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“We got him.”
Mark turns uncomfortably in his seat, the documents he was previously reviewing now disregarded at Johnny’s words. “Really?”
The police chief hums in response.
“Well, we don’t have him apprehended so to speak.” Johnny clarifies with an exasperated huff, “But we have located him. And he’s back in the area.”
Mark’s eyes fall to the ground, pensive.
“Do you think he may have had something to do with the murders of those drug cartel personnel earlier this month?” Just at the thought of the crime scene, the warehouse walls and floor painted a crimson red, the bullet-ridden bodies scattered about the blood slippery cement, has Mark shivering to himself.
“We’re not sure as of now,” Johnny makes his way towards Mark briskly, his Oxfords coming into view before Mark lifts his gaze back up to his tall senior. “But seeing how Nakamoto operates, it’s very likely this was his doing.”
Johnny stops besides Mark’s desk, setting a thin stack of papers down firmly. “This is where I want you to be as of tomorrow.”
A long finger points to a picture of an upscale looking club.
“This is the new place that Nakamoto seems to frequent nowadays. I just want you to do some scouting, gauge the environment, and report of any suspicious looking behavior. Nothing else.” The chief asserts, knowing how the younger officer often does more than necessary during his assignments, sometimes resulting in simple jobs needing backup. “But just in case our man is there, I’ll have Donghyuck go with you.”
Mark groans. “Donghyuck? Really? Why him?” The rookie was insufferable, always pestering the team, always ignoring orders and doing what he wanted to do. He is just too frisky in Mark’s mind. “He wouldn’t even be able to recognize Nakamoto. He’s a liability.”
“He’ll keep you on your feet, Mark.” Johnny saunters back over to his own desk, pulling on his coat before heading out for the night. “He honestly reminds me of you when you were just starting, less innocent of course.” Johnny ruffles Mark’s hair as he passes by.
“Leave.” The chief only chuckles at Mark’s grumblings, calling over his shoulder at the door.
“And I’ll leave you to it, officer. Good night!”
Mark mumbles back the same sentiments, grinning before returning his focus to the pictures in front of him. The blurry image of a suited man greets him back, the person swarmed by men in black. Their own attire is a shocking red though, the color of a confidence that oozes freely, just like the blood that tarnishes the man’s hands, his name.
“It’s time to end this, Nakamoto.”
...
The cool air of the night shifts into a heady warmth once the two officers manage to get inside the club. An overwhelming smell of sweat and alcohol comes along with the crowd as they slip through the throng of people, Mark being jostled around by intoxicated bodies as he searches for a place to settle. He’s uneasy as he looks, adjusting slowly to the purple fluorescents that line the ceilings, molding into the masses until he spots a booth on the far side of the bar.
“That’s good, right Donghyuck?” Mark asks, pointing towards a dark corner, the spot hidden from the immediate lights of the walls. A perfect place to scout. He turns when he hears a resounding groan from behind him.
“C’mon, Mark. When do you ever get out?” Donghyuck motions to the space around them, his eyebrows lifted in bemused question. “This isn’t even an assignment, just something chief wanted us to do so the heads get off his back. Nakamoto probably isn’t even here!”
Mark’s eyes widen comically, his hands quickly reaching up to cover the loudness that is his partner’s mouth. “Would you be careful?” His eyes rove about the room in fear of attracting unwanted attention at the mention of their suspect’s name. “This place is probably full of his men if what Johnny says is true, so do us both a favor and be quiet, Donghyuck. Okay?”
The man nods along, his eyes rolling into his head as he tugs at Mark’s wrists. “All I’m saying is that we should take a breather, a night off. Get some drinks.”
Donghyuck leans in closer, voice full of mocking mirth. “I know you don’t get out much, so let’s make the most of it tonight! How about it?”
“Will you shut up then?” Mark honestly hadn’t even considered drinking, but if it mellowed out the man in front of him, he could observe the surrounding area in peace. Donghyuck makes a zipping motion to his mouth, his tight-lipped grin traitorously bringing the beginnings of one to Mark’s own face. “Ok. Let’s go then.” Mark concedes.
