Archive of Our Own

Park Jimin hasn’t been around as long as Jungkook has. He just showed up one day, seemingly out of thin air, eyes like liquid tar and body lithe and deadly. He had a stillness, a silence about him that made everyone revere him immediately, though the other agents would never say it. They’d just whisper, in the cafeteria or in the training grounds, talking about how the Viper had taken someone out again.

There isn’t supposed to be a hierarchy amongst them, but rivalry is not discouraged. When Jungkook first arrived as a kid fresh off the streets and scrawny from hunger, a few other trainees made it a point to show it to him, how much it wasn’t discouraged. Jungkook thought it would be nothing new to him, having made his living through underground fighting rings until that point, but he hadn’t realized just how different fighting someone with real training would be. And someone who isn’t off the streets themselves, someone with a healthy, young body determined to run his into the ground. Some of them had been there since they were kids, trained to follow orders ruthlessly.

That day he’d tasted blood and swore he felt something vital puncture within him. But maybe it was what he needed to finally snap free, because as much as it was blood that had spurted out of him that day, it was also the release of all the frustration, all the helplessness and pain the world kept thrusting at him, until he decided he wasn’t going to take it lying down anymore. So the next time he got into that training field, those same trainees found themselves knocked out cold, one by one. He can hardly remember what happened after the first half, thinks he blacked out at one point, but he remembers washing the blood off his entire body and being promoted to the upper division after that. No one tried that shit with him anymore. Not until Park Jimin.

Hired as an assassin—a sniper, to be precise—swift on his feet, stealthy between the shadows, always gets the job done. That’s pretty much all that people know about him. Jimin isn’t one for conversation, doesn’t seem to have any friends. At least, from what Jungkook has seen. He doesn’t sit with anyone in the cafeteria, works out alone. He has an air of self-importance to him. Like he thinks he’s too good to waste his time on them. Jungkook didn’t like him immediately, didn’t like his cat-like manner of walking, the awed chatter that would follow him from the others, didn’t like that he was taking up all the time in the training grounds that Jungkook used to have for himself because he knew no one would be there from two to five in the morning. Now there is, Park Jimin’s lithe body doing drills through the high beams, agile on the bars, the loud pounding of leather boots against metal and his panting breaths filling the echoing room and driving Jungkook mad. He just wants his alone time in the fucking training grounds so he can clear his head, is that so much to ask for?

Apparently, it is. “You don’t own the training ground,” Jimin had said when he spoke to him the first time, sweat slicking his dark hair back and running down the collar of his skin-tight training gear.

Jungkook knows that. But it’s the way Jimin said it, the breathy tone of his voice like he was amused, the way he looked him up and down slowly, that felt condescending. It made him boil with anger, because, really, who does this guy think he is? Anyone here could tell him Jungkook is the real fucking deal of the agency, the head of his division, and he is not to be messed with. Apparently, Park Jimin did not care about that, turning around to jump on the metal beam, swinging his body over to a bar ten meters higher, grasping it with his gloved hands easily, as if he was weightless. “If you’re so bothered, go to any of the other training fields,” he called. “But I need the beams.”

Jungkook felt anger rise up his throat, fists clenching at his sides. “What the fuck are you training so hard for, anyway? Shooting a gun from a roof isn’t that challenging, is it?”

Jimin paused, glancing down at him. “Problem?”

Jungkook was beginning to learn to decipher Park Jimin’s minimal way of speaking, short like he doesn’t want to waste his breath. He was asking if Jungkook had a problem with his particular method of work. And, as Jungkook came to realize in that moment, he had. It annoyed him that Jimin was getting so much awe for doing things the easiest way one could get the job done. Doesn’t even have to get his little hands dirty. So yeah, maybe that's what bugs him so much about Park Jimin. That and his insistence on riling Jungkook up.

“Well, if you’re so much more skilled than me,” Jimin said, dropping to his feet in front of him. “Fight me. If you win, you can have the room.”

Jungkook grinned. That was more his style. “Until when do we fight?”

“Until one of us can’t anymore.”

“You’re about to get your ass handed to you, darling.”

Jimin met him with a grin of his own, probably the most emotion Jungkook had ever seen him exhibit. Something both fiery and chilling in his dark, keen eyes.

It’s also when Jungkook realized that despite having been watching Park Jimin’s intense acrobatic-like, maybe martial-arts based training routine for days, he had been underestimating him. His work is with a gun, for fuck’s sake, what would he need all that agility and strength for?

But in combat, he was something less of a swift, shadowy being Jungkook had imagined him to be and more like a killing machine. There was a cold determination in his eyes as he landed precise punches and kicks to the most sensitive spots of Jungkook’s body, movements so deliberate it was almost inhuman.

He thought Jimin would have no hesitation in killing him like that, right in that moment, that’s how deadset his expression was. It was like he didn’t feel pain, like the blood dripping down his chin and marring Jungkook’s knuckles wasn’t there. All that existed was his goal to beat him.

Jimin’s body was hard against his when Jungkook pressed him down into the floor, locking his wrists up above his head, momentarily shocked that he’d actually succeeded before a spark of something vulnerable lit up in Jimin’s dark eyes, his tongue darting out to taste the blood on his lip like he was shocked to find it there. Jungkook was too distracted by that sudden crack in his machine-like demeanor, so of course he’d slipped away swift as the wind. It was insane. Jungkook had never faced someone so cold and calculated in a fight, like there’s no adrenaline running through his blood, nothing to distract him at all. Jungkook had always been a slave to that adrenaline, to the thrill and fire under his skin when it came down to physical altercations. It was what Namjoon told him was his biggest weakness. He gets too pumped up, loses focus. Jimin didn’t have that problem. Other than that split-second of a crack, he seemed stone cold to it.

“Tiring, pup?” he breathed into his ear, pulling Jungkook’s arm behind him at a painful angle.

Jungkook had gritted his teeth. He was making fun of his given nickname. The Hound. “You wish, Viper,” he’d seethed. Sweat glistened on his skin, blood and bruises marred his face, but Jimin was hardly better, and it only served to make Jungkook more determined. Madder.

The problem was that neither of them won that day. They were going at it until dawn, until the other agents had formed a circle around them just to watch in shock, which had only made it impossible to back down for either of them. Especially for Jungkook. He was not going to lose his status in front of his peers and trainees. In front of the division he leads. It would be easier for Jimin—he works entirely alone. But it seemed beating Jungkook was incentive enough for him.

Then, Namjoon forced them apart. Namjoon used to be the handler of the training department before being promoted to the mission organization department. He’s someone Jungkook had held a low simmering flame for when he was younger and one of the few people who had shown genuine kindness to him. Over time it had faded more into admiration, but it was only that much more of a betrayal when he did not take Jungkook’s side. Sure, Namjoon always follows protocols to the best of his abilities but when it comes to Jungkook, people always noticed he lent him more grace. Not that time.

“That's enough, both of you.” He didn't need to yell. The senior agents were already pulling them apart, and it was only then occurring to him how banged up they’d gotten. Park Jimin’s hair was hanging in sweaty clumps around his bloody face, and his expression was full of nothing but hatred.

Jungkook felt a snarl pulling at the wounds on his own face, and his side and arms were hurting from where Jimin had kicked and punched at him.

“What is this?” Namjoon said. “You don't know better than to hinder our own people?”

A he started it! was already on Jungkook’s lips, his mind always seeming to snap back into his teenage ways when Namjoon is around, but that time, he was too angry, too prideful to do anything but take the scolding. Something hot and blazing fired up in him every time he met Jimin’s gaze. It’s been a long time since someone could take him in an equal fight. He was sort of high on it.

Namjoon gave them both a week’s worth of file sorting duty down in the cold basement, which is hell on its own without Park Jimin doing it with you, telling you which ones you got wrong.

“You gotta read more carefully,” Jimin said, sitting cross legged on the desk as he inserted the file into the shredder. “What if you get rid of some important shit?”

“Most of these are just useless records on people who don’t legally exist anymore,” Jungkook said, looking through the next one. “Imagine if that happened to you, hmm? No one alive to remember you, and if they do, silenced to never talk about you. Scary shit.”

Jimin stilled on the desk, a charged silence between them. “Are you threatening me?”

Jungkook snorted. “If I was, you’d know it, darling. I don’t play word games.”

“Neither do I.”

“Good.”

“So, I’ll say it directly,” Jimin said, voice cold as ice, sending shivers down Jungkook’s spine. “If you say some shit like that again, Hound, I’ll kill you. I don't care if there’s someone around to remember you or not.”

A quiet summer of anger has brewed in Jungkook’s chest, which he’d learn is a natural skill of Jimin’s to ignite. “Kill me?” he snarled with a bitter laugh. “With a bullet? Through a windowpane, from the roof of some nearby building?”

Jimin tilted his head. “Does it matter? You’re dead either way.”

“No, darling,” Jungkook laughed, turning his back to him to shuffle through the files. “Anyone could do that. Someone could do that to either of us right now. If you want me to take it seriously, tell me you’ll do it with your bare hands. That you’ll feel my blood stain your hands and feel no remorse. If you say you’ll do that, then maybe I’ll be more afraid.”

There was a soft click, a press of metal to his nape.

“Like this?”

Jungkook fought a shudder. He hadn’t even heard him move, not a rustle. His heart rate picked up despite himself. Jimin wouldn’t really shoot him, he was sure of it. The agency would kill him, would erase him from existence just like all the files in this room if he’d gone against protocol so much as to kill their most prized agent. Jungkook wasn't being cocky—he is their best, Namjoon tells him. And Namjoon doesn’t lie, nor does he say it to boost his ego. There’s always a twinge of sadness in his hyung’s gaze when he tells him that. Jungkook had prodded him about it once. You’re just…such a bright kid, is the answer he got. You could do so much. Jungkook doesn’t like to dwell on it, and he wasn’t sure why the feeling of Jimin’s gun against him brought it up.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Like that.”

He wonders what Jimin’s expression looked like in that moment. Cold and unforgiving, as usual? Or had that crack of something fiery, more vulnerable, appeared again? Maybe there was cold satisfaction on his face.

Regardless, the coldness on Jungkook’s nape disappeared.

It was then that it became apparent, how this cycle would never end. The reason that little punishment was not going to mend it. Because he couldn’t let anyone get away with pulling a gun on him, especially not Park Jimin.

So the Viper needed to only lower his guard for a split-instance and Jungkook had thrown him into the desk, his body hot under him just like in the training room.

Jimin had made a quiet oomph as his back slammed into the wood, and Jungkook realized he must have hurt more than he let on. His body was probably still covered in bruises, just like Jungkook’s. His face certainly was, though the cut on his parted, swollen lip was almost healed, his breath warm on Jungkook’s skin. Not so machine now, Jungkook thought, with a bit of satisfaction, and maybe a bit of guilt, like the kind one would get at breaking a fascinating thing.

“Don't ever pull a gun on me again, Viper,” he said, voice low in his ear.

“What’ll you do, tell on me to Namjoonie?”

Jungkook froze, partly because of anger and partly because that’s precisely what he was going to do. “The fuck do you know about me and Namjoon?”

Jimin grinned up at him. “He tells me many things about you. He tells me you're the best.”

Jungkook pressed in on him. “And since when do you talk to him?” It's not like he hadn't noticed Jimin lingering near him or Namjoon being exceptionally protective of him, but it was too big of a pill to swallow that Jimin was taking Jungkook’s place in that too.

“What if we do more than talk, hmm?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock and Jimin slipped away from under him. Jungkook’s body was hot with rage, annoyance, betrayal…He hadn’t felt so many things at once in years.

And the Viper never fails to ignite them within him. It’s instinctual, at this point, that his stomach grows hot at the sight of him, usually in his training black gear that hugs his lithe body tight, nothing to snag on whatever walls he’d be climbing. That’s how he is now in the training room, breaths coming hard as he does his pull ups. Nothing left to the imagination in that suit either.

Jungkook’s mouth twists at the ridiculous thought. Punches the bag harder to overpower the sudden sizzling under his skin. It’s been a while since he got laid. He should probably do that, release that pent up frustration before the mission next week. He’s kind of jittery about it.

