
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7576159.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      Jeon_Jungkook/Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin, Jeon_Jungkook/Jung_Hoseok_|_J-Hope, Kim
      Taehyung_|_V/Min_Yoongi_|_Suga
  Character:
      Kim_Taehyung_|_V, Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster, Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin, Jeon
      Jungkook, Jung_Hoseok_|_J-Hope, Park_Jimin_(BTS), Jin_Hyosang_|_Kidoh,
      Min_Yoongi_|_Suga
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Mob, Alternate_Universe_-_Gangsters, Recreational
      Drug_Use, Murder, Character_Death, Cocaine, Cigarettes
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-25 Words: 5086
****** I'm Feeling Like A Loaded Gun ******
by sugandt
Summary
     Jeon Jungkook, Kim Seokjin's favourite boy, discovers that his mob
     has more than a few little secrets.
     A cupboard door is nearly smashed to dust, and a bottle of red wine
     soaks into the once clean carpet. The safe tucked into the corner
     receives a rather impressive dent. Blood dribbles out of a cut on
     Seokjin’s ring finger, a deeper red than the wine.
     Thin smoke trails out from between Jungkook’s parted lips.
Notes
     read the tags please lol
     there's also a paragraph of dick sucking.
     find me on tumblr where i got the prompt/request for this!
     94hobi.tumblr.com
“Jungkook, go ahead,” Seokjin murmurs against the shell of Jungkook’s ear, warm
where its pressed against his upper lip. Crooked fingers grab at Jungkook’s
thighs for a moment, before trailing up to the waistband. Seokjin undoes the
button swiftly, his practiced fingers starting to unzip the jeans.
“There are so many people,” Jungkook observes quietly, not complaining, but
finding it rather curious that Seokjin would suddenly desire to show off his
boy. The other men in the room watch curiously, Yoongi and his new runner,
Taehyung, and a couple others that Jungkook hasn’t met before.
Taehyung had arrived at Seokjin’s warehouse late in the evening, stinking of
diesel and grease, his bleached locks perpetually covered with one of his old
blue caps. His motorcycle rumbled from the outside, the put-put-put of it
sounding rather pathetic in comparison to Seokjin’s, but Taehyung has loved the
clump of metal since his eyes first touched it. He’d come in Yoongi’s place,
sent on a whim because the man didn’t feel like putting on pants today. Finding
the reason quite stupid, Taehyung had scoffed in Yoongi’s face, which clearly
had not worked, considering he had been standing at Seokjin’s back door. Clad
in only a bathrobe, Jungkook had let him in.
Yoongi showed up not soon after, half of Seokjin’s order tucked into his pants,
because according to him, Taehyung was just that incompetent. Jungkook had met
Yoongi months ago, knowing now that he’s the reason that Seokjin’s warehouse
always smells somewhat of blood and pot. But Yoongi always cleans up after
himself, so there is hardly any room for complaints.
“Go,” Seokjin tells him, authority colouring his tone, “we want to use you.”
Jungkook knows his body wasn’t made for using, but that’s what he likes.
Stripping away his pants, Jungkook’s knees make contact with solid glass as he
crawls onto the coffee table, facing the stairs that lead up to the main floor
of the warehouse. The hidden basement smells better than the first floor, but
it’s significantly smaller. Jungkook shivers. Taehyung stands up, but Seokjin
shoves him back down with a strong arm and a glare.
“C'mon,” Taehyung says, “shouldn’t the guests get to go first?”
“No,” Seokjin makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, “not the
ones who have just been released from prison.”
Huffing at this, Taehyung’s arms fold across his chest, feeling Yoongi’s palm
cover the back of his neck, fingers curling around his bronze skin as if he
were a dog. Seokjin rises from his seat in the middle of his leather sofa,
letting his crooked fingers reach out to toy with Jungkook’s inky black hair.
Whatever shame he had felt for corrupting the boy had been fucked away over the
years, and it feels natural, almost instinctual, when he grabs at Jungkook’s
locks roughly, turning his head to face the other sofa. It’s a little more beat
up, parallel to the leather one, and the men perched upon it are three that
Jungkook has never met before.
“These are my friends,” Seokjin twists Jungkook’s head to look up at the men.
