too patient to land the killing blow when that's all he really wanted.

Johnny had figured out the same thing, months ago, sitting in a police holding cell in the Reykjavik airport, of all places.

"She knows," he says, still laughing at the fact that they'd been picked up after an emergency triage of their Swedish language skills hadn't saved them from a cursory interrogation and a call to the American embassy. "Flagged us and disappeared in the time it took us to get to the terminal."

Jaehyun says nothing, picking at the gold braid on the pilot's uniform they'd lifted before trying their hand at the last flight out.

"You sure do know how to pick them, brother."

"She'd be at Quantico right now if it wasn't for you," Jaehyun answers.

"A waste." He can hear how it picks at the man's pride to be questioned about that decision.

He’d seen it play out over months in dive bars near Control, where they’d gone back to their pre-operation roles: Jaehyun patiently listening and defusing the conversation whenever it circled back, inevitably, to the newest recruit, Johnny threatening to break into the company Rolodex after too many Old Fashioneds.

Somehow in the time since she'd been given basic clearance to NeoTech every secretary and assistant on every floor had become immune to his charms, like the Ghost of Exes Past had walked through and warned them of where that road would lead to.

Even steadfast Moon Taeil hadn’t broken, smiling like a saint when asked for information about her that breached past clerical. "Got it bad, Suh? Why don't you just try asking her out?"

That was the last time Johnny had tried to get her contact information, the story already an office legend once Donghyuck heard about it. Thank Christ the surveillance boys were still the picture of innocence with regard to the events at Magic Carpet. Johnny’s regular gifts of coffee and kolaches to their van during stakeouts was sign enough that he'd worried about it.

Everyone seemed to know but her.

"She'd be poring through call records for three years before seeing daylight," Johnny says, as if he isn't also under lock and key because of her tip. He's assuring himself more than his partner.

"You really don't see it, do you?" Jaehyun says.

The last time he'd been in the same building with you was all the way back in Gran Hotel Ciudad in Mexico City, where you'd mingled with the black-suited vultures closing in on some shady IMF meet-up. All those scavengers picking at the bones of a country in crisis couldn't see you coming, your teeth shining bright as you went in for the kill.

He’d kept tabs on you from well above the lobby, watching as you spun your web in a gold lamé evening dress and blonde wig. It took less than a half-an-hour for you to leave, separately of course, an untouched cocktail traded for a room key.

Another fatcat foreign banker dying of natural causes wouldn't make local papers, much less international ones, but that was the beauty of your work: small and necessary changes with downwards cascading effects towards something better. Uncelebrated and too ugly to look at closely, like wiping the dust off a grimy wall with the hopes that if you did it enough times it might be clean someday.

The closest he'd gotten to being marked was the day after, when he’d followed you to Chapultepec Park. Johnny was nursing a headache after a night on comms, so Jaehyun had gone alone, unsure of where your path was taking you now that the job was out the door on a white-sheeted stretcher and loaded into a quiet ambulance.

He didn't expect you to go to the zoo.

You'd beelined past the butterfly exhibit for the main attraction, the flimsy chain-link fence separating you and a crowd of children with preciously-held balloons and cheap merchandise. You'd all watched through the fence as a large, round ball of black and white fur carefully picked from a pile of bamboo, its back turned to the crowd.

You'd waited long after others walked away from the disappointing display, no signs of fidgeting or disquiet. Just a woman in a red coat, your hair covered in a shawl better suited to someone older.

He'd wondered how long it would take you to give up and find a different vantage.

And then, like a dandelion fuzz caught on the wind, a smaller ball of black and white broke free of its mother's reach, tiny legs toddling into the dusty yard.

"El pequeño panda!" repeated chant-like around you, growing louder before breaking into quiet applause. As careful as observers were to not disturb the baby panda, the crowd surged to see it, and in an instant he'd lost you.

Later, wandering through an aviary of birds, fighting to glimpse a flash of red in the greenery, he realized you'd lost him.

"You chase her but she’s never going to be the one who gets caught." Jaehyun finds himself explaining. "She‘s better than either of us."

As inept as he feels he's still able to pull your chin up with his offhand to kiss your face. He follows the tracks of smudged mascara down to your lips. And then he holds, letting you lead, even if it kills him.

He's back in the dark of a basement pool, knowing you'll follow. There’s the careful response, reading intent, waiting for an explosive risk that will never come. A trauma response he understands too well, just like he understands when you finally close in to consume him.

You don't seem to mind that his mouth stays closed, kissing him deeply for the both of you. Your hands thread over the back of his neck, gentle to keep from hurting him, as you show him what he already knows.

"Well, I should get going," Johnny says nonchalantly, giving you both a wide berth as he skirts towards the door. It's not nearly enough space–you turn around and snatch his jacket, yanking so hard he stumbles.

"No," you say. "Don't think you can weasel out of this."

Jaehyun meets Johnny's apologetic look over you, tossing his head rather than shrugging.

"Stay," Jaehyun says. "We have a lot to talk about."

Another room, another rainy evening edging into hours past the acceptable point of socialization. But there’s a different kind of mood as you put the record on the hi-fi, the black and gold sleeve propped up on the clean shelf.

You turn up the volume knob until the ambient recording drowns out the drum of the weather, Roberta Flack's vocals put to tape a decade ago rising over a familiar melody.

"I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style

And so I came to see him, to listen for a while . . ."

By the chorus you’ve moved away from the sound system, sitting at the dinette set table next to the man picking from an already-withered clutch of daisies. You’d bought them from a bodega near the restaurant, sure they wouldn't live long in the bottle you'd dumped them in after pouring spoiled milk out of it. At least you think they add a touch of sun to the clean but dark space.

"He loves me . . ." You pluck from the flower Johnny’s mangling, yellow pollen dusting your fingers.

". . . she loves me not," he says, crushing a petal.

He leans back in the too-small chair, eyeing the doorway to Jaehyun's bedroom. Both of you spend a few moments listening to the shower as it continues, gauging his response before speaking again.

"Thank you for . . . “ you say.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about keeping me here," he jests, lamely.

"Fuck off," you shoot back immediately.

His eyes go wide, but so does his smile. "That’s better."

"I was going to thank you for introducing me to the best late night restaurant in the DMV," you sigh with a dramatic flourish. "Shame you can't take a compliment."

"I told you, it's his favorite Tom Kha Gai. Also it's not usually open that late, I'm just that good."

"Oh really," you say. "Someday you'll tell me how you ended up fluent in Thai."

"Someday," he assures.

"What does dor sun mean, exactly?"

"Nothing you have to trouble yourself with," Johnny says. "Before I go–"

"You're not leaving," you cut him off.

"As I was saying, before I go," Johnny acts like he hasn't heard a word out of your mouth. "I'd like to see you again, alone. Maybe one drink. Or two. To celebrate, of course."

"You're really going." You can't hide the disappointment that seeps into your realization.

"Just looking out for both of us, babydoll," Johnny says, grabbing his overcoat from where it's draped over the couch. “We’ll see each other at the office.”

“Is that all this is to you?”

The shower stops in the next room, leaving you both hanging as the next track on the record begins. It’s an appropriately sad song for a goodbye which is why you move to turn the stereo down immediately, knob twisting in time with his own on the door handle.

"You convinced me to stay earlier and now you're the one running," you continue. "Do I really scare you that much?"

"No," he says, not turning around but not opening the door.

"If you're going, I'm going–"

There's a loud clank and a ringing behind you as something hits the table, both of you turning to see Jaehyun set down a bottle. He’s still shirtless and wet-haired from the shower, the sling he’d been wearing discarded on the table.

"Feels like I'm watching Days Of Our Lives," he laments, pouring clumsily from the half-empty bottle of Maker’s Mark into his water glass. "Either of you walks out and I'm drinking this entire thing by myself."

Your attention stays on Johnny, praying he'll give in before you do. You see the indecision burning in his brown eyes, flicking between you and the door.

"Drinking game. My choice," Jaehyun says, downing two fingers without a sign he’s registering the burn.

“One condition,” Johnny says, sighing. “Take it easy or I’ll drag you back to medical.”

You’re sure the threat is real from the atypical irritation in his movements. He drops his things by the door, sliding past you without looking at you except to turn the song back up. Again you chase him, this time into the kitchen where he’s retrieving glasses and ice.

“What‘s your problem?”

You’re blindsided by this change after the easy chatter you’d had earlier, sitting in an empty, neon-lit restaurant teasing each other over bottles of Singha. Talking to Johnny had distracted you from your nervousness, even if part of the reason you felt so out-of-sorts was sitting across from you, picking at a green papaya salad.

He’d seen your relief that Jaehyun wasn’t in his mandated bed, and while he didn’t say anything about it you needed to explain. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, but that you just really didn't know what to say.

That open conversation in Verona made you realize how completely unschooled you were in the messy business of feelings. Sex was easy, or at least you'd thought it was; you knew how simple it would be to disappear into the chemistry that had always been there.

This–being wanted, wanting someone back–was like reading a map of the moon while strapped to a rocket on a collision course with it.

“I’ve never . . . Done this.”

Johnny doesn’t react with his usual quippy response.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never dated anyone?” he asks.

“You know my record.” You pick at the label on your beer bottle. “I’m just . . . going to need your help to figure all this out.”

“I’m flattered but you’re asking the wrong person.” He smirks at you, but you don’t miss the way he fidgets, clearly wanting an out from the conversation.

Everything you’d heard about him not being the “feelings type” wasn’t going to deter you, not when you knew someone like Jaehyun trusted him with his life, and with whatever intimacy they had outside your purview.

“You’ve never dated, either?” you ask.

“There’s probably a few people out there who’d be upset if I said ‘no’,” he jokes. “Job doesn’t really allow for it.”

“Could it, though, if you wanted it to?”

Johnny smiles wryly, looking away as the owner returns with two grocery bags loaded with much more than you'd heard him order.

“Let me know when you find out.”

Behind you Jaehyun has sat at the old but loved piano taking up a corner of the room, playing a one-handed accompaniment to the music. It gives you an opening to close in on Johnny, touching his arm and making him look down at you.

“Seriously, be honest with me, what’s your problem?” You repeat.

He pushes you into the counter with a movement of his hips, reaching around you to drop ice in a set of mismatched crystal tumblers.

“I don’t have a problem.” Johnny says just loud enough for you to hear. “You two have a problem. And a critical lack of communication skills. Just talk to him. Or don’t, I don’t know. Make it simple.”

“I wanted you to–”

“You really don’t need me here to mediate,” he says. “You’d be fucking it out right now instead of having another of your little mope sessions.”

He’s jealous, you think. You feel a tiny bit of satisfaction that he’s being honest with you, even if it isn’t direct.

“That sounds suspiciously like our problem,” you say, pressing back into him. “Is this a classic case of projection?”

Johnny looks at you like he's embarrassed for the both of you, cringing.

“At least let me get drunk before you psycho-analyze me,” he says. “And don’t say I'm deflecting.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of taking his bait. “Earlier when I was asking for help figuring this all out, you do know I was talking about us, right?”

“Us as in all—“

“You and I, whatever we are.”

“Right,” he says. “Now you know why I wanted to leave.”

“You’re not leaving,” Jaehyun interrupts from the other side of the room, sounding exasperated. “And if anyone is mediating, it’s me. Get over here.”

Johnny opens his mouth to say something but immediately stops, gritting his teeth.

“Thank you again for being here,” you say, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

The look he gives you is dangerous, especially with proximity.

“You should be saying ‘sorry’,” he says, under his breath. You act like you don’t have a clue as to what he means, smiling carefully. He doesn’t break his stare, slowly backing you out of the kitchen.

“Scratch that: you will be,” he promises as he passes by.

It takes a second to compose yourself, the apartment feeling much warmer. You shrug out of your coat and a second layer of suit jacket, untucking your blouse before sitting down between the two men at the table.

“No strip poker I take it,” Johnny says, already drinking.

“No Never Have I Ever, either.” You shake your head.

“Two truths and a lie.” Jaehyun informs you.

“You sure that’s fair to her?” Johnny asks, cryptically.

“You’d be surprised at what I know about you,” you answer for him. “And what you still don’t know about me.”

“Fair enough,” Johnny says. “Truth and lies it is.”

“I’ll start,” Jaehyun says, pouring two fingers of whiskey followed by an equal amount of water. “I’ve never ridden a horse. I won a state championship for swimming 200m freestyle. My first assignment was in the Philippines.”

“Lame,” Johnny says. “It’s the horse one.”

You nod to indicate your guess.

“Drink,” he says. “It was the 400m.”

“Even more lame.” Johnny says, swallowing. You sip yours, meeting Jaehyun’s eyes over the rim of the glass.

“Your turn.”

“I’m allergic to cats. I don’t like okra. I didn’t graduate high school.” You look up and find them nodding at each other in some kind of secret agreement.

“Cats,” they both say, in stereo.

“Drink.”

“What? You have one—“ Johnny says, cutting short when he realizes his admission. “I saw the hair on your coat.”

”Allergy shots,” you shrug. “I don’t mind okra.”

“You two having a contest to see which one of you is more boring?” Johnny asks, scowling. “Can we move on to the fun part?”

“By all means,” Jaehyun says.

“Let’s see,” he rolls the glass on the tabletop. “I had my tonsils taken out when I was nine. I was born in Chicago’s South Side. I haven’t had sex with anyone in over a year.”

“The sex one, obviously,” you say, but Jaehyun shakes his head.

“Different neighborhood, right?” he asks, earning a nod from Johnny.

“Oh,” you say, drinking. You’re flushed, transported back to the Tiger’s Den.

“It’s actually been two years, but that’s still over a year,” Johnny says, staring at you. “No offense Jae, drunken hand-jobs don’t count.”

“None taken,” the other man says tiredly, pouring more liquor.

“So?” Your face is burning, not just from the whiskey. “What do you want, a medal?”

“For starters it would be nice if you stopped telling new people that I’m a—and I quote—‘walking, talking health risk’.”

“Take it up with Donghyuck, he’s the reason the secretarial pool thinks you have syph—“

“Stop it.” Jaehyun snaps. “None of us have slept with other people since Miami, none of us is handling it well.”

Neither of you have a rebuttal.

“So try this for two truths and a lie: Johnny is in love with you,” Jaehyun starts, ignoring the startled look on his friend’s face. “He mistakenly thinks this makes him a bad friend. He was planning on telling you all of this.”

The record has played out, so Jaehyun’s words are punctuated by the mechanical click of the arm automatically moving away.

“I was. Eventually,” Johnny says, but he still drains his glass. He looks at Jaehyun pointedly. “And to be clear, I don’t think it makes me a bad friend to you.”

“It does, but not for the reasons you think, John,” Jaehyun says, quietly. He places his hand over yours on the table. “You okay?”

“No,” you confess, still watching Johnny act like the exposure of his feelings means as much as a weather forecast. “My turn, then.”

They both look at you like you’re a bomb set to explode, tense and unsure of how to stop it. You let them suffer as you think of the best way to word what you’ve wanted to say since you’d left them in Florida.

“If I can’t be with both of you, romantically and equally, I would rather we just end it here,” you say, trying not to quake with how hard it is to say aloud. “I spent two years lying to myself about my own feelings and what I’m capable of and I’m tired of it.”

You feel like you’re rambling, waiting for Johnny to chime in or Jaehyun to move to you, but they let you catch your breath. You finish your drink, lips numbed.

“And I am definitely, absolutely, fully sane and rational and not in love with two of the dumbest and most frustrating men I have ever met in my entire life.”

You wait for them to respond, feeling like the earth has slowed down enough that you’re no longer crushed under the gravity fixing you to your seat.

Jaehyun speaks first, hand rising to your cheek. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Learned from the best,” you say, kissing his palm. He leans in to kiss you properly but your chair is pulled back and almost out from under you. Johnny forces you to look at him.

“We’re going to have to work out some ground rules before I share you with this loser,” he says. He’s so close you can see the day-old stubble forming on his cheeks, blushed cheeks making him look younger.

“Don’t talk about my partner that way,” you warn.

“You'll see,” he says, pulling you up his thighs. He wraps you in a surprisingly gentle embrace, chin on your shoulder. “You can take over wrangling him out of his moods.”

"He’s talking about his moods," Jaehyun says wryly.

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me, anymore?” you ask.

“No," he says, kissing your cheek. “But I’m grateful you’ll have me anyway.”

“As if I’m not the lucky one—“ you begin, interrupted when Johnny stands up, arm wrapped under your thighs, taking you with him.

“Where do you want her?”

“I haven’t changed the sheets—“ Jaehyun says.

“Couch, then,” Johnny says, impatiently. “This isn’t going to reopen your stitches again, is it?”

“Again?” You look over his shoulder to see Jaehyun flexing his right arm with a grim smile on his face.

“Not if we’re careful.”

“You hear that baby, you’re going to have to be gentle with him,” Johnny says into your hair. “I’m not going to promise the same thing.”

“Don’t you think we should wait—“

“No,” they answer in unison as you’re dumped on the low sofa, Jaehyun sitting down beside you. You climb up onto your knees to inspect his injury, kissing the top of his shoulder once you’ve confirmed it’s healing well, fully closed and not radiating redness.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, trailing light kisses up his neck. He’s tense beneath your exploration, a little more than uncertain when you reach his mouth.

“Not anymore,” he sighs. “But really, I don’t want to rush you—“

"We can take our time later." You cut him off, tongue tangling with his. His bare skin is hot under your touch, feeling the dusting of hair on his chest and belly as you run your hand down to the band of his track pants.

"When I'm cleared we're taking a week," he promises. You love the way his eyes flutter close as you stroke him through the thin material, Johnny rubbing your back assuringly. You turn to him but he shakes his head, more serious than you expected.

“I just want to make you feel good right now,” you tell Jaehyun. He eases a little, looking at you with unfiltered adoration. "Thank you for being there for me when I needed you."

He’s not wearing underwear and is already thick and heavy, springing free when you pull the elastic down and around his muscled thighs. Your mouth follows your hand, taking him in your mouth until you feel him nudge against the back of your throat. Every stroke on your tongue is gentle but he’s writhing within seconds from the stimulation.

Johnny moves behind you, pulling you back on your knees. You don’t mind him as you take Jaehyun’s cock deep into your throat, precum coating it with each bob of your head.

“So pretty,” Johnny says, hiking your skirt up so your garters and lingerie set are visible. You feel a cautious slap on your ass and lean into it, focusing on the head of Jaehyun’s cock when a heavier blow lands on your thigh, nearer to your aching sex.

“Oh,” you say when he slaps between your legs, hand teasing through the damp silk.

“Still wet from when I almost fucked you on that conference table,” Johnny says. “Dirty little thing.”

“Not . . ." Jaehyun groans as each strike has you taking him deeper down your throat again. "We eat on that table."

“You should have seen Doyoung’s face,” Johnny says, making you move with gentle pats between your legs, following each up with a teasing rub. “Said we needed a form.”

Jaehyun isn’t far enough gone yet to not laugh at that. He pulls you off of him so he can kiss you, while your hand continues to work. His eyes are glazed once he’s done tasting himself on you, good hand fumbling at your blouse.

“Which one of us do you want first, baby?”

You glance behind you at Johnny kneeling on the couch, admiring the way he’s rolling up his shirt sleeves. “Think you can wait?”

“I can do better than that,” he says, sliding forward until he's pressed against you. You expect him to help you undress but instead he guides your leg over Jaehyun’s lap, hand moving up to pull your underwear to the side. You gasp as he nuzzles your neck below your ear. "You asked me for help, didn't you?"

You take your cue, gripping the back of the couch to steady yourself. Jaehyun's head follows, bent back when the other man helps angle his cock into you, finding you wet but oh-so-so-so-tight. Your mind dissolves with the first push, your body struggling to stretch after so long without.

“Good girl.” Johnny says, taking over. He grabs your rucked-up skirt over your hips, forcing you down and up until you're whimpering into Jaehyun’s mouth. Once you're coated enough to slide with ease Johnny guides you at a more punishing pace, not satisfied until you're riding the way he wants you to.

"Fuck," Jaehyun shudders, his hand coming up to palm you through your shirt. He fights at it until Johnny helps him unbutton and pull it open.

"Taste her for me," he says, freeing your breasts of the sheer fabric of your bra. Jaehyun's teeth scrape at the meat of them as he sucks on you, Johnny tweaking your other nipple into hardness.

"You're so good to me," you say, movement slowing as your hand snakes down to your aching core. Your lace underwear is making you feel constricted and you want him to feel you come before he loses it, but Johnny catches your wrist, holding it to the couch cushion until you stop fighting him.

Your other hand settles on his thigh, attempting to turn to kiss him while rocking up and down on Jaehyun. He grabs the back of your neck, fingers trapping you like a kitten by the scruff.

“Eyes on him,” he instructs. “Let me be your hands.”

Just that offer has you feeling hotter than a burning building, mind blanking when Johnny reaches down between you to lift your underwear to the side. He expertly rolls your clit with the pads of his fingers, making you cry out and Jaehyun moan when you clench around him.

His beautiful face is your whole world, the sharp pain of joy inside your chest feeding the growing tension inside you. You surrender control outside of how fast and how deep you can take him knowing he’s being pushed to the brink just as quickly.

“You’re so good,” you say, standing on your knees to take him so deep on the downward that you feel him in your core. Jaehyun rocks up into you, making low noises in the back of his throat as he fights his release. You kiss his nose and cheek, licking the sweat from his upper lip before biting it.

“I’m not—I’m—“ he says into your mouth. You can feel the build, can sense the way his breathing goes staccato, all while Johnny pulls you tighter like a string wrapped around his finger.

“Don’t stop,” you tell him. "Come for me, my love."

In moments Jaehyun crumbles, jerking up into you, quiet and yet somehow loud in the way his mouth is open and eyes are shut, releasing inside you.

You repeat the words silently as you settle into his lap, not wanting to follow so quickly but taken down anyway as Johnny applies just the right pressure in circles in your folds, making you orgasm so hard your vision flashes white as you seize around the pulsing cock inside you.

You finish with a whimper, kissing Jaehyun until his eyes finally open again.

"I don't think I actually woke up today," he murmurs, nose nudging yours. "Thank you for such a nice dream."

"Anything for you," you say, suddenly conscious that there's no one at your back.

You break away from kissing Jaehyun to claw at the man behind you, fingers twisting in Johnny’s vest and tugging him until he's close enough for you to taste the whiskey on his tongue.

You have a moment to feel everything you've been missing in that contact before Johnny leans forward to grab Jaehyun's face and give him the same deep kiss, pulling his bottom lip in his teeth when he parts.

"That was my way of saying sorry for being a bad friend," Johnny says. "And for the hand job comment."

“Thanks, I guess,” Jaehyun says once he’s able to breathe freely again. He’s beautifully fucked out and messy against the cushions, still favoring his right side.

“You can make it up to me later,” Johnny says, attention back on you as he pulls you off of him, hand cupped around your sex to keep the drip of cum off the couch. He settles for taking off your shirt and using it to clean up the mess.

You think you’re going to have a moment to reacclimate yourself but Johnny lifts you up again, hoisted into a bridal carry.

"I'm taking this to the bedroom," he says. "Be a pal and give me a head start.”

"There's clean–" Jaehyun begins.

"Fuck the sheets," Johnny says. “You can change them after I make her regret getting herself into this arrangement.”

You struggle only for as long as it takes for Johnny to take you into the half-lit room and plant you on the bed. He crouches over you where you lay, belt buckle digging into your bare thigh.

“You know you don’t scare me,” you say, sitting up on your elbows, bracing for an attack.

“Who says I want you to be afraid?” He counters, lifting you up. Once you're eye-to-eye and perched in his lap he waits, studying you, clearly with something to say.

"Then what do you want, sir?" The reminder of your offer is meant to be flirtatious but his response is bordering on sadness. Your hand immediately rises to his cheek as if you can keep the smile on his face by holding it there.

"I'm not going to lie and say I don't like hearing that," Johnny says, cautiously. "Just not right now."

"Okay," you concede. "Would you rather call me ma'am?"

He pulls you closer, forehead knocking against yours. "Stop being a brat for five seconds and let me think."

You nod into him, all too quickly reminded that he's still fully dressed while you’re half-naked and growing colder by the second.

It's clear Johnny is stalling when he breathes out explosively.

"Fuck, this is hard," he says. You don't interrupt, but you do run a hand through the long hair settling on his jaw, letting him know you're with him as he closes his eyes to find security.

"This was supposed to be something we talked about on the third or fourth date," he says. "I've had a few years to think about it, too, you know."

“We can still do that,” you say, earning a tap on your mouth from his finger.

"The one thing I kept going back to was that I wished I could have had my head screwed on straight when Jaehyun told me what kind of person you were. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Your expression makes him wince a little at his own words.

"Not the–not anything we did, sex included," he explains. "Well, maybe the sex. The fighting-as-foreplay thing is nice, but if I'm being honest with you, I'm really not that kind of guy."

"I never would have guessed," you say, unable to refrain from teasing him.

He re-adjusts, clearly distracted by your weight on his thigh. "I have some pride, you know. I don’t want to just be someone you go to when you need a release with no strings attached."

"You know that’s not what I want, either," you say.

"Good,” he breathes. “Because I'm not a jealous person but I think I will be if I don't get all of you, when I want and how I want."

