Жадность.

GunGoo fanfic

Silk & Steel

Part I.

The penthouse was silent, save for the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of ice cubes hitting the inside of a crystal glass. Gun Park—the Shiro Oni, the man whose very name made the street gangs of Seoul and Japan tremble—was currently engaged in his most difficult battle yet: trying to enjoy a glass of whisky while Goo existed in the same room.

Goo was sprawled across the white Italian leather sofa like a discarded neon highlighter. He was wearing a silk robe that cost more than a mid-sized sedan and his blonde hair was a mess, all tangled spikes, and he was currently tossing popcorn into the air and trying to catch it in his mouth.

"You missed one," Gun said without looking up, his voice a low, gravelly baritone.

"It’s about the journey, Jonggun-ya, not the destination!" Goo chirped, throwing another piece. This one bounced off Gun’s perfectly tailored trousers.

The air in the room shifted. Gun set his glass down on the marble coaster with terrifying precision. He turned his head, those pitch black-on-black eyes locking onto Goo. Most people would have fainted or trembled with fear. But Goo just grinned, revealing a hint of tongue as he chewed.

"You’re bored." Gun observed, his gaze travelling from Goo’s smug face down the length of his deceptively lean, strong body.

"I’m starving~" Goo corrected, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin on his hands. "We haven't had a good scrap in weeks. Charles is keeping us too busy with those kids. My muscles are literally atrophying. Look! I’m practically a skeleton."

He flexed an arm that was, in fact, toned. Gun felt a familiar, sharp tug in his gut. It wasn't the urge to fight—or rather, it was a different kind of fight.

"If you want to move," Gun said, standing up and unbuttoning his suit jacket, "I can think of better ways to burn calories than throwing snacks at me."

Goo’s eyes brightened behind his framed glasses. He sat up, the silk robe sliding dangerously low off one shoulder. "Oh? Is the great Gun Park offering to play? I don't see any wooden swords, though."

"We won't be needing weapons," Gun replied, tossing his jacket onto a chair. He began to undo his tie, the movement slow and deliberate. "Unless you count your mouth."

The atmosphere in the room didn't just heat up; it pressurised. Goo felt the familiar thrill of danger, but this time, it was laced with a thick, syrupy heat. He stood up, his height nearly matching Gun’s, and closed the distance between them until their chests were inches apart.

"Easy there," Goo whispered, his voice losing its playful edge and gaining a sharp, predatory grin. "You sure you can handle me?"

Gun reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around the back of Goo’s neck. His palm was calloused and hot against Goo’s skin. He leant down, his lips brushing against Goo’s ear.

"You know I’ve spent years breaking people, Goo. I think I can handle one annoying blonde who doesn't know when to shut up."

Gun didn't wait for a reply. He crushed his mouth against Goo’s, and it was exactly like their fights—violent, greedy, and perfectly synchronised. Goo didn't back down; he never did. He surged forward, his hands clutching at the front of Gun’s dress shirt, ripping buttons in his haste to feel the warmth of the man underneath. They stumbled back towards the massive floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of Seoul shimmering behind them like a hoard of jewels. Gun slammed Goo against the glass—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to let him know who was in control.

"Easy there, tiger," Goo gasped against Gun’s lips, a manic grin spreading across his face. "The glass is expensive."

"We own the building." Gun muttered, his hands sliding down to Goo’s waist and hoisting him up.

"Gun..." Goo’s head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut. "You're really... not holding back tonight, huh?"

"I’m tired of holding back with you," Gun said, his voice vibrating against Goo’s skin. "You’ve been teasing me for days. Don't act surprised now."

"Who’s acting?" Goo laughed, though it sounded breathless. He reached down, his fingers fumbling with the belt of Gun’s trousers. "I just didn't think you had it in you to be this... primal. I thought you have a ruler up your ass."

Gun pulled back just enough to look Goo in the eye. He reached up, slowly removing Goo’s glasses and tossing them onto the sofa. "The rules are for the world, Goo. For you? I’m the exception."

Gun carried him to the bedroom, a space that was as minimalist and cold as the man himself—until they hit the mattress. The sheets were high-thread-count Egyptian cotton, black as Gun’s soul, and they felt like water against Goo’s bare skin as Gun stripped the silk robe away.

Gun took his time. He stripped off his own clothes with a practised grace, revealing a body that was a literal map of violence—scars from blades, bullets, and fists. To anyone else, it was intimidating. To Goo, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

"I remember those times~" Goo teased, reaching up to trace a long scar across Gun’s pec. "Especially when you got this one. You looked annoyed and turned on at the same time, especially that scar I gave you in your face."

Gun caught Goo’s hand, kissing the palm before pinning both of Goo's wrists above his head with a single hand. The power dynamic was clear. Gun was the anchor; Goo was the storm. And right now, the anchor was holding firm.

"Talk less." Gun commanded.

"Make me~" Goo challenged, his eyes sparking with defiance.

Gun smirked—a rare, genuine expression that was more dangerous than his scowl. He lowered himself, his weight a heavy, comforting pressure against Goo’s lithe frame.

“Alright then.”

goo looks so good in this pic, how can he be such a twink without meaning to…