In the neon and artificial lights, Jungkook can tell that one has hair the
colour of strawberries, and the other two seem to be a package deal, the way
they gravitate towards each other. He would never admit it out loud, but the
feeling of so many eyes watching him make a certain kind of warmth spread
throughout his body.
One of them, the one wearing his shirt almost completely unbuttoned, toys with
a cigarette, then reaches into his pocket to produce a lighter. The thing,
engraved with someone’s initials, perhaps his own, is offered to Jungkook.
Reaching for it, Jungkook lets the cool metal merely touch his fingers before
fully encasing it. With his arm outstretched towards the man, Jungkook knows
what to do.
“Can I have a light, baby?” There’s a salacious tone to the man’s voice,
lustful in nature, and Jungkook knows Seokjin would tear each and every limb
off anyone who decided to touch Jungkook without his permission. He’s not
scared of the man, but intrigued by his forwardness.
Despite Seokjin whispering instructions to him, Jungkook flicks the lighter
open, and makes a move to get off the coffee table. That is, until Seokjin
jerks him back down roughly by the hair that is still caught in his dirty
hands, Jungkook letting out a rather high-pitched whine.
“Hoseok,” Seokjin says as he tightens his hold, “don’t waste our time.
Looking akin to a predator approaching its prey, the man called Hoseok leans
forth, holding his cigarette into the small flame that casts orange shadows
upon his features. Jungkook’s top teeth dig into his bottom lip, a habit that
Seokjin never managed to get him to break. Then, after giving Jungkook a quiet
thanks and placing the cigarette between his teeth, Hoseok sits back into the
cushions, exhaling. The smoke plumes around his face, and Jungkook momentarily
thinks he looks like a dragon, the hoop in his nose doing nothing to make the
boy think otherwise.
Holding his hand out expectantly, Seokjin stares at Yoongi until the dealer
gets the message. With his free hand, Yoongi drops a small bag containing a
certain white powder into Seokjin’s awaiting fingers. Finally understanding the
situation, Hoseok’s head lolls back onto the shoulder of the man beside him,
and he lets out a quiet sound that’s somewhat of a cross between a groan and
whine. Jungkook watches him with a mocking smile pulling at his lips, one that
tells Hoseok he had known all along, and finds it funny that the man is only
realizing Seokjin’s intentions now.
Seokjin releases his hold on Jungkook’s hair so he can stride around to the
front of the coffee table, kneeling down on his bruised knees and pulling
Jungkook’s legs apart by his ankles. The boy scoots forth, leaning back on his
elbows, before deciding lying with his back on the table is his best option.
There’s a soft, ticklish feeling on his thighs, and when he glances down, he
can see Seokjin lining his nose up with where the white line begins. Or ends.
It’s entirely dependent on one’s perspective. Jungkook mulls over this idea for
a moment as Seokjin grips his thigh with one hand, using the other to plug one
of his nostrils.
After a moment, Seokjin sniffles, clears his throat, and exhales. As the drug
begins to enter Seokjin’s system, the man places a wet kiss on Jungkook’s
thigh, trailing his plush pink lips down to his knee. Then, crawling back up,
Seokjin kisses Jungkook on the lips with a force that he only ever uses when
intoxicated. They kiss for a few moments, pulling apart when Taehyung begins to
shift uncomfortably against Yoongi’s leg.
"Who is next?” Seokjin asks, and Taehyung jumps up at the opportunity. He’s
never been secretive about his attraction to Jungkook; even though he’s rather
new to their social circle, he’s still managed to buy Jungkook’s body from
Seokjin for a few hours over the past few months. Now, his large hand rubs
obviously at the front of his pants where the denim begins to tighten, and he
takes Seokjin’s place between Jungkook’s legs. Sinking his teeth into
Jungkook’s calf, Taehyung distracts himself as Seokjin creates another line,
specially for the runner. While Taehyung and Jungkook fit together well,
Jungkook can’t help but watch the man with the cigarette as Taehyung inhales
against his thigh. Taehyung’s wet tongue laps at what his nose could not
capture, and his uncontrollable mouth leaves another set of teeth marks in
Jungkook’s flesh.