He leans in and kisses you, mouth tracing your pulse in your neck. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

You shake your head, feeling abruptly self-conscious. His hands trace lazily over your back, soothing you until you relax again.

"You're going to be a good girl for me,” he says. “Just me.”

It sounds a little like a warning, and you nod unconsciously.

"You're going to tell me what you want, and you don't get to run away or pretend like everything means nothing when it gets hard. And I promise if you can do that I can try, too."

He pulls back, studying your face. "Now tell me you regret asking me to stay."

"No," you look at him, warmly. "Why should I?"

"I really wanted to wait until we were alone but it's only fair," he says with an increase of threat. "Stand up for me."

You comply, watching as he moves to the edge of the bed, unzipping your skirt and letting it slide down your hips. Bare before him you’re reminded of the first time you’d undressed in front of him, and the way he’d kept his metaphorical cards in his pocket. You weren’t getting under his skin, anymore–he was getting under yours.

“What would you like?” You ask, placing your foot on his thigh for him to help take off your hose.

Johnny stops unclipping your stockings from your garter belt, smiling sweetly up at you.

“We can start with you calling me ‘sir’.”

His tone hasn’t changed but you sense the shift, complacent as he removes the last of your clothing, unclipping your bra and letting your ruined panties fall to the floor. He leaves your garter belt on, tugging on it to situate you between his knees.

“Yes, sir,” you say, softly.

“Do you know how to tell me when you’re feeling unsafe or uncomfortable?” He asks, stroking the outside of your leg in the same way one would pet an animal. He waits for you to reply, as calm and welcoming as he’d been in the office earlier.

“Do you mean a safe word?” you ask. “What are you wanting–"

“Traffic lights. Yellow for slow, red for stop. If I ask you if you’re green you say green. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” You bite back what you really want to say, feeling your hackles raise. “Are you sober, sir?”

“Are you?” He counters, squeezing your thigh.

“Yes." You're reminded of your role when his grip tightens on you, fingers digging in. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he says. “Just needed a baseline for what we’re going to do.”

“What did you have in mind, sir?”

“For starters I think I’d like to make you beg me to fuck you,” he says, smoothly, “and then I’ll make you beg me to let you come.”

You shiver, gooseflesh prickling your bare arms and chest. The picture that was forming in your mind of being asked to jump headfirst into some kind of kink after this whirlwind of a day is suddenly very different.

"You can watch," he says–not to you. You look over to see Jaehyun in the doorway, getting a glimpse of his neutral expression before your chin is turned back to the man in front of you.

"Did I say you could look at him?" Johnny asks.

"No, sir," you murmur. He releases your jaw after the other man has moved into the room, not to the bed but somewhere else behind you.

"You don't do anything unless I tell you to. Don’t touch yourself, don’t touch me."

"Yes, sir."

Johnny stands up, loosening his tie as he switches places with you, pushing you back only so far. You feel the bed behind you but don't sit when he hasn't told you to, surprised when he drops to his knees. He’s so tall even on the floor he can kiss your ribs, having to crouch to touch your belly with his tongue.

This is the softest you’ve seen him, and it makes your heart race, not knowing how or when that explosive strength you’ve experienced firsthand will reveal itself. You watch with growing nervousness as he leans forward to kiss the crease between your thigh and lower abdomen. The gentle glide of his tongue there has you squirming, and he taps your leg in warning.

“Hold still,” he directs, working his way to the center and your puffy lips, parting them with soft flicks of his tongue. He opens you with his thumbs to lap up and down the short path between your entrance and where you need him the most, playing with you.

It's so good and so overwhelming that your legs shake, hands ghosting over his head rather than risk him telling you not to touch him, as desperately as you want to. Your knees finally buckle when he buries his face in your cunt, tongue curling into your entrance as he holds you up with flexed forearms.

He pulls back, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Lay down."

You don’t need to be told twice, collapsing on the bed, breathing heavily as Johnny takes up position between your legs again, reaching up to run a hot hand over your breasts. He goes back to eating you out so slowly and tenderly that soon you are angling your hips, trying to get more pressure relief, but his hand splays wide on your stomach to hold you down.

“You can make noise, baby,” Johnny says. "Tell me what feels good."

You’re not used to being vocal, but it’s easy when his fingers enter the mix again. He doesn’t penetrate you, just collects the wetness in circles, barely dipping into your entrance. You grip the bed the first time his tongue flicks against your clit, feeling every brush of it as a jolt of anticipation too far and few between to have you doing anything but whining.

"Please, sir, more," you breathe, gripping the sheets so you don't forget and touch yourself.

"You think it's that easy? After making me wait for you?" He nips at the inside of your thigh. He must like your response because he bites you again, this time pulling one of your sensitive lips with a sharp tug.

It's painful but not enough to make you stop, the flat of his tongue following somehow worse. You cry out when he sucks again, and again, still with those two fingers pressing just far enough to remind you that you're empty.

"Please, please sir," you moan, feeling like it's been an eternity since you'd begun. "Please fuck me with your fingers."

Johnny slips one finger inside you, hooking up to the roughness inside. Your hips move on their own, and he pulls out, reaching up to squeeze your breast.

"Relax or you get nothing."

It's actually difficult to not be tense, consciously willing yourself to limpness until he's satisfied. He pulls on your sensitive nipple, returning to his work.

Johnny's hands have always engulfed your own in size but just half of one digit is a cruelty compared to when you've abused yourself on your own. He pumps inside of you slowly, letting you pull him in when you consciously squeeze around him.

"Pretty girl wants to swallow me whole," Johnny says, almost admiringly. "You want more?"

"Yes sir, please," you plead.

"What's that?" He asks, giving you two fingers again but letting his hand rest the moment he’s inside of you. Your mind races for the right thing to say in spite of your incoherency, gripping around him as if it would do you any favors.

"I need to know what you want, baby girl."

“More please,” you say, but he pulls out, lapping lazily.

“Please, sir,” you correct.

“I don’t think you’ve earned it, yet,” he says lightly. He sucks on your clit without warning, making you jerk.

“Please give me your fingers, sir,” you whine. He’s getting more aggressive in his actions, pulling on your hood and letting spit drip down on it.

“Be specific.”

“Three, please, sir?” you ask. “Just fill me, please.”

You hear him huff, reaching to a completely unexpected destination, much lower. His attention is on your rim, gentle as he pushes against the much tighter hole.

“Green?”

“Green, sir,” you say, relaxing now that you’re over the initial shock. He probes with a single finger, stretching you as your cunt clenches around nothing.

It's a new sensation, taking a while to get accustomed to, but not unpleasant. You can feel how close it is to typical penetration, how it must feel so much more intense for the person inside.

"Breathe, baby," Jaehyun says, from the corner of the room. You sneak a look at him, seeing his fist dropping lazily over his lap in a way that has fire igniting in your body.

Johnny's off you so quickly you don't even realize he's gone until you hear the nightstand drawer opening.

"Did I say you could look at him?" He asks.

"No sir, I'm sorry–"

"You know how to play games but you don't know the rules," he drawls. "You only say sorry when I tell you to be."

You nod rather than reply, hands clenched at your sides, looking at the ceiling as your thighs close on the need you've laid bare, wetness cooling as it dries.

Johnny sits beside you on the bed, removing his clothing.

"Look at me," he instructs. You roll your head, and whatever he sees on your face prompts him to hold it, lifting your head gently and wrapping the embroidered silk of his tie around your face.

With the impromptu blindfold on there's nothing but the sound of your own breathing and the involuntary shudder that courses through you as you feel lost to that blank space. It's too much, too soon, but you can’t bring yourself to say the word yellow.

Johnny fixes your hair, pulling errant strands from the fabric. You flinch when he touches your face, thumb tracing your lips.

"Shh. You're safe here, I'm never going to hurt you or make you afraid. Even if you want that, we'll talk through it first," he assures you. "Are we good?"

You nod. "Green. Sir."

"Thank you," he says, pulling your hand from where it's wrapped defensively around your middle. He places it on his bare chest, letting you feel how much his heart is pounding.

"You really are such a good girl. Now show me what you want."

He brings your hand down with yours, lets you figure out how to unbuckle his belt and undress him in the dark. You want to surge forward but it's so much more beautiful discovering him with your fingers, without any reminders of the outside world besides the soft drum of rain outside.

Johnny isn't quiet whenever you find a sensitive place to touch or place your mouth, letting out a moan when you wrap both hands around him, finding each vein and ridge with your tongue until he's pulling you back by the hair.

"That’s enough," he says.

There's no fighting or protesting left in you, as much as you want to make him feel what you feel. You're enraptured the moment his mouth is on yours again, supported by long fingers holding your neck as he fills you with the taste of your own arousal.

You've got a good memory, you'd been kissed plenty today and in the past, but this is so different it may as well be another person. He's tender, every move laced with barely-contained passion, not fucking you at all but somehow still making love to you as he drops over you on the bed.

“This is what I wanted, baby. You with your walls down. No games,” he hums. Johnny pulls you on to your side, still kissing you deeply. You can feel his length against your belly like a brand, leaving a trail.

"I want you to come without touching yourself," he says, breath on your cheek as he reaches over you. "I want to feel it."

You don't know what he means but you're not thinking anymore, feeling something cold and liquid slide over your backside, right before he penetrates you with his fingers. You can't count while trying to calm yourself, little aahs fed into his mouth.

"Please, please fuck me," you cry out, arching into him and wrapping your leg around his hip. His body against you grants just a little relief every time he slides up against your throbbing cunt, but you don’t force it.

"So tight, baby," he says, "Just a little more. Relax for me."

You melt into him, relishing the way his fingers push you open, fingernails in his shoulders transcribing your comfort when your words are gone. He still isn't in you, not even when you're truly begging, curled into his chest.

"I'll come, I'll come," you promise.

"Stop torturing her," Jaehyun says, moving behind you.

Johnny's fingers slip out of you, replaced by something much larger and warmer, only the tip but making you burn, your choked cry captured on Johnny’s tongue as he fucks into you at the same time.

There's nothing in the entire universe now but you and the two of them on either side of you, Jaehyun holding you tight as Johnny eases into you, hand gently pulling your thigh to angle you just so. Neither of them is moving fast or rough, just taking their time, kissing you in turns until you don't recognize whose mouth it is, unsure even of your own.

You feel how little the barrier between skin and sinew is now that you’re being pulled apart and back together again. You didn't know it could feel this good, but it’s not the fullness or the way you're being used now but the way you feel completed, like there never was an end or a beginning to the three of you at all.

"Oh god, you feel that," Johnny says, voice strangely weak. "She‘s coming so hard."

You didn't even realize but it's true, you're clenching in such powerful ticks and stops that it seems unreal. Neither of them waits, taking turns to work their way in. Jaehyun holds still when Johnny begins to let go, just half-way sheathed but rutting like he’s going to force every last ounce of your orgasm onto himself.

You know he's coming when he's ripped the blindfold from you, fingers clenched in your hair, making you watch as he fucks you full. Your belly blooms with warmth as you comfort him through his own intense finish, stilling him with kisses.

You body is still seizing around the intrusion of Jaehyun’s cock, and you jerk when he moves again behind you, penetrating you deeper than before.

"No baby," he says, holding you. "Is it too much?"

"No, please don’t stop," you tell him, face in the sheets. You feel Johnny reach over you to hold his head like he did yours, both of you assuring him as he chases his finish. It doesn't take long, soothed by gentle kisses from the other man still inside you.

Jaehyun pulls out in the end, coating your back in heat, head pressed into your shoulder. You reach behind you to feel his closed-mouth smile, making sure he knows you're with him still.

"Told you not to worry about the sheets," Johnny says, tracing circles on your temple with sticky fingers.

"Do you regret it now?" Jaehyun asks, kissing your spine. Johnny pulls back a little to check your face, and you wipe the sweat and hair from his forehead with a newfound sense of ownership.

"Not even a little bit," you say. You've never felt more confident in an answer in your entire life.

epilogue

Johnny waits at the doorway, hands going numb as the glasses in his hand sweat with humidity. It’s warmer than it should be on the coast, the air quiet except for the discordant buzz of insects in the palms and bushes outside the house. The sky is blessedly calm, burnt purple by the sunset.

You’re sitting with your feet buried in the white sand, laughing at something he can’t hear, as Jae’s shoulders curve into his own response, low and relaxed.

He doesn’t know what you’re talking about but there’s a number of things that cross his mind: the absurd episode of Dallas you’d caught before the nightly news, or maybe the old woman in the grocery story who’d asked which one of the spies you were married to before giving you an earful about there only being one brand of peeled tomatoes on the island.

It had taken close to a decade to find himself here drowning in domesticity–not exactly the reward he’d imagined doing his time in shitty hotel room stakeouts or staging extrajudicial assassinations. Uncountable hours lying in wait for action were all for this: another kind of boredom, but at least a chosen one.

Taeyong had given you all two weeks, maybe three on Sanibel–an assignment, of course. Johnny knew better. That manipulative little bastard had laughed in his face the first day after everything had resolved, recognizing the spring in Johnny’s step even when he’d tried to hide it.

“You happy now?” Lee had asked, looking pleased with himself. The promotion had been his idea, as had been locking you both in his office to either fight or fuck it out. He’d been there to see the absolute disaster of your interrogation, trying to hold in laughter as the first prospective female field agent candidate in years of NCTA scouting turned the tables on them all.

You’d been a special project after that, carefully pushed around with a catspaw touch until he’d felt the time was right. It wasn’t the first time the Director had played puppeteer to keep his agents sane and functioning, buying into that new-age bullshit about psychological well-being having just as much importance as security in a job with a high risk of death or dismemberment.

Johnny was all too familiar with Taeyong’s Bohemian philosophy on the subject of sex: when one’s life was one’s work, or vice versa–get it out of your system as frequently and as safely as possible. He supposes he agrees with it, but it had never really been enough in the past and it certainly wouldn’t be now.

“Yeah, I think maybe I am,” he’d answered. Just not for the reasons you think I am, he’d thought.

And maybe he is happy. Ecstatic, even if he refuses to show it.

He’s come to realize that he’s happiest when he can just have you around, when he can know you’re taken care of and getting a full night’s sleep.

A difficult thing when you’d refused to share a bed with either of them in that capacity–you wouldn’t stay the night at either of their places if you could help it, using that dumb stray cat you’d adopted as an excuse. Jisung was probably already in Medical with toxoplasmosis from having to feed it, another concession from the Director when you’d tried to get out of this trip, too.

In a one-bedroom bungalow with a single king-size bed, your choices in how to work out the next steps in your relationship had dwindled to nil. Jaehyun had all but chained you to it (still very much something Johnny wanted to try, when and if you wanted it again). You’d fought tooth and nail, only giving in when you’d seen how much it hurt the man. As if the worst thing in the world to deny someone with a world-record-worthy count of snapped necks was a cuddle.

You claimed you weren’t used to their animal-like snoring or the tangle of limbs but Johnny knew better. He’d found you curled on a rug next to the living room table your second night of vacation and had left you there, undisturbed, your face finally free of whatever made you jolt awake in a cold sweat in the middle of the night.

He knew you’d come back, eventually. In the hours before sunrise your hands would quietly encircle his neck, your nose buried in his hair or the pillow between you and Jaehyun. You’d pretend to sleep but he can feel you listen, breathing deeply, unburdened, until the light slants heavy over the ocean.

“Penny for your thoughts,” you say, looking up at him with the expression he knows too well—guarded but hopeful.

He’s told you that you’re beautiful a hundred times and he thinks maybe in a few hundred more you’ll believe him. It’s not in how you appear or even how you act but in the way you observe and are ready for whatever comes your way. That’s what he likes–you will always keep it interesting.

“You’ll need a dollar,” he says, slipping beside you and handing you your drink. Your hand closes around his, but it’s your head on his arm that makes his heart sing.

“Should have known not to put a price on whatever is going on there,” you say, taking a sip. “How did you know this is what I wanted?”

“Lucky guess,” he says. You lean in to kiss him, ginger and rum and lime on your tongue. It tastes a little like love.

chapter warnings: gratuitous use of pet names (babydoll, baby), size kink, panty-sniffing, wall sex, oral (m/f, m/m), exhibitionism, sharing is caring, polyamory, minor consensual somniphilia, bondage, drunk sex, double penetration, anal sex (m/m), devil's threesome (mmf), i had to turn my photocards around to write this, only god can judge me, a little bit of angst for the real ones

recommended listening: i can't breathe by gwsn

"What’s that babydoll? You want a Waikiki Beach?"

Once you're free of your shackles, you think, you're going to find some means to strangle Johnny. It might require a stepladder and a superhuman increase in your grip but you're going to try.

“Give me the key,” you repeat, looking beside you to make sure the older man two seats down from you isn’t listening. Luckily the PA system is loudly playing Anita Ward’s “Ring My Bell” and his beer is almost empty.

"The orange juice needs to be fresh-squeezed?" Johnny half-shouts, that easy half-smile permanently stamped on his face. "Yeah. Not that shit from a can."

"Give me the key." You repeat, louder. In retrospect hiding your cuffed hands by putting them behind you rather than in front of you, under one of Jaehyun's suit jackets, was the wrong strategy. At least you can rest against the bar in front of you without looking weird.

Johnny pauses opening a can of cream de coco, leaning across the bamboo bar-top in a way that makes you jerk back in surprise.

"Take a seat, let me make you that drink I promised," he says, eyes flashing with amusement but also a warning. 

The hidden implication is that you're at his mercy until Jaehyun gets here and after what you'd endured earlier you think letting him imagine he has the upper hand is better than making a scene.

You awkwardly get onto one of the stools, surveying the packed bar with its hodge-podge of Don the Beachcomber styled paraphernalia: glass floats and wood carvings lit by low, multi-colored lights. The attached restaurant is packed full (cabin fever has obviously set in with the patrons) so the bar is still only half-capacity. 

You don’t recognize any of the faces but it’s the corner booth that pulls your attention, crammed with a silent party of too-large men in suits, tacitly ignoring each other as they scope the entrance to the bar. You clock their leader immediately by his crimson jacket and stony expression, and the way his eyes land on you the instant you look at him. You have a sense for danger and avert your eyes immediately. 

Johnny is occupied with finishing several orders at once for the lingering dinner crowd but he makes a point to talk to you as he fills oversized tiki mugs and exotic-looking glasses with different drinks. Your mouth waters a bit, not just at the rum-heavy concoctions but also at the fluidity and skill of his work, like he's performing just for you.

"You have fun in my room today?" Johnny asks, finally sliding your drink across to you. He stops just out of your reach, laughing at you when you glare at him before sticking a straw in and bringing it to your lips. 

"No thanks to you," you grouse.

You hadn’t paid much attention to what went in it with the blur of bottles but it's a gradient of yellow to deep red-orange, garnished with an orange and cherry and even a little paper umbrella. 

You’re glad he hadn't asked you what you wanted—you wouldn’t have known what to ask for. You take a sip, delighted immediately by the complexity of flavors: citrusy and spicy but with an unexpected touch of vanilla and apricot.

"Good, eh?" he asks, watching you intensely. You can't fake your enjoyment so you give a small nod, your cold anger melting a bit with his attention.

"What's it called?" you ask, but he ignores you. A hand splays wide over your upper back and you go rigid, watching Johnny’s face go from concern to a smile. 

"Jae, my man, what can I get you?”

"The good stuff." That deep-like-velvet voice has you relaxed in a heartbeat as Johnny reaches to the top shelf with barely a stretch for a bottle of Blue Label. 

You’d watched Jaehyun get dressed but you're still surprised to feel the hard jab of a holstered gun digging into your shoulder blade when you lean back.

"Everything alright?" You twist to look back up at him only to find he's masked in neutrality. He shakes his head, lips pressed tight together. 

"Gonna be a long night," Johnny says cryptically. "And not just 'cause I'm working a double."

"Cleaning crew is en route," Jaehyun nods, swallowing his scotch in one throw. "I need you to take care of her until they can get here. I'll cover the bar and keep an eye on the regulars."

Johnny's bored expression turns a little more smug at that, his eyes flicking to you. "Finish that drink, babydoll."

You swivel in your seat to talk to Jaehyun but he’s gone, moving around the bar to join Johnny. Your heart pinches a little as you watch him roll up the sleeves of his work suit and survey the surroundings, that closed-off distance back more than ever. Whatever it is you know better than to ask, especially in public.

Johnny shows up beside you just as you finish your drink with a loud suck on your straw. Negotiating off the stool is difficult but he helps you, easing you onto your heels and maybe pulling you just a little closer to his tall frame. You shirk him off but secretly appreciate the hand on your lower back that helps you stay upright. You're surprised when he navigates you to the back of the house, through the kitchen with a nod at the two cooks and down the service corridor to the manager's office.

No one is inside but you still feel a mild panic going into the boss's space where you've had your share of (undeserved) dressing downs. Johnny closes the door but doesn't bother to lock it, coming over to where you stand perusing the mess of papers piled on the desk.

He slips the gray suit jacket off of you after a moment, drinking in the sight of the marmalade-colored strapless dress Jaehyun had found for you—supposedly from the hotel lost-and-found. You shudder to think of the alternative.

"You clean up nice," he says.

"Uncuff me, now," you say. If you feel a little toasty from his attention you blame it on the drink. You'd watched him make it so there was no way he could have spiked it but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t gone to your head. 

"Don't want to play a little more with these on? Didn't seem to be a problem with Jae," he says. 

"Now." 

He holds up the silver key and laughs when you try to kick him. Before long he's got you turned around and propped against the desk, working a little more slowly than you'd like. He pecks your bare shoulder at the release of the lock.

As soon as your one hand is free you turn around and slap him as hard as you can, cuff still dangling from your wrist. Johnny doesn’t even flinch, smiling through it. He grabs your hand when you raise it again.

"Still mad about the—" he starts.

"You tied me up and threatened to kill me, asshole," you snarl. You're more pissed off at yourself for failing to rile him than at his response, but whatever witty retort he's about to make dies on his lips as he sees that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He helps you out of the other cuff and rubs your sore wrists, careful to avoid the places where the skin is raw. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "Didn't know if Jae was being over-optimistic and you'd actually try to do something."

His apology gives you pause as you wipe the moisture from your eyes, careful not to wreck your mascara.

"I don't trust you," you explain. "But I don't have it out for you, either."

Johnny nods, a little less solemn. “It’s not your fault you got pulled into this. Whatever happens you’re safe with us. We just need you to work with us a little longer.”

“Jaehyun told me you needed a roper,” you say. You hadn’t let on that you understood the terminology, but it was also becoming increasingly clear that they already knew. “I’ll do it.”

Jaehyun had mentioned compensation, which would have been incentive enough if you hadn’t also been easing down from your fourth–or was it fifth?—orgasm of the day. That post-cum clarity you’d had getting yourself off in the past no longer applied, you felt like you’d been fucked into a single-digit IQ. Making up for lost time, indeed.

“I’ve got an easier job for you first,” he says. “Just need to keep me company here until Jaehyun gives us the signal,” Johnny says, touching the side of his head. He’s wearing the same inconspicuous earpiece you’d watched Jaehyun put in, wire hidden under long hair and collar. You wonder where Johnny has his mic since he’s wearing another short-sleeved tropical shirt, company orange and floral. It’s funny to think you match, even if there’s such a stark disparity between you.

“What are you planning to do?” you ask. 

That wicked grin appears again, his eyebrows lowered.

Johnny’s hands suddenly land on your hips and you squeak as he lifts you onto the desk, scattering file folders and log books onto the floor as you’re pushed back on the dark wood.

“Getting myself fired,” he says, voice lilting. His face dips down into the space between your neck and shoulder, not making contact but close enough to burn you with his exhalation.

"You think fucking a cute little maid on the manager's desk will do it?"

"Oh no," you shake your head, overwhelmed by the warmth radiating off his skin and the clean eucalyptus smell of whatever he was using in his toilette.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's just an act, babydoll." Johnny's breath tickles your skin as he moves up to your ear. “You wanna help or should I hide you in the closet and go find Ruby? I'll let you watch.”

"No." The word escapes your lips with a violence you’re not prepared for, that small sting of jealousy returning. He’s smiling into your jaw as he makes his way across your face, finally pressing more than a butterfly wing’s weight when he finds your lips. 

"I'll do it,” you repeat, kissing him back. “As long as . . . " You drift off, biting your inner cheek. "Can I talk to Jaehyun first?"

"He can hear you," Johnny says, tapping his shirt front.  "No secrets between partners."

"Ask him if he's okay with . . . " You wave your hands in the air, physically unable to say it aloud.

Johnny lifts your chin so you'll meet his honey-brown eyes, mouth curving. "You hear that Jae, she thinks you'll be jealous."

You scowl at him, watching him push the earpiece in further. He laughs at what’s said in the channel before coming back to you. 

"He said something about watching. I don’t know, music is too loud. Did he tell you he has a thing for that?"

"What?" you ask, confused. Johnny trails his hands up the silky fabric covering your legs, reading your face for consent before pulling you to the edge of the desk. You shudder as he hikes your dress up more with his thumbs, rubbing circles into your thighs through the satin.

"I've shared girls with him before but he usually just watches," Johnny says, blithely. "You're the first one he's properly fucked since we were assigned together."

His words send heat pooling into your core, fire spreading to burn through your nerves. You imagine Jaehyun sitting in a chair in the shadows, just drinking the sight of you in as Johnny fucks you into the mattress, bent in two and drooling into the sheets. You try to calm down–you need to keep your head on your shoulders–but you can’t hide your bodily reaction.