It’s far from the first time he’s going undercover, but Choi Sonhyun’s underground empire is no joke, even for Jungkook’s usual line of work. Sonhyun’s people aren't just ruthless, they’re cruel, and that’s an important distinction to make when you’re gauging the risks between possibly being killed or being tortured for days until you’re begging for death. Jungkook shudders every time he remembers what that felt like.

He was caught by one of Sonhyun’s people once. A fucking maniac who hung Jungkook by the ankles until he thought his eyes would pop out. He escaped by a stroke of luck, someone from the agency breaking in and getting him out, but he still has nightmares about it. He will be happy to assist in Choi Sonhyun’s downfall, even if killing is not yet a part of it.

The mission is just a gathering of intel. Of people’s names and what they’re there for. Jungkook was the one who cracked down on two of them, a filthy rich couple of corporate executives who apparently had a money laundering deal with Choi Sonhyun, but never actually met him. That’s convenient. That gives them an easy entrance into the evening party hosted by Sonhyun they had so graciously been invited to next week. The party the real Song Jiyeon and Kim Seojoon are unfortunately not going to attend, because they’ll be busy with whatever the agency has decided to do with them. That’s not Jungkook’s problem. His problem is next week’s task.

He’s thinking about that hard enough to nearly forget about the Viper until he’s suddenly in front of him, leaning his hip on the punching bag.

Jungkook’s brow furrows in confusion when he doesn’t say anything, just watches Jungkook continue to punch at the spot centimeters away from his side.

Jungkook is breathing hard, hair falling sweaty into his eyes before he speaks. He tries to ignore him, just to piss him off, but it soon becomes clear Jimin won’t speak until he does. “You here for a show, darling?”

Jimin snorts softly. He always acts like that. Like Jungkook’s taunts couldn’t possibly get to him, but then he snaps and lashes out with all his might. Isn't it time he realized that facade is not believable anymore? “Just wanted to see if you’re prepared.”

“How gracious of you,” Jungkook spits, opening the bottle of water he had nearby. “Am I passing with flying colors?”

There’s a twitch in the muscle of Jimin’s cheek. “Form could use some work,” he says, eyeing the water Jungkook lets soak down his tank top to cool off. “Can’t always rely on brute strength.”

Jungkook grits his teeth. That sounds like it came straight out of Namjoon’s mouth. “Yeah, you’d know,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. When was the last time Jimin had taken someone in a fight outside of the training room?

It occurs to him too late that maybe he’d taken the bait Jimin had thrown just to rile him up, but in that case Jimin himself doesn't take it.

“You were the one who caught those Crescent Moon partners, weren't you?”

Jungkook frowns. No one really refers to them by their guise of a cosmetics company name, so he’s not sure why Jimin does it. But a smug grin grows on his face. “Mad I got to them first?”

Once again, Jimin ignores him. “What were their names?”

“Ah-ah, that’s classified info, darling. You know that,” Jungkook says, feeling pleased with himself, head spinning with all the things he could ask the Viper in return for that information if he wants it so bad. Maybe have him issue an apology in front of his whole squad. That would be good to see. He momentarily daydreams about getting him to do it on his knees, imagines Jimin’s eyes brimming with concealed anger as he looks up at him.

“I’ll find out anyway,” Jimin says, snapping him out of that mental image. “Just like to be prepared early on.”

Jungkook makes a questioning sound. “Prepared for what? They’re having you kill that couple?”

“No,” Jimin says, sounding amused. Pleased, even. That can’t be a good sign.

“Thought you didn’t play word games,” Jungkook says, suddenly annoyed. If the Viper has something to say he should just spit it out instead of looking at Jungkook like he’s a meal to be devoured. That sounds a lot more salacious than it is.

Finally, Jimin shrugs. “I guess you’ll find out soon yourself,” he says, walking away. Jungkook tries not to stare at his ass. “I mean, I’m doing what you told me to. Getting out there. Getting my hands stained.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, watching him disappear out the door before it finally hits him. "You’re doing that Choi Sonhyun mission?”

Jimin doesn’t respond, though Jungkook has no doubt he’d heard him. Fucking viper. Was he just taunting him? Is he really going to steal the mission Jungkook had worked his ass off for up until this point? And take all the credit for it, no doubt.

Jungkook can’t let that happen.

“What the fuck?” he says the moment he storms into Namjoon’s office.

Namjoon gives him a sharp look, finishing up his phone call. “That call could have been someone’s life on the line, Kook.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook whines—teen ways coming forth and all. He doesn't particularly care about that when it’s Namjoon. Doesn’t hide his pout as he slumps into the leather chair in front of the desk. “Why’s Jimin acting like he’s taking over my mission?”

Namjoon’s lips part, understanding dawning on him. That tells Jungkook all he needs to know.

“That’s unfair,” he exclaims. “I was the one who cracked Song Jiyeon and her husband. I bled and fought for that information. I did everything with my own hands. I should get to finish this through. I should—”

“Jungkook, please,” Namjoon starts, hands reaching out as if to calm a wild animal.

“Hyung, it’s an evening party! Don't I deserve an evening party? You told me I was going to be assigned to that—”

“Yes, I did.”

Jungkook doesn’t relent. “Then why did you let him take it?”

“Will you let me finish?” Namjoon says, smoothing the collar of his crisp suit like he needs to gather himself after Jungkook’s outcry. “I already told him you’re doing the mission.”

Jungkook blinks, feeling his face grow warm in embarrassment. “Oh. So, he was just being an ass.” Of course he should have trusted his hyung. There aren't many people who truly care for him, but Namjoon is certainly one of them. “Thank you.”

Namjoon sighs. “Don't thank me yet. I told him I’m not taking you off the mission, but he insisted on doing it anyway.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to protest again, but Namjoon speaks first. “You need a partner.”

“Yes, to play Song Jiyeon…”

Namjoon shrugs. “He said he’ll do it.”

Jungkook finds himself lost for words for a few moments, wondering if maybe he should laugh. “He’ll do it, meaning he’ll pretend to be my wife?”

Namjoon shrugs. “That’s what he said.”

Jungkook stares at him with a confused expression. “What, he’ll put on a dress and a wig?”

“I presume so.”

Jungkook furrows his brow, not knowing what else he expected as an answer. Maybe that Namjoon would say it’s a joke. “He’s just…fine with that?”

“Clearly,” Namjoon says, reaching over for his pack of cigarettes.

Jungkook has trouble wrapping his mind around that visual, though maybe it also has something to do with how he’s never seen Jimin out of his training gear, never mind a…dress. It might fit him well, though. Over his muscle-trained curves and all…God, what’s he thinking?

“But isn’t that too risky?” he asks.

Namjoon’s tone has a sort of defensive edge to it that makes Jungkook feel a bit guilty. “I don’t see how it would compromise anything. There’s nothing in the mission that requires that sort of…particularity.”

Jungkook snorts, rolling his eyes. “You just let him do anything.”

Namjoon pauses with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “He says the same thing to me about you.”

Jungkook grins, leaning his cheek on the table to look up at him through his lashes. “But I’m your best trainee, that’s normal.”

Namjoon makes an exasperated sound, but he's fighting a smile. “That’s why I’m not particularly worried about sending you both. You’re the best we have and are smooth talkers undercover.”

Jungkook snorts. Jimin, a smooth talker?

“Your main issue,” Namjoon continues, “will be having to set your disputes aside, but I think you’ve calmed down enough in recent weeks to keep the mission level-headed. Right?”

Jungkook grins through his teeth, nodding. Truthfully, they’d just gotten better at hiding it. No more intense sparring in front of the entire regiment that would undermine both of their status. They just keep it to the training room at night, or snide jabs here and there.

There’s just something that bugs him about this whole thing. “Hyung,” he asks. “Are you fucking Jimin?”

Namjoon coughs, but quickly collects himself. “You asked me this before.”

Jungkook shrugs, averting his gaze. “You never answered.”

“Because it’s a ridiculous question, Kook-ah,” Namjoon says, half laughing.

Jungkook’s lips tighten. He tries to look chill about it but he's not. “Whatever. Why does he want that mission so bad, anyway?”

Namjoon shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Well, that’s certainly not happening. Even if Jungkook did, he’s sure Jimin wouldn’t answer. He just has to make it through the mission.

…

“Honey, we’re going to be late!” Jungkook calls out as he enters the dressing room, a few of the agents there turning from their mirrors give him an annoyed look or to laugh with him. Jimin, wherever he is, doesn't answer.

“Always know how to make an entrance, Jungkook-ah,” Haewon, an agent who likes to help out with the costuming sometimes, laughs. She’s one of the older ones, but those make the most unassuming spies. “Your suit is over there by the door.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jungkook says, heading in that direction to the suit he knows has been tailored to his measurements. “And where’s my wife?”

She rolls her eyes, pushing his shoulder with her hand. “Oh, you. Hair extensions take time to apply well, your wife is going to be ready long after you.”

“Ah, I see marriage isn't all it’s cracked up to be.”

She laughs, smacking his shoulder again before walking away.

Jungkook finds the privacy curtain, not because he’s shy—okay, maybe he’s a little shy, still—but because he has this strange implemented belief, a ridiculous one probably that if he just changes in front of everyone like they all do, it’ll show him…shell-less. Weaker. He just thinks it’s a lot easier to find someone intimidating if you haven't seen them naked. And intimidation is sort of a valuable resource in this world, much as he likes to joke around and make the most of this normal. If there’s anything working undercover has taught him it’s that anyone could be ready to turn on you. Haewon could have just paid someone to blow his brains out, who knows?

Right now, it smells like perfume and powder, and if he closes his eyes and blocks out the sounds of last-minute gun check-overs, he can almost pretend he really is a person getting ready for an evening party with his…wife.

He sort of still can’t imagine Jimin going through with it, for whatever reason. Half expects it to be someone from the female division to step out from behind the dressing rack after all.

Eventually, the lights of the dressing room are dim, and most people that were initially here are gone.

Growing restless, Jungkook heads in the direction of the private area. His hair has been styled for a while, pulled neatly back around his ears, an expensive watch hanging from his wrist telling him they’ve got time, but not that much.

“Hey?” he calls out. “You ready? What’s taking you so long?” When there’s only some faint shuffling from behind the curtain, Jungkook adds, “There’s no pardon for being late to a mission, you know. The higher ups aren’t the forgiving kind.”

When the curtain is pushed aside, it occurs to him that he hadn’t really believed when Namjoon said it wouldn’t compromise anything. Jimin being his partner.

But, fuck, he almost thinks it really is some random woman from the female division that he just scolded, and not Park Jimin, who is in a black, floor-length evening dress hugging his figure, dark hair reaching down to his waist in long shiny waves, and his lips painted a striking red color. Jungkook had seen his body lines before, the figure of something like a gymnast, rippling muscle beneath his lithe frame, but the way it’s defined by a dress that bares his shoulders and arms makes it stand out all the more.

Jungkook feels his mouth go dry, snapping out of it when Jimin clears his throat. His eyes are blazing, as if daring him to say something.

It makes Jungkook want to avert his gaze, and that’s when he realizes Jimin’s dress is still half unzipped at the back.

“I can’t get it,” he says, twisting his arm backwards as if to prove it.

Jungkook snorts. “You would do anything but ask me for help, wouldn’t you?”

Jimin crosses his arms, looking away stubbornly.

Jungkook throws his head back in laughter. “And still. Come on, darling, all you have to do is ask politely.”

“Where’s Haewon?” Jimin asks, already turning in the direction of the main dressing room.

“Left earlier. Said we have everything we need to get ready.”

He can almost see Jimin’s brain going into overdrive with his choices, before he finally rolls his eyes and turns his back to him. “Zip it for me?” he says, gathering the hair to the side to reveal the expanse of his back.

Jungkook nearly chokes at the sight of it, realizing now why Jimin hadn't wanted to ask anyone for help. There are moon phase tattoos running down his spine, starting up at his nape. But that's not the only thing that catches Jungkook off guard. There are scars—or, one large, lumpy scar marring his back under the tattoos. Some of the skin looks stretched tight around it, like a burn mark. Jungkook stares at it, lost for words. Shit, that must have been so painful…

“You’re gonna do it, or what?”