“Give me another,” Taehyung begs, earning him a rather loud slap against his
cheek from Yoongi. Instead of looking hurt, Taehyung lets a masochistic grin
spread his lips, and the bright red shape of Yoongi’s palm begins to blossom on
the left side of his face. If Jungkook had not known any better, he would have
assumed that Taehyung is nothing short of submissive to Yoongi. Although, after
spending hours underneath a thin sheet with him, Jungkook knows of Taehyung’s
dominant tendencies, and he knows even better that Yoongi is just an asshole.
“Wait your fucking turn,” Yoongi hisses, “first you can’t even bring this shit,
now you’re asking for more?”
Dragging Taehyung back to the sofa by his wrist, Yoongi’s cold fingers close
around his runner’s throat. He waits until real tears trail over the tear
tattoos below Taehyung’s eyes before releasing his grip, Taehyung gasping for
breath as if he had been held underwater. Yes, Jungkook thinks, Yoongi is just
an asshole.
Hovering above him is one of the men Jungkook hasn’t met before, although he
looks more like a boy with the amount of baby fat still in his cheeks. He gives
Jungkook a gentle grin, and Jungkook does think he looks vaguely familiar, as
if they briefly met. Perhaps they have.
“You’re not very talkative, are you?” The man asks, to which Jungkook replies
with a coy smile, a contrast to the soft one.
“My name is Jimin,” Jimin introduces himself, but breaks eye contact with him
to glance upwards. Following suit, Jungkook watches the exchange between Jimin
and Seokjin, but gets distracted by his thoughts. Jimin looks way too young to
be involved in what they do, but then again, he could be in a similar position
as Jungkook. So the boy on the coffee table tilts his head back and pulls one
shoulder of his shirt down enough to expose his collarbone, and Jimin does
exactly what Seokjin and Yoongi had, just in a different place.
Squirming in place, Jungkook rubs his thighs together, and looks up, doe eyes
bright and rather innocent-looking given the circumstances. Seokjin,
subconsciously, cups Jungkook’s cheek in his hand, despite being upside-down.
“Seokjin,” Jungkook shifts again, uncomfortably, not liking the way he’s being
ignored while the attention is simultaneously all on him.
“What is it, baby?” Seokjin asks, pupils blown. He surveys Jungkook’s body, and
wonders, for a moment, how he got so lucky with him.
“Can I touch?” Jungkook’s voice is small, smaller than his body, and Seokjin
blinks twice before answering.
“Not yet.”
Never one to draw things out, Yoongi snatches an unopened bag from Taehyung’s
pockets, sitting off to Jungkook’s side rather than between his legs. He’s only
been with Jungkook once, and even then, Seokjin had been there to watch,
knowing of Yoongi’s sadistic nature. Lifting Jungkook’s shirt up to his chest,
Yoongi pours out the substance in a line along his ribs, and holds him down as
his face presses against his skin. Jungkook, knowing very well he may land
himself in trouble, reaches up to hold onto Seokjin’s wrist, for its the only
way he can think of to stop himself from slipping his hands into his briefs.
As the drug begins to kick into Seokjin’s system, Seokjin gets angry. Jungkook
has witnessed the scene enough times, and knows when it’s coming. The telltale
signs are starting to show; the way he clicks his tongue, analyzes everyone in
the room, and becomes even more possessive over Jungkook. Usually, Seokjin will
resort to yelling about Hyosang, how he ratted them out a nearly a decade ago,
lost them millions upon millions of won. Of course, Jungkook doesn’t remember
this, considering the fact that he was still in middle school. But Seokjin’s
been playing this game far longer than Jungkook, and can never forgive, nor
forget, those who wrong him.
A new man is the first to ask permission before using off of Jungkook’s legs,
one line off of his left, and another off of his right, the second one courtesy
of Yoongi. Judging by the way Yoongi mouths his name, Namjoon, it’s easy for
Jungkook to realize that the two men know more than just each other’s
positions. Seokjin shoos him away with venom in his words, but Namjoon simply
laughs him off, and leaves Jungkook with a strong squeeze to his thigh. Unable
to control the sound that comes from his parted lips, swollen from his much
he’s been biting them, Jungkook whines, his blunt nails digging into Seokjin’s
skin.
“One more,” Seokjin hisses, peeling Jungkook’s fingers off of his arm, one by
one.