"You like that?" Johnny senses your arousal again, nose nudging yours. "You want to be shared?"

You breathe through your mouth, clenching your thighs together. The Lord above knew you should be sated but then you're sure he isn't involved in any of this.

“I think I can handle it,” you respond. “Can you?”

Johnny’s rough fingers suddenly dig into the flesh of your hips. You were so distracted you didn’t even realize he’d reached under your dress, pulling you closer to the edge. He flashes you the biggest grin you’ve seen yet, Cheshire Cat wide. 

"Need to borrow your underwear," Johnny says, yanking your second-best pair of panties down your legs and past your heels. You watch in horror as he lifts the ruined synthetic lace to his nose and inhales deeply.

"How many times did that bastard cum inside you, exactly?" Johnny asks. "In the shower, too?"

Your mouth is dry as the desert, unable to stop him as he tucks away his prize in his back pocket. 

"You heard that?!" you finally squeak.

"Of course. Everything, baby doll. You think we get privacy in this line of work?"

"Jaehyun." You bury your face in your hands to hide your mortification. Johnny gently brings you out, prising your hands apart as he laughs at you, quietly.

"You'll get used to it. Personally I like making the wiretap boys squirm. But then I'm not usually on the receiving end."

You open your mouth to tell him you deserved that but instead your eyes go down to his hips in front of you, and to the obvious bulge straining his white shorts, his length curved down against the inside of his left leg. Ruby hadn't been lying about his size. Soup is good food, indeed, you think, swallowing dryly.

When your eyes return to Johnny’s face you find it’s darkened a bit, his pupils drug-wide. "It's been a long day."

You can picture him tucking his cock into his waistband as he worked, waiting for his next break to jerk off to your moans in a bathroom stall. You’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him you'd heard it yourself, when Jaehyun had slipped his earpiece into your ear mid-fuck. Or that you’d come even harder to the thought of both men getting off to you.

"Do you want a taste?" you ask, hand caressing his jaw. You have your own agenda but it's clear the lines are blurred too much between torturing him and torturing yourself. You knew who would enjoy it, regardless.

"What do you want, baby girl?" Johnny doesn’t let you answer aloud, the flick of your eyes down is enough. He drops to his knees, pulling your legs over his shoulders. 

He's nowhere near as gentle as Jaehyun was, burrowing under your dress to press his plush mouth against your sensitive sex, licking deep and heavy until you’re begging him to stop. He doesn’t let up, angling you back so that you’re dropped across the desk, spilling a mug of pens onto the floor. 

You quickly learn that roughness is no indication of skill as he spreads your lips and laps at the wetness seeping from you. The sounds are obscene and you know it's deliberate but you find yourself joining him, making sharp little cries each time his mouth moves higher.

"Please," you beg, tugging on his hair. "Please more."

"Such a dirty little kitten," he says, flattening his tongue against your clit with each swipe. "Not satisfied with one cock. You think you can take two?"

"Mmhmm," you moan, lost in the moment. 

"We should get you ready," he says, pushing his long fingers deep inside of you. You should be sore but it's almost a relief—the ache is gone as he scissors the digits to open you. You bite back a cry, holding on to the edge of the desk with clenched fists as he adjusts his posture. The mess inside of you squelches with each thrust, desk rocking with the strength of his arm.

Just the knowledge that Johnny is fucking you with his hand is getting you off but you know you can do so much better, especially when you meet his self-satisfied look from between your thighs, his mouth on you again.

“Stop. Stop,” you say, grasping his collar and pulling on it. “You're not–”

“Quiet,” he says. He pulls his fingers out of you with a pop, inspecting the shine on them before reaching up to fill your mouth to let you taste yourself and the slight bitterness of cum. 

You suck experimentally, prompting him to stand up and watch your face as you hollow your cheeks. Johnny holds your neck as he thrusts the digits gently to the back of your throat, hips mirroring the movement as he pushes against the desk with his upper thighs. You scoot forward, practically hanging off the desk to soak the front of his shorts, loving the friction of the khaki against your bareness.

He watches you demonstrate your eagerness to take him in both orifices, clearly proud of himself.

“You going to take me raw, too?” he asks, easing up when you gag on his fingers. You nod, eyes watering. He looks at you with adoration, kissing your forehead and face and then your lips once he's pulled his fingers from them.

“I wish we had more time, I’d make you come on every surface in this room,” Johnny says, unbuckling his pants and pulling himself out of the top of his boxer briefs. You only have a few seconds to fully grasp the danger you’re in, lost in the miles of tanned skin you haven’t seen yet and a close-shaved thatch of dark hair that does little to hide the monster hiding there.

“Ready?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer as that absolutely incomprehensible size presses against you–the angle just right to–

"Are you, big boy?" you tease.

–he loses control and jams his into the desk, full-body wincing. You almost laugh at that, but he doesn't waste a second before pulling you forward and onto him, making you gasp with the burn of taking those first few inches.

"You aren't," he grunts, hand sliding between you to grope at your core. You bat his hand away, grabbing the back of his neck to try and pull yourself on him more.

"Whose fault is that?”

It’s not an easy fit no matter what preparation you've had, and he's not moving the way Jaehyun did to work you in as much as letting you stretch around him as he readjusts awkwardly. The desk proves too low for how high his hips are compared to it–both of you slipping as he tries to find a good surface to fight against the grip of your cunt keeping him half-sunk.

“You think this is funny?” he growls. Your pent-in laughter is immediately stopped as he lifts you up, his forearms wrapped up and under your thighs.

He’s strong enough you feel as weightless as feather down, but gravity still applies when he lets you slide down on his thick cock. You let out a cry, arms and legs wrapping around him instinctively to hold on as he moves you both away from the desk. And then you’re pressed against the wood-panel wall behind it, shoulders pinned as he rolls his hips up in controlled, tight thrusts.

“You okay?” Johnny’s mouth is against your forehead as he slowly fucks into you, not even halfway sheathed inside. Your legs shake, already tired, but you can't imagine stopping—not with that gnawing need settling in. 

Within a minute you're losing your mind; the angle and that impossible girth is good but you can’t touch yourself and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to come with him practically warming himself inside you. 

“I can take it,” you say. You don’t mind pain, and right now you crave it. You nudge his chin with your nose, kissing the smooth skin underneath, where he doesn’t need to shave. 

“I know you can,” he says. “But tap me if you need to stop.”

“Stop telling me–”

Immediately you’re pulled down until your shoulders are angling to the floor, hearing the rip in your dress as he lets you drop. You pull yourself up desperately, heels digging into his thighs and fingernails into his arms until he lifts you again, bracing you both against the office wall. 

“I said tap me if you need to stop,” he says, obviously amused as your eyes flutter shut when he’s close to bottoming out. His thrusts resume, gaze locked with yours in the flickering fluorescent light.

“Relax,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

“Do you?” you ask, threading your hands in his hair again. 

“It’s so funny how you think you’re in control,” Johnny says, voice low. The threat makes you clench around him and you both respond non-verbally, his grunts increasing as he angles you to pump even deeper. You dig your nails into the back of his neck, but with his cock fully lubricated you’re quickly at his mercy, each slap of his hips against yours bouncing you up along the laminate. 

You're immediately wetter than you've ever been, cum trickling down the inside of your thighs as he pushes you open further and further until you’re breaking against your own better judgment. You bury your face in the open V of his collar to keep from screaming, gold chain indenting your cheek.

His hands are under your thighs again, the wall just an afterthought. Now you’re being lifted and carried down in slow semi-circles, his jaw against your skull as he whispers consolations and praise. You know you’re supposed to wait, to listen, but there’s only his voice in your ear as you let go and feel every point of contact between you. 

For a moment you actually believe he wants you. He could fuck you into the next life and it wouldn’t be enough, you think. You want to suck him off in a linen closet. You want him to whisper whatever his desire is in your ear and respond in kind. Few would be so lucky.

“You can make noise, baby.” There it is, you think, that’s an order. You let the sound you’ve been holding in out finally, face angled away from the clip-collar mic you’d felt against your cheek. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you say hoarsely. 

That’s when you understand what you’ve been missing, when his conscious mind finally falls away, he holds you tight and fucks. Your entire body is bent as he ruts into you with his hand curling around the back of your neck to bring you closer to him. The wall clock above you falls to the floor, plastic shattering, as you lose yourself in the feeling of being broken apart—

“What in the fuck are you doing?!” The third voice in the room startles you mid-moan and you realize you hadn’t even heard the door open. Johnny pauses, hold slackening enough for you to slide back down the wall. He looks over his shoulder, the glow of sweat near his hairline shining in the fluorescent light.

“I’m on break,” Johnny says, subtly angling your bodies to shield you from sight.  

“In my office!?” The night manager doesn't sound scandalized enough for this to be a first occurrence, just humiliated.

“You weren’t using it.” Johnny says.

The slam of a man’s fist against the doorway is punctuated by a loud, defeated sigh.

“Well? You gonna watch or you gonna let me finish?” Johnny says. 

You’re impressed at the level tone he has, not just because you were interrupted but because your cunt is squeezing around him with each suppressed giggle. Your hands rise under his shirt to smooth over his twitching abdomen, watching the side of his face as he masterfully avoids reacting. You tweak his nipples for good measure, earning yourself a warning thrust of his hips.

“You can finish out your shift without hourly and then you’re out of this hotel, Sullivan,” the older man says in as threatening a voice as he can muster. “I’d drag you both out myself but you know damn well we don’t have anyone to cover you.”

“Works for me,” Johnny says.

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” The slam of the door drops another framed picture and you wait until the sound of muttering about not being able to keep his dick in his pants for five minutes, then you both break into sobs of laughter, Johnny heaving you around and back to drop your ass on the desk again. He slips painfully out of you as you curl in on each other, shaking violently, adrenaline high burning in your veins.

“Did I do a good job?” You ask once you’ve stopped laughing, wiping tears from your eyes. You’re already adjusting your skirt down your legs, and checking your heels are still strapped to your feet when Johnny’s large hand wraps around your chin.

“Do you think we’re done here?” Johnny’s voice is low.

“You think I want a quick fuck?” You stare up at him through your eyelashes, enjoying the way his full mouth quirks and his eyes narrow. He doesn’t seem convinced by your delivery so you sink the knife in a little deeper.

“Didn’t you hear? Jaehyun said not unless he's watching," you say.

You smile, unable to keep a wry expression. Johnny’s grip on your neck loosens, his touch much more tempting as he strokes the earpiece hidden beneath your right ear. You shiver a little at how gentle he is, avoiding looking at his still-wet, perfect length right in front of you.

“Finish yourself off again,” you say, mustering up an air of business. “We have work to do.”

You slide out from under his arm as he leans against the desk, not moving to stop you. The silence in the room is deafening as you retrieve Jaehyun’s jacket, accidentally kicking a mug across the stained carpet, its yellow smiley face motif staring up into nothing. 

You're peeking through the closed blinds before opening the door when he finally speaks.

“You should be more careful.”

You’re always careful. You don’t turn around, hand on the doorknob. You’re also used to threats.

“Why is that?”

Johnny’s voice is quiet, personal. “You might have more than one man falling for you.”

He can’t see the smile that spreads on your lips as you duck out, straightening your dress and your back as you walk towards your next assignment. 

“I’m counting on it,” you say as the door closes behind you.

The lobby is a hellish sight once you’ve successfully snuck out of the service corridor unseen. You retrieve your powder and lipstick from your coat pocket, cleaning up the smears around your mouth as you sit on one of the low divans nearest to the sliding doors while secretly scoping the front desk.

“The big guy is trying to get a door key from Sheila but she’s not buying it,” you say, coughing after you’ve leaned back from speaking into your jacket collar. "He's being directed to use the phone bank."

“We’re going to need you to go back to 310,” Jaehyun says, soft voice and piano music echoing loud in your ear when he uses the mic. “Answer the call.”

Your heart sinks into the tile under your feet, but you answer. “Copy.”

“Don’t worry. Snoopy will go with you.”

“Snoopy? Does that make you Schroeder?” You can’t help but tease, snapping your makeup compact shut to look up at his back, just twenty feet away where he’s sitting at the grand piano.

He answers by immediately shifting his improvised piano play into the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The music adds a somber air to the room as spouses fight each other over staying another night and the man at the counter steps aside for another in the long line of attempted vacancies. The goon makes his way back to the phone lines, foot tapping impatiently as an elderly woman yells into the receiver about whether her cats have been fed.

Outside sheets of water still fall from the carport but the neon lighting reveals a line of taxis no longer burdened by high flood waters—there’s traffic now, and you’re not partaking in it. No, you’re staying just a little longer in this dollhouse, puppeted by a shadowy organization you've been coerced into working with through the power of money and (admittedly) good dick.

"You're in on the plan now," Jaehyun says, painting your nails for you in the hotel room. "You do this for us and you'll be set for life."

"How long of a lifespan is that?" You ask, making him look up at you with thin-lipped concentration. 

"You're safer with us than anyone else," he says. 

You wanted to believe him. 

"What's the catch?" you ask, knowing there always is one.

"You have to pretend like this never happened."

One of the bellhops passes you by in a rush, distracting you as the seat beside you sinks with a new weight.

“He’s more of a Linus,” a soft, musical voice says next to you. The strange man shakes water off a drenched black fedora, setting a black doctor's bag on the cushions between you.

Your entire body stills, careful not to react too much to the new company. Your eyes slide over and up a long torso to an unfamiliar face. He's got a soft, innocent air to him with his white-blond hair and angelic features but there’s also a slyness to him you wouldn't be comfortable testing. 

You wonder if it’s a prerequisite for their agency that these men be as tall as a coffin is buried, or look better in a suit than any man ever put into one.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, still pretending to watch Jaehyun navigate the keys. “Where’s Woodstock?”

“Oh, he’ll be here soon.” The stranger smiles without showing his teeth, kicking his long legs out. A small child waving a Stretch Armstrong figure barrels into his feet, crying loudly. It seems to cause a domino effect of chaos in the lobby, suitcases spilling as another person trips on the wet floor and a woman starts yelling about a refund.

“Let’s go up first,” the stranger says. His perfect cap of white hair is hidden under his black hat again as he stands to offer you a gloved hand. You navigate the crowd, leading as he keeps pace beside you, his other arm weighed down with the bag.

“Why do they call you Snoopy?” You ask once you’re in the elevator. 

“Maybe because I'm good at finding things out?” he offers, waiting for you to press the third floor button. His black overcoat still drips rain and you try not to steal glances at his profile. The more you look at him the more you think he looks like an undertaker taking you to your own funeral.

You step out of the elevator to a small crowd of people waiting to go down: tourists dressed in inappropriate shorts and linen shirts with their bags, others dressed in their best disco glam for a trip to the bar or another open club. Once the hubbub is gone and the hallway is empty Snoopy leads, a ghost for how quiet his long legs move across the hallway to the room you never wanted to go back to. 

“Wait,” he says as a door opens on the far side of the hallway behind you. He pushes you into the nearby stairwell, dark eyes over your shoulder, expecting company.

“Why do you all smell so good?” The whisper that escapes you is answered in stereo, a soft chuckle over you and multiple laughs in your ears. 

"Not all of us," an unknown voice says.

“You can turn the mic off if you want to, doll,” Johnny’s voice appears over the line, backgrounded by Donna Summers and bar conversation.

“If I get killed by someone named after a funny pages dog I want to be able to curse you with my last breath,” you say. More laughter follows, making you feel like you're at a live recording of a comedy radio show.

“How many people are on this line?” You wonder aloud but your companion shakes his head, leading you to the door for 310. He waits patiently for you to unlock it, your hands shaking as the key slips in. You're thankful at least you aren’t going into the suite directly.

Inside your quiet new friend listens through the adjoining door before opening it, his other hand reaching into his jacket to retrieve a silenced pistol. You follow him into the main living area, icy cold fear returning as he checks the other rooms, thankfully not making you follow. 

The phone rings, startling you with how loud it is.

"You know what to do?" Snoopy asks, nodding at you when he's back in the room with you. Jaehyun had walked you through the details while he'd helped you get ready earlier and it had seemed easy enough.

You let the rings go on for a while as you shake off your nerves before picking up the pink plastic receiver and answering the phone with a tearful, shaky "hello".

"Mira?" 

"Ye-yes." You let your stutter return. 

"Why didn't you answer the door for me?"

"That wasn't the deal," you say. "We meet in the bar, or not at all."

"Where’s Louis, Mira? He was supposed to be down here an hour ago." 

"He went for a swim," you say, not bothering to make it sound convincing.

"In a hurricane? You think I'm stupid?"

"I'll explain when I get down there," you say. "You know they're listening."

The stranger on the other end seems to take a lifetime piecing together what you said before agreeing with a growl. "Be down here in five minutes with the entire package or we're coming up there and breaking down the door to get it."

"I'll see you in ten," you say, hanging up. 

"You're a natural," Snoopy says, wiping down the receiver once he's taken it from your shaking hand. "Pick out an outfit and let me know when you're ready."

He nods towards the other room and you understand immediately, picking up one of the evening dresses strewn on the couch, then reluctantly rifling through the open suitcase on the floor for underwear to replace the ones Johnny had taken from you.  Wearing a dead woman's lingerie was the last thing you needed but you had few alternatives.

There’s a knock at the door that startles you as you're changing in the other room, surprised that you hadn’t had a warning from Jaehyun keeping an eye on the lobby. You come into the room to see your companion open the door, gun ready, letting in a much shorter man in a work suit pushing one of the hotel's janitorial carts.

So there isn't a height requirement after all, you think, nodding shyly from behind the door jamb as the man comes in and beams at you. He meets all your expectations in the looks department, that wholesome appearance they all seem to have masking something much different.

"Hey, Y/N," he says cheerily. "Hey, Jungwoo—"

"We talked about this, Taeil." the other man groans. "Code names?"

The other man shrugs sheepishly.

"We need to move fast. I'll help you once I'm done with her."

"Come here," Jungwoo says after reholstering his gun, guiding you into the empty adjacent room. He leaves the door ajar and gestures for you to enter the bathroom, patting the counter for you to jump on it as he opens his bag beside it. Even with the height increase he's stooped over you, lifting your face in delicate fingers to inspect it.

"We don’t have much time but the lighting should hide enough." He begins applying makeup liberally to your face in a spectrum of colors you've never used before: violets and reds and yellows. 

"You want to make it look real? You can hit me," you say, eyes closed so he can give you a convincing shiner.

"Absolutely not," Jaehyun says in both of your ears.

Jungwoo smiles and shakes his head, biting his lip as he touches up his work with a gloved thumb. "You can wear sunglasses to hide your face, they won't notice."

"Do you do this a lot?" you ask, letting him apply lipstick to you in a deep shade of red. 

"We usually have a team for this. But I'm a quick learner." 

You glance in the mirror, nodding. "You're good at it."

The younger man beams at you, rose lips parting to reveal perfect teeth.

"Stop flirting with the kid," Johnny says. "They're all here but they're looking antsy."

"Almost done," you say, helping Jungwoo put the wig on you to complete your look. He disappears for a moment and comes back with the final touches: large white sunglasses and a fur coat, and a key with the 312 tag. You don’t want to know where he'd found it.

"What about the bag?" you ask. 

"We'll let you know where we stash it."

"Won't they check for a wire?" You look up at Jungwoo, surprised to see confusion flicker across his face.

"These guys are dumb but they're professionals. You tell them you killed dear old Louis here and they won't suspect you're wearing one."

"It's still too risky," you say aloud.

"We're expecting failure," Jaehyun's voice crackles in with the echo of the lobby, piano playing stopped. 

Jungwoo nods, shrugging a little. "Getting caught is just another contingency."

"I see." You have your doubts but you also know that this is largely going to be a matter of luck, much like the other jobs you'd pulled off in the past. As long ago as it's been since you'd done one you’re feeling the same you had every time, the lemon-sharp thrill of possibility with your head running through escapes and back-up options should things go south.

"Should I take a weapon?"

"No. We'll have your back." Jungwoo adjusts your hairline a final time, combing out one of the long, black tresses to rest on your shoulder. "You have my word."

You look at him skeptically, prompting him to blush prettily. "On my mother’s life."

Mommy's boys, the lot of them, you sigh internally. It’s odd but nothing about the last day has been normal, so you figure you'll take your chances.

The trip downstairs is a blur, and you calm yourself by humming the Peanuts theme, until the chuckles in your in-ear reminds you that you have an audience. 

Once you're in the lounge you plan on blowing past the bar, but Johnny beckons you with a curve of his finger. The music is loud enough you have to lean over the bar to hear what he has to say. He hovers dangerously close, breath against your cheek.

"Want another Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall?"

"What?" You stare at him in disbelief once you've pulled away.

"The drink you had earlier," he says, holding up a glass. "I'll send one over. Deliver it to that spot you like so much in the lobby. The one with the view."

It takes you a moment to realize he’s telling you where the package is being delivered.

"Why are you like this?" you ask, not waiting for an answer or his pleased expression. You head directly for the suits at the back booth past the sadly empty dance floor and stage, mirror ball illuminating clouds of smoke wafting from the occupied tables. 

For a moment you catch a familiar face looking at you from one of the booths and your heart stutters but Ruby's gaze skips over you and back to the bar. Thank god for your disguise, you think, she's the last person you want to talk to right now.

There's a clear aura of uncertainty coming from the group you're approaching, the chill of fear beginning to freeze you until you remember you’re not carrying a bag. You walk forward with a mixture of feigned confidence and very real wariness.

One of the three men accompanying the leader stands up and pretends to give you a hug, patting you down instead. You stand stock still as his hands wander up your body under the white rabbit fur coat, roughly squeezing the underwire of your bra before standing back to let you sit.

Once you've slid along the red leather you're closed in immediately by the bodyguard, a hard and cold object digging into your stomach under the table.

"Where is it," the leader asks, fingers steepling in front of him. This close you can see he's as good-looking as your own agents, and though they hadn’t told you anything much past his name and a warning to play it cool you can feel the power coming off him like radiation from a nuclear core.

"You could at least buy a girl a drink, Max," you say, placing your hands on the table, not to show off Jaehyun's work on your nails as much as let them see the very real damage to your wrists and the scrapes on your knuckles. "The case is in the lobby behind the palm tree closest to the piano."

The leader only has to nod before one of the meatheads across from you—the one you’d taken to calling Hulk for the shape of his jaw—gets up to retrieve it.

"Roughed you up good, did he?" Max asks, offering you an expensive cigarette from an ivory-plated case.

You let your hand shake when you accept it, leaning into the flame and fighting the urge to cough when the smoke hits your lungs. The second drag is easier, letting them hang on your next words.

"I told him if he hurt me again he'd pay." You exhale smoke, flashing him a glimpse of your face under the glasses, satisfied with the look of disgust that crosses his cold features. "He paid."

"We'll need to confirm that." Max toys with his untouched martini. "Do you have proof?"

"The room is the proof," you say. "Everything is still in there but me. And the bag."

You indicate you're going to pull something from your pocket and he nods, the gun digging in a little sharper as you pull out the 312 room key and slide it across the table. "Knock yourself out."

"What do you want out of this?" 

"Protection," you spit out immediately. You adjust your glasses, looking out at the bar like you’re being watched. It's easy to act when you know you are.

"Don't think there's any protection in the world that could see you out of the mess you both made," Max smiles, his eyes cold.

"Fair," you incline your head, pretending to wipe a tear from under your glasses. "You can let me walk out of this hotel in one piece, though. Word is you're a stand-up guy." 

"I keep my word. Let's see if you keep yours."

The other man returns with the case, nodding. The guards get up, Max pocketing the key and smoothing out his jacket. 

"Take her out front and get her a ride," he says to the man still holding a gun to you. "You going to play nice for me?"

"Don't see that I have much choice," you snap back. 

"Be a good girl and you'll have nothing to worry about," Max says, smiling devilishly. You've seen this look before, you've heard these words before, you know that they're never true. But you pretend like you believe him, you even let him kiss your hand as he leaves you alone with your ward. 

The ghost of that kiss makes you clench your hand as you're shepherded past the bar, making eye contact from behind your glasses with Johnny as he pours rum. He winks at you, and while your face is hidden you’re sure he can see the look you shoot back at him. 

Your legs start to feel like jelly the moment the lobby doors open and you're exposed to the rush of warm, humid air outside of the hotel. You turn towards the line of taxis and airport shuttle vans but your captor walls you off, steering you towards the parking lot. 

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, quietly.

He doesn't answer, grabbing your shoulder to make you march into the rain-soaked night towards rows of cars and an ominous-looking black Lincoln Continental. You don’t fight it–making conversation instead.

"If you kill me people will come for you," you say, voice trembling.

"They'll thank me, bitch," he says, jamming the muzzle into your back.

You pretend to stumble in your heels, falling on to the wet pavement behind the hotel once you're out of the eyeline of anyone out front. The man looks down at you in disgust, gesturing with his gun for you to get up when light suddenly floods the sidewalk. 

Headlights blind you both, an engine flaring into life just beyond–

"What the—" the man doesn't get a chance to speak as he's cold-cocked from behind, the gun in his hand skittering across the wet pavement when it's kicked from his limp hand. You look up to see a giant man in a ski mask standing over you both right before the engine roars behind you, distracting you. There’s a screech of tires just as the stranger picks you up and throws you into the open side door of an unmarked van.