Donghyuck preens, raising his fist victoriously as he wraps an arm around Mark’s shoulder, dragging the both of them back into the sea of people. Familiar shivers dive across the skin of Mark’s body, but he places the blame on the potent air.
...
“You’re lame, you know that?” Donghyuck tuts with a shake of his head, sipping from his beer with a sigh. Mark just hums back, the condensation of his glass of water coating his hands as he absentmindedly gazes at his drink.
“One of us has to be.”
The time on Mark’s watch reads 12:49 AM, and while his eyes droop in weariness, the life of the club only seems to strengthen as time creeps on. More people flow in than out, the floor packed to the brim as the pulse of the music reverberates off the walls like a heartbeat.
It’s frustrating, with the lights being lowered as the night progresses making it hard to see, the crowds so overwhelmingly full that there’s no shadows left for those who even wished to partake in any illicit behavior. And there’s no sign of their man.
Mark now longs for nothing more than an ice-cold beer, but seeing as Donghyuck is currently laughing at nothing from where he’s slumped against Mark’s shoulder, he rethinks his options.
“I think it’s about time we head out, Donghyuck.” Mark mutters tiredly, the dead weight of his partner making his shoulder numb. Donghyuck groans at the proposal, slouching even further on Mark as to not get him to move.
“One more beer.” Donghyuck nuzzles into the heat of his partner's suit with a grin, and Mark huffs. Pushing at the drunken heap, Mark fails to hear someone clearing their throat behind him, his attention otherwise focused on chastising the man who is now laying in his lap.
“Excuse me.” A gruff voice cuts in, and both men jolt at the sound. Spinning on his stool, Mark turns to a rather menacing looking guy, decked in all black with equally ominous eyes. The man’s gaze falls on Mark before he regards them both with a nod.
“The owner of this establishment would like to have a word with you.” His words are said to the both of them, but his gaze once again returns to Mark, staying there until he gets up with a sigh.
Mark offers a hand to Donghyuck, who brushes it off as he flips the collar of his jacket, suddenly more sober than he’s been all night. “Let’s go then. We’ll see if they have reports of anything suspicious.”
The man nods curtly, and turns on a quick heel. The insignia of the club on the back of his shirt shines even in the dimness as he leads them through a dark hallway, and Mark spends the entire walk trying to remember where he’s seen the symbol before. Eventually they slow to a halt near a wide door, the golden letters reading VIP just as intimidating as the other men who surround the area, their backs bearing the same image of a lion flashing its teeth.
One of the burly men seems to hesitate in opening the door, a look of puzzlement on his otherwise stony face. The man leading them only sets a firm hand against his shoulder, head shaking before he pushes by, the wide doors swinging open.
“After you.” Donghyuck guides Mark with a firm hand resting on the small of his back. They move to step inside, but the man stops them with a long arm before they can cross over the threshold.
“Boss.” The man yells to seemingly no one, as there’s nothing that can be seen in the room. Only the light trickling in from the hallway gives an illusion of illumination, otherwise the darkness envelops it entirely.
“They’re here, you wanted to see them?” The tentative lilt that forms of the man’s voice—the same man whose muscles bulge underneath his shirt, whose eyes told of uninhibited violence when they’d met Mark’s—causes familiar shivers to run their course.
Just who is this “owner”?
Silence falls over the group as they wait for an answer, the air shifting into a more uncomfortable chill as the seconds pass by.
“Kim,” Someone says in the darkness, a voice recognizable without a face as it slices through the thick tension with an easy tone. A voice that makes Mark quiver where he stands. “Take the one on the left out.”
Both Donghyuck and the man perk up when they hear this, Mark’s eyes meeting Donghyuck’s already widened ones before he’s grabbed roughly, wincing as he’s dragged out into the hallway. “What the fuck!”
Mark wishes he could relay a sense of calm, mouthing ‘it’s fine’ to try and pacify his partner, but he knows it’s more for himself than anything.
“Mar—”
The door slams shut, and the black that was previously overwhelming now suffocates Mark, his senses stifled as he backs himself into the hardness of the door. He tries to pull down on the handles, push his weight against it, but the men outside must have barricaded him in. Shit.