Jungkook watches, hands flat on the coffee table, as Hoseok rises from the
sofa. He’s taller than he imagined, lean in all the right places. He pushes his
dark hair back, stubbing out the cigarette and leaving the butt on Seokjin’s
sofa, and tosses the pack to Namjoon, along with his lighter. With each step he
takes forward, Jungkook can feel his heart rate increase, blood rushing in his
ears and nearly blocking out all of the other sounds in the basement, even
Seokjin’s incoherent mumbling about a certain liar. Instead of sitting down in
front of him like the other men did, Hoseok opts to stand at where Jungkook’s
toes barely brush the ground, and watch the boy with an interest he hadn’t
known he was capable of. Jungkook really is handsome, Hoseok thinks to himself,
as his fingertips ever so slightly trail up Jungkook’s thighs.
“Turn over,” Hoseok says, and Jungkook obeys, for Seokjin has left during their
pseudo-staring contest, off to grab a gun or a bat or some other weapon.
Jungkook wonders if he will see Seokjin again tonight, and flips over so what’s
exposed of his stomach is pressed against the glass of the coffee table.
“No,” Hoseok’s hand cups around the swell of Jungkook’s ass, then curves around
his hip to guide his knees upwards, “ass up.”
Burying his face in his arms, Jungkook has never felt so exposed in his life.
And yet, there’s a part of him that loves it. He feels a pair of hands,
Hoseok’s, he hopes, cover his ass entirely, pulling his cheeks apart.
The men crowd around him, and he can feel six lines being evened out on his
back, so he arches his spine as well as he can. Surprisingly, it’s Jimin, the
smallest, who takes more than the others, claiming that Seokjin encouraged him
to do so.
Jungkook can just feel the brush of Hoseok’s hair on his skin when he’s being
turned over again, manhandled as if he’s a doll. Hoseok’s forefinger traces the
lining of his briefs, where his waist meet his pelvis meets his thighs, and
asks if he may do his line here, right in the dip, the juncture of his hips.
Hoseok, with help from Yoongi, finds that the line sits quite nicely on
Jungkook’s pelvic bone, his briefs pushed to the side for a moment.
The wet head of Jungkook’s dick smears against Hoseok’s cheek as he steadies
himself on the coffee table, one hand on Jungkook’s thigh, the other holding a
nostril closed as he snorts the white powder up his nose from where it sits in
a delicate line. When Jungkook looks down, he can not only see, but feel,
Hoseok’s warm tongue licking at what his nose did not inhale, the curling dark
hairs brushing against his lips. Hoseok lingers there for a moment too long,
and if Seokjin were to walk in now, Jungkook thinks he would have a fit. But
the thought slips his mind when he watches Hoseok clean off his glistening
fingers with his mouth from where he had wiped off his cheek.
Tucking Jungkook back into his briefs, Hoseok returns to his seat with a
prolonged wink, and waits for the drug to kick in, waits for the heightening of
his senses and confidence. It’s then that Seokjin descends the staircase, metal
baseball bat clutched between his long fingers, white knuckles.
“Fuck,” Seokjin says, eloquently, “fuck!”
Jungkook blinks languidly, his eyelids at half mast and feeling rather heavy,
and feels something being slipped between his index and middle fingers. It’s
Taehyung this time, looking at him with caution, as if he doesn’t want for
anybody to see what he has done. Holding eye contact with the boy, with his
telltale teardrop tattoo, Jungkook raises the cigarette to his lips and sucks
in.
“I can’t fucking,” Seokjin’s voice snarls, “I can’t fucking believe him.”
There’s a sudden sound, a crash, and glass shatters from where Seokjin hit the
face of a clock with his bat. It’s enough to make Jungkook’s eyes widen for a
moment, enough to make his gaze snap over to where Seokjin’s shoulders heave
once, twice.
Jungkook really thinks he has seen it all while living with Seokjin. He’s
witnessed Seokjin stab a steak knife through a man’s hand, witnessed Seokjin
shove a pillow against someone’s head and shoot them, execution style. He has
watched Seokjin crawl into bed with men and women alike, covered completely in
skin, yet still making room for Jungkook to lie down comfortably. He has
listened to the pained screeches of liars as Seokjin cut their fingers off, one
by one, but none of this could have prepared Jungkook for Seokjin’s next
actions.