You have a glimpse of an interior full of all sorts of electronic equipment and a driver's side profile before a black bag is pulled over your head. Your assailant must be part bear for how little your struggle effects them, and after the hold he has on you doesn't break you go limp.

You're discarded on the floor of the van to roll across it, bumping painfully into what feels like a bench.

"Sorry, sorry," comes a muffled voice behind you as the vehicle peels away, door slamming shut. 

"What?" Your heart is racing in your chest, fabric keeping you from being able to draw in a full breath.

"We had to make it look authentic," he says, grabbing you before you can slide across the floor again. You don’t fight as you're lifted off the floor and set down on a cushioned seat, back against the cold metal wall of the van.

Once the movement of the vehicle is normalized you find hands tentatively removing the hood from your head, and a boyish looking face under brown, mussed hair peering down at you. You're both sitting on the bench running parallel to the massive amount of equipment filling the left side, including video monitors and radio dispatch equipment.

"Was the black bag necessary?" you ask.

"Security cameras," he shrugs. 

You take advantage of a red light to adjust yourself and he does too, moving away. Despite his height he looks comfortable as he sits in a bolted-down chair at the electronics station, donning a headset and clicking through a series of buttons.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Hotel," the driver says cheerily from up front and you have a moment of panic thinking he means back to The Magic Carpet. You don’t think you can spend another night there.

"Palm Beach," the big man clarifies from where he works.

"That's a long drive," you sigh. 

"I'm going to need your earpiece," he says, holding out his hand. He sees your expression and smiles shyly. "You're out of range anyway."

You comply, taking off your wig and wig cap as well, relieved to be able to itch your scalp.

"Oh and we'll need your clothes, too. Your stuff is over there."

You sigh. "Can I keep my underwear?"

He's surprisingly unfazed, cheeks maybe a little more red in the dim light of the non-broadcasting monitors. He turns and speaks into his mic, low enough you can barely hear but you can feel the universe laughing at you when he swivels around, face incandescent.

"No they say we'll need that too. Sorry."

You think you can hear Johnny laughing even miles away.

"Whatever," you say. "You want to watch?"

He turns around again immediately, but you catch the driver's cherub-like eyes in the rearview mirror smiling at you with a cheeky look. You respond with a rude gesture before going deeper into the back of the van, glad to see there's a curtained-off area with a narrow sleeping cot at the back. 

Your heart drops a little seeing your familiar suitcase and bag laid there—remnants of a life that feels foreign to you now. You may as well have been dropped off on an alien planet for as far away as yesterday feels. 

Once you've changed into your familiar denim shorts and yellow Keep On Truckin' t-shirt you lie down, listening to the soft hum of the radio playing soul and the occasional click of a keyboard or button. The smooth ride of the I-95 takes you into even more unfamiliar territory.

God you wished they'd have let you keep the fur coat. But no, you'd been unloaded at the end of an enormous palm-tree lined lane at the most impossible destination you could ever have imagined yourself, a pebble dumped in a treasure chest.

"Welcome to the Breakers Resort," the woman at the front desk had greeted you, patient as you took in the painted ceiling and chandeliers. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Room 127," you say, looking down at the scrap of paper the comms agent had given you.

"Ah, of course. Welcome Ms. Smith. Kitchen is open for another few hours if you'd like any in-room dining." 

You don't even notice she's not asked for ID or money, swept past the grand Venetian ballroom and miles of soft carpet and antique furniture to your room. 

Of course it's a suite, you think, once you're inside. The place is tastefully white and pastel, windows revealing the rolling surf of the dying storm just past the well-maintained exterior. Unlike the place you’d just left, the palm leaves and jetsam have already been swept clean, erasing the chaos of the past few days in a way that has you unsettled.

You find pink rose petals strewn at the end of the turned-down king size bed, chocolates on the pillow and an expensive looking bottle of champagne sweating in an ice bucket on the table. 

Enjoy your stay, you've earned it. The handwritten note on hotel stationary makes you feel more alienated then ever and you soothe yourself by inspecting the room the way you're used to doing. It's so clean you feel like you could eat off the floor, reminding you it's been a long time since that sandwich.

The prices on the room service menu send your blood pressure skyrocketing but you disregard them and order a full spread, and another bottle of champagne—less expensive—for good measure.

It's hard to stay still and you think about going down to the bar but take one look at your face in the mirror with its remaining streaks of makeup and your ratty wig-tortured hair and opt instead to take a bath in the jacuzzi tub, dumping an entire bottle of soap in for maximum bubbles. You stay in the hot water until you can’t stand it anymore, wrap yourself in one of the thick white robes, and wait.

It's not your fault the bed is so comfortable and warm, the pillows so thick and cold. Four glasses of champagne and the roar of the ocean lulls you into a deep and dreamless sleep. You're out so intensely that you don't even wake up when the door clicks open, or when the shower starts, or when the mattress drops next to you.

No, you wake up much later, suddenly hot from the body encircling you, arm tight around your middle. You open your eyes to see another form in front of you, catching the sharp tang of alcohol as Johnny snores softly a few feet away.

"Jae—" the hand rises to press a finger to your lips and you turn around to see his familiar jaw, dark hair shrouding his face. You lean back to kiss him, surprised to feel how smooth his skin is and how good he tastes when your mouth opens to allow him in with a soft moan.

You kiss until you're both breathless, his hand tracing circles on your neck.

"You did so good," he whispers. "Without a hitch."

"I missed you," you say quietly, and you mean it. "Thought maybe this was a parting gift."

Even in the dark you can tell his expression clouds over, eyes darting over your face. 

"What’s wrong?" you ask, fingers tracing his eyebrows.

Don't say it, don't say it, you think. You want the illusion to last just a little longer.

"We can talk about it in the morning," he says. "Get some more rest."

You sigh, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, finding it still slightly damp. 

"I don't want to sleep," you whisper, your tone clearly indicating that you'd rather be doing anything else. You sense him go rigid behind you. Fingers trace your lips before angling your jaw so he can kiss you again, just as softly.

"You sure?" 

"Don't wake him," you say, conspiratorially.

"Johnny killed half a bottle of mezcal so they’d kick him out early, he's not getting up anytime soon."

"Pretend like I'm still dreaming."

"Mmm," he assents, bringing you closer to him. You relax into his soft touches, letting him soothe you into a comfortable state only punctuated by shocks of cold when he undoes the belt of your robe, reaching in to massage your skin. You close your eyes and let him explore you in slow, endless circumnavigations of your breasts and belly, never quite hitting the places he knows will make you move.

You only jerk a little when he pulls back your robe collar, replacing the warmth of the fabric with his mouth, the fingers of his right hand venturing between your thighs.

You can't help but whimper the moment he touches you, lightly dipping his fingers between your folds, spreading the wetness that inevitably springs up. You’re still aching from the lack of completion earlier, body melding into every contour of his behind you as an invitation to go further. 

He brings his mouth to your shoulder blade, kissing you gently as he rests his forearm on your hip, alternating between teasing your entrance and up to your clit. You bury your face into the pillow to keep from crying out when he curls his fingers inside you, small gestures making you close your legs around his touch.

When you reach behind to grab at his head he brings your hand back to the pillow with slippery fingers, pulling off your robe from your right side, leaving you half exposed. 

"Relax for me, baby," he whispers into your ear, bottom lip brushing the lobe. "Close your eyes."

You will yourself limp, slowly coming to the realization that this is something he wants—you pliable and ready for him. He adjusts behind you and you feel that thick, soft tip nudging between your thighs, his hand pulling your leg back and over his to help him get you aligned.

"Stay quiet," he warns before fucking into you. You grip the pillow beneath you as he forces his way in, fighting the tight constriction in your cunt at the suddenness. 

Soft sounds escape you when he pulls your hip back, getting so deep you’re melding together, skin-to-skin in the cool air. His other arm snakes under you so he can clamp a hand over your mouth, his thrusts getting less controlled as you continue to pretend to sleep.

"Gonna give you such a good dream." Jaehyun's voice cracks as he rolls you slightly to fuck you into the bed. You want him to touch you so badly you whimper for it under his palm, eyes clenched shut. 

He seems to understand because strong fingers reach between you and the mattress, circling your nub until you're clamping down on him. Just when you think you're going to tip over the edge his hand pulls away, making your body snap with unresolved tension.

"Wait for me. Wait until I tell you," he says. You shake your head in protest but he doesn't let up, stroking you in alternations between the contact you need and then up to your belly as soon as you begin to tremor.

You're only consoled by Jaehyun's shaky breaths into your hair, his drilling into your warm hole speeding up each time your body flutters around his cock. Even his hand around your mouth tightens in spasms. 

"Now."

You don't understand why the bed is moving as much as it is until you're rolled back against Jaehyun, thigh pulled back again. Your eyes fly open with the first stroke of a warm tongue, surprise disappearing into a massive rolling wave of pleasure as you find Johnny's head between your legs, Jaehyun's cock disappearing into you in wild thrusts.

You're on fire, incapable of thinking trapped between the soft wetness of a mouth and the molten length inside of you. Johnny stops mid-lick and mid-tremor to blow on you, the cold air making you jerk.

"I said now," Jaehyun says, and you realize he's directing the other man, who's stopped mouthing you again, looking up across your bare chest to meet your eyes in the dark.

Then he's sucking on your clit and you can't keep the shriek from bubbling up in your throat, body curling in as the sensation of that wave breaking has your legs shaking and toes curling, shock after shock following as Jaehyun pulls out of you and finishes between your thighs, coating you and Johnny both. 

Johnny doesn’t stop, and Jaehyun holds you still as you're licked clean, your eyes half-open drinking in the sight in the dark. By the time he joins you at the head of the bed you're whimpering from overstimulation, captured into a kiss that coats your tongue as soon as Jaehyun releases the hand over your mouth.

"Take care of her," Jaehyun says, leaving the bed. 

"Tit-for-tat," Johnny says brushing his hand over your cheek. "You ready to finish what you started?"

Your heart races as he pulls you on top of him, gently tugging the robe off your left shoulder and tossing it away. His hands completely engulf your breasts, spreading them and thumbing at your hardened nipples.

"So soft. You're mine, too," he murmurs.

"You're drunk," you counter, but you don't leave your place straddling him. He’s still dressed but his shirt is open, body feverwarm under you. 

You suppose it makes sense that they'd cage you in without a say, after slowly whittling away at your resolve, but it still feels like waking up in the lion's den. So this is what you’d missed out on not following things to their natural conclusion before. You’re almost grateful you’d never made it that first night; you’d have missed the worst but you would have never have found yourself here.

"Maybe," he says. "I can still fuck you though."

"It's so funny how you think you’re in control," you repeat his words back to him, slipping down his torso and leaving a trail of wet until you're straddling his thighs. You pull his shorts open to release his massive erection, trailing your mouth over the leaking slit but offering nothing by way of satisfaction.

By the time you feel Jaehyun behind you again Johnny is groaning loudly at each wet kiss against his length, each weak suck and unfinished squeeze of your fingertips driving him deeper into the bed.

"You like torturing him, baby?" Jaehyun asks, turning on the light. He's naked and glistening with sweat, the sight making your mouth water.

"It's only fair," you say, tongue flicking the precum from the underside of Johnny's cock. "You said he couldn't fuck me until you could watch."

"I made you come just now," Johnny slurs, hand twisting in your hair. 

"Debatable," you say. Jaeyhun grabs Johnny's wrist away from you and pulls it over his head and you hear the satisfying click of cuffs snapping into place. Johnny's hips thrust upwards as you give his cock another long swipe, watching Jaehyun ease on to the bed and angle his groin over the other man's face. You can't see but you can hear the muffled groans as Johnny takes him, the arching of Jaehyun's broad white back as he grips the headboard and fucks slowly into his mouth.

You forget torturing Johnny, cheek resting against his hipbone as you reach down to touch yourself instead. When Jaehyun finally pulls away you can see the line of spit from his erect cock to Johnny's plump lips and it makes you gasp a little, peppering his belly with kisses.

"What would you like to do to him?" Jaehyun asks, stroking himself as you tease Johnny’s length with your breasts.

"He can’t come until we tell him to," you say, looking directly into Johnny's lust-hazed eyes. "I want him to beg for it."

"That’s my girl," Jaehyun moves across the bed to join you, leaning down to kiss you before licking the twitching cock between you. You follow his suit, mouths clashing before you both set to work—your hand pumping while Jaehyun's cheeks hollow around the tip. You end up with one hand on his head guiding your lover, watching Johnny writhe and curse as he tries to break free.

"I want you to fuck me with him," you say, kissing Jaehyun once you’ve pulled him away. He looks at you quizzically, your hand wrapping around his cock to pull him closer and work at him against Johnny's muscled thigh. 

"I can take it," you say. "If he comes before I do then we can punish him."

"You sure?" he asks, pulling you tight. 

"Yeah," you breathe. "I want both of you."

You kill all alternatives by settling yourself over Johnny's hips, parting his open shirt so you can have better access to the wide swath of his chest and belly. 

"You want both of us?" he asks drowsily. You kiss him, marveling at how swollen his lips are until you remember biting them earlier. You nip at his neck, hearing the rattle of his belt as Jaehyun undresses his lower half behind you.

"We'll do all the work. Just try not to come," you say. You reach between you to angle his cock up into you, settling down as the stretch burns you awake. You feel unmoored until Jaehyun's hands are on your hips guiding you down to where you can rest against Johnny beneath you and then up again, making up for the lack of strength in your thighs.

"Oh," you say, leaning back into him. "It's so much."

"Slowly," Jaehyun says, cock pressed into your ass as he guides you. His arm snakes around you to help hold you as his hand fits between you, working through your slick until he can guide two fingers into you besides the other man. The first stretch of pain makes you squeak, tensing, and he slows.

"You sure you want it this way? We can—"

You shake your head violently. The feeling of being filled is too good, every inhale making you tighten. "Not tonight."

"That’s my girl," Johnny sighs. Jaehyun eases a third finger in, both of your movements slowing as he fucks into you with his hand against the warm length already inside you. You're on fire, feeling Johnny practically in your ribcage, but without the necessary rhythm to work you to completion it feels like you're sharing the torture.

"Please, fuck us," you whisper, leaning back to rest your head against Jaehyun's chest. You're so full already you can barely feel when his hand is out of you but when his cock replaces his fingers its a torch to tinder. You involuntarily jerk forward, half-off of Johnny as Jaehyun slides against him and presses his cock deep into your cunt. 

If you thought you had any agency in this moment it's stolen by hands on your hips pulling you back, Jaehyun’s grip viselike. Johnny is struggling beneath you, trying to fuck you against the encroachment of Jaehyun's cock but the latter’s movements are merciless.

"Oh fuck," Johnny says as you bounce on top of him, unable to do anything besides snap his hips. "So tight."

You reach a hand down to pleasure yourself and marvel instead at the bulging in your abdomen, a total flush settling over your body as Jaehyun forces his way into you with sharp breaths. 

"Don't come yet," he says, biting your shoulder, making your walls clench even around all that mass inside you. Johnny bucks, thighs rising under you, clearly feeling each twitch.

"Fuck, I can't hold it," Johnny says, the metal of his cuffs scraping on the headboard. "Slow down."

"Don't come," Jaehyun orders, more to Johnny than you. You aren't even touching yourself, too lost in the indescribable feeling of fullness inside you, the lurid sounds of skin against skin as Jaehyun's balls slap against your ass and the base of Johnny’s cock. You lean back to kiss him, unable to find anything but his jawline before he bends you down to slide in deeper. 

Your hands splay across Johnny’s abdomen, feeling every spasm and roll of his muscles as he comes closer to his end. You let your body respond in kind, squeezing in time until the tics escalate beneath your palm and you can both feel and hear his breathing stutter beneath you. 

"You're so good for me, Daddy," you whisper, laving the hot skin over Johnny's breastbone. "Come for me."

Johnny practically leaves the bed for how violent his orgasm is. Hot cum floods inside you, spurring Jaehyun to fuck deeper and rougher even as his partner grunts in protest at the overstimulation. 

He reaches between you to place your hand where you'd forgotten your own touch.

"Punish him, baby."

You circle your clit, making sure you keep getting tighter around his softening cock with each thrust. The stretch burns but you take it.

"Such a good girl," Jaehyun says, kissing your neck above your spine. Want to feel you come for us."

You feel the snap in the bottom of your feet and into your weakening legs, core throbbing with each pump until you finally crumble. You squeeze the sensitive member inside you until you're breaking apart around them both, face pressed into Johnny’s chest.

Looking up you immediately move up off both of them, not caring if Jaehyun has finished, kissing the sweat away from Johnny’s face. His expression is a grimace but his breathing slows as you soothe him with soft touches.

"We got carried away," you breathe, pushing the hair stuck to his forehead away. "Are you okay? Can I get you some water?" 

Johnny cracks a smile, eyes opening partially. 

"You think that was too much?" he asks. "And you said you could handle it."

You slap him lightly on the face.

"You’re done?" he asks, eyes flicking down between you. "I didn't beg, did I?"

You look back at Jaehyun, finding him with one hand on his cock, pumping slowly.

"Get back down here," he says. 

You don't resist, sliding down and turning to face him as you straddle Johnny's belly. Jaehyun kisses you, bringing your hand to spread over Johnny's softening cock covered in cum and slick. He reaches between you to cup your own mess, fingers slopping into you obscenely as he coats them in what's there.

"He's going to make you come again," he says. "I'll get him hard again for you." 

"I'm pretty sure he’s going to pass out," you say, looking over your shoulder. His fucked-out expression in the dark is how you feel, propped against your lover.

"Even better." Jaehyun says. "Watch."

Your breath catches in your chest as you see him take his white-coated fingers and slide them down between Johnny’s parted legs, beneath his heat-sagging balls. You’re the one to gasp as you watch him palpate the puckered muscles and slowly work in, feeling the body beneath you twitch.

"You don't know how amazing this feels," he says, meeting your round eyes. "Soon."

Heat radiates through your core and your entire body as you watch Jaehyun finger-fuck the man under you, as you feel his cock twitch with each stroke against his prostate. You assist by dropping down to take Johnny’s soft member into your mouth, sucking gently on it and pulling it to hardness. Somewhere out of sight Johnny groans inarticulately.

The taste doesn't bother you, not as you feel the blood return to his cock, taking a long time to fill completely. You’re only stopped by Jaehyun angling his own tip into your face, forcing you to alternate between the two until both are sufficiently coated in your spit and your throat burns from the intrusion. 

Jaehyun waits until you're choking on Johnny’s cock to make his first thrust, easing into the other man with a raspy sigh. You watch fascinated as Johnny lifts his hips, legs folding on either side of the younger man. Jaehyun's mouth is agape, eyes closed as his strokes become deeper and more forceful.

"You're so good," you croon, lying down beside Johnny and kissing the side of his face. He angles his head to catch your lips, making small noises of satisfaction when your tongue slides over his. You almost forget everything as you kiss him deeply, the moment feeling more intimate than anything you’d shared previously, until rough hands grasp you from behind and pull you down his body.

“One more for us?” Jaehyun says into your ear, dripping sweat down your throat and spine as he crashes you against him, still rocking steadily. 

You swallow nervously, thighs radiating a deep ache. “I don’t know if my knees can handle it.”

“Just relax,” he says, twisting your body so you’re facing him and pushing you until your bent backwards. 

“Lay back, babydoll,” Johnny says.

You can hardly breathe, your body tensing with anticipation as you lie down against Johnny’s chest.  Jaehyun bends over you, you think to grab the headboard until you hear the release of the cuffs. Just as quickly you are wrapped in a tight embrace, legs spread.

“Relax,” Johnny says, nuzzling your throat. “I’ve got you.”

He lifts his hips, diving into your ready heat—his length less overwhelming than before at this angle. Jaehyun settles down over you as well, kissing from your forehead to your mouth as Johnny begins thrusting between you. 

You can’t be sure of anything in this position—not who is guiding all three of you, or who is making the sounds in the chorus of cries of ecstasy. You’re sure you won‘t be able to come again but Johnny’s thick fingers slide over your nub, sending aftershocks through your abused cunt. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you chant, head thrown backwards against Johnny’s flexing shoulder. Hovering over you, Jaehyun is just as gone—face buried in your chest.

“I’m close,”  Jaehyun says into your skin, eyes clenched tight. 

“Hold on, baby,” Johnny says, and you know immediately it’s meant for you by the way his python-like grip locks you into place.

Johnny stops working beneath you and you realize he’s ceded control, the violence of Jaehyun’s last thrusts fucking him deeper into you than before. Johnny keeps you on top of him, hand unrelenting on your apex even as he loses tempo beneath you.

“Come on me,” you whisper to Jaehyun, breaking the spell he is under. He fights for control through a shuddering last push, pulling out to finish over you with just a few pumps into his hand as you curl towards him, foreheads colliding. Milky white ropes coat your torso, and you try to kiss him through the look of pure bliss you know he’s in but are rolled onto the bed, facedown.

“I can’t,” you protest, wrenching around to stop Johnny but you might as well be made of rubber. Something is shoved under your belly and your hips are hoisted up as you sink headfirst into the duvet. 

“You can, babydoll. I want to feel it when I ruin you for anyone else.”

Johnny’s weight settles over your hips as he teases your throbbing and puffy core with his cockhead, pulling you up on the pillow he’s placed beneath you. You jerk when he angles into you, dragging against the top of your walls with each plunge. As much as you expect pain or force there’s neither, it feels like you’re melting into the warmth of him as he kisses your shoulders gently.

“You’re so perfect,” Johnny mumbles, pulling sweat-sticky hair from your face as you gasp for air. 

“I told you she was.” Jaehyun lies next to you at an angle, kissing you, and you taste the swallow of cold water he’d just taken like it’s the first rain of summer. Soon he’s pulled you half into his arms, touch ghosting all over as Johnny keeps a steady pace. 

“How are you still so tight for me?” He groans, legs pressing against the back of your thighs when he hits you deepest. The sensation is overwhelming, like he’s going to crawl inside of you so far you’ll never be released. 

“It’s too much,” you say, but even you don’t believe it as you lift your hips to meet him, allowing Jaehyun’s hand to slip between your legs. He rolls your clit in a circular motion, kissing you to match the other man’s thrusts. Your pussy throbs in syncopation with someone’s breathing—surely not yours.

“You’re such a good girl for us.” 

You whimper when the waves of pleasure begin to shorten in refraction, the building orgasm like a bone deep ache that they’re working out of you. You go quiet in the last few seconds, high-pitched whine stuck in your lungs, willing overworked muscles to give up the ghost but the climax seems to stretch on forever with no peak to tumble off of. 

And then Johnny shifts, practically on top of you, holding himself up but only so much as he drills you into the bed and the slick chest beneath you. Teeth are on your neck and another mouth against your cheek as you cry out, legs quaking involuntarily, nails digging into Jaehyun’s back as you hear Johnny cum with a muffled roar. 

Hot cum fills your belly as you finally find release, spasming so intensely you feel liquid gush between your thighs. You don’t have a thought left in you to feel any shame, your body shakes mellowing as you’re held through the comedown. 

“That’s my girl,” Jaehyun whispers, smiling against your temple. 

“Our girl,” Johnny corrects, kissing where a bruise blooms at the top of your shoulder blade. He rolls off of you but only to cage you on the other side, leg draped possessively over yours.

Jaehyun meets your eyes in the half-light, watching you. You have to close your eyes, unable to face that kind of unnameable emotion you feel hollowing you out.

“Stay with me,” he says, lifting you up finally. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You barely hear him as you sink into bliss, grateful that at the end of it all—whatever this is—you don’t have to be in control. 

Hours later you startle awake with a gasp, the room grey with the dawn outside and the heavy breathing of the two men on either side of you only faltering for a moment before returning to the depths of sleep. 

It takes you longer than usual to get your bearings, the soreness in your legs making blood rush to your face as you remember everything at once. 

I’m so deeply fucked, you think, literally and figuratively. You sit up, finding yourself wrapped up in a deadweight arm—Jaehyun’s—while Johnny’s head rolls back from where it was resting against your shoulder. In the low light they look so much younger, weightless without all the responsibility and mystery you’d come to expect. 

You’ve already washed up and changed into your robe but you quietly scrub down again, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from your forehead and checking the marks on your skin where tongue and teeth had claimed you. 

Inside you feel a glow of elation that you’ve finally understood what it is to be wanted, and somehow without conflict even with the uncertain nature of two people’s separate feelings in the matter. In a better world perhaps you’d have time to talk it over, sharing a room service breakfast and a morning finally free of the storm that had brought you together.

But you’ve lived a lot longer than anyone should have in your short existence. It’s made you more capable, and stronger, but also unwilling to accept any fantasy. Everything, you think, has a price, and some things are too good to be true.

You don’t have any illusions about what daylight will actually bring you. 

With the ease of an automaton you remove all traces of your existence from the room, changing into the clothes you wore and readying for departure. You find the one possession that isn’t yours with ease, in Jaehyun’s bag, leaving everything else intact. 

The watch feels heavy in your hand, the ticking like receding thunder, and you tuck it into your bra as if to quiet it with your own heartbeat. On your way out you find the Bible in the desk and leave the passage open, decaying rose marking Proverbs 27, underlining verse 5. 