There’s a snappiness in Jimin’s tone that Jungkook can’t help but read into more than he usually would. There are scars running all down Jungkook’s body, too. Gunshot wounds here and there, stab wounds, cuts, the ones from his time in Sonhyun’s headquarters…but nothing of that sort. If he had something like that, he’s not sure he’d want someone to come near it.

He strolls over to zip up that dress, having to will his hands to be still.

Jimin visibly tenses the moment he touches the zipper, right at the lower curve of his spine. Up close, those scars are even more risen, uneven texture all down his back. Jungkook breathes a curse, pulling the zipper up. Jimin’s back straightens along with the path of it, shoulders pushing back. He’d always had good posture, the graceful kind.

Jimin lets the curtain of hair fall over what isn’t hidden with the low back of the dress, and turns around, nearly bumping into Jungkook from how close he’s standing.

Jungkook had expected there to be that same seething, daring glare in his eyes, but there’s only a spark of something else, something…vulnerable. Jungkook tries to shake the feeling that had come over him off, checking the time on his watch. “No thank you, dear?”

“You really like the thought of me groveling before you, don't you?” There’s a bit of amusement in Jimin’s tone.

“Not any more than you do, darling,” Jungkook says, but his smile fades quickly as he leans in close enough for Jimin to feel his breath against his ear. He’s got dangly diamond earrings on that match the necklace adorning his smooth collarbone. “And you can’t talk to me like that when we're there. Unless you want us both subjected to Choi Sonhyun’s people. And trust me, you don’t.”

Jimin is quiet for a while, watching him with an expression that is frustratingly unreadable. Then he glances over to the corner of the room. “Help me with my shoes.” His voice is smooth and airy, chin tilted upwards as he sticks his leg out of the thigh-high slit in the dress. The creamy smoothness has Jungkook wondering if he’d waxed them specifically for this or if he just normally does that. He likes his own body smooth, so it wouldn’t shock him, but for some reason the sight has him gulping. That’s more of Jimin’s skin than he’d ever thought he’d see.

He rolls his eyes and gets the heeled shoes from where Jimin gestured for them. “You practiced walking in heels before?”

“I’ve practiced walking on twenty-meter-high bars thinner than my finger before.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Just say you have, fucking hell.” He doesn't really know why he kneels down in front of him and puts the shoe on his foot, fingers clasping the silver-lined strap around his ankle. Maybe because he knows if he snaps at him to do it himself they’ll start arguing again and may as well never leave. “You’ve got tiny feet, Cinderella” Jungkook taunts, as Jimin sticks his other foot in the shoe.

“Haha.”

Jungkook looks up, meeting his eyes, and is suddenly very aware of being on his knees with a hand still resting on Jimin’s smooth, white ankle.

A muscle in Jimin’s cheek twitches, eyes charged with satisfaction.

Jungkook hums in thought, taking his fingers off his skin. “You enjoy the sight of me on my knees, don't you, Viper?”

“It’s a suitable position for you.”

Jungkook’s gaze snaps back up to him, but they’re already running late. He sighs and pushes himself up until they’re face to face. The heels aren’t that tall, likely because they didn’t want to create too much of a disparity between them, but Jimin still looks pleased. “I’m taller than you in these.”

Jungkook snorts. “Only the same height.”

“Nope. I’m definitely taller.” He crosses his arms, satisfied smile on his red lips.

“Sure, darling,” Jungkook says, finding it a bit difficult to look away from them. “But we have to go now.”

Jimin tenses up when Jungkook snakes a hand around his back, pulling him flush against himself by the hip.

“Remember to be madly in love with me,” he says.

Once his initial shock wears off, Jimin snorts. “No straight couple is madly in love at this point in their marriage.”

“What a cynical thought,” he exclaims. “If my wife looked like you, the flames would certainly never die.”

“Haha.”

Jungkook grins, because Jimin only does that taunting deadpanned laugh when he has no response.

Jimin must have been truthful about having practiced walking in heels—well, not quite what he said, but Jungkook had come to discern it for that meaning—because he seems to have no problem click-clacking through the hall in them, a furry coat-thing draped over his elbows elegantly as he turns to look back at him. “You coming? Or you here for a show?” he taunts, reminding him of his words a week ago. That’s another infuriating thing about Jimin. He never fucking forgets.

In the car that smells of new leather and the mixed scents of their perfume and cologne, Jimin is deathly still. His eyes are trained straight ahead at the road, city lights hiding the moonlight. Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s too quiet, though maybe he’s just getting into the mood for a mission.

When Jungkook stops at the stoplight, he turns to look at him, the light casting a glow over his pale cheeks and shoulders, red reflecting in his eyes.

“Scared, Viper?” Jungkook says, trying to sound nonchalant. “Not the same as a gunshot from a distance, is it?”

Jimin turns his face to him slowly. “You think you’re better than me because your method of killing is more personal?” he says, tone quiet. “What a thing to be proud of.”

Jungkook can only scoff to try to hide how much it strikes a chord. He forgets this isn’t normal. But Park Jimin doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. Jungkook doesn't kill—usually. He may have brought a lot of people close to it, but it’s not typically part of his job. But again, Jungkook thinks, what a thing to be proud of.

Fuck, this is why he can’t stand the Viper. He has the ability to slither into his head until the hissing in his ears won’t stop.

“Why did you want this mission?” Jungkook asks, because he’s annoyed enough to risk it. He glances over at Jimin briefly, who has gone back to staring at the road.

“What does it matter to you?”

Jungkook snorts. “It doesn’t. Just don’t mess it up for me. We’re getting real close to closing in on Choi Sonhyun’s drug empire and I can’t wait to bust that bastard.”

“You’re already mistaken.”

Jungkook pauses, looking over at him. “Oh?”

Jimin’s eyes are distant and cold. “Drugs are not their main selling point.”

A chill comes over Jungkook’s body, head filling with images of something much worse. “Prostitution? Human trafficking?” There have been signs, but nothing substantial to back it up so far.

“In a way,” Jimin says, and Jungkook suddenly has to urge to ask how he knows and if it has anything to do with those scars on his back. And tattoos. Crescent Moon, moon tattoos…Could it be? Jungkook shudders, willing his head to clear.

“We're here,” Jungkook says, pulling up into the mansion’s courtyard, where other expensive cars are already stopping, parking workers taking their keys as they stroll up the stairs in their stilettos and dress shoes and twinkling jewelry. Overall, dressed much like the two of them. The lights are lit up through the courtyard, a huge fountain spurting water five meters into the air. It seems to be some sort of luxury hotel.

Jimin has the headboard mirror pulled down to reapply his red lipstick with a determined gaze. It stains his plump lips the color of blood and Jungkook imagines if he was really his husband and were to lean over for a quick kiss before getting out of the car, it would leave a mark on his own easily.

Jungkook sighs and opens his car door, gulping down the cold night air. He walks over to the passenger side and swings the car open, reaching out a hand to help Jimin up. “Shall we, darling?”

Jimin gives him a seething look before clasping his hand, palm shockingly soft in Jungkook’s hold. Those gloves must really work to keep his skin from blistering on the hold of a gun or swinging off a metal bar.

He pulls him up too roughly, laughing as Jimin fights to keep himself from falling into him. “Careful there, dear.”

Jimin pushes himself off his chest before clasping his arm and leaning close to speak into his ear. “Don’t try anything stupid if you want your hands intact, dear” he hisses.

A chuckle shakes Jungkook chest, but a simmer of irritation grows in him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

Handing the keys to the parking boy and walking up the lavish stairs with the click of Jimin’s heels by his side feels a bit more satisfying than he’d expected. Has him feeling like a rich man, all the world in his hands.

At the entrance, a man in a suit with a name tag asks for their invite, which Jimin retrieves from his little clutch bag, Song Jiyeon’s and Kim Seojoon’s names in looping font under the crescent logo. The man checks something off on the computer screen, and then they’re asked to hand over their electronic devices. Jungkook raises a brow to Jimin, but they have no choice but to listen for now. Jungkook doesn’t bring his personal phone on missions—that would be foolish if he lost it and someone found something they shouldn’t on there, and he’s sure Jimin is the same. The man raises a brow at the cheap, disposable things they hand over, but doesn’t say anything.

“No pictures, huh?” Jungkook ponders once they’re inside.

The large hall is as grand as the outside, with a crystal chandelier hanging low over the marble floor filled with lightly conversing individuals. There’s live musicians, too, playing classical music that isn’t really Jungkook’s thing but still somehow tugs at something in his chest. Some couples are dancing to the music, some mingling amongst each other.

“We should speak to some of them,” Jungkook says, catching up to Jimin when he walks ahead of him. “And can you at least look at me? I think a husband and wife would at least be friendly to each other.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Jungkook releases a frustrated breath. If he’s here he should be giving his utmost best to this performance, not be snarky with him. Jimin’s breath hitches when Jungkook takes his waist and pulls him close against him, speaking into his ear. “You wanted this mission. I know partner work is not your shtick, but you got yourself into it, and you need to suck it up and deal with it. So be nice to me, darling,” he says, voice hushed and lips tickled by the hair falling over Jimin’s ear.

When he pulls back, Jimin’s gaze is averted, a shred of guilt in his expression. Or maybe it’s just Jungkook’s wishful thinking.

Jimin gestures vaguely to the dancing area. “Maybe we should…um.”

A smile cracks over Jungkook’s face as he clasps his hand, leading him in that direction. “Thought you’d never ask, dear.”

Jimin makes a disbelieving huff as Jungkook pulls him in by the waist, swaying them to the music. “This is just fun to you, isn’t it?”

“Why not?” Jungkook says. “It’s not every day I get to dance with a beautiful woman under a crystal chandelier.”

Jimin lets out a little surprised sound as he dips him backwards, hands clawing at Jungkook’s suit.

His hands are on Jimin’s small waist, the muscle rippling under that tight dress, and Jimin is loosening surprisingly easily as they dance, responding to his light swaying. But of course that’s not why they’re here.

“Do you recognize anyone?” Jungkook asks into his ear.

Jimin freezes momentarily.

“Like, anyone important? Or someone that should be with us?” he clarifies, pretending he didn’t notice his reaction.

Jimin’s head moves against his shoulder, seemingly scanning their surroundings. “Some CEOs and b-listers,” he says, briefly listing their names. “And—oh.”

Jungkook furrows his brow when he cuts off, pulling away to look back in that direction.

Jimin’s suddenly frozen still, staring into the crowd with a focused expression. It's impossible for Jungkook to make out who exactly he’s staring at.

“Who is it?” Jungkook asks him, suddenly serious.

Jimin ignores him, beginning to walk in that direction.

Jungkook feels anger seize him, catching his wrist to stop him. “You can’t just walk off without saying shit.”

“Hands off me, Hound.”

Jungkook grits his teeth, but when he looks around, a bunch of people are looking their way, some with pitiful expressions. He drops Jimin’s wrist. “Where were you planning to go—oh.” He’d only seen Choi Sonhyun’s face in pictures. A man in his fifties with a friendly-looking appearance, just like now as he sips wine and shakes hands with some of the people. Jungkook knows in secret he’s anything but.

“Hey—we’re not here for him,” Jungkook says, much as it pains him. “Not yet.”

Jimin turns a seething glare at him, so fast his hair whips around with the force of it, but doesn't have the chance to reply, because that’s when they're approached by a few women, their husbands trailing behind with wineglasses like socializing is the last thing they want to be doing.

They introduce themselves, and Jungkook tries to put on a friendly demeanor, shaking the men’s hands and pulling Jimin into his side in an attempt to signal to him to loosen up. “Pleasure to meet you,” Jungkook says. “I’m Kim Seojoon, and this is my gorgeous, lovely wife, Jiyeon.”

Jimin, thankfully, seems to melt in his hold, giving them a little smile and bow that Jungkook never would have thought he’d see coming from him.

One of the women gasps, hand coming up to her face. “Song Jiyeon! We met some years ago. Wow, you’ve lost weight.”

Jungkook fights a laugh, watching Jimin grin through his teeth, head low as if he’s shy. “Oh, yes! Hello.” He’s pushing his voice to a thin, high strand that hangs quietly in the air. Jungkook is almost impressed.