Seokjin is not a man of few words. In the past, he had desired to be rather
mysterious, discreet, silent, but he has a tongue that refuses to hold still,
even when it’s useless. One may think it to be charming, the way he babbles on
about pointless affairs. Jungkook has mastered the art of tuning him out. The
sounds that resonate through the basement as the bat held in Seokjin’s fingers
finds its way around are easy to ignore, even to Yoongi, who has the most
sensitive of ears.
A cupboard door is nearly smashed to dust, and a bottle of red wine soaks into
the once clean carpet. The safe tucked into the corner receives a rather
impressive dent. Blood dribbles out of a cut on Seokjin’s ring finger, a deeper
red than the wine.
Thin smoke trails out from between Jungkook’s parted lips.
Seokjin’s neck cracks left, then right, and a tremor runs though his body. The
bat goes through the wall, and Jungkook has to crane his neck back to watch as
the debris of drywall crumbles to the floor, where Seokjin then steps on it
with the heel of his boot.
Jungkook’s free hand drifts down, down his chest, and down his stomach, pausing
between his legs.
Muttering something under his breath, Seokjin adjusts his grip on the bat, and
looks up at his men with a delirious glimmer in his eyes. Pupils so large that
he almost looks akin to a monster, Seokjin licks his drying, peeling lips, and
takes two deliberate steps forth. His nostrils flare.
“Snake,” he says, simply.
Jungkook’s hips snap up, involuntarily, but Seokjin pays him no mind. In fact,
the only indication of acknowledging anyone’s presence, is the way Seokjin
plucks the half-smoked cigarette from Jungkook’s fingers. He doesn’t raise it
to his lips, nor does he stomp it out.
“Someone here,” Seokjin looks around the room, nine o'clock, twelve o'clock,
three o'clock, “is a snake.”
If all eyes were not on him before, they are now, each pair trained carefully
on Seokjin as he steps around each sofa, movements nothing short of deliberate
and calculated. He’s always been this way, melodramatic and authoritative, the
human manifestation of violence. Does he have a good bone in body? Perhaps a
small one, hidden deep within his flesh?
“A liar,” Seokjin clarifies, pausing in his tracks. The cigarette finds its way
between his teeth, and his long fingers find their way around Yoongi’s face,
for he had stopped behind the dealer. His hand cups Yoongi’s jaw in his palms,
but the man doesn’t fidget in his grasp. Only his leg, his left leg, bounces up
and down, up and down.
“One of you told a secret of mine,” Seokjin passes Taehyung, knowing that the
liar couldn’t be him. Taehyung doesn’t know anything, working for Yoongi,
mostly, and buying Jungkook for the evenings when he’s just a little too
lonely. Although he claims to know more than the average rat, prison has kept
him in the dark for longer than he understands. Taehyung is not worth a moment
of Seokjin’s time.
Approaching Jungkook, Seokjin silently prompts the boy to sit up on his knees,
and he presses an uncharacteristically chaste kiss on Jungkook’s temple, and
then his lips. Jungkook feels an odd trembling sensation, and realizes,
belatedly, that Seokjin’s entire body shakes with uncontrollable tremors. Even
his irises move back and forth, rapidly, as if he is losing control of his
muscles.
“Not you, darling,” Seokjin whispers, “it wasn’t you.”
This leaves three men on the dirty sofa, a fitting place for a dirty liar.
Jungkook watches curiously, Seokjin’s spit drying on his lips.
“Who do you think it was, Hobi?” Seokjin asks as the cigarette dangles from his
fingers, almost gone, but still a bit of orange glows. Hoseok shrugs
nonchalantly, perhaps he has seen Seokjin in this state before. Seokjin’s hand
starts to lower, trying to make it subtle, but when Hoseok flinches from the
sudden heat on his skin, he knows that burning him was Seokjin’s intention all
along.
Maybe Hoseok thinks he’s stronger than he truly is, but that doesn’t stop his
fingers from curling around Seokjin’s wrist and holding tightly, pushing his
arm away from his neck.
“I have nothing to gain from your secrets,” Hoseok nearly growls, a
juxtaposition from how he treated Jungkook earlier, “get away from me.”