If either hears you go, they don’t follow. 

chapter warnings: mild violence, descriptions of gore and suturing, a whole lotta angst, mild sir kink

“So a priest is drowning in the river when a boat comes along. No, no, the priest says, I don’t need help I have God on my side—”

The bells of the Duomo di Modena ring over the square, drowning out the next part of your partner’s joke. It’s just in time as the waiter brings your second espresso. You tuck your hair behind your ear, looking into your hand mirror, self-conscious not of the flyaways but the empty yellow cobblestone behind you.

“Grazie,” you say, adjusting your sunglasses to look over them at your partner in crime. “You’ve already told me this one before, Woo. God gets upset because he sent three boats.”

“Way to kill the punchline,” Jungwoo says dejectedly. He picks at his cornetto, long-lashed eyes flitting over you to fix on the waiter and offer them a smile. You give him a look of mock sympathy.

“You need to work on your repertoire,” you offer. “Maybe throw in a rabbi or a nun.”

“It’s not my fault you remember everything,” he says while scoping the town square behind you. “Know any jokes about nuns?”

At this hour in the morning foot traffic is at its peak, but more pigeons are navigating the entrance of a historic monument than passerbys. The Romanesque architecture reaching to the heavens seems altogether mundane when there’s tourists stepping around the cordoned blocks of stone to capture it in film.

“I promise if you have a fresh joke I’ll listen to it,” you offer as consolation.

“How about this one, it has a clown—“

“Is he me? Or the doctor?”

“No,” he sniffs, mock offended, crossing his impossibly long legs. “Maybe.”

You check your earpiece, thumbing the mic in your trenchcoat’s lapel. You leave it on, the dual echo of your partner’s mic catching the occasional car horn or loud conversation. That first sip of fine roast from the cup in your hand is enough to keep you breaking and running.

“Nervous?” Jungwoo catches you off guard, rosy lips splitting into a knowing grin.

“No,” you counter immediately, both knowing it’s a lie.

It wasn’t your fault you’d landed on the European continent with much less of a professional discipline than your previous missions. It wasn’t just that the stakes were higher, with you in charge of reconnaissance and intelligence gathering, but that you’d been sent without much of a lead.

While your partner was largely useless in physical combat he was more than talented at espionage. Agent Kim had talked you into and out of dozens of situations, and he had a nose for danger that had saved you before. But you couldn’t help but feel you were being thrown to the wolves.

The debriefing with the Deputy Director had been short and to the point: prevent the acquisition of a stolen asset at a drop somewhere in northern Italy. You’d chased leads though museums and hotels in Paris, even taken a short trip to the Alps, until a tip in Monaco. You'd been given the message while Jungwoo flirted with a Carabinieri to avoid being taken into custody at a murder scene you’d stumbled into.

“Find Guinivere stolen by a hippocampi.”

A cursory lead for research had landed you in Emilia-Romagna, conveniently the site of a festival and a scientific conference, and a cathedral with some odd Arthurian history you didn’t have time to dive into but had a gut feeling would work in your favor. You were beginning to think you’d chosen correctly.

“Eleven o’clock. The man with the newspaper he isn’t reading. He’s been at the same spot, eyeing the gate since Mass let out. I think he’ll move soon.”

“I see,” Jungwoo says, glancing over his shoulder for a moment before drinking from his Americano. “Need a scene?”

“Nothing too overt, please,” you say. You can’t help but be haunted by the incident involving a wig where he’d been dropped out of a casino by security, killing your conversation with your first lead in weeks.

“Got it,” he says with an easy smile. “You going to church?”

“Hopefully I don’t burst into flame the moment I walk in,” you sigh.

“I have a little something for you. For courage,” Jungwoo says, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. You watch as he performs a magic trick, pulling out a long length of scarf. The attention from the café residents around you is negligible but you blush all the same.

“You shouldn’t have,” you say, as he deftly folds the square of silk into a triangle. The leopard motif is immediately recognizable as an Yves Saint Laurent piece you’d eyed in Milan, pretending to be the kind of clientele who could afford it.

“For courage,” he says, reaching over the wrought-iron table and your forgotten pastry breakfast to tie it over your head and behind your high bun. “There, you look like Audrey in Charade now. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with you?” You ask him as he stands up.

“No, what?” He asks, puzzled. You let him realize you’re telling a joke by the way you pull down your sunglasses to wink at him.

“Nothing,” you quote, waiting for him to get it.

Jungwoo tips his black hat with a grin, not bothering to head for the exit of the cafe patio but instead simply walking over the low fence, making a beeline for the empty square. You finish your coffee, steeling your nerves and checking your surroundings in your pocket mirror before following in his wake.

It’s easy to become lost in the bustle, tourists mixing with the crowd leaving morning service. You keep your focus ahead but watch out of the corner of your eye as the slim man in black rounds your earlier target and stands besides him. He pulls something from his pocket and throws it on the ground.

Your cue to continue is a rush of wings as every bird in a 100-yard radius descends on a free breakfast.

“Good work,” you say into your hidden mic. “I’m going in.”

The cathedral is open between services but surprisingly empty except for a few parishioners and visitors. You cross yourself upon entering, taking a seat in the back and allowing yourself to bask in the impressive gothic vault and bare brick arches, leading to an apse illuminated in gold and quaint paintings of Christ, Mary, and saints.

Once you have your bearings you pretend to drop your purse, leaning down to scan the dark wooden benches for anything left beneath them. Within a few seconds you’ve caught sight of the steel briefcase—it was always a briefcase—towards the front and left.

“Your friend is bird-free,” Jungwoo’s musical voice is in your ear.

“Intercepting the package now,” you answer in a whisper.

“Looks like he has company.” The response spurs you to move faster, slipping out of your seat and rounding the columns so as to be out of the eyeline of the central nave. You’re almost to your goal when you see an uncharacteristic group of three men enter under the giant rose window, shadowed against the exterior.

Immediately you drop down and crawl to the case, startling an old woman sitting at the other end of the pew. You look up at her, startled, as you fight to undo the lock chaining it to a wooden leg, finally deciding to pick up the bench with a loud squeak and pull it to you.

“Scusi,” you whisper, moving past her knees and still crouched as you head towards the nearest exit on the north side. The door is right ahead of you but so is someone else, hidden in the dim corridor.

“Dove stai andando con quello?” You can see the short man reach into his jacket pocket and respond automatically: you bull rush him with the case, knocking him to the floor before turning on your heel and sprinting in the opposite direction.

“Fermala!” He calls out behind you but the other men have already split to chase, sidling down the rows and around the columns to cut off your escape. You knock down an iron candelabra to ward off the fastest of your pursuers, barreling out the massive south-side door and past the stone lions guarding the entrance.

“Fourth door, fourth door,” you repeat, veering right to head back towards the square. At the sound of the gate opening again you duck into another entryway. This side of the Duomo is much more busy, crowded with vendors and tourists.

“I’m on the north side, too much heat. Heading into the tower,“ Jungwoo says in the channel.

“It’s a little late to set up a lookout!” you hiss.

“I’ll cover you. Head to rendezvous point C.”

You bite your lip reflexively, pulling out the Beretta Compact in your trench pocket. You peer around the stone wall to see the thugs pausing a stone’s throw away, scanning the crowd. You duck back just as a shot rings out—chips of stone explode over your head, but not from the door. Two more men approach, shouting.

You’re effectively pincered. so you do the only sane thing under the circumstances and sprint into the crowded square, the second and third reports just as unnoticed over the band playing near the street.

A woman screams behind you but you can’t afford to look, knocking aside a number of people as you break free of the throng and past a row of cafes. You’re nearly taken out when the heel of your leather pump breaks in a cobblestone crack but it also saves you, another bullet zinging overhead. You turn to see the gunman aim again, raising your own weapon but two seconds too late—

He crumples to the ground without you having to fire.

“Nice shot,” you say, line of sight leading to the massive tower.

“Wish I could take credit for it.” You can hear the surprise in Jungwoo’s voice. There isn’t time to consider who else has your back, breaking off your other heel with a kick and streaking down the nearest alleyway crowded with crates and empty wine barrels. You’re catcalled by a number of delivery men sitting around smoking until you pull your gun on them.

“Can I get a ride?” you ask, Italian forgotten, commandeering the fastest looking of their scooters. You grip the case between your knees, twisting the throttle to zoom down the bumpy corridor towards the nearest road.

“Two cars in pursuit, black Mercedes, looks like they’re heading to—”

You can barely hear him over the irritating whine of the small engine, avoiding pedestrians as you break out onto a main thoroughfare trafficked with taxis. You don’t make it far before you hear the familiar rev of a car engine and horns honking, your pursuers weaving between cars to follow you.

You’d chosen your escape vehicle poorly but it did have one advantage—you bank off the road again and down a side street that turns out to be a stairway, teeth clacking as you hit each step and are yelled at with insults you save for later by an old man flattened against the wall.

“—not that direction!” Jungwoo says, but the only way out is through, holding on for dear life until you’ve finally spotted the windows of the street-level shops. You explode out of the alleyway and into traffic, swerving wildly to avoid colliding with another bicyclist. You end up in an intersection, the sound of horns exploding around you.

For a moment you’ve lost direction, facing back towards where you came from, and that’s when you see the familiar shape of a black car barreling down on you, just one block away. You head towards the next pedestrian side street but this one is at a standstill, forcing you to navigate parked cars and lose speed. Behind you the screech of tires indicates your pursuit is almost at an end—a bullet pinging into a rear windshield just two feet beside you.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter as you end up on the sidewalk, scattering people left and right and overturning carts. Somewhere nearby sirens pick up, sending your heart skyrocketing into your throat.

This was about to get much more messy, but you were trained for this, you think. You’re almost there, almost free—

A red sports car cuts off your path, swerving in such a tight turn you’re immediately braking and on your side. Luckily you weren’t going faster and the scooter is light but you’re thrown to the ground, case skidding along with you as you desperately hold on to it.

The passenger door swings open, revealing the absolute last person you want to see in that moment, as winded and battered as you are and on the verge of being riddled with gunfire.

“Hey babydoll. Need a ride?”

“Please, just pull over,” you say for the dozenth time. Outside the car windows the landscape is a yellow-green blur, each curve in the road making your head spin as Johnny takes them at breakneck speed. You’re being held hostage on your own operation, and as grateful as you are to be out of a firefight you’re only getting more angry by the minute.

“No one is following us now,” you say, “you can slow down. I need to get out of this car.”

“What are you going to do, hitchhike?” Johnny asks, more than a little sarcastically, his hand on the shifter. “Get friendly with the local livestock?”

“I said stop!”

You have to grip the dashboard, burning rubber as he brings the Ferrari Quattrovalvole from 140 kph to 0 in a matter of seconds. The screech of tires fades away until the ticking of the engine is the only sound.

“Well?” He asks, his gloved hands flexing on the wheel. “Happy now?”

“Get us off the road,” you say. “Please.”

Up ahead is a break in the crumbling stone wall fence and he pulls the car out of its wide spun-out turn, idling into the dusty entrance of an orchard. You fly out of the passenger seat well before the engine’s cut off, immediately dropped into the pink embrace of a pastoral fantasy—ancient cherry trees in full bloom.

A small band of sheep watch you curiously from down the row as you do the only thing you can to let out your frustration: you scream.

The sound echoes for what feels like miles. Once you’ve regained your composure you turn to find Johnny losing it, laughing like he’s seen the funniest thing in his life. His body shakes with suppressed laughter as he leans against the red roof of the sportscar, tall enough that it barely provides cover when you remove one of your ruined shoes and launch it at his head.

“Shut up!” you yell. Johnny barely manages to duck, doubling over.

“I won’t say a word.” He raises his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender once he’s through his fit. You throw your other shoe at him, going wide enough that he collapses again in mirth.

“I had it under control,” you say, no longer embarrassed. “I would have made it on my own.”

“I never doubted you,” he says, walking around the car. “Just figured you could use a faster way out.”

Johnny is dressed much more casually than you’d expect for the kind of asshole who could take a new Ferrari straight out of the factory: tight jeans and leather jacket over an incredibly loud Versace shirt . He lifts his Wayfarers to wipe the tears from his eyes, as always amused at your expense.

“If you didn’t doubt me then what in the hell are you doing here?” you shout. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Istanbul?”

You turn away from him to hide your expression. You didn’t mean to let on that you knew where he was. You certainly couldn’t let him know that you always knew where he was, thanks to your contacts in the Agency.

“Had a break in the schedule and a craving for Bolognese,” he says. You automatically register the smug tone in his voice and wish you had another shoe to throw.

“Did the Director tell you to come?” You ask, rounding on him again.

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head, more seriously.

“It was his idea then.” The words feel like acid on your tongue.

Johnny doesn’t respond.

“You think I don’t know about you shadowing me in Mexico City? New York? Wasn’t Iceland enough for you?”

His face doesn’t give away anything but you watch his jaw shift, smile fading.

You continue, emboldened by finding blood and grit on your leg from where you’d skidded across the pavement.

“Is this how it’s going to be, then? You just conveniently pop up every time I’m on assignment like the world’s most unemployed superspies?”

“Listen—“

“You know who gets yelled at? Me!”

Your voice upsets the sheep not scared off by your scream, their belled necks ringing as they move out of range of your anger.

“Internal Security drilled me for an hour about going rogue, and I covered for you! I really thought I was compromised in Reykjavik. Do you know how hard it is to lose two dedicated agents on an island the size of Kentucky?”

“It was impressive,” he admits, not hiding that feline look of amusement.

“I bribed my way onto a fishing boat in a storm,” you yell, pacing in your ruined pantyhose. “They had to extract me from Finland. Qian thought I was defecting.”

“I’m sorry—“

“No. You’re not. You had no business being there,” You cut him off, voice shaking with unleashed anger. “I’m tired of being part of whatever twisted little game you’ve concocted. I’m not here to be your plaything. Or your damsel in distress.”

You pull your hand through your hair, relieved to find your scarf still there but realizing how wild you must look, raving on about your silly little adventures in avoidance.

Johnny is uncharacteristically quiet, eyes on the old road as he considers what to say next.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, finally. “I never thought of it as rescuing you. Or playing a game.”

He sounds so distant it makes you walk back a little of the anger that had been building in you. It’s been there since your first field assignment, when your instinct that you had an invisible tail had proven right. At first you’d chalked it up to standard oversight, but then it had happened again. And again. The fuse had finally caught when you’d been dressed down for it.

Surely you could have dealt with it sooner—you could have confronted him before you left for this trip. But old habits die hard, and you’d gone out of your way time and time again to dodge him.

“What was the reason, then?” You ask.

You watch him squint up at the cloudless sky, brushing back the black-dyed hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

“Professional curiosity.” He looks at you again, almost wistfully. “Chasing you around the globe wasn’t all my idea.”

“Of course,” you say, exasperated.

You knew who was really causing you grief in this scenario—Johnny would have just been dragged along. The certainty of it makes you feel guilty for venting your frustrations on him, but also a little heartsick.

You weren’t that important to him, after all. Just another fling.

The NCTA didn’t have a strict hierarchy but it was clear within a few months he was at the top of those in field action, if not actually in charge. As such, he was frequently brought in to do supervision on new agents or missions. An unavoidable eventuality in your case.

It had been so easy for him to slip into his role with you in the handful of unavoidable home office encounters. He’d been nothing but kind, willing to joke and flirt in his usual, offhand manner. Not once had he danced close to confrontation. You’d been grateful but it had nagged at you how little he seemed to care.

You remember the first time you’d been in a shared briefing, the sharp smell of his cologne from a few seats down triggering sense memories so potent you’d gone to smoke on the rooftop afterwards. Or your anniversary dinner last autumn when you’d brushed into him joining the others on your way to the coat check, finding yourself caught in his easy stare like a moth pinned to a board.

Every time you’d heard him laugh in another room, or seen him walking around with that maddening self-assurance on the way to another meeting, you’d felt like your entire world was spinning off-axis.

It had been a long time since you’d felt so small, back in a worn-out uniform with bleach burns on your knuckles. You didn’t like feeling that way, not after everything you’d been through to succeed in this new life.

“Are you putting down roots here or are you ready to go?” Johnny asks gently, breaking your reverie. He opens the passenger door for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask. You’re not letting your guard down, now.

“That was too coordinated of a situation to be bad luck on your part. Best to lay low for the next few days. I’ll take you up north to a safehouse and do the hand-off for you.”

He notes your pinched brow and continues, “We would have been called in regardless. This is above your paygrade.”

“What about Agent Kim?” You knew better than to abandon your partner, even if it seemed there wasn’t much you could do without help.

“He’ll be fine,” Johnny says, cracking a careful smile. “He has back-up.”

You feel the disdain twisting your face but he doesn’t say anything, pulling his sunglasses down again.

“It’s a long drive. Do you mind if we take it to speed?”

“Go as fast as you like,” you offer, slipping back into the plush leather seat and taking the time to brush off the bottoms of your feet to free them of crushed cherry blossoms before you close the door.

“Thank you,” the words slip from your mouth unbidden.

“For what?” He asks, incredulously.

You shrug. “For giving me a moment to think.”

You roll down the window to finally pay attention to your surroundings, lost in bird song and the light breeze sending pink confetti-like petals to the ground. “It really is beautiful here.”

“It is,” he says, leaning towards you, his arm brushing against your chest. You stiffen only to find he’s reached across you to pull the seatbelt tight, buckling it smoothly.

“You’re welcome.”

The engine purrs into life and you’re back on the way towards your destination, a new kind of tension keeping the words you wanted to say and the stray feelings of remorse buried deep inside of you.

Hours later finds you well out of the endless cycle of farmlands and vineyards, and back into a coastal city that you only recognize as Verona from signage and the maps you’d memorized. Buildings made of time-grayed stone blend into one another past your open window, the evening air redolent with spring flowers and the promise of rain.

The safe house is a narrow two-story number with a view of muddy river waters, illuminated gold by the setting sun and the warm glow from former gas lights. Johnny has already told you where to find the key and how to avoid the ancient landlady in the apartment below, but he doesn’t move from his seat even when you say your farewell.

You find yourself leaning down beside the car, unsure how to conclude.

“Will you be coming back?” you ask. You can’t hide the almost hopeful quality of the question, your heart racing in your chest.

His face is hidden to you in the dim light, hands gripping the wheel and shift stick again. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Thank you, again,” you say, in lieu of something more apologetic, or pleading.

“You’re right, you could have handled—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m glad you were here. I needed you—I mean, we needed you there.”

He seems to want to say something but after a pause he shakes his head, eyes on the road.

“I’ll see you back at HQ,” he says. “Get some rest.”

You step back and watch him drive away, feeling the first raindrops begin to spatter on to the warm stone beneath your feet. You’re soaked through by the time you remember to go inside.

It’s midnight when the pounding on your door begins and you rush to the heavy wooden door to open it, heart racing and gun hidden under a silk robe that had been part of the surprisingly stocked complement of the house.

Your spirits fall a little when you hear it’s a woman yelling in Italian–most of it unrecognizable but for some of the curse words you’d picked up in your travels.

“Oh mio dio,” the old woman says when you finally open the numerous locks. She appears to have been woken up, hair in curlers and just as similarly dressed for bed.

“Posso aiuturla?” You ask, hiding behind the door.

“Le tue scarpe,” she says, thrusting a glossy bag through the opening before making her way back down the stairs, lamenting just as loudly as she had through the door.

You place the delivery on the wooden table, next to the remnants of a cold dinner of meats and cheese and slightly stale bread, along with the bottle of Barolo you’d found in the en-suite kitchen.

There’s no label on the box but inside is a beautiful pair of handmade leather heels, the quality better than anything you’d buy even with your generous salary. You’re still burdened by the spendthrift nature of a survivor, not sure if such beautiful things are meant for you.

You try them on, not surprised when they fit perfectly.

Your grandmother had once told you never to give shoes as a gift, that the person would walk out of your life. Just a silly superstition, you thought, but it makes you quickly take them off, feeling a little dumb for walking around in them while mostly naked.

Another knock on the door has you back without a second thought, expecting to find the landlady.

The stranger darkening your doorway in a motorcycle helmet doesn’t wait, breaking through the unclosed locks to force his way in. You kick the door closed but it’s wrested open, and you reach behind you for anything that can save you.

“Y/N,” the person says, raising their hands.

The safety on your Beretta is already disengaged, finger taut on the trigger expecting the heavy pull of a double action. You don’t relax, putting space between you and the open door, the knife on the table calling just as surely as the gun in your hands.

Slowly, carefully, they remove their helmet.

You’d had a gut feeling just from their build but you gasp a little when you see the bruising on that familiar face, blood streaking the left side of his jaw.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not lowering the weapon.

Jaehyun drips water onto the floor, hands still raised. He turns to close the door and lock it, as if forgetting you’re there, discarding his helmet on the table as he checks the window over the sink and closes the lacy curtains.

You lower the gun as you follow him around the old suite, struck dumb. Jaehyun turns off the bedroom light before closing the open balcony door, cutting off the white noise of rain outside.

“Were you followed?” You ask in a panicked tone—not just from the circumstances but because you’re alone with him in the tiny space, your eyes still adjusting to the lack of light.

“No,” he finally says, peering through the space in the drapes. His answer doesn’t instill you with confidence.

“What happened?”

You follow him into the tiny bathroom with its claw foot tub, watching as he turns out the light even though the only window is high-placed and just big enough for ventilation. The candle you’d lit for your bath still flickers on the shelf, allowing you to see the look of pain on his face in the mirror when he removes motorcycle jacket, revealing the familiar glossy crimson of blood soaking through his dress shirt.

“My god,” you exhale. “Sit down before you pass out.”

You can’t chide him for coming here instead of going to a hospital or a back-alley doctor; you know that’s out of the question in your line of work. Instead you set the gun down and retrieve the field medic bag from its usual place in the closet, sneezing from the dust that coats it.

You return to find him slumped against the sink, wet hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood.

“I’m going to need more light,” you say. You reach to flip the switch but are stopped by his hand on your back.

“It’s not bad,” he says. “Just looks bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you say, ripping off his ruined shirt. Underneath you find an ugly, deep gash through his shoulder blade, a graze by the looks of it–no exit or entry wounds, just a powder burn. Whatever he’d gotten into had happened in close quarters. You knew him well enough now that it had to have been a last resort.

“You idiot,” you say, cleaning the edges of the wound with an alcohol-soaked wad of gauze. “Why are you here?”

What possessed you to ride two hours in the rain just to bleed all over my bedroom? Is what you want to ask, but you hold your tongue.

A sharp sound escapes his teeth as you debride his wound without warning him, continuing once you have assurance he’s still conscious. You’re a little more careful as you dab at the exposed muscle, watching his back twitch with each touch, but he doesn’t complain again. He’s hunched over, almost penitent, as you work.

Jaehyun whispers something inaudible, and you have to lean in to hear him repeat it.

“Wanted to make sure . . .”

“You could have called, you know. This place has a secure line.”

“. . . I’m glad you’re okay,” he mumbles.

“Stay with me, there’s no way I can carry you,” you say loudly, throwing the ruined towel in the sink. “I’ll need to do sutures. Can you get to the bed first?”

It’s a fight to help him up, his mass so much bigger than you remember it, but you make it to the small bed, helping him remove his heavy boots before he collapses. The bed cover stains immediately, his clothing dripping watercolor pink patches into the old fabric.

Even if he isn’t in a position to fight you about it you throw your scarf over the nightstand light before clicking it back on. It’s your only illumination as you drink from the wine bottle to steady your hands. No training on banana peels could prepare you for your first attempt at stitches on living tissue, and as much as you think you’re prepared your first subject is too precious for trial.

“I don’t have a topical anesthetic in here,” you say, rummaging one last time through the bag for a vial to match the needles inside. “Can you handle it?”

His face is turned away from you, but you think he assents.

“I’m sorry,” you say, digging in with your silver hook.

Each pull of the needle through his dermis makes your spine tingle with sympathy, but you manage to close the wound. He endures the pain face-first in a pillow, not making a sound until you’re done and cleaning up your hands and the mess in the bathroom.

“Thanks,” Jaehyun says, finally, voice muffled.

“You’re going to want to get that restitched by a professional,” you say. “Turn over.”

You help him onto his side, checking the wounds on his drawn face and opting to treat them topically. Most of the blood you clean from his neck and chest appears to be from an unknown source. You don’t want to think about that–how much you’d give to have been by his side when he’d given them hell.

“Is Kim alright?” You ask. He blinks against the cotton swab you’re using to apply ointment to his cheek.

“Yeah,” he says. “He made it to the rendezvous.”

“Thank you,” you say, repositioning him to cover your shoddy work with dressings. His skin is soaked with sweat by the time you wrap another layer of gauze around it.

“I missed you,” he says, once you’ve met his eyes. They’re a little glassy but he seems awake, searching your face for a response. You don’t allow the words to touch you, just feeling them in your gut, like you’ve been weighed down with stones.

“I know,” you murmur. “So you and Johnny were there the whole time?”

“I missed you,” he repeats. You check his forehead for fever but he catches your hand, pulling it to his bare chest. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

You pick a crust of blood from under your fingernail, reaching for the wine bottle again.

“You’ve never scared me,” you say. Yes, you’re scared, right now–for different reasons. You know better than to show it.

“Why did you leave, then?” he asks.

You offer him the bottle rather than answer, turning your face away. You listen to him get up, propped against the pillows, and fight the flinch when his cold hand closes over yours to take it. His touch lingers after you’ve let go.