Jimin doesn’t talk much, keeping almost behind Jungkook most of the time, which doesn’t seem to go noticed by the others. It’s kind of sad. Or it would be, if Jimin was genuinely feeling shy and not just trying to fade into the background for the sake of the mission. No doubt he’s just mentally taking tabs on every single thing they say. Thankfully that woman doesn’t seem to really recognize Jimin, though. If anything, it’s more likely she's trying to suck up to who she believes is the rich, powerful Kim Seojoon and Song Jiyeon.

Jungkook finds himself drawing out easy conversations, trying to gauge which of them know what. After all, just because they're here doesn’t necessarily mean they’re in the worst of it. For all they know, these people may just be here for the actual cosmetics, much as his gut tells him otherwise.

Some of the men trail their eyes down Jimin’s body in a way that makes Jungkook’s stomach twist, grip tightening around his waist. But there are women eyeing Jungkook, too, though they have the decency to at least not do it in front of their husbands. Like the woman who keeps loudly laughing at every word out of his mouth.

Jimin’s hand on his arm suddenly squeezes so tight he must leave an imprint with his maroon-painted nails, and it’s all Jungkook can do to not hiss out in pain in front of everyone. He just shimmies his arm out of his grip, meeting Jimin’s surprised gaze. He’d been staring off into space again and must not have realized he’s doing it.

“Is everything okay, dear?” he asks, rubbing his arm down Jimin’s arm. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Jimin snaps out of his daze, leaning into him with a tight-lipped smile. “Just tired, honey.”

Jungkook hums, obviously not buying it. His eyes scan the room for Choi Sonhyun.

“Aww, I wish my husband took care of me like that,” one of the women says, sending a glare to a man who’s busy talking to one of the others.

“Jiyeon’s one lucky girl,” another woman—the one that’s been blatantly flirting with Jungkook—says.

Jimin’s face twists momentarily. “You only say that because you don't see him every day.”

Jungkook nudges him with an offended sound. “Oh, she's just teasing. Right, dear?” he says through his teeth.

“No,” Jimin says, tilting his chin up to him in a challenge. “You’re stubborn as a bull and you snore.”

Jungkook’s face flames red, looking around nervously, but it only has everyone laughing good-naturedly and praising “Jiyeon” for being “oh so funny”.

“Well, you know what, darling, you’re not that much of a peach yourself,” Jungkook grumbles.

“Yet you still married me, so…” Jimin draws out the sentence, putting up his hand with the ring and wiggling his fingers.

The women gush over the ring, and there’s definitely satisfaction in Jimin’s expression, as he continues to hold it out for them.

Jungkook snorts to himself. “Why did you marry me then, if I’m so bad, hmm?”

Jimin shrugs an elegant shoulder. “For money.”

A woman chokes on her drink, dabbing at the spill with a napkin.

Jungkook feels a strange sort of challenge rise up in him. Oh, Jimin thinks he can embarrass him with that? Jungkook can do better than that. “That’s fine,” he says, yanking Jimin flush against him and making him yelp. “I only married you for your ass.”

Someone else makes a scandalized sound, but it’s followed by more laughter.

“Well, certainly not my tits,” Jimin says without missing a beat.

Jungkook flushes, prompting more laughter. Maybe Namjoon was right. Jimin is a smooth talker when he wants to be.

The flirty woman makes a sound of choked laughter. “Not much there, is there? You could’ve gotten some implants with that face lift.”

Jimin’s eyes widen in disbelief before turning into something a lot more targeted. Jungkook almost laughed, not because of the jab, but more at the idea that this woman thought she could so blatantly try to embarrass Jimin as though that would mean anything to him. But Jimin turns to stone in his hold, his glare sharp and deadly.

Jungkook clears his throat, jostling Jimin a bit to try to shake him out of it again before he actually decides to kill this woman.

“Oh, she’s a natural beauty, this one,” he says, and when that doesn't work kisses him on the temple. It sounded insane in his head and it’s even more insane doing it, but it gets Jimin to look at him. “Right, dear?”

Jimin’s red lips part, silent for a moment. “I need a drink,” he says, and turns without another word, heels clicking elegantly on the marble floor.

Jungkook frowns and brushes off the woman who starts to talk to him to rush after him. He finds himself growing mad again. If Jimin is going to be such a pain he really shouldn’t have come here.

He finds him, of all places, on the grand staircase leading up to the second floor, sitting down with a glass of what looks like whiskey in his hand. In the other is what seems to be an open hand mirror. His legs are practically all out due to the wide slit in the dress and Jungkook has an image of doing something gentlemanly like taking his jacket off and laying it over his thighs. Also, because he can clearly see the strap of a knife around his thigh—because of course he has that.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook says instead. “You can’t just sulk all night.”

“Just-for fuck's sake, shut up already.”

Jungkook is shocked to hear the strain in his voice. Shocked more when he notices the red around his eyes that the dark eyeshadow couldn’t hide. He doesn't know what he’d expect to feel if he’d ever see Park Jimin cry, because he never thought he’d see something like that. Jungkook throws his hands up. “I didn't say anything—”

“You’ve been doing nothing but mocking me all night.”

Jungkook’s brows fly up. “What? I didn’t mean it any differently from what we usually do. And so have you!”

Jimin rolls his eyes, finishing his drink with a gulp, which Jungkook is once again shocked to see him do, mostly because he never thought someone so calculated and precise in a fight would drink on the job. “Whatever.”

He crosses his legs, laying the furry coat thing on his thighs and opening that mirror again. Jungkook sees now it’s actually face powder.

Jimin snorts softly, as if seeing something funny. “I look a lot like my mother like this.”

Jungkook feels a bit wary, wondering what he's exchanging this information with him for. She must have been beautiful is on the tip of his tongue, and he doesn't know where it came from. Well, it's just a matter of fact. Jimin’s face may be something he associates with the fieriest of rage in the pit of his stomach, but that doesn’t mean it's not beautiful, with his plump lips and rosy cheeks and those striking eyes.

“She alive?” Jungkook asks, though he’s sure the answer is no.

Jimin raises a brow at him. “If she was, I wouldn’t be here.”

Jungkook shrugs. “My parents are. Last I checked, at least. But that was when I was a teenager, so maybe things changed, I don't know.”

Jimin looks surprised. “I thought the agency was full of orphans.”

“You can be disconnected from the outside world without being orphaned.”

Jimin narrows his eyes, but Jungkook is tired of talking about that. “You going to finish this?” he asks, pushing himself up and holding out a hand.

Jimin eyes it momentarily and chooses to ignore it. “I’ll be back.”

Jungkook sighs in exasperation, moving out of his way. He should have known Jimin was not going to be cooperative, but he didn’t expect him to be purposely so. Especially after insisting on doing this.

Jungkook goes to the bar for a glass of wine, sipping it with something dull in his chest. Jimin’s voice is still in his head.

“Where’d your wife go?”

Jungkook slides his gaze over to the man who’s sitting next to him, one of the ones he’d been speaking to earlier. “Fixing her mascara,” he says, wondering if there’s some sign on him to suggest he made a lady cry.

The man claps him on the back and takes a big gulp of his drink. “Ah, you’re one lucky guy with that one. I wish mine still took care of her body like that.”

Jungkook scoffs. What an asshole. He almost snaps that he’s not exactly a catch himself to be talking like that about his own wife and that he should also keep his eyes to himself, but he exercises restraint. “Sure am,” he says.

“If Choi Sonhyun's around, I bet you could really luck out. I wouldn’t miss the chance.”

Jungkook furrows his brows in confusion. “What?”

The man must sense the growing irritation in his tone, getting his arm off his back. “Not the sharing kind, I see. Hell, I don’t blame you, with a piece of ass like that. You should probably avoid him then.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, about to prod more as to what the fuck that means, and if it’s really what he’s thinking, but someone else enters the bar.

A big man, somehow even bigger than Jungkook remembers him, if that's possible, with a permanent expression of hatred in his eyes. Sonhyun’s main weapon, the Giant. That’s what they call him. But big as he is, Jungkook now knows better than to think him slow or imprecise. He can be extremely deliberate, especially when it comes to hanging his victims up by the ankles and cutting into the most painful areas they never even knew they had.

Jungkook shudders at the sight of him, the urge to get off the chair and flee almost impossible to resist. He digs his heels into the ground and tries to keep his head low.

The memories of it keep coming, though. He’d spent days trapped there, but it felt like weeks as the Giant squeezed him dry for any information he has. Or, tried to. Jungkook doesn’t even remember if he told anything. He’d gone in confident that even if he was ever caught, he’d never crack. That whatever these people could do to him would not be a fraction as bad as what the agency would do if he revealed anything. But by the next few hours that thought wasn’t there anymore. Only the need for it to stop, the fear of what’s to come.

Days he thought he’d die—begged for the release of it. It wasn't the only time he thought he wouldn’t make it, but he thinks that was the only time he really meant it. Days until the agency finally found him, and the sweet relief of freedom nearly made him sob. Everything from that day is a blur, but he thinks he remembers the way someone gripped his torso and half-dragged him out of there, the sounds of gunshots around them. The smell of something like metal and bergamot on whoever it was that got him out of there. It all flashes through his head at the sight of the Giant, and then, suddenly they’re making eye contact.

Jungkook snaps his head to the ground, heart racing. Did he recognize him? Last time he saw him, Jungkook was in fighting gear, not an expensive suit. He really hopes that means something.

The Giant gets up without finishing his drink.

Shit.

He doesn't go in Jungkook’s direction, but down the hall. Shit.

Jungkook stands up to follow him. He can’t risk him telling Choi Sonhyun Jungkook is not supposed to be here.

But when he rounds the corner, he’s lost sight of him.

Jungkook looks up and down the hall and gives up. Nothing he can do about it now. He just hopes the Giant didn't actually recognize him. Sighing, he heads into the bathroom on his right, figuring he might as well.

As soon as he enters, he’s slammed into the wall so hard his ears ring and his vision goes temporarily white. A hand fisted in his hair yanks him back up, pulling it back so far it’s painful on his neck and spine.

“Been a while, hasn’t it, pretty boy?” the Giant says with a sadistic grin.

…

Jimin walks through the lavish, dimly lit hall, padding lightly over the carpet. He’d considered taking the heels off, but they don’t hinder his silence as long as he’s on the carpet, which he’s glad for because it would be too disgusting to go barefoot.

So far, Choi Sonhyun doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

Jimin keeps to the corner, the entire hallway empty save for the two men conversing in polite tones. Jimin remembers the other man faintly. He was a frequenter in the Crescent headquarters, used to keep his eyes out for the trainees he liked best.

Jimin watches him take a briefcase from Choi Sonhyun with a nod, and they shake hands.

He wants to know what’s in it, but the man is already walking away in the opposite direction to Sonhyun.

Jimin frowns, gauging his choices. Will he have the opportunity to get close to Sonhyun again? But…something in him tells him to follow the man with the briefcase, whatever may be in it. He can’t imagine now would be the time to exchange cash, but even if that’s all it is, Jimin is going to need it after tonight.

His back itches, and he knows it’s all in his head, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

He shakes the feeling off and waits a few moments before following the man, watching him enter his hotel room.

Jimin snaps his mirror open and fixes his makeup, tossing his hair a bit to make it look more sensual. Then he knocks on the door.

It swings open almost immediately, the man giving him a surprised once-over. “Sonhyun sent you?”

Jimin nods, and the man steps aside to let him in.

“Come, sit down,” he says, walking around the room and picking up some things scattered through it. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Jimin looks around, eyes drawn to the briefcase on the desk.

“You like champagne? Wine?” He’s taking his jacket off, and Jimin’s eyes are drawn to the band on his finger.

The man follows his gaze, face reddening, whether in embarrassment at being caught or genuine shame, Jimin doesn’t particularly care. He’d only strayed on it because it reminded him of the ring on his own finger and that he should probably have taken it off. Not something one of Sonhyun’s whores or assassins would have. He should have accounted for that earlier. He’s not very level-headed right now, and it's probably not entirely fair, but he blames the Hound. Being near him always puts him in the most irrational of headspaces, the need to get the job done overridden by the need to prove something to him. That arrogant, cocky bastard really gets under his skin, and he doesn’t quite know why. It’s not like Jimin to lose focus for squabbles he knows are immature and useless, but there’s something about him that gets him hot and ready to explode.