“Mark.” The voice returns, sickeningly sweet like honey as it breaks him out of his anxiety induced stupor, his hands falling from the handles before he pounds frustratedly against the door. “It’s been a long time.”
This is all part of his game, Mark tells himself.
Don’t let him get to you. Turning back around, Mark squares his shoulders as he regards the nothingness that surrounds him steadily.
“Turn on the lights, Nakamoto.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and Mark thinks of spinning around to bang on the door, anything to get anyone’s attention so he can run from this mess, before the glow of crystal lamps filter in. Mark marvels at his surroundings, at the velvet walls, the sleek expanse of the likely imported furniture that greets him, anything to keep his eyes from the man sitting before him.
It has been a long time though, and Mark is dangerously curious. That’s why he’s perfect for his job.
His stare is returned tenfold when their gazes meet, Yuta’s eyes heavy as they rove up and down the line of Mark’s body. The man in front of him is cocky as ever, Mark notes with frown, the distinct red of his silken suit asking for attention, the bleach blond of his hair a new addition to the list of Yuta’s captivating assets. Things may have changed, time may have passed, but Yuta is still the same.
Mark quivers as Yuta seems to study him, reading him like an open book the way he’s always managed to, his elbow resting on his crossed legs as he leans forward with a devilish smirk.
“Why were you avoiding me, Mark?”
The simple question hangs in the air, but it’s loaded with after all I’ve done for you and after all our time together in a way that has Mark struggling to answer. Struggling for air.
“I—I don’t,” Mark curses himself for letting Yuta continue to have this effect on him even after their time apart, “I don’t know, Yuta.”
Mark releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding when Yuta severs their connection, his head drooping momentarily before he lifts it back up again, leaning back on the velvet couch while uncrossing his legs. He spreads them wide, an evil grin easing onto his face as he watches as Mark’s eyes dip down before meeting his again.
Yuta chuckles. “Come here.” His grin widens in sync with his legs.
Mark bristles at the request but complies anyways. There’s nowhere else to go, he tells himself. Taking calculated steps, Mark stands between Yuta’s legs with a glower, his hands disloyal as they jolt with wishes to wind around Yuta’s neck. He doesn’t allow his body to move though, doesn’t allow any sign of what he wants, sighing instead from where he stays unmoving.
Yuta, forever perceptive, notices his movements though and sinks further into the velvet, his arms stretching down the length of the couch in a show of confidence.
“What are you waiting for, Mark? I’m already running low on patience with you.”
Mark huffs exasperatedly, climbing atop Yuta to settle in his lap. His heart deceitfully picks up speed once they make eye contact from where he’s perched up above. Squirming about to get comfortable, Mark squeaks when an arm flies around his torso, jerking him closer so their chests touch, their breaths mingle.
“That’s better,” is all Yuta says before his hands grip Mark’s face, his lips crashing into Mark’s with an unwavering force. Mark may be a trained professional, his line of work needing strong individuals for handling cases that deal with horrible scenes, but Yuta breaks down all of his walls with the simplest of touches. Mark shudders at the feeling of Yuta’s hands moving fervently about his torso, deft fingers working to rid him of his suit jacket while he licks wetly into the warmth of Mark’s mouth.
“Yuta.” Mark trembles at the unforgotten but previously unacquainted sight of Yuta’s dangerous eyes, pulling away to help loosen a few buttons of his dress shirt with shaky hands. Yuta all but growls, impatient as he grabs at Mark’s shirt and rips it open, buttons flying across the room.
“Shit.” Mark groans, mouth dropping open as Yuta attacks his open chest, pressing fiery kisses to the rise of Mark’s collarbones, breathing harshly as he travels down to take one of his nipples in his mouth. The same headiness from before flows throughout Mark’s system, his hips moving on their own as they align with Yuta’s, rocking against the other desperately as pleasure approaches all too quickly despite his denial.
It’s all too much; the slick lips that meet the skin of his neck to lay searing marks across the skin, the inked knuckles that read of untold vows, the same hands that run course along Mark’s torso, settling on his hip bones with hunger sizzling into his skin.
“I’ve been watching you, Mark.” Yuta’s lips hang heavy on his own, the other man not leaving any space between them even as he speaks. “You and your team.”