“It was easier than saying goodbye,” you admit. A tear leaks out of the corner of your eye, and you quickly wipe it away on your sleeve. “I’m sorry for stealing your watch.”

His fingers brush your cheek, bringing you back to look at him again. He’s a portrait of quiet regard in the half-light, lashes low over his dark eyes as he takes you in.

“Don’t apologize for that. I wanted to give you more.” Free of the blood you can see that creasing in his cheek where his dimple is, the one you’ve only seen when he was truly happy.

“I know.” You can’t fight the tears anymore, so you let them drip down your nose and onto the bedspread. “I couldn‘t. I can’t.”

That’s as honest as you can be, with him and with yourself. Trust was not something you’d ever had, not even with family, not with friends, and certainly not with a stranger you’d known mostly in your periphery for one summer.

You hadn’t lied when you’d said you wanted to know him better, but what you had hidden was even worse: you didn’t want him to know you. Not your weaknesses, or your loneliness. And certainly not the magnet-like pull you’d felt every time he was near, even when he was just a ghost on the edge of your world.

It was easier to pretend it was something physical, something temporary.

Something never to be spoken of again.

Your face is buried in your hands when he pulls you into a careful embrace, pulling you into the wedge between his head and uninjured shoulder. There’s a featherlight brush of lips on your temple, just the smallest gesture but it unburdens some of what’s been weighing you down for as long as you can remember.

“Can we start over?” He asks.

You let out a trembling breath, catching your tears before they can slip through to his collarbone. “Are you and Johnny going to let me be?”

“I didn’t . . .“ he begins. “Do you know why we got you into the Agency?”

“Just figured you wanted something more,” you say. Something I couldn’t give you, you think.

“We didn’t want you to feel like you were alone anymore.”

The feral part of you is clawing and spitting at the idea of being taken care of. You let the hand on your hair quiet her into submission, until you feel ready to speak again.

“I need to know that I belong here on my own terms, by my own merit.”

He sighs. “You do.”

“I mean it,” you say, sitting up to make your point. “I can’t be your . . .“

Your words die on your tongue. You’re shocked to see his eyes are as red as yours must be, his jaw ticking with emotion.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted to be with you?”

The blood drains from your face as you watch him break. He covers his eyes, head knocking against the headboard as he tries to keep it together. You can't miss the tracks of wetness on his cheekbone, mingling with the rain and sweat that’s collected there.

Not once had you ever seen him this undone. The rawness of his emotion terrifies you.

“I felt so stupid,” he says, smiling ruefully beneath his arm. “You needed space but I didn’t know how . . . I guess I had this idea that if you had a choice you’d come back to me."

He swallows the thickness that's built up in his voice. "But you didn’t.”

The lump in your own throat isn’t going away anytime soon. You feel heavy, made of lead for how little you can react to him in this different kind of crisis.

“Every time I saw you it felt like I made it worse,” he says. “After that day at the shooting range I knew . . . ”

That day had never been one you could bury: the first and last time you’d spoken to him since Florida. You’d had plenty of warning on who would be your combat arms instructor in the first months of intensive training, and you’d gone to your assignment with the iron resolve to see the course through.

Jaehyun had been waiting for you, field-stripping an impressive, long-range rifle. The silhouette of his shoulders and his bent head against the green of the firing range were just as natural to your landscape as if he had been in that hotel room again, palm slapping against a malfunctioning TV. You'd stood there, as speechless and uncertain, waiting for him to turn around.

Toughen up, toughen up, toughen up. The words repeating in your head had done zero except distract you from the simplest thing you could have done: just say ‘hello.’ You’d watched the careful smile disappear from his closed mouth, replaced with cold politeness, and a part of you had gone with it.

You made mistake after mistake, occupied with even just the smallest changes of distance between you physically, unable to hide your distraction. He hadn’t reprimanded you. Maybe that was worse, seeing his face screw up with disappointment at every wide shot, repeating the same instruction in a flat voice.

The next day he was gone—a temporary reassignment the Deputy Director said, but one that never finished. You’d trained with Agent Nakamoto instead, grateful for the new teacher even if he was less forgiving in his own brand of quiet discipline.

“I was sure you hated me,” he says, voice strained. “But it was worth it. It felt like there was something broken inside of me, and the thought that you might be happy and safe fixed it.”

You shake your head, knowing the damage can’t be undone.

“I’m sorry for being your shadow." He sinks into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. "I can leave you alone, if that’s what you want. Johnny makes it look so easy, man, but he’s not okay either. He’s just better than me at hiding it—”

“I’ve never hated you,” you speak, at last, still stuck a few sentences prior. “I loved you.”

Jaehyun is unable to process the words, rolling over. “What?”

“I left because of that,” you're unable to repeat it. “That’s what scared me. Not you, not what happened.”

“But you—why . . .“

“I didn’t know you. Didn’t know what you saw in me. I still don’t believe it,” you say, getting up and putting distance between you so you don’t lose the slim shard of confidence behind your confession.

“I figured I’d get some relief in knowing what you really were like once I joined,” you admit. You pace, bare feet catching on cracked tile. “Like every awful thing I’d made up in my head to distance myself was true.”

Your fingernails are digging into your arms, trembling despite the solace of finally saying it out loud. You can’t look at him, eyes dry but your lip is chewed to stinging. Jaehyun is silent in that old, familiar way, emboldening you.

“The worst part is . . . I think you're actually a good person.”

Everyone had stories about him—even that asshole Donghyuck had showered Jaehyun in praise, once you’d earned his trust. The bitterness at hearing your ex-lover’s name had dwindled until you’d stopped leaving the room or—in Jungwoo’s case—asking for silence. You’d listened to every passing aside, every heroic yarn, registering the admiration and awe as if it was your first time encountering it.

All you’d found out was already there in your memory: his quiet perseverance and kindness, his odd sense of humor. He had a willingness to do the worst work for no reward, regardless of how much it distanced himself, unable to understand why it brought others closer.

All things you’d seen but willingly would have blinded yourself to if it meant you could move on.

“You weren’t my secret friend on a bus bench anymore. Or something more, you know. You were perfect and untouchable and larger than life and I was just . . . I’m just me.”

The words hang, growing more pathetic as you realize what you’ve said. There wasn’t another person on the planet that could make you question yourself that way. You feel more wrung out than the towel in the sink, and just as dirty.

“But that’s all I wanted,” Jaehyun says, right behind you. “Just you.”

You hadn’t even heard him get up. He’s so close the heat of his body feels like burning. He has a fever, you think, but before you can turn around he’s wrapped around you, face in your hair.

“Why?” You ask, voice tremulous.

“Because you trusted me, even when you shouldn’t have. You protected me.” His arms are tight around your own, practically crushing you. Somehow, you don’t feel trapped.

“Where do we go from here?” you ask aloud.

“Don’t know,” he says, head resting on your shoulder. “But I know that I . . .”

You reach up in reassurance, finding his forehead cold and clammy. In the time it takes for you to turn he’s somehow grown heavier, your knees buckling under the weight.

“You need to lie down,” you say, gently. “You’re going into shock.“

“I–” he says, eyes fluttering into his head. He collapses, taking you with him.

For once you’re grateful for the excruciating regimen the Agency has put you through—you manage to put up a fight before you reach the floor.

Jaehyun barely responds as you elevate his legs with a pillow, making you rush to the icebox for the emergency saline storage you hope isn't expired. Another day, another first: this time finding the vein in his death-pale arm so you can feed the IV line in.

You think it’s enough to abet the hypovolemic shock but you pick up the phone and dial the emergency code all the same. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to him, and you’re sure Johnny wouldn’t let it rest for your natural lives, either.

Now that he's in repose you can tell it’s not just the trauma written on his face that's made him look so different. He's lost weight and his hair has grown out past his ears, messy over his forehead. He looks like a boy again. One you’d never know but might learn, in time, if he let you.

“I love you, too,” you finish for him, resting your cheek against his chest as you check his breathing, the slow but steady beat of his heart in your ear.

They called it the Tiger’s Den, and though you’d never been called up here before, you’d always known it was an inevitability. Like walking through the gates of Hell when you eventually met your end. Hell has to have some nice places, you think. Maybe you'd get a nice desk in Limbo.

You’re just beginning to feel at ease when the secretary in the spacious front office gives you a look like you’re meant for the deepest reaches.

She picks up the telephone, buzzing the interoffice. “Director? Juliet is here. Yes. Yes, I know. Of course, sir. Your 15:00 is postponed.”

She places the receiver down, leading you to the door and punching in an elaborate code.

“You can go in,” she nods. “Director Lee and Agent Suh are expecting you.”

You open the double doors into the office hesitantly, like you’re moving underwater. You’re immediately struck by how vast the space is, the late-afternoon sun outlining the topography of the city in gold past a wall of windows.

It's beautiful, you think, less sterile and brown than the rest of the headquarters—a testament to the mid-century period the Agency was founded in. The Director's taste is immediately obvious in the vibrant Joan Mitchell piece on the showcase wall behind his imposing and yet very empty desk.

You find the gray-haired man sitting casually at the conference table. He’s much younger than you expected, or it could just be the way he looks and is positioned: legs akimbo and leaned back.

Director Lee studies the projector feed in front of him, horn-rimmed glasses halfway down his nose, seeming to come back to reality only after you've made it a few feet away from him.

“Hello, sir,” you say, giving him a half bow. Keeping your attention on the agency head is the only possible distraction you have from the six-foot-something demon on the corner of your vision. You don't turn to acknowledge him, sure one look will break your manufactured calm.

“Hello, Y/N, so glad to finally meet you.” Director Lee’s voice is gentle, if a little distracted. He’s smaller than you expected, too, blinking up at you owlishly from where he sits in front of a pile of microfiche.

“It’s an honor, sir,” you say with utmost conviction, reaching out to take his slender hand in a polite handshake before dropping back.

“Agent Suh.” You nod in the other man’s direction, trying to remain neutral.

The attempt is futile, at best; Johnny is staring at you with his usual reserved but in-on-the-joke expression. You’re not surprised when he looks you up and down while nodding in return.

You’d prepared yourself for this meeting like it was going to be your last on earth, getting an emergency fitting of a black suit dress from one of the Agency’s recommended vendors. You know you look better than usual, but you can’t tell how he feels about it.

You size him up as surreptitiously as possible. Johnny is in a midnight navy three-piece, his longish bronze hair tucked back behind his ears. It's more than a little embarrassing to find yourself staring at him, pretending to study the schematics on the screen behind him.

“You two know each other, I hear?” Director Lee breaks the tension with little regard for either of you as he reads through pages.

“Yes, sir. Agent Suh was kind enough to provide my original referral. I wouldn’t be here without him,” you say. The double-meaning is underscored by your lips twitching.

You don't know what to expect but it certainly isn't the way Johnny immediately relaxes, smiling easily as he places a hand on the back of one of the replicate Eames chairs circling the polished wood table.

“Good to see you again, Jenny.”

The warmth in his eyes gives you pause. It didn’t look like he was expecting you to take a lashing—unless he found it funny. That had to be it, you think.

“Good, good. Moon speaks highly of your work, says you’re a natural.” The Director assesses you, finally. “Do you know why we called you in here?”

You wonder if this is a trick question, your carefully planned admission and apology forgotten.

“I expect it’s to go over our failure in Modena, sir.” You keep your voice and face clear of anxiety.

“Failure?” Director Lee looks at the other man quizzically.

Johnny only shrugs. “The intercept, sir.”

“Oh, you mean the firefight, in the middle of a packed city in broad daylight. The one with multiple casualties, including my best agent?" Director Lee doesn't have to raise his voice to instill terror in you, but it's clear he's directing his sarcasm at the other man in the room.

He pinches the bridge of his nose above his spectacles. “No, we reviewed that already. Agents Suh and Jeong have taken responsibility for compromising the mission and will be reprimanded accordingly.”

“Sir?” You sway a little in your heels, taken aback.

“Consider my report a formal apology, Agent L/N,” Johnny says, gesturing to the pile of paperwork in front of him. “We went off-plan without informing you in advance and were flagged by the other party.”

You stare at him, waiting for some continuation of the punchline.

“You and Agent Kim couldn’t have known what you were getting into,” he says. “Think of it like walking into a mousetrap set for a bear.”

“Kun give you an earful, I expect?” Director Lee asks, taking a drink from the delicate china cup in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” Johnny nods, solemnly. You see the twist at the corner of his mouth that indicates he's enjoying this.

“Good. Make sure Jae checks in with him once he’s discharged from Medical, otherwise he’ll send me another one of those awful memos.” Director Lee shudders visibly as he sets down his tea, turning to you.

As clouded as his expression is, he looks at you much more kindly. "You have nothing to be concerned about, L/N. Your quick thinking saved the day, we have what we need.”

You wish you could feel relieved but the reminder of Jaehyun’s stint in the hospital has you sinking into the polished granite floor.

It'd been over a week since you watched him loaded into the Agency’s emergency transport in the early hours before dawn. The lack of communication had worn you down but you’d also done little to move past it, only confirming he was safe. Medical was strictly off limits as part of the wing of research laboratories and you told yourself you didn't have the clearance, much less a valid reason, to check in on him.

You were getting good at lying to yourself, these days.

“Thank you, sir,” you say. “I appreciate your trust—“

“Oh yes, so why you’re here,” Director Lee stands up and looks awkwardly around, searching the table for something before flitting to his desk.

Johnny turns away, coughing to cover his amusement.

“Here we are,” the older man says, pulling something from his briefcase and offering it to you across a surface covered in oddities and stacks of files.

“We don’t have much by way of ceremony here for promotion to acting field agent status, but this should do. Congratulations, Agent Y/N.” Director Lee nods at you, his small face pleased. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say, opening the case. You stare at the silver and black timepiece inside, stomach twisting. It’s a similar make to one you’d traded in at a Miami pawn shop almost two years ago, smaller and elegant enough for your build. You already know what the custom engraving on the back will look like but you don't take it out, feeling empty.

“You’re going to want to run by the lab and have Dr. Huang help set it up, it being a new model and all.” The Director checks his own watch, shutting his briefcase. “Sorry. I have a previous appointment I'm already late for."

Your shock of not being berated but rather being graduated now shifts to something you're far less sure you can handle.

"Agent Suh will fill you in on the next mission,“ he says, buzzing past you.

“Is Deputy Director Moon joining us?” You ask aloud, already knowing the answer.

“He’ll no longer be your point person,” Director Lee says, waving off your offered closing handshake from ten feet away. “Feel free to use the office for as long as you need.”

“We’ll be out of your hair in no time,” you blurt out in his wake, watching him dart through the doors you’d just come through. As much as you’d imagined your first meeting with the Director going differently you’re unsurprised by his departure; it was common knowledge he kept an impossibly busy schedule.

“Have a seat,” Johnny says once the massive room is empty. You turn back to him slowly, watching him as you take your place at the table, choosing an empty chair far from the Director’s.

“It’s good to see you, too, sir,” you say. He doesn’t respond to the affectation, his profile colored black-and-white by the plans projected on the massive screen behind him.

“Have any questions about Italy?” Johnny asks. He slides a folder across the table to you with a flick of his wrist, still standing.

“No, sir. Is there anything mission-critical I missed in the debrief?”

“Nothing that won’t cover,” he says, nodding at the file. Some of the tenseness you feel slips away.

“How are you doing, Y/N?”

The question catches you off-guard, drawing your attention away from the xerocopy.

No one has asked you anything personal in your time in basic field training, you certainly didn’t expect that level of disclosure now. It’s not like he’s asking it with the tone of someone who knows your answer. No, you suspect he’s probing for an honest reply.

“More than fine,” you say after catching your breath. “I like it here, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles. You can tell it’s not in his eyes by the lack of creasing at their corners. It should feel strange to be able to read him so well after so long, but even in Italy you’d sensed it—a familiarity that no formality could kill.

“Do you have any questions?” he asks, deliberately.

It’s so subtle, the way his eyes drop to your mouth and then back up again, but your heart skips a beat as if he’d touched you with a look. More than a touch—like he’d run his hand down your face. You quash that impulse as quickly as you can, trying to focus.

“No, sir,” you say. Your heartbeat feels like it’s louder than the hum of electricity from the projector. “Do you . . . do we need to go over anything?”

Johnny moves across from you, bisected by distorted gray lines. He picks up a dossier, nodding at its twin within your reach. “Nothing that isn’t mission-critical.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Stop calling me ‘sir’,” he says, voice suddenly cold.

You blink up at him, again frozen mid-scan of the report. His usual air of joviality is gone and replaced with displeasure. This is new to you, and not altogether unwelcome.

“My promotion couldn’t have been that good,” you venture. “Sir.”

Johnny crosses his arms, suit straining against the tension in his wide shoulders. “Now who’s playing games?”

Heat flares in your cheeks. The words slip out of your mouth before you can calm down. “Did you lie about compromising the mission in Modena?”

“No,” he says, flatly. You give him a withering look, waiting for him to laugh it off or at your expense, but he’s just as stiff as before. “Scouts honor.”

“Good,” you sigh.

“Good? Not going to throw another shoe at my head for almost ruining your first op?"

You don’t have a response, looking down at your feet to escape his scrutiny. This is why you hadn’t wanted to be placed with him so many times before–you felt like an open book in front of him, incapable of hiding how you felt.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Your thoughts are unfiltered as you shift in your seat.

“A mission brief or . . .”

“Work with you.” You know the words hit him hard, but the blow circles back to you. Guilt immediately wells up inside you, fizzling the rage you've begun to feel. Out of the corner of your eye you see him drop the file, hand running through his hair.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” He waits for your response before continuing, but your tongue is firmly tied. “If it’s about what happened before, I can promise that it isn’t going to affect any working relationship–”

“It’s not about that,” you blurt out. “I just don’t think I’m a good fit for this team.”

His eyes narrow. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s only one team for active field agents. And you’re on it now.”

“I can ask for a reassignment,” you say lightly, moving to get up. ”I’ll put a petition in with the Director tonight.”

“Running away, again?” It’s not the barb that makes you stop but the way Johnny says it, more bitter than cruel. You find yourself wishing it was the latter, so you could be angry at him, at anyone but yourself.

“Please just sit down.” He exhales loudly.

“I’m not running . . .“ you begin, unconvinced by your own words.

“Consider it an order, then,” he says, quietly. “I’m still your supervising agent, for as long as that lasts.”

You comply, hands gripping the arms of your chair to keep it from rolling back.

“I promise I’ll make the transfer request, myself, if it’s necessary.” Johnny paces around the table, leaning against it a reasonable distance away. “But you have to tell me why.”

Because you can barely concentrate when he’s around? Because you have to remember how to breathe when he’s in the same room? None of it is acceptable even without your line of work, where distraction is deadly. That professional distance had been there before and you know he can maintain it.

It’s all down to you.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You can’t even be mad at him for the right reasons, that coal-like lump in your chest not squashed pride or indignation. The more you try to stoke it the more you understand how petty it really is.

The one time in your life where you’re required to pretend to be someone else, the one thing you’re good at, and you can’t be. Instead you’re an exposed nerve, unable to meet the eyes of the person standing next to you. You realize he’s turned the projector off when the only sound in the room is the ticking of the watch on the desk, somehow loud beneath the closed lid.

“I just don’t want to be a liability,” you say.

“You’re not a liability.” Johnny sounds bemused. “We don’t bring liabilities on as assets.”

“You watched over me–”

“As hard as it is for you to believe, it is standard operating procedure to observe and grade new agents.”

“Then why did you pull strings to get me here?” you snap.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Is that what this is about?”

He picks up the box from the table, before your stare can burn a hole in it. “So you think this is a consolation prize?”

You wait a spell, mostly to keep from erupting at him but also because now that he’s within reach the anger is bleeding into a different kind of intensity inside of you.

“Did you ask the Director to promote me?” you interrogate him.

“You’re not going to believe me even if I say ‘no’, are you?”

You don’t have to answer. You don’t think you could without slipping.

“Give me your hand,” Johnny says. You don’t know how to respond until he leans forward to lift your arm from the chair with surprisingly little force for how rigid you feel.

"Yes, we helped you get into the NCTA. Yes, I've monitored your progress at every step.”

He waits until you relax to continue, as if he’s afraid you’re a bird that will take wing. “But that’s the extent of it. As much as I wanted to help you, I kept my hands clean. Except for convincing Moon to stay on as your handler. I don’t think you understand how much work that was.”

That surprises you, but you catch yourself before you can look up at him quizzically.

“He was always meant to be a temporary assignment. Older agents like that, he’s more at home doing dirty work than being stuck in an office."

He lays the watch cuff over your wrist, snapping the clasp shut, not letting go even after it’s securely weighed down by it.

“I’m sorry if you felt like you didn’t earn this. Because you can be assured there's nothing I could say or do that got you this," he says, tone softening. "That was all you."

His grip changes carefully, a long-fingered hand enclosing your own. That livewire current you expect in touching him for the first time in years isn't numbing at all. No, your head is buzzing with errant thoughts, heart flip-flopping in your chest.

“Now do you still want to leave?” he asks.

You shake your head slightly, mouth dry.

“Since we’re going to be on the same team from now on, do you think you can try trusting me?” Johnny asks, gently.

You realize you haven’t exhaled yet, long after you find your answer.

“I trust you.” You’re surprised by how easy it is to say it.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“I don’t . . .” you muster the courage to be honest. “I really don’t trust myself.”

“You earned this,” he says, squeezing your fingers assuringly.

“That’s not what I mean.” Your voice cracks. You glance up to find him watching curiously, relaxed and half-seated against the table beside you. Surely he can feel it, if he can’t see it–the way you’re vibrating in his grasp.

“Why don’t you tell me?” He asks, his thumb running over the back of your hand in lazy circles.

“Because I’m not sure if that would be appropriate, sir.”

Your eyes go wide as you realize your verbal slip, pulling back but unable to escape as he holds your wrist firmly, tugging. It’s easy for him to hoist you up, and you catch yourself with a hand on his chest before you can stumble into him.

Just like that, you’re a magnet flipped in the right direction.

You don’t move away, and he doesn’t either, long enough that you can feel his heart pounding beneath the layers of tweed and dress shirt and muscle, the way his breathing is just as quick as yours.

Jaehyun was right, you think. He was better at hiding it.

“Look at me,” he says, a fingertip tapping underneath your chin.

You tilt your chin upwards, meeting his gaze, melting into what you see there—a reflection of your own nervous expectation, colored not just by desire but something much, much more enticing.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, I just need you to know one thing,” Johnny says, breath washing warm across your forehead. “You can only call me that if you want to.”

Do you want to try . . . ? echoes from a million miles and minutes ago, when he’d had you feeling just as vulnerable sitting on a hotel bed, playing games for children. The difference now is that you don’t feel small, anymore.

This time, you know what you want. And you aren't going to let the invitation you see written plainly in his face go unanswered.

You rise up on your toes, heels leaving the floor as you do the one thing you’ve tried to avoid since you’d first seen him again: you kiss him.

As desperate as you feel, you take your time, letting your buried emotions translate into your exploration of his plush mouth. You don’t sense any hesitation when his lips part and allow you in. You wrap a hand around his neck, bending him down until his grip finds your waist, helping you reach him.

You stay like that for awhile, calves aching by the time you slide down him, tongue wetting your bottom lip as if to taste the sweetness of him there. His pupils are dilated, cheeks flushed, but otherwise he’s still patient beneath you, waiting for your next move with an almost shy half-smile.

“Is that what you want, sir?” You glide your hand beneath his vest, feeling his pulse quicken and his breath stutter.

"You don’t want me to answer that here,” Johnny muses, back to holding onto the table behind him. You can see the whites around his knuckles, feel how he’s poised as if to keep from caging you in.

“Why?” You move your hands to his tie, caressing the dark red fabric.

He leans in conspiratorially, brushing your ear as he whispers into it. “The Director likes to record his meetings.”

The rush of excitement guiding you fizzles into mortification. You pull back only to feel the tug of his teeth on your earlobe, making you yelp in surprise.

“I thought that didn’t bother you?” He laughs as you glare up at him.

“It didn’t bother me before.”

“We should probably find a place to talk about this,” he offers, voice a purr under your fingertips. “Why don’t we go get a drink to celebrate?”

“I’d like that,” you say, before tugging him down by his tie. “After.”

This second time you meet neither of you are holding back. His hands are in your hair to keep your teeth from colliding, tongue licking into your mouth. You don’t realize you’re halfway up his frame until he’s hoisted you off him, dropping you on the table.

You’re closer to eye level here, but his attack subsides—nose nudging yours as he kisses your face, smearing your carefully-applied lipstick. Some of it has transferred to his own mouth, making you wonder what it would look like elsewhere.

"This was not what I was expecting when you walked in this room." He says, containing himself.

Johnny's palms are flat on the table as he pushes against it between your legs, probably getting more relief than what you are with your ass deep in the sharp cardboard edges of a pile of slides.

"This isn't me forgiving you for Italy," you say, scooting forward to wrap your legs around his hips. "You can make it up to me."

He loosens his tie, but you stop him from taking it off, kissing his neck and tentatively licking the sweat that's beaded under his starched collar.

“I’m going to need a verbal affirmation that you want to continue,” Johnny says with bated breath.

“Is that agency speak for ‘covering your ass'?’” you whisper, too turned on to be annoyed.