The man approaches him, apparently forgoing the champagne without Jimin’s answer, eyes trailing down his body again.

Shit, Jimin doesn’t want to kill this man, but if it really gets that far, he’ll have to find a way to stop it without giving up his cover.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” the man asks, pushing a strand of Jimin’s hair away from his face.

“Jimin.”

“You’re quite an unconventional beauty, aren’t you, Jimin?”

He shrugs, his skin crawling. “If you say so.”

The man's hand slips to the straps of his dress, surprising him when he braces his shoulders and flips him around so that his back is facing him.

He brushes his hair away from his back likely to get access to the zipper, and Jimin doesn't need to guess why he curses in surprise.

“What the…”

“Is it a problem?” Jimin asks, knowing he’s looking at the scars.

The man waits a few moments before wrapping his arms around Jimin’s front and pulling him against himself. “No.”

Jimin can’t help comparing it to a few moments ago, when the Hound had been right up against him in front of all those boisterous rich people. Somehow it didn’t feel at all like this.

Panicked, Jimin looks around the room, eyes landing on the door to the lavish bathroom, the tub nestled in the floor. “Can we have a bath?” he asks.

The man pauses, then his lips quirk into a smile. “Sonhyun keeps you lot spoiled, doesn’t he? Wait here, then.”

Jimin sighs in relief when he heads to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon following.

Glancing behind himself to make sure the door is still cracked, he goes to the desk where the briefcase is laid.

His hands fly to open the clasp. When he swings it open, at first he’s only met with layers of papers. There are names, and—if Jimin had been normal, he would have gagged—pictures of their corpses. Proof of a job done. Receipts. There are so many. This man must have had a lot of enemies, and doing this, hiring Sonhyun’s hitmen over and over, just makes the list grow. Jimin imagines he’ll never be able to put Sonhyun’s services behind if he wants to stay alive. People always think once the one person is dead, they’re safe. They don't account for the ones they leave alive. It’s why the agency has to erase everyone they can if it comes to killing. Else they will come back for vengeance. It’s a never-ending cycle. Sonhyun doesn’t care for that, though. Not because he’s clumsy, but because that’s what keeps these people trapped and continuing to pay him.

“Find something interesting?”

Jimin doesn’t even get to turn around before the man slams him down against the desk. “That’s it, who the fuck sent you?”

Jimin struggles, trying to slip out of his grip, but the man’s large hand finds his neck, crushing his windpipe.

“You think I haven’t dealt with bitches like you before?”

Jimin’s head is reeling, but his hand finally reaches what he’d been looking for in his pocket, hand shaking so much he may drop it.

The man grips his wrist, yanking the object out of his hand. “Oh, no you don’t—” He cuts off when he sees what it is, grip on Jimin’s neck suddenly loosening.

Jimin coughs as he sits up, sucking in lungfuls of air.

“Lipstick?” The man suddenly looks awkward, avoiding Jimin’s gaze. He hands the cosmetic back to him, as if unsure what to do with it.

Jimin takes it, uncapping the lid to blindly reapply it, as ridiculous as it is in the moment. It probably serves him to look even more innocent right now. Then, he uncaps the other end, showing the blade and drives it into the man’s neck artery.

Blood sprays out and covers his hands. The Hound wasn’t wrong in taunting him for it. Jimin can’t stand this part. It reminds him of working for men like this, and it was the one condition he asked for when joining the agency. That he’d be a sniper as often as possible, the only exceptions he made of going into the line of fire being for his own piece of mind, which suddenly reminds him of Jeon Jungkook. He may despise the Hound, but he doesn't want someone else killing him, especially not Crescent people. That would just feel insulting. They already took everything from him, they can’t take his one dose of annoyance too. Because, as much as Jungkook makes flames of rage rise inside him, it’s often the only thing that reminds Jimin he’s human.

He doesn’t see him in the main room, so he goes looking down the halls. It doesn’t take long until he hears the sounds of fighting.

…

Jungkook fights the urge to throw up as the Giant throws him into the tiled floor. He barely has the energy to be disgusted at the fact that this is a bathroom, before a heavy boot smashes down on his back, flattening him against it.

Jungkook groans in pain, hand reaching for the inside of his coat for the gun he brought with him. He doesn’t get to, the Giant pulling his arm back.

“Thought you’d left for good. Glad you came back. We didn't finish a lot of the things I had planned for you.”

Jungkook grits his teeth and twists around enough to kick the man in what he hopes are his balls.

He hears him cry out in pain, his grip loosening, and Jungkook rips himself out of it, trying to get his vision to clear. His heart pounds with that adrenaline he knows so well, and he takes the gun out with a quick motion.

It’s his hesitance to shoot—he knows it will only get people to come investigating—that gives the Giant the ability to whip it out of his hand, the metal skittering across the floor.

Jungkook feels his fists move on their own accord, landing on the man’s torso and jaw. He takes them too, a punch to his stomach sending him backwards into the sink. It’s an expensive kind of bathroom, with dim reddish lighting and vases on the sink counter, the stall doors all wooden. The punch sends him into the vases, shattering them.

He sucks in a painful breath, vision going red with anger. “I’ll fucking—kill you.”

The Giant makes a doubtful sound, approaching him with heavy steps.

Jungkook kicks him with all his might, digging the point of his dress shoe under his ribs. He reaches for the gun again, and that’s when the door bursts open.

They both turn to stare at Jimin for several seconds.

His eyes are wide in shock, and he looks slightly disheveled, hair ruffled and breaths fast like he’d been running.

“Miss,” the Giant says, pushing against Jungkook, “you are not in the right washroom.”

“Oh,” Jimin lets out. “Sorry. Carry on.” To Jungkook’s horror, he turns around and begins to walk away.

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, but before he can call out and curse him, Jimin snaps into action, reaching under his skirt for that knife Jungkook had seen earlier and lunging for the Giant.

He dodges, grabbing Jimin’s wrist in a way that swallows it up, surely painfully though Jimin’s expression doesn’t show it. His hair whips around as he kicks his legs up and swings himself over the Giant’s shoulder, and they both fall to the ground with a painful grunt.

Jungkook makes to grab for the gun, but when he turns around, the Giant has got Jimin in a tight grasp around his middle, restraining his arms and holding his neck in a huge fist. It seems Jimin had made the same mistake most people do with the Giant—that he’d be slower or messier.

“Got you, little birdie,” the man says into Jimin’s neck, making him let out a frustrated sound as he struggles against him.

“Get your hands off my wife!” Jungkook calls as he points the gun, nearly grinning to himself. He’d always wanted to say that phrase.

Jimin has it in himself to roll his eyes.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you, pretty boy,” the Giant says, pressing that knife into Jimin’s throat. “What is this, a married couple of agents?” he laughs to himself, making Jimin cringe away from his breath. “Oh, that’s so funny. I’ll be sure to have fun with her once I’ve taken care of you. Maybe I’ll keep you two in the same room.”

A cold shudder spreads through Jungkook’s body, the images filling his head making him nauseous.

“You failed last time and you will this time,” Jimin says in a cold tone. Before Jungkook can blink, he moves at the speed of light, using the man’s own arm as leverage to lift his legs up and twist himself to kick him with the point of his heel.

Jungkook’s face twists in sympathy, especially when it comes away bloody.

The Giant pauses, eyes widening as he stares at Jimin’s face. “You.”

“Was hoping I’ll never see you again,” Jimin says, elbowing him in the stomach.

Jungkook furrows his brow in confusion.

“Thirteen,” the Giant says, laughter shaking his chest. “To think, I didn’t recognize you last time. Of course, who else could have succeeded in breaking into our base? You stole my toy before I was done with him, Thirteen. And you fucking shot me.”

Something in Jungkook’s head begins to put the pieces together. Breaking him out. If he's talking about Jungkook, the scent of bergamot when someone had saved him from the Crescent headquarters makes sense. But that would mean Jimin saved his life.

“Does Sonhyun know you're alive?” the Giant laughs.

“He’ll find out soon enough.”

“Oh, he’s gonna have a fucking heart attack when he finds out you did the same thing as your mommy.”

Jimin punches him, teeth gritted. “Don’t talk about my mother.”

Blood is dripping out of the Giant’s mouth and nose, but that doesn’t stop him from grinning. “He’s gonna be mad. I know he’ll let me do all sorts of things to you, just like he did to your momma and papa.” His smile is nasty, and Jungkook doesn’t miss how Jimin tenses. “I’ll do the same to you and your hubby here, wouldn’t that be fucking poetic? To think, you’re supposed to be dead.”

“Things aren’t always as they seem.”

The man gives Jimin a once-over, expression of disgust on his face obvious. “Clearly. Are you a man or not?”

“People like you are funny, Twenty-One,” Jimin says, stalking around him on the tiles floor. “My gender isn’t what you should care about, but that I’m your worst nightmare. I am vengeance itself. I’m your killer.”

That has panic rise in Jungkook’s chest. “Jimin, you can’t. It's against orders.”

Jimin turns a seething glare to him. “He knows who we are. We can't let him live now.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I know, but if we go against orders…” He doesn’t need to tell Jimin what will be done to them. The Giant is a key player in Sonhyun’s game. Killing him now would send him after their entire agency. It needs to be staged more strategically, erasing their tracks.

Jimin, with his tossed, sweaty hair and lips stained red doesn't seem to understand that. Or maybe he just doesn't care. Why did he come here today? Jungkook gathered that Jimin used to work for Crescent, apparently enough to know the Giant personally. But what’s his goal in coming back after escaping?

As Jimin stands, clearly distracted by Jungkook, the Giant moves toward him with clear intentions, and Jungkook doesn’t think before shooting.

“Shit,” he says as the man falls back, blood seeping out of his chest.

Jimin looks shocked for a moment, before leaning down to grab him, dragging his body into one of the stalls—an impressive feat, considering the size of him.

“Help me out, will you?” Jimin says, breathless.

Jungkook swallows, feeling a little dazed. “We have to…find a way to cover it…”

“Screw that. We’ll be gone by the time they find him.”

Jungkook shakes his head, finding it difficult to think. “They’ll…if they find out I killed him, they’ll…”

Jimin curses, finally meeting his gaze. “Tell them I did it.”

Jungkook stares at him in shock. “What? But—”

“Just clean the blood off the floor for now.”

Jimin closes the stall door, then takes a hairpin from his hair to pick at the lock until he hears it click closed.

“How do you even know how to do shit like that?” Jungkook asks, using the paper towels to dab at the little blood that liters the floor. Most of it was absorbed by the Giant’s clothes before Jimin dragged him into the stall, where he’s most likely bleeding out for good.

“My mom taught me.”

Jungkook pauses where he’s washing his face, trying to make his banged-up face more presentable. “What’d she do to Sonhyun that was that bad?” he asks.

“Ran.”

“Ah, that’ll do it.”

Jimin nudges him aside with his hip to get to the other sink, and Jungkook can’t help staring at him through the mirror, like it's going to help him figure him out.

Jimin notices, their eyes locking in the mirror momentarily. “Problem?” he asks, smoothly.

Jungkook snorts, averting his gaze. “What, I’m not allowed to look at my own wife?”

He expects a snarky haha, but instead Jimin slides in between him and the counter, looking up at him with a challenging smirk. “I didn’t say that, dear.”

Jungkook feels a thrill run through his body, as it tends to every time Jimin meets him head on. He doesn't know why he feels the need to say it, but he doesn’t know when else he’d have the chance. “It was you who got me out of the Crescent headquarters.”

Jimin looks at him with a dull expression. “And?”

Jungkook feels angry for no reason he can discern. “You didn’t say anything,” he grits out.

“Why would I?”

Because Jungkook would have. If he’d thrown himself into the enemy’s base to save Jimin’s ass, he’d never let him forget it. Hell, especially with the way Jungkook had been taunting him for doing things from a distance ever since the moment they first spoke. It would have been so easy to shut him up with that. Hell, he’d probably never say shit to Jimin again.

But maybe…that’s what Jimin didn’t want. Maybe he needs this constant tug-of-war between them as much as Jungkook needs it.