Giving Hoseok an indignant look, Seokjin rips his wrist from the man’s grasp.
Does he really not have anything to gain? Does he even know Seokjin’s most well
kept secret? There’s no way, not unless he had broken in one evening when
Seokjin was waiting for Jungkook’s return to his car, pink gloss smudged around
his swollen lips.
Jungkook shifts on the table, his back beginning to sting. He feels a rough
pair of hands hoist his torso up, and the back of his head rests on someone’s
thigh. Taehyung.
“Was it you, Namjoon?”
In the dim light that casts striking shadows across his features, Jungkook
strains to get a good look at the man, Namjoon. He must be Seokjin’s newest
friend, for he hasn’t heard the name mentioned before. Jungkook wonders what
his profession is, leaning into Taehyung’s soft touch as he toys with a few
outgrown locks of Jungkook’s hair.
“No, no, no,” Seokjin tuts and shakes his head, “You’ve never been here,
before. You have no reason to!”
And truthfully, Namjoon has never been to Seokjin’s warehouse before. He had
been near it, Seokjin watched as he picked up a generous amount of cash from
where he dumped it on the highway. A few days later, one of Seokjin’s many
rivals died from a strange poison in his food. A business transaction; Hoseok,
Namjoon, and Seokjin were business partners. If one of the two does the
killing, Seokjin will pay and supply the necessary tools. It was only business.
Seokjin releases Namjoon without a single mark to his skin.
Park Jimin is a different story.
The man- the boy- fumbles with a package of cigarettes in his pocket. There are
still quite a few in the box, as if he doesn’t smoke a lot, or perhaps only
does so in the presence of others. He sticks one between his lips, holds it
there as he attempts to strike a match. The smell of smoke- real smoke- mingles
in the air. Breaking in half between his fingers, Jimin curses, and tries to
strike another match. His fingers shake, almost desperately. The match won’t
light.
“It was you.”
Surprisingly, the voice comes from Jungkook, who has chosen the most opportune
moment to speak. Perhaps he knows where he remembers Jimin from.
“I thought you were an escort,” Jungkook explains, “but I remember, now.”
The cigarette falls from Jimin’s lips, and he scrambles to pick it up again.
Seokjin cocks an eyebrow. Hoseok leans forth, intrigued.
“You worked for Seokjin,” the boy chooses his words slowly, “I saw you come
upstairs after a shooting.”
Rarely does Jungkook say the word without it having the connotation of bullets
piercing flesh. Tonight, he truly does imply that Jimin had been shot by a
camera lens. Has he ever even had a barrel pressed against his head?
“Shooting?” Taehyung pipes up.
“Yes. Seokjin has a studio in another warehouse. He shoots pornography there.”
“That was years ago!” Jimin exclaims, “I don’t do that, anymore!”
“But you have done it.”
Instead of staring at Jimin, Jungkook raises his eyes to Seokjin. For a moment,
there is no sound, aside from the pathetic ticking of the broken clock. Rising
from his position on Taehyung’s lap, Jungkook appears to be the opposite of
threatening, almost naked in a room of fully clothed men. His fingers curl
around the lighter that has been left on the table, and he kneels in front of
Jimin, offering him the flame that has erupted.
“We do many illegal things here, Jimin,” Jungkook watches as Jimin sucks in,
fingers shaking, and it appears that he may drop his cigarette, “but this
crosses a line.”
“Porn is worse than murder?” Jimin exclaims suddenly, “that’s fucked up!”
“You were seventeen,” Jungkook says, watching as Seokjin’s muscles twitch,
knuckles white around the bat’s handle, “and now you’ve gone and told your men
about Seokjin’s studio.”
“I didn’t-”
Jimin’s entire body is vibrating, sweat pooling in the dips of his collarbone,
soaking into his shirt, and matting his hair. He’s a rather disgusting sight,
eyes darting around the room like a scared puppy. Groaning, he cards a
trembling hand through his hair, and pulls on a few strands. Jungkook tosses
the lighter back to its rightful owner, and rises to his full height. He nods
once in Seokjin’s direction, and moves to stand out of he way, for he knows
what’s coming next, this time beside Taehyung.
“Seokjin,” Yoongi says, breaking the beat of silence that has passed. Everyone
watches Jimin as he begins to convulse.