“No, babydoll,” he says, throatily. “It means I’m going to fuck you right here and right now unless you tell me otherwise.”

“Please fuck me, sir,” you say, reaching for his belt.

“God you have no idea how much I missed you.”

It doesn’t take long for his words to catch up to you in deed, neither of you bothering to undress, exploring each other under layers of clothing. He stifles a groan when he finds you're already soaked through the expensive silk underwear you'd worn expecting your own funeral.

“You sure you want a quick–”

The sudden chime of the door breach stops you both, frozen mid-makeout, and you have all of a few seconds before there’s a rush of air as the office entry blows inward.

“Sir, I told you there’s a very important meeting happening,” an unfamiliar male voice rings out from the other room, in the wake of the man who walks in.

“And I told you, I left the discovery file here this morning and it can’t wait–” Kim Doyoung makes it in a few brisk steps before he freezes, registering the scene with appropriate horror.

“Oh for the love of god, not again.” The lawyer hides his face with his briefcase, red to his dark hairline.

“Again?” you hiss.

“Not me!” Johnny protests under his breath, fighting to zip his pants back up.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see this,” Kim says loudly, still shielding himself as he rushes to the Director’s desk to retrieve a thick, green file.

You bury your face in Johnny’s suit jacket, appalled. “I’m going to be fired. On my first day . . .”

“Hey Doyoung,” Johnny says, startling you both. “Remind me what the employee contract–”

“Clause 10(b) of Interoffice Relations,” the other man says automatically, regretting it instantly. “Really, Suh? We eat on that table!”

You see the devilish glint in Johnny’s eye and cover his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you, sir,” you call out.

“I expect a Consensual Relationship Agreement on my desk by tomorrow morning, Agent,” he says, icily. The door slams shut with a shudder, leaving you both a mess of laughter and relief.

“What’s the odds on that happening to us a third time?” you ask, but Johnny is already retrieving one of your shoes from the carpet, slipping it back on from where he’s kneeling on the floor.

“You like them?” he asks. You brush the hair from his forehead, admiring the view.

“My favorite pair,” you say.

“Time for that drink, then?”

“After,” he kisses your calf before standing up and offering his hand. “I know someone else who'd like to congratulate you.”

chapter warnings: a little slut-shaming, no smut

“Want a top?” The waitress asks, her mouth pursed in a grim line as she looks down at the spread of papers in front of you. Self-consciously you pull your Criminal Justice 304 textbook back closer to your empty coffee cup, shaking your head.

“Oh no, I’m heading out,” you say, thrusting a few dollar bills across the scratched linoleum. The corner of her mouth perks into a smile and she refills your mug without another word. You quickly shuffle through handwritten legal papers and the poorly typed copies of your thesis, brushing peach pie crumbs from a few of the sheaves.

“Have a minute?”

The voice is unfamiliar, the frame even more-so as the man sits across from you in the diner’s booth, not waiting for your answer.

“I’m sorry who–”

“Hey sorry, don’t mean to interrupt,” he says. “What you working on?”

For a moment you wonder if he’s someone from your classes, he looks your age, and just as awkward and nervous as you feel, pushing silver round-rimmed spectacles up his nose.

“I need to get to class,” you pretend to apologize, gesturing at your careful piles of material. “Need a coffee? It’s fresh.”

“Too strong for my stomach.” He waves it off, looking up at you with a disarming smile, his teeth disappearing as he seems to laugh without sound. “You’re Jenny, right?”

You bristle at the name, already ready to flee and abandon your bookbag but you realize quickly that it would be much more suspicious to do so. You take the opportunity of carefully tucking your books into your bag to pretend like this is a completely normal experience.

“How do you know my name?” You ask, not meeting his eyes as you push papers into a folder.

He fumbles in his poorly-fitted linen suit jacket for something and places it on the table between you, on top of a xerograph photo of Vilma Espín.

A yellow-aged photo identification stares up at you of the stranger himself, the worlds PRESS and MARK LEE written in heavy typography.

“You’re a reporter?” you ask, still gathering your things. “Which publication?”

“Freelance,” he says hurriedly. “Miami Herald for this beat.”

You stare at him quizzically, fighting the nervous tic in your face. “Beat?”

“Oh, you know,” he laughs. “Working on a story.”

You nod carefully. “I already gave my statement to the police about Magic Carpet.”

“Of course, of course,” he says, somehow flagging down the waitress again as you try to fight the absolute inferno burning up from your chest to the roots of your hair.

“Can I have a strawberry milkshake?” Mark orders, eyes flicking to you. “Want anything else?”

You shake your head, unable to keep from smiling, pretending to watch the regulars at the diner bar as your entire world crashes down on you internally.

“How did you find me?” you ask, sighing, once the waitress leaves.

“Those school transfer credits aren’t hard to track,” he says, watching you take a long swig of cold coffee. “How do you like your new digs?”

“Want a cigarette?” you ask, readjusting in your seat so you’re at eye-level.

“Oh no,” Mark shakes his head. “Don’t smoke. Bad for your health.”

“All the reporters I’ve met have the habit,” you shrug, lighting up your first of the month. You’d quit a long time ago but you’d always found a stray pack was useful in earning friends or enemies alike. You watch his face for the first line of smoke that meets his nose and are delighted to find him unable to meet your eyes, fighting a cough.

“So what did you travel so far from Miami to ask me?” you exhale, ashing onto the empty pie plate. Mark turns from watching the Main Street traffic out the window, seeming to remember he’s here with you.

“Miami?” he asks with genuine delight. “Haven’t been there in a while, actually.”

That makes you choke a little, but you hide it with another sip of coffee.

“Uhh, the question. Yes. Give me a sec,” he says, reaching into his pockets again and pulling out a tiny steno pad. He flips torn paper through bent wire loops until he finds the right page. You can’t help but feel your shoulders pulled forward as you try to read his messy handwriting, the smeared pencil making it even more illegible.

“Can you help me confirm some facts?” he asks, retrieving the offending instrument from his shirt pocket and licking the tip before testing it on a blank page.

“Sure.”

“You started working at Magic Carpet in–”

“1978,” you say. “Thought you would have known that.”

“Right, right.” Mark laughs awkwardly. “You were working as a maid—“

“Housekeeper,” you correct.

“My bad,” he apologizes immediately. “So you were working there through school?”

“You don’t seem to have any real questions,” you interrupt, stubbing out your cigarette. “I really do have class.”

“You ever meet a man named Jeffrey Park?” Mark asks, not looking up from his notebook. You freeze where you’ve just started to slide from the booth.

“The name isn’t familiar,” you lie, as Mark looks up over his glasses with a cheeriness that has you uneasily sitting back down.

“How about a Johnny Sullivan?” He continues. “They would have been employees the same time as you.”

You swallow thickly. “There were a lot of people that came and went. I wasn’t really close with anyone.”

“Oh? Cool, I get that. I got a chance to speak with a friend of yours, Ruby—”

“We’re not friends.” You grouse, startling him into awkward silence. His smile falters.

“Cool, cool. Your coworker then. She just mentioned you left in a hurry. Blamed boy trouble,” he says disarmingly, as if he could relate.

“Did she tell you I was fired for missing a shift?” You ask, stare withering.

“Something like that,” he laughs.

“What do you want from me, exactly?”

“Just filling in the blanks,” he says, making notes. “Oh that was fast.”

You watch as a fluted glass dripping with condensation is shoved between you, crowned in whipped-cream and a neon-bright cherry.

“Everything all right here?” The waitress asks, looking between you and Mark with the older service worker’s instinct for an uncomfortable conversation.

“We’re fine,” you sigh, waiting for her to leave.

Mark drags out his response by sucking loudly on the straw, sighing contentedly once he’s gotten a taste. “Your not-friend Ruby said you quit a few nights before the bodies were found. Missed out on all the fun.”

“Who said I wasn’t having fun?” You tilt your head.

“With Johnny?” Mark’s eyes practically sparkle with the question. “You were with Johnny that day, right?”

You consider lying, deflecting, anything to end this line of questioning. But you know it would just lead to more trouble. That cat had been out of the bag a long time ago with hotel staff, there was no point chasing it.

“And that night,” you admit. “We went to a different hotel.”

“Of course. Cool,” Mark nods. “Do you know where he is now?”

“He was lousy in bed,” you shrug. “Figured I’d end it while it was still fun.”

“He wasn’t the reason you moved, then?”

“What?” You cough. “Jesus, no.”

“Just checking,” Mark gestures, writing in shorthand. “Your old roommates said you left pretty quick—were enrolled at Miami-Dade for fall semester, even.”

“My great-aunt died and left me some money,” you say. “Couldn’t do another hurricane season in that godforsaken place.”

“So you went north,” Mark nods. “Far out. You know they still sometimes hit here, too, right?”

Something in his tone has your heart racing faster. “What?”

“Hurricanes,” he elaborates, smiling brightly. “Curse of the Eastern seaboard.”

“Sure. Is that all?” You check your watch, a tastefully small Casio with a gold band. “I have to catch a bus soon or I’ll be late to class.”

“Oh, well.” Mark looks slightly disappointed. “Can I give you a ride?”

“No thank you,” you say, standing up and clutching your books to your chest protectively.

“Well then can I buy you a coffee some time—“

“I really have to go,” you blurt out, seeing the familiar silver mass of a city bus rumble past the sleet-streaked diner window. The nearest stop is the next block down and you take the opportunity, Mark’s parting words lost in the jangle of the doorbell as you run down the street at a full clip.

Outside the air is frigidly cold and the shock of it takes the breath from your lungs as you dive between Christmas window shoppers and pedestrians alike to make your connection. Thankfully the bus waits for you, doors opening on a smiling face: a much more cheerful looking driver than you are used to.

“This is the 25 right?” You ask as you pay your fare, realizing you haven’t even looked. “Heading to campus?”

The younger man nods, doe eyes practically disappearing for how wide his grin is.

The bus is empty besides a bundled-up man asleep in the back so you sit in the middle, on the opposite side facing the street so Mark can’t see you even if he follows. You have a feeling like that isn’t the last time you’ll see him—you’d only dealt with cursory visits from reporters before, this is the first time you’d been asked such pointed questions.

And it was the first time you’d been asked about them.

You’d done everything in your power to try and forget, short of finding another bed to warm. No, you’d kept your nose to the grindstone through a more difficult curriculum, single-handed in your goal of graduating with honors. You’d even managed to get a less intensive part-time job doing administrative work in a bail bond office.

It had taken a year and change for you to finally settle into your new life, to finally breathe a little easier. For as uneasy as you are now, you feel in control. All those sleepless nights going over the possibility or eventuality of this kind of encounter had prepared you well. You relax into your seat as the hiss of the bus’s brake lines release and you begin moving again.

You open your book to the tabbed reading and fight the sway and lurch of the vehicle to focus, the bus lights flickering overhead.

“Mind if I sit here?” A quiet, warm voice startles you, and you look up to see a giant form suddenly edging into the empty seat beside you. The bus hadn’t stopped yet, it seemed to be skipping most of them, so you know immediately the bus’s other occupant has decided to bother you.

“I do mind—“ you protest but something wet and cold slaps over your mouth, filling your entire nasal cavity with a burning sensation. You struggle, belongings crashing to the floor, unable to move as the fumes pull you under. As your vision blurs you catch the unconcerned gaze of the bus driver in the rear view mirror and a spot of familiarity bubbles up from your rapidly sinking consciousness.

“Sorry,” your captor says in the equally-recognizable, shy tone from a long-ago van ride. “I had to.”

You wake up with a jolt, handcuff chain jerking in front of you. Your head is throbbing and a thin line of drool pulls from the embarrassingly damp spot on the metal table underneath your arms and face.

“What the fuck,” you groan, sitting up and back, still boneless from whatever sedation had been used on you. You’re clearly in an interrogation room, facing a silver reflective wall that reveals the sorry state of your hair and face as you re-enter the land of the living.

“Hello,” you spit out, looking around at the bare room and the heavy door and then back to the two-way mirror. “Is anyone there?”

Now that your head is clearing, cold anger flows through you, and you prepare to cause a scene. You test the chain holding you to the table and find your feet are cuffed as well. “This is a violation of my constitutional ri—”

The door opens, swathing the room in fluorescent yellow light before closing with a slam, the two men who enter moving to the table. One sits in front of you with a briefcase placed gently down and the other circles behind you, setting a cup of coffee on the table before leaning against the wall.

“Hello, Y/N,” the suited man in front of you says in a wispy voice, opening his briefcase with hardly a second glance up. He’s tall and thin, with dark hair and eyes and a clean-cut appearance. “Our apologies for the abrupt extraction.”

“Am I being unlawfully detained?” You spit out. “I’m not talking until I have a lawyer.”

“Conveniently enough, I am your legal representation.” A business card is slid in front of you and you snatch it up, fighting to focus on the words. Kim, Doyoung, Attorney At Law.

“What am I doing here?”

“This is just a formality. You aren’t being charged with anything.” Mr. Kim steeples his hands in front of him. “Yet.”

“Then why am I handcuffed?” You snap.

“Spitfire, isn’t she.” You turn to look at the other occupant of the room, finding a much more disheveled-looking man with an open Hawaiian shirt, a large gold badge hanging from his chest. It takes you a moment to register the agency, script overtaken by the large eagle and “US” written on it, and your heart sinks into the floor.

“Agent Lee is here representing the DEA as part of this interview,” Doyoung explains. “We just have a few questions for you. If you comply nicely you’ll be free to go without further issue.”

“In case you’re wondering, I’m the good cop in this scenario,” Lee says, his voice slightly nasally and as youthful as his face. He pushes the coffee towards your reach. “Two creams, one sugar, right?”

You don’t want to know how they know your coffee preferences but you accept it gladly, testing the temperature before drinking to clear your head.

“I’ll be transparent with you,” Doyoung says. “You’ve been on our radar for some time with regards to the Louis Roque case. But we didn’t consider you a liability until new information came to light.”

“Which case?” You ask, innocently, earning you a tired look from the lawyer.

Of course you knew about the dead man, it had made the news—along with the washed up corpse of his lover in clothes you, unfortunately, had known the weight and feel of. The case had made the news but no charges had been filed—written off as a murder-suicide, maybe even a mob assassination. Only you had known the amount of money that had gone missing—and whose hands it had ended up in.

“Please don’t play games with us, Miss L/N,” he says. “You are familiar with the incident that took place at your previous place of employment, while you were still actively employed and present at the scene.”

“Of course,” you say. “I just forgot the names. It’s been over a year.”

“I see,” he sighs. “Formally the investigation has been closed but a recent tip has led us to question whether it was closed prematurely. We have reason to believe there may have been other parties involved.”

“Surely you don’t mean me,” you say, keeping your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. You focus on your breathing, pretending this is just a meditative exercise with added difficulty.

“Got a bit of a history, though, don’t you,” Lee says, pulling a chair to face backwards and slumping into it, tan arms lazily crossed on the back.

Doyoung places an open file in front of you and it only takes you a few seconds to register its contents, the mugshot of your teenaged face staring back at you. It isn’t even a copy but the black-and-white developed film itself, meaning they’d gone to the source. Resignation settles over you rather than panic.

“I was a minor. My record is clean now.” You don’t hide the tremor in your tone, counting on sounding pitiful. “I don’t know what that has to do with it.”

“Of course. But it would be a shame if that information kept you from pursuing a career in law enforcement. That is what you’re working on, aren’t you?”

You stay silent, tears brimming in your eyes without any effort.

“You want to be a cop?” Lee asks, laughing under his breath. “I didn’t know you could study for that.”

“Criminal profiling,” you admit, knowing that wasn’t a secret. You’d already done the work in your penultimate year of applying to various master’s programs, a slave to your studies and the fitness regimen necessary to pass Quantico’s endurance tests.

This had been your goal long before getting embroiled in a stakeout at a sleazy dive known for the worst kind of clientele, written into your bones with your father’s last words to you from beyond the plexiglass: “justice isn’t for people like us.” He was probably right, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try and find a way to change it, with all you knew about the top-down nature of evil.

In your own way, you’d wanted to prove that it was.

Lee whistles, lowly. “You think the FBI will take you?”

“The DEA seems to be hard up,” you bite back. “Should I try there, instead?”

“I’d love to see it,” he muses, cocking his head.

Doyoung shoots him an icy look. “Your academic record is impressive, if in need of a few more connections. Consider this a step on your career path. If you help us with this investigation we may even be able to get you a recommendation with whichever branch of the Bureau you intend on applying for.”

You look up into his sharp gaze, feeling dizzy. You hadn’t expected to have so many cards laid out before you without even a clue as to what you were being questioned about.

“You still haven’t told me what you want from me,” you say.

“Simple,” he abruptly smiles. “We need you to identify these men.”

Two more glossy photos are laid before you and your heart skips a beat just seeing those faces again after so long. Here was the steel trap just past your fingertips, the bait already laid out in two men you’d known only in the biblical sense.

You’d wondered sometimes if they’d simply been a delusion. As much as they’d haunted your thoughts and dreams for as long as the last time you’d seen them, you’d never wanted to see them again.

The first picture is obviously old, a standard military academy headshot wrought in color of a boy with a high-and-tight and a future killer’s gaze. The second is markedly different: a monochrome of some young blood in a foreign landscape, holding a camera with a telephoto lens. His military attire is less formal and more worn: sunglasses and bandana, hair blonde and longer than you’d ever seen it.

The names typewritten on the files are just as unreal to you: Jeong Yuno, Suh Youngho.

You could lie. You could deflect or make excuses. But time is ticking and you know the path of least resistance, following it always like water flowing into the nearest sewer.

“They called themselves Jeffrey and Johnny. We worked together at the Magic Carpet,” you say. “I didn’t really know them.”

“You sure?” Lee asks, tapping a sneaker on the floor. You recognize the Onitsuka Tiger design, how clean they are for how worse for the wear the agent looks. “Word has it you were pretty familiar with them.”

You swallow your now-cold coffee to try and remove the lump from your throat. “I only hung out with them once . . . during Hurricane Leon.“

“Only one night?” Doyoung asks, quietly.

“There were always seasonal staff at that place, you know.” You shake your head. “They didn’t really have anything to do with me until we were all working overtime, together.”

“But you were with them the night of August–”

“If you’re going to say a date, I don’t remember it,” you interrupt. “Just one night.”

“Got a little too drunk, did you? High maybe?” Lee isn’t asking and you know he’s working from the same data points as that reporter, Mark. Two of the same last name in one day, you think, had to be an ill omen. You pick at the sleeve of your worn and lint-pilled sweater, buying time.

“We got kicked out. Ended up going to a different hotel. I left the day after the storm ended, that was the last time I saw them.”

“Did you see anything suspicious?” The lawyer asks.

You shake your head, letting the old persona of shyness fit like a mask over you.

“They liked their booze.” You glance at the DEA agent carefully, as if you actually feel afraid of the consequences. “Johnny gave me a Quaalude, I think? Said it was to relax me.”

Lee snorts, looking slyly at Doyoung. He waves off the answer as if it isn’t worth his time. “Did you see anything else? Hear any strange conversations? Please be as detailed as possible.”

You run your hands over your face, mind racing. You’d never worked up anything of an alibi until this moment—you’d never had to. Now that you’re faced with it you can only think of one path towards freedom and you fight the paralyzing fear in your chest to answer with as much exasperation as you already feel.

“Yes. We got drunk and high. And they both fucked my brains out, what else do you want to know?” You practically shout, palms slamming on the table. “I was a little too busy getting tag-teamed to ask about their voting record.”

Doyoung goes pale but beside him Lee falls off his chair, cackling. The horror on your face is real as he slaps the chair beside him, still laughing while picking himself up again.

“Will you please leave if you’re going to be unprofessional,” Doyoung hisses. He rounds on you, entirely unamused.

“Thank you for your . . . Transparency,” he says. You can clock the mild disgust, and you feel a small thrill at eliciting that reaction. “Y/N, you should understand that these are dangerous men. Any information you can share with us would be invaluable. ”

He must read the flicker in your expression because he continues, almost seductive in the way he places his hand over your own record. “If we do find out you aren’t telling us the full truth, you understand you could be held liable as an accessory.”

The threat makes your blood go cold, but you meet his stare with an equivalent measure of resolve. Just a peek through the fear, beneath the cover, to see what you’re capable of when tested.

“Are you going to have him read me my rights, then?” you ask, eyes flicking to the clown to your left.

“No,” Kim says, meeting you eye-for-eye. “I don’t think we’ll need to. If you cooperate.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think they did?” you ask. “Something I can remember?”

It’s a genuine question. You’d never sussed out the details of what actually happened in the 36 hours you’d spent with them, certainly not the preceding three months.

It seems to catch him off guard. “That’s classified. The more important question is would you swear under oath that they were with you doing . . . Whatever you say they were doing . . . when they may have been committing a federal crime.”

“Federal crime?” you parrot. “Is that what bartenders and handymen do in their off-hours?”

“Besides maids?” Lee adds in a snide tone.

You glare at him, marking every one of the freckles on his tan face, until his smile begins to fade. “I really couldn’t tell you anything–”

“Maybe this will jog your memory,” Agent Lee grabs the record from the desk, whistling as he flips through it. “Petty theft, auto, robbery, extortion, and what’s this—solicitation? Oh, Is that how you made all that money, Y/N? Those boys pay you for your little sleepover?”

Your vision goes red, feeling small under the weight of listed crimes, but even smaller under the mention of payment. There it is, you think–the tracks in mud always lead to money.

“I thought you were supposed to be the good cop,” you say. The bright print of his ugly shirt should have holes burnt into it from how you glare at it.

“There are no good cops,” he says. “Thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“What do you mean by money?” you ask.

“How did someone like you have enough money to buy a car and pay in cash for an apartment three states away? Kept those hotel room tips in your mattress?” He’s not dropping the innuendo, deliberately riling you up.

“Are you talking about my inheritance from my—?“

“Oh don’t tell me you have a great-aunt in Louisiana, I’ve heard that one before.”

You mark the detail, they knew much more than they should. You stay quiet, letting him feel like he has you. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You and I both know you don’t have any family,” Lee drawls, tossing the file on the table. “Except maybe dear old Dad in the state pen. Did he make enough stamping license plates for your tuition before he died?”

“That’s enough,” Doyoung says, firmly, but it’s clear he’s used to being ignored.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” The other man leans down beside you. Lee smells like fruit gum and Duz Laundry Soap, and you can tell immediately from his hand that he’s young and prone to violence. You clam up, staring into the mirror in front of you as if it could swallow you whole.

“See, I think you were paid off. You saw something you weren’t supposed to. Maybe even got a cut of stolen drug deal money. Would be a lot less complicated if you could tell us how that got into your hands.”

Your thoughts scurry to catch up with his implication. If they knew about the money but not who it was handed over to you then surely you were a suspect. Not just because of the men who’d been your company. You could have cleaned that room and chosen to take what you found, instead of reporting a murder.

A minnow on the hook for bigger fish was fucked regardless, but at least you could go out swimming.

“I don’t know anything about that,” you say, with an air of finality. “And I want my own lawyer.”

You glance up to find Kim adjusting his tie, jaw working as he thinks through a response.

“That’s definitely arrangeable. But we’ll need to take you in officially, with probable cause.”

“Then get a warrant,” you snap back. “I have nothing to say to either of you.”

Lee laughs again, standing up and turning away. “Oh man. I like her.”

“As it so happens, we already have what we need,” Doyoung says, reaching into his briefcase. There’s ice in your veins as you await whatever new horror he has to share with you, keeping your eyes fixed on the photographs on the table.

“Review this for us,” he says, sliding a stack of neatly-collected legal papers over them.

You take in the fine print, the watermarked header and “Employee Non-Disclosure Agreement” in typed print catching you off guard.

“This isn’t a warrant,” you blurt out.

Even Kim laughs at that, standing up and closing his briefcase. “We have a standard contract for non-agents but as you’ve already had a verbal agreement on record as a freelance operator this is much more in line with our Director’s prerogative.”

“What . . . ?” you look up, blinking.

“Welcome to The Agency,” Lee says with zero hostility. You’re too stunned to respond as he uncuffs you, waiting until he’s undone your leg chains to stand up, almost knocking him over in the process.

“Where. Exactly. Am I?” You can’t blame yourself for losing composure–not when you’re kneedeep in the throes of adrenaline from being interviewed, kidnapped, and now interrogated. From the looks you get from the men in the room, it’s nothing–you’re the hysterical one.

“You should read and sign first, otherwise well—“ Lee mimes a knife over the throat. “You’re getting the cuffs again. Black bag too.”

“Shut up, Donghyuck,” Doyoung snaps, pulling a beautiful pen from his breast pocket to place it on the table. “If you’ll excuse me I have a meeting I’m already late for. Feel free to look that over before you sign. Your handlers will be in to explain everything to you in a minute.”

“Handlers—?”

“Good luck,” Lee says, giving you a thumbs up from the door. “Would be a shame if we had to kill you.”

Doyoung chases after him with his briefcase clutched in his arms unclosed, swearing under his breath. As soon as the door latches shut you find yourself alone with your own reflection, collapsing into the chair behind you.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” You ask yourself.

You receive no answer, forcing you to pace around the room for a spell until you’re inevitably drawn back to the contract.

It looks legitimate, if not arcane. The NCTA letterhead is unrecognizable to you as anything related to a US state agency.