“It was a mission, like any other,” Jimin says. “Don’t think anything else of it, Hound.”

“You never took a single mission that wasn’t an assassination, and you expect me to believe that’s all it was?” Jungkook presses, hands coming down on the counter around him. “Why’d you take it?”

Jimin shrugs, but Jungkook can feel his breath hitch against his own skin. “I knew I was the only one who could do it.”

The scent of bergamot, the way Jungkook had clung to him trying to stay conscious… Don't die, you bastard, we’re almost there…Hang in there, pup.

Now that he thinks back on it, it was definitely Jimin’s voice. And who else would say that? Jungkook feels both embarrassed and triumphant, like he’d caught Jimin in something. He chooses to play on the latter, grinning into Jimin’s face. “No, darling. I think you wanted to save me.”

Jimin snorts softly, but the fact that he averts his gaze tells Jungkook enough. “Right.”

Jungkook hooks a knuckle under his chin, forcing him to look at him again. “Ah-ah. Admit it. You didn’t want me to die. You risked your skin to save me.”

The challenging fire returns in Jimin’s shiny eyes. “No, darling. Admit it. You needed me to save your ass. I want to hear you say thank you.”

“But I thought it was just a mission,” Jungkook says in faux confusion. “That you were assigned. Why should I thank you for doing your job? Unless you did it for me, that is.”

Jimin’s red lips are parted in disbelief, eyes narrowed in irritation. “Hound—”

“Yes, darling?” he says, grinning through his teeth.

Jimin’s eyes flicker lower on his face, and it sends a spark of heat through his body. Maybe it's still the adrenaline running through his blood, the knowledge his worst nightmare is finally dead, but something makes him want to kiss him. He wouldn't with Jimin, though…that would be ridiculous. But God, does he want to.

There’s a click of the door handle. The two of them have a split second to look at the broken vase on the floor and their disheveled state, eyes flickering to each other in panic, before Jimin wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss right before the door opens.

Jungkook groans into his mouth, the taste of lipstick tangy on his tongue, Jimin’s mouth soft as silk as he moves to practically devour his, no doubt leaving red all over the lower half of Jungkook’s face.

Jimin moans, no doubt exaggerating as he pulls him against himself, wrapping his legs around Jungkook’s hips in a way that makes heat stir in his core and prompts him to put his hands in his hair, yanking him closer. He grips the backs of Jimin’s thighs and lifts him up onto the counter, pushing him against the mirror. It makes Jimin groan in surprise, the sound going right to Jungkook’s crotch as Jimin’s hands grip his jaw. Their actions are certainly unrestrained enough to have knocked some vases down, and he hopes the person who walked in takes it for that.

He almost forgets about them, forgets about everything with Jimin’s tongue on his, until there’s a sound of approaching footsteps, and Jungkook almost groans in frustration, because is this guy kidding? How is this not enough to make someone take the hint? And fuck, why is his first thought to get him to leave so that they can continue this privately?

He grips Jimin’s bare thigh under the slit of the dress, the muscle rippling under his touch as he slides his hand higher. Jimin’s hands are climbing up his nape, the taste of him intoxicating. It sends heat rushing right to his cock. Fuck.

The person who'd walked in clears their throat. The kind that’s supposed to let people know to pay attention to them. “Pardon the interruption.”

What an asshole, Jungkook thinks as he and Jimin part, breaths heavy and hair disheveled.

But when Jungkook turns and actually sees who it is, he freezes.

Choi Sonhyun is standing there with a polite smile on his lips, hands clasped in front of him.

Jimin stares at him from beneath a curtain of hair, hand squeezing Jungkook’s arm.

Jungkook sees Sonhyun’s gaze trail down Jimin’s body, lingering at where the strap of his dress had fallen off his shoulder. He slides it back up for him, fingers tingling where they meet the skin. Internally, he scoffs at himself. Yeah, Kook, now’s the time to be a gentleman.

“Hope I’m not being a bother,” Sonhyun says, clearly not caring if he’s being a bother. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

Jimin doesn’t look like he's planning to answer, half-burying his cheek in Jungkook’s shoulder. He wonders if he’s trying to hide his face. “It’s a lovely night,” Jungkook says.

“Glad you think so. I’m Choi Sonhyun,” he says, reaching out a hand for a handshake.

Jimin doesn’t move his head off Jungkook, watching the man from beneath his hair.

Jungkook clears his throat, jostling him as he twists to shake his hand. “Kim Seojoon. This is my wife, Jiyeon.”

“Ah, I remember your name, yes,” he says, and Jungkook hates how he says it all while staring at Jimin. His mouth has a pleased grin, eyes hungry as they drag down his frame. “Well, aren’t you just a unique specimen, Jiyeon?”

Jungkook has the urge to cover Jimin up, as ridiculous as it is. As if he really is his husband or something. “Listen, we were already about to leave,” Jungkook starts, voice harsher than he’d intended. It probably doesn’t sound threatening at all with lipstick smeared all around his mouth. Jimin’s isn’t much better, and he reaches for a paper towel and wets it to start cleaning himself up, not realizing he’s doing so to Jimin too, until he gives him a funny look and takes the towel from him.

“Leaving so soon?” Sonhyun asks, in a tone that suggests he does not intend to let them go that easily. “I would have liked to spend some more time with Jiyeon, though.”

“That’s a shame, we weren't planning to stay long,” Jungkook says, taking Jimin’s hand to lead him along.

“Let me be frank, then,” Sonhyun says, now looking straight at Jungkook. “How much do you want for a night with her? Name a price, it’s yours.”

Jungkook nearly chokes, anger building up in his gut. So this is what these men do? Sell their women to each other for personal gain? “You fucking degenerate,” he starts.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough.” Sonhyun clears his throat, a polite smile still on his face. Jungkook wants to punch it right off. “I could make life very difficult for both of you. I don’t want to do that. In fact, I’d much rather make it better for you. With just this one favor, hmm?” he says, eyeing Jimin.

Jungkook clenches his fists, seeing red.

“Okay,” Jimin says.

Jungkook widens his eyes at him. “What?”

Jimin meets his eyes briefly, a cool expression on his face. “Let’s take it.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, trying to decipher what he’s thinking. Jimin’s expression gives nothing away. The lipstick stained around his mouth that he didn’t quite wipe off looks like blood. He looks somewhat like a vampire right now, long-limbed and dark-haired, and out for blood. Jungkook trusts that he’s out for blood, but he’s not sure if that’s a comforting or scary thought.

Reluctantly, he nods to Sonhyun. “Yeah. Fine.”

He smiles, not seeming surprised. “Come along then, dear,” he says, reaching to Jimin.

Jungkook takes Jimin’s wrist, meeting Sonhyun’s eyes daringly. “I’ll come with.”

Jimin turns to him with a raised brow, but Sonhyun doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems pleased. “Suit yourself. You can even watch, if you want.”

Like hell, I will, Jungkook thinks, gritting his teeth. There’s no way Jimin is planning to go through with it. Jungkook is not so keen on finding out how this man would react to Jimin having a dick. He does have a dick, doesn't he? The bulge in that training gear sure looks like it. Not that Jungkook looks often. But sometimes, with Jimin’s lithe frame moving in such a fascinating way through the bars, muscles straining against his skin-tight suit, it’s hard not to take in every single detail of him.

They go upstairs, to Sonhyun’s suite, presumably.

He tries to make easy conversation, pouring wine, like this isn't new to him. Clearly it isn’t. Jungkook tries not to squeeze the wineglass in his hand too hard, but it's difficult. His other arm moves around Jimin’s waist, squeezing his shoulder like that’ll make him give him a sign as to what he should do. Jimin doesn’t.

“Song Jiyeon, Song Jiyeon,” Sonhyun says to himself, like he’s thinking. “Ah, I know we haven’t met before. I would have remembered.” He sets his glass down, walking over to them to stand over Jimin. He drags a knuckle down his cheek, Jimin’s eyes piercing as he looks up at him, body still as a machine. “But it feels like I’ve seen you before.”

“You’re right,” Jimin says in a smooth voice, standing slowly. “We haven’t really met. But you’ve seen me.”

“Is that so?” Sonhyun says, eyes dragging down Jimin’s form when he approaches him. When he stands in front of him, his hands brush the hair away from Jimin’s back.

It gives Jungkook a view of those scars, moon tattoos embedded down Jimin’s spine. The wrinkly hand on that zipper he’d done up himself earlier that night makes Jungkook grit his teeth. Whatever Jimin is planning to do, he really hopes he carries it out quickly.

“And you’ve met someone I knew,” Jimin continues.

Sonhyun raises a brow. “Oh? Who could that be?” He’s clearly confused as to why Jimin is saying this, hand pausing on Jimin’s arm.

“My mother and father.”

Sonhyun furrows his brows.

“You knew my mother well, see?” Jimin says, tilting his head. “She worked under you for a long time. But she hated it, so she ran away with all that secret knowledge. Han Jiwon, you know her. My father you didn't know. But you killed him anyway.”

Sonhyun stares for a moment, then something seems to dawn on him. “Thirteen…”

“Park Jimin. And I’m here to kill you.”

Jungkook barely has the time to catch his breath before Jimin kicks Sonhyun against the coffee table behind him. The man groans in pain, reaching for something in his suit. Jimin doesn’t let him, crushing his palm with his heel.

“It's fitting, isn’t it? You get killed by the very person you forced to be a killer. While I look like a person you killed.” The empty grin on Jimin’s red lips is borderline terrifying. “It's come full circle.”

“You fucking bitch—”

Jimin yanks the man’s head up by his hair, stepping on his back. “Call me that again, come on. It’ll be the last thing you say.”

“I should’ve killed you too,” Sonhyun grits out. “When you were just a twelve-year-old brat.”

“Yes, you should have. But the money you made from me was worth more, wasn’t it?” Jimin says. “Now you’ll be the one who pays.”

He does something that makes Sonhyun scream, maybe pressing into a particular spot on his back.

Jimin’s head whips around to the door, then to Jungkook. “Gag him.”

Jungkook is frozen for a brief moment before moving, stuffing the man’s own tie into his mouth. He struggles under Jimin, but a blow to his head knocks him out. The thick sound against the floor doesn’t even make Jimin wince.

Jimin takes out his knife, expression unforgiving as he raises it to stab into the man under him.

Jungkook catches his wrist, making his eyes widen with shock and then irritation. “Hound—”

“You can’t. Jimin, you can’t. They’ll kill you if you do it—”

“Not all of us are puppets,” Jimin spits. “No one tells me who to kill anymore.”

Jungkook grits his teeth, because maybe he’s not wrong in regard to them being puppets, but it’s all Jungkook has. Once you're in this life, you can’t cop out. Jimin’s own mother was proof of that. “Jimin,” he says, voice breathless. “He’s not worth it. Your parents are dead. What’s it going to do for you?”

“You tell me,” Jimin drawls. “How did you feel after killing Twenty-One?”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, because the answer is relieved.

Jimin lunges to finish Sonhyun off, and Jungkook sees no choice but to tackle him to the ground. Or he tries to, but Jimin gets the upper hand, throwing him back and making his back hit the floor.

Jungkook doesn’t even get to suck in a breath before Jimin slams his foot down on his chest, the heel digging into it like a warning.

“Don’t test me, Hound.”

Jungkook groans, a smile growing on his lips. One thing he knows how to do is get under Jimin’s skin, get that steel guard to crack. “You wound me, love. Hitting your spouse is wrong. This sure gives me a view, though,” he says, gaze gliding up Jimin’s thigh, bared by the way his knee is hitched up.

“I said don’t test me—”

Jungkook grabs his ankle and pulls it from under him, making him yell as he falls back against the couch. It’s almost endearing, how Jimin clearly didn’t have his guard up. He was basically playing with him.

They roll around on the carpet, Jimin struggling in his hold. The long hair whips into Jungkook’s face, and he briefly wonders how expensive those extensions are. They are quite sturdy, especially when he grabs a fistful and pulls Jimin’s head back, holding his wrists up above his head.

Jimin groans in pain, panting under him. Something in his eyes suddenly softens. Maybe Jungkook is imagining it, but he could swear there’s a flicker of something in them. He takes the chance, catching his lips in a kiss just like Jimin did earlier in the bathroom.