Perhaps Jimin has forgotten that Seokjin’s metal bat is held in the palm of his
hand, or perhaps, he’s farther gone than Seokjin thought. The only indication
that he hears the bat coming closer to him at a rapid pace is the half turn of
his head. Seokjin’s bat hits him square in the skull, just above his ear. He
hits again, this time, harder, and then twists his neck. The sound is less of a
crunching sound, more of a snap, akin to the sound of one stepping on brittle
branches and twigs.
Blood mostly covers Seokjin, but Namjoon and Hoseok are splattered with it,
too. Namjoon takes the time to lean over before vomiting onto the floor. Hoseok
blinks, wipes his face with his sleeve, and looks towards Jungkook, who only
has a streak of Jimin’s blood across his nose.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin finally responds to the man. A push to Jimin’s back has his
corpse slumping down, falling face first into the floor, where his wound
continues to leak blood.
Jungkook takes it upon himself to turn Jimin’s body over, stare into his eyes
that are bound to turn glassy soon. He closes Jimin’s eyes with two fingers.
Heeding the silent order that Seokjin gives him, Jungkook follows through with
the usual method of disposal. Hoseok is by his side, helping him redress in his
previously discarded clothes.
“He planned this,” Jungkook says, once he is positive that the pair of them are
alone, Seokjin’s name implied but never spoken, “Killing Jimin was his
intention from the start.”
“He likes an audience, huh?” Hoseok laughs a little, playing with his lighter.
The thing travels between his fingers with a speed Jungkook thinks is faster
than a bullet.
“Yes. I knew about it, too.”
“That’s how you knew Jimin was underage.”
Jungkook cracks a grin. Hoseok is good at these games.
“Why else would he encourage Jimin to nearly overdose?”
“Shit, he might’ve panicked himself to death,” Hoseok’s tongue clicks.
Silence. Cicadas sing. The moon shines, full and bright and entirely visible in
the night sky. Jungkook feels small.
“Would you kill for him?” Hoseok asks. It’s a strange thing to ask, all things
considered. He sits upon the topsoil, Jimin’s decomposing body rotting away in
the ground. It’s a temporary location until his remains can be burned.
Jungkook gives Hoseok a peculiar look, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He
grins coyly, and wipes a spot of blood off of his cheek with the back of his
hand.
“No,” Jungkook says, plain and simple, “I have no reason to.
"He’s good at this game,” Hoseok points out, “He’s the King, and we’re all
fuckin’ pawns.”
“Quite the contrary.”
Jungkook smiles around his cigarette. Hoseok raises an eyebrow. The cicadas’
song grows louder as the night grows deeper.
“We need to go back,” Jungkook sighs, “it’s been too long.”
Upon entering the basement, Jungkook is immediately embraced by Seokjin, the
man’s arms holding him in a death grip. Over Seokjin’s shoulder, Jungkook
notices that Namjoon is missing, but it’s not a far cry to assume he’s trying
to calm down elsewhere, or perhaps still vomiting his brains out. Strange, for
a hitman, Jungkook thinks, but perhaps he was not prepared.
“Darling,” Seokjin murmurs into Jungkook’s hair. His fingers still shake, but
as time passes slowly, the side effects of cocaine begin to lessen. Seokjin is
usually the first to come down from his highs, but they always hit him the
hardest.
“You need to wash up. I have a client that wants you for tomorrow morning.”
There’s dirt beneath Jungkook’s fingernails, and Jimin’s blood is still
streaked on his face. He’s covered in the remnants of white powder and dry
saliva.
“Okay,” Jungkook says, bidding the other men goodnight in the same breath.
As he does every night, Seokjin kisses his darling’s cheek, and goes back to
work. Only this time, there’s a small difference. No one seems at all affected
by Jimin’s sudden untimely death. From the top of the stairs, Jungkook strains
to listen to the muted conversation, and when he sees all of the men sitting in
a close circle, Jungkook pieces it all together.
Everyone knew. Jimin’s death was not a split decision in a moment of
opportunity. It was an execution.
As Jungkook retreats to the restroom and draws himself a hot bath, he steals a
glance at himself in the mirror. His reflection tells him what he knows.
Seokjin is planning something big, and this was only the first of many
executions.
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