What could it stand for? National Cable & Telecommunications Agency? But why would they be working with DEA or even the FBI or CIA on a case even the public didn’t have the details on? Were they a sub-unit of the NSA? The thought of working with any of these institutions outside traditional channels has your stomach in knots.

Your pathway had been so clear to you before, even how to sell your murky past into a convincing enough hand-up and foothold out under the watchful eyes of people you couldn’t give two shits about. Your academic mentors had been sold on it, at least: the good girl from poor beginnings growing up to be a model student and citizen, intent on making the kind of reforms and progress Webster was known for.

Oh yes, it would not be easy for you, but it would be easy for them to put your life on paper and pat themselves on the back for bringing you into their carefully-guarded fold when you would have been just another data point piled into the trash or written into punch code.

Very little stands out to you as you skim the pages for details. What you can parse is restrictive at best, too many uses of the word “fatal” to make it appealing. And at the end is a handwritten letter, a final message before the signatory page.

Dear Prospective Agent,

You have been hand-selected for this mission, should you choose to accept it .

You sigh, reading, understanding finally that this has to be an elaborate joke. But you continue.

The NCTA was established in 1952 with the goal of ensuring that no state power would determine the fate of the world or the solidarity of mankind, that checks and balances would exist for the rise of undemocratic institutions claiming ultimate supremacy . . .

We imagine a world without nations or borders where those in power are elected by fair and transparent means and act in the best interest of all mankind, prioritizing civil liberties and universal suffrage. We seek the immediate disarmament of any global threat be it weapons or technology, in the name of peace . . .

To become an agent you must be prepared to live many lives at once, and relinquish all loyalties except those which advance the Directive. You will be tried and tested, but with the right discretion and skill together we can change the world.

'flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo’

Director Lee Taeyong

All of the flowery language does nothing to move your heart, sitting in this cell. God knows you’d been exposed to enough speeches empty of meaning and promises. But that last phrase sticks with you—a quote from the Aeneid, you think.

If you can’t move Heaven, raise Hell.

Surely Virgil didn’t write those words on some far-away Grecian isle to apply to extrajudical assassinations, you think. But he’d also probably never imagined a B-list actor sitting in the highest state of office in the supposedly most democratic country in the world embroiled in multiple post-colonial conflicts while its cities turned to dust and the countryside went quiet, drenched in lead from car exhaust.

Unconsciously you pick up the pen, unsurprised by the Mont Blanc engraving and the weight of it in your hand. Faust himself couldn’t ask for a more fitting signifier of the choice you were making. You lift the page, and, after a few moment’s hesitation, sign.

For some reason you were expecting something to happen once the nib left the page—maybe even the whole contract to explode into flame—but there’s no response, just silence. You watch the ink dry on the paper, wishing your hand had been more steady when you finished your signature.

You’d signed your real name for the first time in years. Surely that should be cause for celebration.

When the door opens a few minutes later, the pen is behind your back clutched in your hand, ready to stab whoever walks through.

“Oh, hello,” says the familiar man in the doorway.

“Woodstock?” You ask, incredulously.

“You can call me Deputy Director Moon. Or just Taeil,” he corrects, beaming at you as he sits across the table. “Nice to see you again.”

He’s dressed much more sharply than you’d seen in your encounter at the Magic Carpet. Instead of coveralls he’s in a gray suit, but his brown hair is just as messy as if he’d run his hands through it several times already that day. He looks at the two-way mirror, confirming your worst suspicions, before composing himself again.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

The Deputy Director offers you a cigarette from a slim silver case but you decline, nausea twisting your stomach. You're grateful when he doesn’t light one himself.

“You’ll have to forgive our unorthodox method of recruitment. But you did come highly recommended.” He takes the papers and tidies them. “And passed the initial test.”

“Should have figured that this was,” you say. Really, you should have suspected it the moment you’d been taken down in the bus, but the interrogation had caught you off guard.

“You already proved yourself a suitable asset in one job. The plan was to wait until you’d already been formally rejected by the Bureau but we had to escalate our timetable—“

“What do you mean by rejection?” Your heart sinks hearing it laid out that coldly.

“You’ll admit your background does make you less than suitable for traditional law enforcement.” He smiles, expression closed off. “They do review expunged records, you know.”

The truth stings, making you wince.

“Fortunately, we don’t really concern ourselves with those details,” he says brightly. “You’re an exceptional candidate, for our purposes.”

“My impression was that you don’t do much by the book,” you say, somewhat bitterly.

“Oh no, we’re a flaming mess,” Taeil admits. “But we have something you won’t find anywhere else.”

“A liberal attitude towards sex, drugs, and criminal activity?”

He waves off your answer with a smug expression. “That’s a commonality at every intelligence agency. No. Guess again.”

You shake your head, feeling exhausted and confused. “Just tell me.”

The Deputy Director taps the table between you, directing your attention to the documents still placed there. “Your former partners.”

“Oh god,” you say after a beat. “Not them.”

Moon laughs loudly, shaking his head.

“I’ll admit that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. It’s probably the right one,” he acquiesces. “Don’t worry, you won’t be on a team immediately. Agents Suh and Jeong are in Intelligence, obviously, but it would take you awhile to work with them, if at all.”

“What if I don’t want to work with them? At all?” you ask, your face hot. An infinitesimal part of you rejects the question, as if it would be the most natural thing in the world to fall back into that arrangement.

“We’ll find out where your strengths are,” he states, finally lighting his own cigarette. You reach out and he gives you his from his mouth, not bothering to light another.

“Thanks for your help in Miami,” he says. “If it makes any difference, you’re here on my recommendation. And Kim’s.”

“Kim?” You ask, thinking of the lawyer.

“Snoopy,” he says white teeth flashing. “I hope you liked working with him because you’ll be seeing a lot of him from now on.”

“Is he one of my handlers, too?” you ask, eyes flicking to the mirror. Since the Deputy Director’s statement you’d half-expected the lights to go out and reveal them waiting on the other side of the interrogation room mirror, like it was your actual, long-gone birthday and someone finally remembered. Welcome to the party.

He shakes his head, waving the smoke away from where it pools over the metal table. “We have a lot of new agents. You’ll be working under me, if that’s alright?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, even as you feel a small measure of disappointment. You study the pictures on the table, averting your gaze when you begin to feel the familiar butterfly flutter in your chest.

“But, eventually. I’ll be expected to work with them?” You twist your hands in front of you, rubbing where the cuffs had dug into your wrist bones.

“That will be up to you,” he says. “But maybe, once you learn a little more, you’ll want to.”

“Maybe,” you say–more to the room than him.

“Good,” he says, extending his hand to you to shake. You can’t help but notice the watch, the same one you’d recognized on the other agents who’d interrogated you earlier without wanting to believe in the commonality. “Welcome to the NCTA.”

Johnny suddenly remembers where he is, and embarrassment floods his body, his eyes darting to the interviewers who are looking at him with concern. “I’m fine,” he assures everyone, “it’s just a little hot in here.” Johnny removes his expensive fawn coloured jacket, forcing a smile that everyone eats up.

The rest of the interview goes achingly slow, and as soon as it’s done, Johnny is up and out the door, leaving the rest of NCT in his dust as he hurries to find somewhere he can be alone. 

In a deserted hallway, Johnny paces back and forth, thinking hard about the situation.

He needs to know. 

Johnny’s not used to being jealous, especially in a situation like this. You’re just his fuck buddy, an idol like him, who he hooks up with when times get tough. 

He’d seen you last night at your dorm, he always comes to you because it makes things easier, and that’s when he’d noticed the marks on your ass. He hadn’t minded in the moment, after all, you’d both been quite clear at the start of your ‘relationship’ that it would be noncommittal. 

But the thought that you’re fooling around with Jaehyun of all people? 

Johnny licks his lips, running a hand through his hair as he decides what to do. He pulls out his phone to message you and plan a time to meet up so he doesn’t go crazy wondering what if’s.

But his phone is dead.

Johnny groans, he hadn’t been able to find his charger all morning and had forgotten about it, after all, he’d been with his friends who all have phones if something happened. 

He needs to get home and find his charger, and while he’s doing that, he’ll figure out what to do with you.

Johnny can’t believe his eyes. You’ve been to his dorm once, when it had been too rainy to go get food and you’d ended up in his room instead. But now, here you are, standing in his dorm like you belong there. 

Maybe the ‘belonging’ isn’t due to your own body language, but the language of the men on either side of you. Taeyong and Jaehyun are making you comfortable in the kitchen, Jaehyun even feeding you tastes of the ramen he’s making so you can comment on spices.

Johnny stands and stares for a moment.

Jaehyun laughs at something you say and you giggle, Taeyong smiling happily and adding more things to the food. 

You’re rubbing Jaehyun in his face and Johnny has never been more angry in his life. Well, maybe that’s a lie, but fuck, he hasn’t been this mad in ages. Besides, Jaehyun doesn’t even live on Johnny’s floor, so what the fuck is he doing in Johnny’s kitchen? 

Johnny throws down his jacket, heading off to his room without a word. “Johnny!” Taeyong’s voice hits his ears first, the leader having been the first of the trio to notice Johnny’s entrance.

“Johnny?” You call a moment after, and Johnny hears footsteps behind him. When he gets to his bedroom, he tries to close his door, but you’re there, and he doesn’t have the heart to slam a door in your face, no matter how angry he is.

“What!?” he all but yells at you, immediately regretting it when he sees the hurt look on your face.

“I-” you look down and Johnny follows your gaze, realizing you’re holding a charger in your hands, “you left this at my place last night, I thought you’d need it.” you tell him, shoving your hand out to give the charger to Johnny, “you’re obviously in a bad mood-” you begin to move away but Johnny grabs your waist, dragging you into his bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

“You came here to give me a charger?” Johnny all but growls, stepping into your space and boxing you against the door with his hands pressed against the surface on either side of your head.

“Yes?” you answer, blinking up at Johnny. 

He has his dominant moments, but usually he’s soft with you, playful. He’s not being either of those things right now.

“What about you and Jaehyun huh?” Johnny gets closer and you can feel his breath on your face, his lips so close but not close enough, pupils blown with lust as he stares down at you.

“Jaehyun?” you ask.

“He doesn’t live on this floor kitten, so what the fuck is he doing with you in the kitchen hmm?” 

“Johnny-” your fingers reach out to grab at his shirt but he easily traps your wrists in one of his large hands, pinning your arms above your head.

“Answer me.” he growls.

“Um,” you can hardly think coherently, “Your phone kept going to voicemail, I assumed your phone was dead, and I knew you’d need your charger, so I brought it over and ran into Taeyong and Jaehyun at the entrance. They invited me up for food, and to wait for you to get home, so I could give you your charger.”

Johnny hasn’t told anyone about the two of you sleeping together, but idols are aware the two of you are friends. Your story makes sense, in fact, it just goes to show Johnny how kind you are, coming all this way with his charger because you knew he’d need it. 

Now that Johnny thinks of it, it’s not odd for Jaehyun to be there, especially since it looks like he and Taeyong may be the only ones who came back to the dorms. Others mentioned having errands or things they wanted to do at the studio earlier. 

But that still doesn’t explain the marks on your ass from last night, the love bite that looked like vampire teeth marks, like Jaehyun’s teeth. 

You’re looking up at him with your pretty eyes, bottom lip pulled between your teeth while you wait for him to say something. His hand is tight around your wrists still, and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans, his front still pressed to yours, keeping you pinned to the door. 

“Who else are you sleeping with baby girl?” Johnny purrs, “I want you to tell me their names.”

Your brows furrow, confusion on your face.

“Don’t play stupid princess, I saw the bite mark on your ass last night.” Johnny’s free hand goes to your chin, pushing your face to the side to give him access to your neck. 

Your skin tingles as his lips ghost over the column of your throat, so close to giving you what you want. 

“Are you fucking Jaehyun pretty girl?” Johnny continues, getting angrier with each unanswered question, “be honest with me.”

“Johnny-” you whine and he pulls his face away from your neck, replacing it with a hand that constricts your airway tightly, cutting off your words.

“Daddy.” he corrects you, “just say yes or no princess. Are you sleeping with Jaehyun?”

He can see it in your eyes. Can see it in the way you take a moment to respond, the way your lips part and a look of defeat fills your eyes, “Yes daddy.”

“Yes daddy what?” Johnny growls.

“Yes daddy I’m sleeping with Jaehyun.” You won’t meet his gaze and Johnny squeezes your throat for a moment before letting go of both your neck and your hands, letting them fall to your sides as he boxes you in once more with his palms flat on the door on either side of you.

“Does he know about me?” Johnny asks.

You shake your head, “we promised not to tell anyone.”

At least Jaehyun hasn’t been doing things behind Johnny’s back. “You thought this was a good idea?” Johnny asks.

You take a moment, then shake your head again, “no.”

“But you did it anyways.” Johnny’s right hand forms a fist where it rests against the door, then he grabs your chin, making you look up at him, “tell me why kitten.”

“I was mad at you, and I made a mistake.” you tell him.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to be confused, “mad at me?” his dominant mask slips for a moment.

“I thought if i went out with your friend maybe I could make you jealous, but then the date went really well, and I hadn’t planned on sleeping with him-” The confession tumbles from your lips and then you stop abruptly, “I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“Do you like him?” Johnny asks, voice low, dangerous.

“Yes daddy.” you whimper.

“More than me?” Johnny squeezes your chin in his grip.

“I don’t know, i made Jaehyun promise not to tell anyone we slept together so I could have some time to think, and then you forgot your charger-”

“And now here we are.” Johnny sighs, content now that he has a full grasp of the situation. “Why didn’t you call Jaehyun last night princess? Why was I the one at your dorm?” 

“Needed you.” you whine, pouting at Johnny, something you’re well aware he has a weakness for. You’re rewarded when he slips his thumb in your mouth, letting you suck it gently, tongue swirling around the digit while he watches you with interest.

“I fuck you good, right baby girl?” Johnny asks.

You moan around his thumb in response, hands reaching out to grab the waistband of his jeans.

“You know, Jaehyun is out there, probably wondering what you’re doing in here with me.” Johnny tells you, “what a little slut you are, fucking both of us and keeping it a secret like this.” he pulls his thumb from your mouth and you lick your lips, eager for him to just kiss you.

“A slut for you daddy.” you tell him.

“And for Jaehyun.” he reminds you, “maybe he should come see what his little slut is up to hmm?” He sees your eyes widen a little at his words, lips parting in shock, and he laughs, “bet you’d love that huh? Having both of us?”

You nod slightly, too scared to say it out loud. It makes Johnny laugh, “big girls use their words or they don’t get to cum.” he tells you.

“Yes daddy, I want both of you.” you whine, breaking under the pressure.

Johnny is jealous and mad, and he wants nothing more than to throw you onto the bed and fuck you until you’re screaming his name for everyone to hear. The only thing better than doing that... is doing that while Jaehyun is there and watching, knowing that he’s lost to Johnny.

“Get on the bed, and take off your clothes,” Johnny steps away from you, “and don’t make me ask you to do things twice, or I’ll have to punish you baby girl, and you don’t want that do you?” he pinches you chin gently and you quickly shake your head.

“No daddy.” You quickly move to get onto his bed, knowing which one is his and which one is his roommate’s. You thank god Taeyong mentioned that Haechan would be out all day doing Dreamie events. 

Johnny leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Jaehyun and Taeyong are still in the kitchen and now that Johnny knows he was right about Jaehyun, he can see the signs of interest all over his face. Jaehyun looks to Johnny’s closed door then to Johnny, “is Y/N okay?” he asks.

“She’s fine,” Johnny says, then he looks at Taeyong, trying to figure out how to get rid of him, “actually,” he looks to Jaehyun again, “you should come hang out with us in my room.” 

Jaehyun looks a little confused, especially because of how Johnny had acted when he entered the apartment and stormed to his room. Taeyong cocks his head at Johnny. “are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Johnny waves his hand, eager to get back to his room where he knows you’re waiting, “come on Jaehyun.”

Taeyong and Jaehyun exchange a look, usually Johnny would invite both of them, but he’s being very specific with his invitation. Johnny looks agitated, which happens so infrequently, that neither man wants to question the six foot plus giant. Jaehyun sighs, following Johnny to his room.

Johnny opens the door and shoves Jaehyun inside, locking the door behind the two of them.

Jaehyun takes in your form sitting on the bed, dressed in only your underwear, knees tucked to your chest, and he is immediately confused, “what the fu-”

“Y/N’s been a very bad girl.” Johnny says, and you can see the switch flipped in his eyes again, this is hard dom Johnny, and you know you’re in for a long night. “Tell Jaehyun what you did princess.”

“Johnny-” Jaehyun immediately tries to back up, but Johnny is not having it, his hand going to Jaehyun’s back to push him forward, towards the bed.

“I slept with both of you.” you say, “and I’m really sorry, I should have thought more about your friendship-”

“But you didn’t, and now here we are.” Johnny says sternly, “and actions have consequences, right baby?”

“Yes daddy.” you answer immediately, nearly cringing at the word that slipped so naturally from your mouth. You sneak a peak at Jaehyun. He seems affected by the word, his lips parting, eyes looking at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

“What do you think her punishment should be Jaehyun?” Johnny asks.

Jaehyun swallows thickly, and when he opens his mouth, you’re shocked at what comes out, “I think she should beg for our forgiveness and let us do whatever we want with her.” His eyes look darker somehow, and you feel your skin tingle.

You’ve somehow managed to piss off two extremely hard doms who happen to be used to working together. You’re not sure if you’re in heaven or hell, but you know your body is reacting to the situation. 

You can feel your panties sticking to your core, your wetness having already soaked through from Johnny’s earlier dominance, and now? You’d be surprised if you were any less than dripping. 

“Come on baby, you heard him, beg for our forgiveness.” Johnny smirks, “put those pretty lips to a good use.”

You lick your lips and then you untuck your knees from your chest, getting off the bed, “crawl.” Jaehyun says, voice low, scary. 

You get onto your hands and knees on the floor, looking up at the giant men in front of you. You approach slowly, not sure who to crawl to first, “I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry sir. Daddy I’m sorry I fucked Jaehyun without telling you. Sir, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Johnny being my fuck buddy.” you reach them and decide it’s safest to sit in the middle, not favouring either.

“You’re no fun princess, chose who you want to touch first.” Johnny says, upset that you didn’t automatically crawl to him. Jaehyun is grinning smugly, it’s obvious you and Johnny have been together longer than you’ve been with Jaehyun, and yet you’re not picking favourites.

You shake your head, looking at the ground.

Johnny kneels down, grabbing your jaw harshly and forcing your eyes up to him, “I gave you a direction slut, and remember what I said about asking twice.” he growls. 

You look into his eyes. They’re so pretty, the soft brown catch the sunlight at certain angles on lazy days you spend together and make his irises look like molten chocolate... but now, there’s no warmth in them. 

“I don’t want to chose.” you tell him.

“You have to.” Johnny says simply.

“Sir is being nicer to me.” you point out, making Jaehyun snicker.

Johnny doesn’t like that. He makes the choice for you, wrapping his hand around your throat as he forces his lips against yours, tongue immediately dominating your mouth and making you gasp. 

He pulls away too quickly and stands, about to undo his belt, but Jaehyun gives the next direction, “get on the bed princess, hands and knees, you’re going to give Johnny what he wants while I fuck that pretty pussy okay?”

You scramble towards the bed and Johnny looks at Jaehyun who only flashes him a smile, approaching your waiting body. Johnny follows suit. You immediately move to undo his jeans and Johnny laughs, “my little cock slut, so needy for me hmm?” 

“Yes daddy,” you answer, moaning after as Jaehyun rubs your clit through your panties.

“So fucking wet for us baby girl.” he groans, “bet you’ve been dreaming about this for ages, getting destroyed by both our cocks.”

“Yes sir.” you whimper, wrapping your hands around Johnny’s now free cock before attaching your lips to the head of it, swirling your tongue around the sensitive flesh. 

Johnny lets out a shaky breath, head lolling back, hands going down to guide you farther onto his dick.

He’s so big, it’s always been hard for you to properly blow Johnny, and usually he’s nice about it. But tonight is not about niceties and you know he’s going to be rough with you.

“Tap one of us if it’s too much,” Jaehyun says from behind you, tearing your panties down.

A safe word... or, not even a word, a safe motion, because your mouth is occupied. Your pussy throbs at the notion, excited by wild thoughts of just what else the night is going to entail. 

You bob up and down on Johnny and, when Jaehyun plunges two fingers into your dripping core with no warning, you move forward, the head of Johnny’s dick hitting the back of your throat and making you gag sloppily around his length.

“Fuck, feels so good.” Johnny says from above you, his grip tightening on your hair as his hips start to thrust against you. 

You can barely focus on Johnny’s cock with Jaehyun’s fingers slamming in and out of your pussy, he angles them just right, searching for the spot that makes your toes curl. 

Johnny is mad and has some frustration to let go of, but Jaehyun is completely content with playing along and making you feel good as well, he’s always characterized himself as a sexual giver. 

You moan around Johnny’s cock and he groans, pulling you off of him, watching the way a string of saliva connects your lips to his cock, he smirks, “so messy, love sucking my cock huh?” You lick your lips, looking up at him under hooded eyes.

“Yes da-” Jaehyun crooks his fingers and you moan, “Jae! Fuck, right there-” Johnny slams his cock back into your mouth. If you’re going to cum, you’re going to do it while sucking him off and gurgling around his cock.

You’re whining and sputtering around Johnny while Jaehyun works you to orgasm, loving the way your pussy clenches around his fingers as he works you through it, his other hand moving to rub your clit. This sends you into overdrive, legs shaking, messy sounds escaping your lips with each thrust of Johnny’s cock into your mouth. 

Both men pull away from you at the same time, as if they’re communicating on some higher level. Johnny watches you take deep breaths, tears running down your cheeks from all the overstimulation. Meanwhile, Jaehyun licks his fingers clean, pulling his own cock out.

The head of Jaehyun’s dick rubs against your entrance and you shiver in anticipation, looking up at Johnny, “can I make you cum daddy?” you ask.

Johnny thinks about it. He really wants to take your ass. But the two of you have never done that before, and now that Jaehyun is lining himself up with your pussy... Johnny decides he can cum now and then cum again later, so he nods, “yes princess, and swallow like a good girl okay?”

You nod, quickly grabbing his cock again, as you wrap your lips around it, Jaehyun plunges fully into you, sending you forward again onto Johnny. Jaehyun’s hands smooth over your ass and he notices the mark there, thumb brushing over the small, distinct, marks from his sharp canines, “so that’s why you were looking at my mouth today,” he says to Johnny, who stops mid thrust to arch his neck and get a glimpse at the flesh of your ass and the mark. 

“Yeah, I mean unless those were caused by Mark Tuan-” he stops and looks down at you, “you’re not fucking Mark Tuan too are you baby girl?” he pulls you off his cock just long enough for you to sputter out a ‘no’ before he slides his dick back past your lips, “your teeth are too fucking sharp.” he tells Jaehyun, voice a groan, “should have known better than to leave marks.”

“She loved it, right baby?” he lands a smack to your ass over the bruised bite mark and you moan around Johnny’s cock, “fuck,” Jaehyun groans at the way your pussy clenches around him whenever he inflicts any pain to your skin, “like it when we’re rough huh?” he grips the flesh of your ass harshly before delivering another smack.

Johnny smirks at Jaehyun’s actions, loving the way you’re completely submitting to them both. You’re barely moving anymore, just letting both men manhandle you to reach their own end. You’re loving every second of it and it makes the whole thing even better.

“So fucking tight, how are you still so tight after getting destroyed by us twice this week?” Jaehyun growls, his pace picking up as he chases his orgasm. 

“Don’t you know?” Johnny says breathlessly, “our little cock slut is never satisfied, she always needs more.” his eyes close as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. 

“More?” Jaehyun laughs, “well, you know her best.” he reaches around your front to press his fingers harshly against your clit, a squeal leaves your lips, muffled by Johnny’s cock. 

Johnny decides to do one more sadistic thing that he’s never tried with you before, “deep breath baby,” he warns you, giving you a moment, then he reaches down to plug your nose, cutting off your air supply.  

You choke a little at first, the sensation of no air and having Johnny’s cock shoved deep into your throat makes you clench around Jaehyun, who is immediately thrown off the edge. His moans fill the room as he pounds into you harshly, rubbing your clit until you explode around his cock, only then does Johnny pull you off of him, his own hand replacing your mouth. He works himself to orgasm quickly and you stick out your tongue to give him a target as he spurts his seed on your face.

When he finishes, the room fills with the sounds of panting. 

Jaehyun pulls out of you, watching his cum begin to drip out of your abused hole. He gently runs two fingers along your pussy, gathering his cum and shoving it back into you, earning a moan.

“Daddy,” you look up at Johnny, “I’m really sorry.”

“I know princess, I’m sorry too.” he tells you, getting off the bed and reaching for a shirt on the ground, he gently cleans your face with it, only after realizing it’s Haechan’s sleeping shirt and not his own. 

“I’m not sorry,” Jaehyun says from behind you, hands smoothing over your skin, then he grabs you by the neck and pulls you up so your back is to his chest, his breath ghosts over your skin, “This was great, we should do it again sometime.”

Johnny laughs, his fingers reaching between your legs to find your sensitive clit, which makes you spasm in his friends grip, “Really Jae? you think we’re finished? That wasn’t a punishment, that was just the first round.” 

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