It’s overwhelming.
That would explain how that man knew who we were even out of uniform. Mark pauses, breathing in steadily before he speaks, “They've located you, y’know. You’re not keeping your side of the agreement, Yuta. You’re being too bold.”
Yuta chuckles, inching back to sweep his eyes across Mark’s face. “Is it possible that you’re worried about me, Mark?”
And it’s the reality of it that really hits him there. The reality that he really is worried.
When this had all started, Mark had been just a rookie, willing to do anything back then to gain his superior’s respect. Mark bites his lip in memory, the day he’d met Yuta, the man in the exact same position but in opposite worlds, colliding together into an unknown force. They’d been smitten from the start, but hid their desires with agreements, with pacts to help each other move up together in separated lives. And it’s continued for years, with Yuta selling out rivaling groups to the police in exchange for Mark’s warmth, now the boss of his own as Mark moved up the ranks in his own system.
It’s always been a lot to handle, the risk of being caught, the risk of being outed and arrested by his friends, but now it’s an entirely different dilemma. Their ultimate goals have been reached, yet they still continue to meet under the pretense of their negotiations.
It can only go so far.
And the risk of Yuta truly knowing of his feelings is the most daunting thing.
Mark shakes his head, ridding himself of his thoughts whilst answering Yuta’s question.
“It’s always been that you let us deal with the busts, though recently you’ve started handling them yourself.” Mark shivers as Yuta dives back into the crook of his neck, not really listening as he lays searing kisses to the skin. “It’s too risky, and you’re making more work for us.”
Yuta bites down high on his neck, and Mark moans. It’s too much. It’s gone too far.
“What do you suppose we do? You know this is how it works in my world, Mark.”
I have to end this.
Yuta must sense a shift, sense something wrong as he shoots forward, his lips once again meeting Mark’s own with a fervor that stings, more teeth than anything as he moves like he wants to embed himself in Mark, weave into his thoughts, possess him inside out.
Yuta groans unhappily when Mark places his hands to his chest, crumpling the expensive fabric as he tightens his grip, grounding himself as he pulls away from the incessant assault to his lips.
“Yuta. ” Mark looks away from the man he regards, his shirt slipping from his body in a look of debauchery, though his voice rings resolute throughout the room. “I think we should stop this,” Mark pauses, still unwilling to look at the man, “for the both of us.”
It’s still, not a sound escaping them besides their breaths that have cooled down. Mark’s eyes are hesitant as they move to meet Yuta’s, but before he can get a good look at him, rough fingers grip the skin of his cheeks, jerking his head forward.
Throughout their time together, Mark has heard the horror stories that follow the other, how he can silence with a stare, kill without mercy. Yet, he’s never felt an ounce of fear because of Yuta, until now. Those already sharp eyes now teem with darkness, with an untold rage that sends spikes of dread throughout Mark’s veins.
“No.”
Yuta’s tattooed hands grip tighter around the bones of his cheeks before he pushes Mark, sending him falling to the floor from his lap. Anger boils inside Mark after the initial shock leaves him, collecting himself as he rises to curse at the man in front of him. The words seem to fall on deaf ears, bouncing off the walls but beyond comprehension to Yuta who saunters towards him with a grin.
“What am I going to do with you, Mark?” The other coos derisively, his palms soft in opposition to his blazing eyes as they cradle Mark’s face. “How you hurt me.”
Scoffing, Mark slaps Yuta’s hands from his face from where he sits on the floor, turning away. Yuta sighs like he’s pained, huffing as he winds a tight hand through Mark’s hair, effectively pinning him in place.
“I deserve an apology from you.” Yuta purrs, tilting Mark’s head up from where he stands above.
“Strip.”
...
“Fuck,” Yuta’s thighs quiver underneath Mark’s palms as he thrusts languidly into the tight warmth of Mark’s mouth, jaw clenching as he tries to reign in his groans.
Mark fists the silk of the dress pants as he bobs his head tirelessly, spit spilling from the corners of his mouth as Yuta forces himself deeper. Mark chokes when hands wrap around his head, pushing him forward until his nose rests against the shaved skin beneath Yuta’s navel. The other sighs breathlessly at the feeling, his hips jumping slightly before he stops his movements entirely.