Jimin freezes for a moment, before letting out a soft breath and kissing him back, rough and fierce as before, swallowing his tongue and sucking his lower lip, grazing it with his teeth.

Jungkook groans at the feeling, the hint of pain going right to his cock, stirring to life in his pants. He curses into Jimin’s mouth, who throws his head back as he sucks down his neck, down to that necklace at his collarbone. His skin is soft and smells of perfume and bergamot. Tastes of sweat and something sweet.

Jimin is restless under him, mouth parted in quick breaths. When he frees his hands, they fist in Jungkook’s hair, a bit painfully.

He meets his eyes, that spark that passes between them and sends heat down to his cock so familiar to him.

“I’ve thought about this,” he breathes, satisfaction obvious in his voice. “What it would feel like to make you gasp.”

Jimin sucks in a breath, and then he’s flipping them over, pushing Jungkook’s body into the floor as he straddles him. “Haha.”

“I’m sure you have, too,” Jungkook says, Jimin’s lightning speed and strength sending a wave of arousal through him. “You’ve thought about me on my knees in more ways than one, haven't you, darling?”

“Shut up, Hound.”

Jungkook groans, yanking him down over him. “God, you fucking hate me so much you can’t live without me.” He kisses him again, hands frantic over Jimin’s body, trailing up his waist and hips, thighs and arms.

Jimin lets him, hands just as rough on him, hips rolling on top of him.

Jungkook’s cock jumps at the friction, and his hands find his ass, pushing him down harder. “Fuck—”

“You made me fucking mad, Hound,” Jimin says, voice breathless. “Coming between me and my revenge? Really?” He laughs to himself. “I wouldn’t let anyone else get away with it.”

Jungkook leans in to speak against his ear. “But I’m not anyone else. And that makes me wonder—who am I to you, Viper?”

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass, Hound.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a smile. “I’m about to be.”

Jimin’s eyes widen like he’s realizing what he just said.

“If you let me, of course, darling.”

Jimin’s fingers tighten on his shoulders. Jungkook can tell he's trying hard to resist, his teeth clenched. Then, his mouth quirks up in a disbelieving smile. “You wanna be inside me?”

Jungkook shivers. “Yeah.” A few hours ago, he would not have admitted that. But hell, he can't help that his entire view on the Viper—on Agent Thirteen—has changed. All that training, that deathly determination in him—it suddenly makes sense. All this time he’d been working with a clear goal in mind, to end those that ruined his life. In a way, he’s right that Jungkook is a puppet compared to him. Just letting life string him along, following orders and barely caring what they mean. Namjoon’s words come back to him. You could do more, is all. Not here, not bound to them. You’re such a bright kid. It felt soul crushing to hear at the time—like his hyung didn't think he was meeting his expectations. But maybe now he sort of understands it a bit more.

Jimin surprises him by standing, grabbing his tie and yanking him upwards. Jungkook gasps at the feeling pulling at his neck, already thinking of how he can return the favor.

Jimin looks at the tie with mild interest. “Maybe I’ll use it to tie you up.”

Jungkook snorts. “I’m horny, but not stupid. Nice try.”

Jimin glares when he cups his face, squeezing his cheeks in a way that makes his lips puff out. “And you are just so cute pretending you don’t want to fuck me.” He pecks his lips, pulling away.

Jimin watches him for a moment, before turning around and strolling in the direction of the bedroom, head turning back to Jungkook in a way that makes him wonder if he's about to get fucked or eaten.

The thrill under his skin only grows stronger, and he follows.

The depravity of nearly killing a guy and then having sex in his bed is not lost on him, but, well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing Jungkook has done, and Jimin’s ass may well be worth it. Plus, this is a hotel room. It's not just one person’s bed.

Jimin’s back is facing him, not turning even as Jungkook approaches him. It feels like it means something, that Jimin allows himself to turn his back to him, though maybe that’s just Jungkook’s throbbing dick talking.

“You never say my name,” Jungkook says as he presses against him, hand gripping his hip. “I’ll make you scream it.”

Jimin lets out a low chuckle. “You talk a whole lot for someone who was just about to let himself be cuckolded.”

“I don’t know what that word means.”

There’s a small, amused huff from Jimin that stops as Jungkook’s fingers move to his zipper, fingers trailing over the hem of the dress, brushing the skin there.

When he gets no reaction, he raises a brow. “You can’t feel anything here, can you?”

Jimin looks back in question before seeming to realize what he means. “Oh. No, not really.”

“Is that why you got the tattoos there?” he asks.

Jimin snorts. “You really think I’d be afraid of a bit of pain?”

Jungkook shrugs, even though Jimin isn’t looking at him.

"Is it ugly?"

The question comes smooth, as though it doesn't matter either way, but Jungkook can't imagine Jimin would say anything at all if it didn't matter. "You think I don't have scars of my own, darling?" Jungkook says.

Jimin huffs a laugh and before Jungkook can finally work past the excitement buzzing in his veins to unzip that dress, Jimin flips him around, pressing his back into the bed.

Jungkook looks up at Jimin as he climbs over him, long hair falling to brush alongside Jungkook’s collarbone.

“Until one of us can’t anymore?” Jungkook says, growing hot as Jimin’s hands press down on his chest.

Jimin’s lips quirk up. He slides back down his chest to stand on the floor and places one leg next to Jungkook’s side, looking at the shoe pointedly.

Jungkook snorts. He supposes he can take it off, too, since he put it on. He sits up, taking Jimin’s ankle to unclasp it. “There, Cinderella,” he says, placing a kiss on his inner thigh just to taunt him.

Jimin brings his other leg up and Jungkook repeats the process before kicking off his own shoes. Then he takes Jimin’s waist and yanks him down on top of him.

Jimin falls into him with a breathless sound, chest to chest. Suddenly his fingers are pulling Jungkook’s clothes off, yanking the suit jacket apart to slide it down his shoulders and dragging his hands down his front to yank the shirt out of his pants.

Jungkook pulls him down for a kiss, their mouths hot and wet on each other as their hands move frantically over their bodies.

Jungkook’s palms slide under Jimin’s dress, gripping handfuls of his tight ass.

Jimin groans, rubbing his crotch into him.

Jungkook tries to find the zipper on his back again, but Jimin pushes his wrists up above him, giving him a strong look. Then he unbuttons Jungkook’s shirt, impatiently tugging on it until it pulls apart, baring his torso.

Jimin pauses on top of him momentarily, hand flattening against his chest, lips parted in something like awe.

“Never seen abs before?” Jungkook says, mostly to hide his squirminess. Showing skin, that’s not something he’d expected to do in front of the Viper. Like he'd imagined, it does feel vulnerable.

Jimin snorts, other hand coming up to his chest, both squeezing his pecs. “Who says it’s your abs I’m looking at?”

Jungkook shivers. Arousal simmers under his skin, and it’s all he can do to not grind up into Jimin’s ass, which is sitting snug over his cock.

“Stay still, pup,” Jimin says, and leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth.

Jungkook makes a choked sound in his throat, back arching off the mattress and into his hot mouth. Fuck, he’s so damn sensitive there.

Jimin’s sucking mouth has no mercy, nibbling on him with his teeth and leaving faded red lipstick marks around it. Jungkook moans, throwing his head back as his hips chase release.

Jimin lets go with a pop. “I said stay sti—”

Jungkook pushes his tongue into his mouth, one hand gripping his hair, the other digging into Jimin’s thigh.

Jimin makes a moaning sound in his throat before seeming to snap out of it and pushing Jungkook back into the mattress again. He’s breathing hard, his face flushed pink, and Jungkook does feel a little proud of that. Not so machine now.

Jimin reaches for something on the nightstand and Jungkook sees that it’s a bottle of lube. “Did you find that here?”

“It wasn’t the worst thing in those drawers.”

Jungkook snorts, but it dries in his throat when he sees Jimin undress from beneath his skirt. It’s actually torturous to not be allowed to just take it off, see him all bare. Jimin must know that. His smug gaze tells him he's teasing him purposefully.

Jungkook won’t cave and ask for him to take it off. No, he’ll just bear this throbbing in his cock.

“Do you want a condom?” Jimin asks him.

A shiver breaks out on his skin. “Do you want my cum in you?”

“Can you just answer?”

“No,” Jungkook says. “I’m clean.” He’s not really sure why there’s a sudden trust between them, other than they both just want to believe each other, and it will have to do.

Jimin climbs on top of him again, drizzling the lube onto his fingers, the fluid shimmering in the light. Then he reaches behind himself, frowning in concentration before his lips part, telling Jungkook he found his entrance.

Jungkook curses under his breath, wanting to see what his doing, wanting to touch him.

He reaches behind him, hands climbing up Jimin's thighs to where the dress is bunched up around his hips, and Jimin lets him grope his ass, squeezing the fat in his hands.

He finds Jimin’s own hand there, feeling it tense as he moves a finger in and out of himself. His breaths come faster now, arm moving more obviously.

Jungkook groans and grinds up into him to alleviate the pressure in his hard cock, making Jimin bounce on top of him, face twisting as he likely drops farther down on his fingers.

Jungkook really can’t take it anymore. He finds the lube and drizzles it on his own hand, Jimin watching him with hooded eyes. Then he wraps an arm around Jimin’s back and yanks him down against himself before finding his hole with his finger and sliding it inside alongside Jimin’s.

Jimin cries out, mouth open against Jungkook's neck as he squirms.

Jungkook pushes his finger deeper, making him whine and work his ass back into it. His own hand doesn’t pull out, instead moving quicker inside himself, fucking into his hole and making him pant into Jungkook’s skin.

So Jungkook follows his cue, fingering him open with the same speed, until Jimin’s body is rocking on top of his own and he has to tighten his grip around his back and push him into himself to keep him still.

Jimin cries out as he strokes a spot inside him, reaching deeper this time, and lets his own hand slip away.

Jungkook grins against his hair, ramming his fingers into the tight heat until Jimin’s squirming and moaning on top of him, the actions sending shockwaves to his own cock, which is hard and straining against Jimin’s front.

Jimin’s thighs are wide open for him, twitching and shaking in overstimulation as his own hardness grinds against Jungkook’s stomach. It would be so easy to tell Jungkook to slow down, but it’s like he wants to prove he can take it. Fuck.

Jungkook slips his three fingers out, panting himself despite not having been the one getting finger fucked. His cock is throbbing, especially when Jimin rises on shaky elbows and looks at him in shock. Like he doesn’t know where that had come from.

Jungkook doesn't get to think of something to say before Jimin slides down and unzips his pants, pulling his cock out without undressing him. A thrill runs in his body at the thought of fucking in these lavish evening clothes.

“You sure you’re ready to take me?” Jungkook taunts as Jimin’s lips part at the sight of him, hands lightly wrapping around his girth. “No wonder I talk a lot, hmm?”

Jimin rolls his eyes, hand gripping his length and stroking it languidly, the rings on his fingers cold against the hot skin.

Jungkook tries not to groan and buck into his fist, but his breathing gets heavier.

“You won’t talk so much in a moment,” Jimin says, climbing over him again until his ass aligns with his cock.

Jungkook sighs at the feeling of soft skin on the top curve of it, Jimin grinding his ass back into it a few times before finally reaching back to grab his cock and align it with his hole.

He keeps their gazes locked as he slides onto it, lips parting as his hole stretches around it.

Jungkook fights not to moan as the silky wet heat of him engulfs him, sending shockwaves of pleasure washing over his entire body.

He grips Jimin’s hips, fighting the surge to buck into him.

Jimin doesn’t take him fully before raising his hips and coming down again, a bit deeper this time.

It makes Jungkook groan, hands tightening on his waist.

Jimin’s face is twisted in concentration, breaths coming hard. He does it again, hands braced tight on Jungkook’s chest as he pushes off it to move his hips on top of him. Expertly rolling his hips over Jungkook's cock, until he’s fully bottomed out and Jimin’s eyes are rolling back.

Jungkook’s head falls back as the silky heat clenches around him, cock throbbing.

Jimin doesn't wait to bounce on top of him, taking him over and over with hitched breaths falling from his lips. He looks gorgeous like this, face flushed and concentrated, thighs already trembling despite his years of harsh training. He rides him like a lifeline, hair swinging around him with the force of it.