Yuta’s gaze travels downwards, eyes heavy as they wander across the expanse of Mark’s body, curling upwards on the edges as he spots to outline of Mark’s erection leaking through his briefs.
“You slut,” Yuta revels in Mark’s throat tightening at the words, chuckling at his windedness, “just admit you love my dick, love this, Mark.”
The man above him thrusts harshly, watching in awe as more spit leaks from Mark’s mouth. He collects it with a steady finger, bringing it up to his own lips with an evil grin. Mark groans at the sight.
“Why don’t I have my guys open the door and let that partner of yours come in to see you get off on sucking me off, hm?” Yuta proposes, laughing wickedly at the sight of Mark’s eyes widening. Tapping at his thigh, Yuta lets his hands unwind from the back of Mark’s head, slipping from his mouth as Mark wheezes.
“Please, Yuta, don’t.” I should have never let it get this far. “Anything but that.”
Yuta is quiet as he runs his fingers through Mark’s hair once, silent as he tucks himself back in, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he makes his way back to the couch.
Staying rooted where he kneels, Mark trembles, his clothes forgone in a corner, leaving his skin exposed for all to see. He curses himself for being swept away, for letting himself be worn down with a simple stare. He turns from that same gaze appraises him for all he’s worth, face fixed in an unreadable stoniness, and it’s too much.
“Finger yourself.” Mark flinches at the order, eyes shaking as he looks up towards Yuta who sits unbothered on the velvet, legs crossing complacently. “Now.”
Mark huffs, and stops himself from letting his frustrations overtake him, knowing well but still unfamiliar with all Yuta can do in his anger. It still permeates throughout the room, the taste bitter on Mark’s lips as he wets a finger.
The stinging makes Mark wince as he breaches his hole, the makeshift lube unsatisfactory as he’s unskilled in this territory, never doing this outside his rendezvous with the man before him. Deciding to hurry the process along, Mark spits in his hand, abandoning any finesse, groaning as he plunges two fingers inside himself. The burn has eased off by now, his body alight in the beginnings of pleasure as he quickens the movements of his wrist.
Above his gasps, Mark hears a soft creaking sound, opening his eyes he wasn’t aware he had closed to meet Yuta’s, the other’s ablaze as he leans forward onto his knees, studying Mark. “Add a third.”
This is the last time.
Hesitantly, a third finger joins the mix, and Mark whines aloud at the feeling. He hurries his ministrations, and the audible sounds of his body make him shake in thorough embarrassment, his cheeks as red as the fire of Yuta’s eyes.
“Yuta, it’s—” enough. Groans of annoyance spill from Mark’s mouth alongside his moans; the sensation of his fingers just barely able to graze his prostate in his position, the possibility of people listening in surmounting any discretion from Mark as his desperation for this to end overtakes him.
Another creaking sound has him whipping his head in its direction, and Mark’s vaguely aware through his tear-muddled eyes Yuta getting up, circling around him like he’s zoning in on the final kill, a predator waiting for any sign of weakness from his prey.
And Mark knows Yuta too well, knows what he wants. His fingers speed up before he suddenly stops, giving in with a yell.
“Yuta, please, I—I ca-can't—”
Yuta pauses in his tracks, his voice behind Mark.
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
Mark yelps as he’s pushed roughly against the cushion of the couch, on his knees as his back is exposed to the ruminating eyes behind him. The familiar sound of a belt unfastening has Mark moving to peek over his shoulder, though his efforts are in vain as his neck is gripped in harsh fashion, hands pushing his face down into the cushions in warning.
“Keep still.” Yuta hisses as he shucks his pants and underwear down, his cock bare to the cool air of the room. Mark whines as he feels the sheer hardness of it against his ass, fingers clutching the velvet as he feels Yuta rut dryly against him.
“Spit.” A hand cups under Mark’s mouth, awaiting. Mark flushes, griping at the action but conceding with a sigh, watching the telling dribble of his spit pool in Yuta’s palm.
Yuta pulls back, his clean hand rubbing patterns into the skin of Mark’s sides as he slicks himself up with a moan. Mark imagines Yuta’s head tipping back like it always does in the throes of pleasure. His hands grip the velvet tighter, expectant and wishing to turn around.
It seems like forever until Mark feels Yuta line up to his hole, asking for entry before Mark nods against his folded elbows. “Go, Yuta—”
Mark’s words quickly turn to moans as Yuta enters him with a sharp thrust, the slap of skin meeting the backs of thighs reverberating throughout the room. Embarrassment to the wind, Mark wails as Yuta plows through him, breaking down all his walls just to build them up again to break them down. The man fucks like he kills, elongating the torture through slow undulations of his hips until he deems the final strike fit.
“Oh God,” Mark moans into his arms, his knees burning at the friction of the carpet as he’s jostled forward by the power of Yuta’s hips, “It’s too much.”
Leaning forward, Yuta bites at Mark’s neck harshly, his hands running across the length of Mark’s sides in soothing circles as he bucks further into Mark’s heat. His grip feels like each day they’d spent without each other, his hands revealing his longing as he thrusts deeper.
“Y-You’re scared, Mark.” Yuta stammers out, and Mark basks in the feeling of his heart beating erratically against his sweaty back. “Of giving in to the pleasure.” Yuta emphasizes this with a particularly forceful push, pulling Mark’s hips back onto his own with a low growl that has Mark sobbing. “Of giving in to me.”
“Yuta!” Mark rasps, pushing back against the Yuta’s hips with a cry, his body helpless under the other’s hands. “Please.” What he’s begging for, Mark doesn’t know. For forgiveness, for own his pleasure, he can’t answer. Yuta’s hips angle straight on to his sweet spot at the request, his hands reaching up to bracket Mark’s own before his frantic movements come to a stop.
Mark can’t contain his whines.
“Yuta, why are you—”
“Say you’re mine, Mark.” Yuta’s lips trace unrecognizable shapes along the length of his neck, his tongue laving across the beads of sweat that run down Mark’s skin. His hips gyrate in smooth circles, a show of the power Yuta has in bringing Mark his pleasure. It’s too much. “Say it.”
Mark cries at the sensory overload, his heart ringing in his ears, Yuta’s touch, Yuta’s scent, Yuta’s words, all overwhelming. Yuta,Yuta,Yuta.
He pushes down the lump in his throat. “I’m yours.”
All Mark gets is a deep hum in return before the air is forced out of him, all breath leaving his lungs as Yuta drills into him. Mark screams as Yuta presses against his prostate with an unfettered force, groaning as Mark squeezes around him in surprise.
“I missed you, Mark.” Yuta whispers, releasing his thoughts, his uncertainties, himself, into the man under him. “Don’t leave me.”
Mark heart clenches at the vulnerability in Yuta’s voice, at the hidden imploring of please at the end, turning his head to the side to try and get a view of the man behind him. A gasp escapes him as he notices the usual black of those eyes shine with an untold sadness, the hands that grip his sides firm as if to never let Mark go.
“I won’t.” Mark promises, his muddy gaze meeting Yuta’s with a moan. “I won’t, Yuta.”
“I—I’ll kill you if you do.” Yuta grits, grabbing at Mark’s cheeks before winding an arm around his torso, pulling Mark up to meet his chest as he bites at his earlobe, whispering. “I promise you.”
The threat doesn’t faze Mark, his hands stopping Yuta’s in their travels about his body to intertwine them. “It’s okay, Y-Yuta.” Mark groans as Yuta’s hips jump suddenly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I give in.
Yuta nods before continuing his assault, face dipping into the other’s neck as he quivers at the feeling of Mark squeezing around him, his hips moving erratically as he brings the both of them to their climax. Unwinding their hands, Yuta wraps a calloused palm around Mark’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts, Mark’s cries only encouraging his hips more as they move against the other’s rapidly.
“Yuta—I’m—” Mark cries as Yuta’s only spurred on, the arm around him tightening, the hand wrapped around his cock slick with his precum. “I’m gonna cum.”