Jungkook rolls his hips into him, making him throw his head back with a moan. It's too tempting to ignore. Jungkook weaves that hair around his fist and pulls his head back, sitting up to suck at that bared neck.

Jimin moans as he sucks marks into him, ramming his cock into him as much as he’s able to, one hand gripping his ass so tightly he’s sure it’ll leave his fingerprints behind.

Then he flips them and pushes Jimin into the bed, holding him tight against himself as he fucks him full force, fistful of that hair still in his grip.

Jimin cries out as he pushes him onto his stomach and rams into his ass, unable to hold back anymore. Jungkook kisses down his neck, his back, even though he won’t feel it there.

“Fu-ah!” Jimin cries out as he repeatedly slams into that spot inside him.

Jungkook curses, feeling heat wash over him at the sound. “Say my name,” he says breathlessly, thrusting into him. “God, say it, Jimin.”

Jimin’s cheek is pressed into the bed, his mouth nearly drooling. He’s so damn pretty. “J-Jungkook—Oh!”

Jungkook moans, a grin growing on his face as he goes faster. “Again.”

“Jungkook, fuck—”

“You’re so fucking tight, Viper,” he says with a grin he can’t even control. “So tight around my cock.”

He slides his hand up Jimin's thigh, bunching up the dress at his back just to see how his ass takes him. Soft and stretched open for him. He curses, his hair falling sweaty into his eyes, the gel they’d put into it long worn off.

He's close, he can feel it. “Oh, fuck, darling, I’m gonna—”

Jimin gasps as Jungkook hooks an arm into his elbows and pulls him up on his knees.

He fucks into him like that, skin slapping against skin, bringing his other hand around Jimin’s cock and stroking it in pace with his own.

Jimin moans, head falling back against his shoulder.

Jungkook spills inside him with a burst of pleasure, groaning into his skin. He pulls out before the spurts of cum can stop, just to watch it spray onto his back, moon tattoos soiled with his release. He finishes himself off like that, panting over him as he covers his ass and back in cum, some of it spilling out of his winking pink hole.

“Fuck,” he groans with a shudder.

Jimin has turned to watch him with half-lidded eyes, cock still hanging hard between his legs.

Jungkook reaches for it, wrapping himself around his back, getting himself sticky with his own cum. Jimin’s pink cock is hard in his palm his breaths getting shorter the more he strokes it until he, too, is spilling all over his knuckles.

They take some time to breathe, skin sweaty against each other, air filled with a sense of disbelief.

As he lies on his back, catching his breath with an arm thrown over his forehead, a smirk grows on Jungkook’s face. “You said my name. I knew you would.”

“I wonder how clearly you’d be able to think with a cock up your ass.”

“You’re free to check, darling,” Jungkook drawls, gaze half-lidded and body satisfied.

He’s surprised when Jimin climbs in front of him, settling between his legs.

“Hmm? Oh. You’re taking me up on that,” he says, suddenly flushed.

“You were just balls deep inside me, and now you’re blushing, pup?”

He is. He's not sure why, maybe just because he’s still not recovered from his last orgasm a few minutes ago. “You’re seriously ready to go again?” he says, eyeing the spot between Jimin’s legs, covered by the dress. “Are you a machine?”

“ ‘Until one of us can’t anymore’ ,” Jimin taunts, and it sends a shiver down Jungkook’s spine, cock already stirring in interest.

Fuck, he does love things inside him, though. Never thought said thing would belong to Park Jimin, though.

“Are you done?” Jimin asks, gaze sliding towards the door.

Jungkook grabs his wrist like he’s about to run away. “I didn’t say that.”

“Ask for it, then.”

“Just fuck me, Viper.”

Jimin smirks. He moves to undo Jungkook’s pants fully, sliding them down his thighs. His hands occasionally fondle Jungkook’s soft cock, making him whine.

When he hears the click of the lube bottle, a shiver runs down his spine, and he spreads his legs.

One of Jimin’s hands grips at the meat of his thigh as he licks his lips. Then he leans down to suck at it, sending sparks of pleasure from his wet mouth.

It occurs to Jungkook his body is covered in red lipstick marks, some more faded than others from when it had already been rubbed off. Jimin’s own mouth is barely stained anymore, the skin around it a bit pink.

Jungkook gasps when he feels his hands spread him open, those lips mouthing their way to his cock, which is stirring in interest.

Jimin's fingers circle his rim, dipping into his hole as his mouth wraps around the head of his cock, suckling lightly.

Jungkook moans, head falling back against the pillow.

Jimin bobs his head on his dick for a few moments until its growing hard, before finally pressing a finger inside him.

Jungkook gasps, feeling himself make room for the finger moving in and out of him slowly.

The sight of Jimin mouthing down his dick as he fingers him open makes him moan, sparks of pleasure climbing up his spine.

Soon there are three fingers stretching his hole, and Jungkook is so overstimulated he’s tearing up. “Come on,” he groans. “Hurry. Just fuck me.”

Jimin grins into his hot skin, pulling his fingers out of him with a slippery drag. “Okay, pup.”

He turns around and makes Jungkook unzip his dress, finally slipping it off himself. His body is toned to the gods, smooth skin rippling with muscle. His cock stands fucking gloriously. With the long hair, he resembles something of a long-lost god.

And when he fucks into him, Jungkook finds himself awed by the sight, gasping as he stretches him open. Jimin fucks him slowly—torturously, like he wants him to remember it.

“F-fuck,” Jungkook gasps out into the pillow. “Please, just—faster.”

Jimin grins, continuing to rock into him slow and deep until it’s all he can feel, the drag against his prostate hard and deliberate.

“Jimin—” He grabs at his hips, and Jimin takes his wrists and slams them above him before finally fucking into him as hard as he needed, until Jungkook is moaning and there are sparks in his vision.

Jungkook grits his teeth as he plows into him, hips almost graceful with how expert his motions are.

“You feel good, pup,” Jimin breathes into his ear when he leans down. “So much nicer when you're cock-drunk.”

“Ah!” he cries out, spilling all over his stomach without even a touch to his cock. He’d been too pent up, too desperate.

Jimin continues to use him until he cums inside him, too, the warmth filling him and making him sigh in satisfaction.

Maybe it's the post-sex daze, but they lie pressed against each other, Jungkook’s cheek against Jimin’s shoulder. “Was that better than fighting?”

Jimin snorts. “You tell me, pup.”

It was to him, but he doesn’t say that. “You know why they call me the Hound?” he says.

“Because you’re a bitch.”

“Because I bite,” he says, jokingly pressing his teeth into Jimin’s shoulder.

He doesn’t expect the low chuckle coming from him no more than he expects the way Jimin’s hand finds his for a brief moment.

He finds himself looking at those tattoos, tracing the one on his nape with his finger. “It's ironic you got moons,” he says. “I’d probably never wanna look at them again after that.”

“They're a reminder,” Jimin says quietly. “I was fifteen, getting sent on that job. Was small, so they told me to climb into the boiler room and set off—” He swallows, and Jungkook squeezes his shoulder to signal he doesn’t have to keep talking. “Well, I wasn’t fast enough.”

Jungkook remembers his own teenage days. His parents didn’t kick him out until he was seventeen. Then he’d found his way to the underground fighting rings and that’s how they found him. Battered and bruised, and with the rage of an abandoned kid pumping through his blood. It was easy to get him to turn that rage outward. Jimin never even stood a chance, a blank slate to turn into killing machine. “Thank you,” Jungkook whispers into his nape, head not quite there. “For saving me.”

Jimin is quiet for a long moment. Jungkook thinks he must think Jungkook is asleep when he answers quietly. “You’re welcome, pup.”

Jungkook thinks he dozes off for a few moments, everything not quite there. When he becomes more aware it’s to the sound of Jimin’s footsteps, outside of the bedroom.

Somehow, he has a suspicion of what he’s going to do before it actually happens. So, when he hears the sound of a closing door and walks out to find Sonhyun’s body with his throat slit, he’s not surprised any more than he is to find all traces of Jimin gone.

Of course, he thinks. Of course he’s not going to stay with the agency. They’ll be after him now. Tell them I did it suddenly makes sense.

Jungkook is pulling his clothes on after using the shower in the suite when he sees the briefcase on the nightstand that he’s sure wasn't there before.

When he opens it, he’s sure Jimin must have left it for him. Evidence. Jungkook has an idea of what Jimin wants him to do with it.

When he gets back to the headquarters, he has no choice but to tell them what Jimin did. They’ll find out anyway and he doesn't think Jimin cares for him to hide it. He’d moved along to whatever else it is that’s on his plan. Something tells Jungkook he wasn't quite done.

It’s no surprise when his new mission comes in. Find the Viper. Kill him.

He goes to Namjoon, knowing he gave him that mission for a reason. He gives him the briefcase. He’ll know what to do with it.

Namjoon has an expression on his face, like he’s deep in thought as he stares at him.

“Hyung…” Jungkook starts on his way out the door. “Did you know? What he was going to do?”

“I…suspected.”

Jungkook ponders that for a moment, then nods, heading out the door.

Then, he prepares for the hunt.

…

Jimin is no stranger to climbing out of windows from dozens of floors up, but it’s not usually he’s being chased by several gunmen. Typically, he’s a lot stealthier than to let himself get caught, but this got messy. He snuck in and shot him with his bodyguards right outside and they rushed in immediately. But it's another name crossed off Jimin’s list.

He slides along the thin ledges, gripping onto the windowsills and ducking beneath them. The drop below is seven stories high.

Jimin’s hair whips around his face in the wind, having grown chin-length at this point. He kind of liked how the extensions looked on him, like something mystical, so he’s been growing it out ever since, but judging from how the shots are ringing out, maybe he won't get to grow it out fully after all. His gear is zipped up to his chin, but the air is still cold as he ducks into a nook by a balcony.

Someone grabs ahold of his elbow, making his heart skip as he’s yanked into a room, the door swinging shut.

Jimin takes out his gun, but there’s a click pressed to his temple first.

“Shh, darling, you don’t want them to catch us, do you?”

Jimin’s eyes widen briefly. Of course. The Hound is there, all decked out in his stomper boots and leather gear. His hair is messy in the way that always reminds Jimin of a puppy that had shaken out its furs. “They sent you for me?” he says, already knowing the answer.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, shaking his head in shame. “You left so fast, darling. Without even saying goodbye. How was I supposed to tell the kids mommy and daddy are divorced—”

“Hound—”

Jungkook throws his head back laughing in a way that makes Jimin wonder if he’s lost his mind. Though maybe that’s hypocritical. Jimin is far from sane himself.

“God, I missed you,” he says, squeezing Jimin’s cheeks with his thumb and forefinger.

Jimin is too shocked to yank his head out of his grip.

“No wonder I couldn’t find you. Wasn’t expecting the hair,” he says, taking a strand between his fingers. “It suits you.”

“What the fuck are you here for?” Jimin snaps, ignoring how his proximity sends sparks of heat through his body. “Just kill me. Or is it a fight that you want?” he asks, trying not to sound excited. He can't help it. He’s been on his own ever since he left the agency, body going through the numb motions of survival, and there is no one to give his body that surge of adrenaline like the Hound always does. It's coming back now, filling him up with sparks of heat.

The Hound grins in that annoyingly cocky way of his. “I was getting to that. You left before I could even ask you a question.”

Jimin furrows his brows.

“You need a partner?”

For a moment, Jimin is lost for words.

There’s a commotion outside the door, and Jungkook shrugs, grin turning more devious like the kind he gets when he’s preparing for a fight. He’s rolling his shoulders back in that way, too. “I think right now, you don't really have much of a choice, darling.”

Despite himself, a disbelieving laugh bursts out of Jimin’s chest.

Fighting through the guards together isn’t as difficult, their punches and shots ringing throughout the halls.

Jimin takes Jungkook's wrist and they sprint out of the building into the night. He leads him to where he left his motorcycle parked in the alleyway, not able to fight a smile as Jungkook curses in awe at it. “Get on,” Jimin tells him, feeling his body wrap around him. Something makes him laugh as the engine roars to life and they race through the streets.