“Then cum, Mark.” Yuta urges, otherwise silent besides his breathy sighs, wanting to hear more of the man in front of him as an arm travels up Mark’s torso, curling haphazardly around the other’s neck to expose more of his throat, Yuta’s imprint left there with ruddy lips. “Mark, I—”
But it’s all lost to Mark as he blacks out, shouting as he cums with stars and images of pigmented knuckles lining his eyes, the only thing grounding him being Yuta’s teeth as they sink into the skin of his neck as he peaks as well.
Whispered words of I love you are gone from Mark as darkness slips into his vision, the things he wished he could say accompanying him as he falls into unconsciousness.
...
“Mark!”
The men have long since given up restraining Donghyuck, knowing the man’s efforts are in vain due to the soundproofing of the doors and walls of the room. Still, the young officer pushes on, even as his watch reads a glaring 3:05 AM, banging sharply against anything that surrounds the area where Mark was last taken.
“Shit, what the fuck! Answer me, Mark—” Donghyuck’s cut off with the door swinging open, the solid block of wood knocking the air out of his lungs as he tumbles to the floor, disoriented by the fall. “What the hell?”
“Lee Donghyuck.” A steady voice calls, and it takes a while for Donghyuck to regain his senses, his sight lined with black dots. When his vision returns, he’s greeted with the muzzle of a gun, his sights set down the loaded barrel of pistol, but that’s not what shocks him. A man decked in red with obnoxiously blonde hair and an even more smug grin holds his partner in an arm, Mark looking tiny wrapped in the red suit coat that completes the other’s outfit. His head rests in the crook of the man’s neck, eyes closed in what Donghyuck hopes is sleep.
The man seems to notice Donghyuck’s attention elsewhere, stepping forward to place the gun to Donghyuck’s head where he sits puzzled on the ground. The man’s eyes are unreadable as he regards Donghyuck, though they seem to soften momentarily when they shift to Mark, but it’s all too fast for Donghyuck to be sure.
“Don’t worry,” The man places a finger to his lips, the gun resting upon them as well as he signals to be quiet, “He's only sleeping. I must say, it has been a busy night for Mark, he must be exceedingly tired.” Donghyuck grimaces at the man’s deceptively sweet smile.
“What did you do to him?” Donghyuck hisses, leaning onto his hands to get up, but the man in red tightens his grip on the trigger, the noise deafeningly audible in the quiet of the hallway.
His smile widens in response. “I'll leave it up for interpretation, Donghyuck.”
It’s then that Donghyuck notices the numbers gracing the knuckles of the man before him, spread across the line of his hand in a pattern that is strikingly familiar to Donghyuck, but he’s unable to place it right now.
“Anyways,” the man continues with a sigh, “Could we keep this a secret between us two, hm?” The gun is cool as it presses against the heat of Donghyuck’s forehead, though the tip is still slightly warm from recent use. Donghyuck gulps.
“We wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now would we, Lee Donghyuck?”
Shaking his head fervently, Donghyuck is unable to voice his questions, his insults towards the man who holds Mark so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s done it many times before. Just the thought makes Donghyuck burn.
“Good.” The guy calls for the men Donghyuck didn’t even realize were still there to bring his car around, slipping his gun back into the holster under his arm before he turns on a heel. “I’m glad we could reach an understanding.”
The man readjusts Mark as he saunters off, his steps light as to not make extra noise, hands gentle as one rests on the back of Mark’s head comfortably. Donghyuck tries to smoothen his scowl when the other turns back to face him abruptly.
“And Donghyuck,” The man smiles wickedly, “Tell your lovely chief that Mark will be gone for a while. He’ll be making use of some sick days.”
Donghyuck watches the other as he goes, the red of his suit still blurring his vision even after the man’s long gone. Staying seated, Donghyuck doesn’t know how long it takes until it finally dawns on him.
“That was Nakamoto.” He whispers, words barely escaping him into the cold air of the deserted hallway, alone with only his thoughts.
But how does he know Mark? The young officer scoots back to rest against the wall, head knocking against it as he racks his memory for any connection.
“Oh my god.” With a start, Donghyuck’s eyes suddenly split open, his mouth widening in recognition.
“The numbers on Nakamoto’s knuckles.” It all makes sense, and the realization swamps Donghyuck’s senses. It’s too much.
“Mark’s badge number.”
The air is quite potent tonight.