At Gunpoint 4/10
Title: At Gunpoint 4/10
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: One week of confusion and pointless almost-flirting later, Kibum feels fed up.
A/N: I was reading through this a couple of hours ago and it just hit me, how you have every right to be impatient. I swear, though, all this is going somewhere orz. Hope you enjoy ♥
One week of confusion and pointless almost-flirting later, Kibum feels fed up.
He's had enough of the tip-toeing, of Yongjin making his head hurt; he's like a wild animal. He's alluring, always pushing boundaries as if he's brave, and when Kibum even so much as takes a step closer, the other snaps back. He's bold yet unstable, and as difficult to understand as a book in a whole different language.
Yes, Kibum's fed up.
That's why at three in the morning he turns off the television, gets off his bed, and stares down at the nightstand. He lets two or three seconds pass, giving himself a moment of contemplation, before he wraps his fingers around the glass of water in front of him and lifts it. Effortlessly, he lets it drop to the floor.
He doesn't move, drops of water sprinkled on his bare feet, but instead just reaches for the telephone on the nightstand, next to were his glass used to be. One hand bringing the device to his ear and the other dialling the reception's number, he waits. The night auditor sounds alarmed, and all sleepiness disappears from his voice when Kibum asks for somebody with a mop and a broom right this instance.
He hangs up at the on the way, sir, rolls over the bed in a fluid motion and stands up in the other side of the room. His shoes are on just seconds later, his eyes on the mirror for a moment, until he's finally standing by the door to his room, cracked open just a tiny bit. He listens to nothing in particular for a while, the hall quiet, when the sound of a door opening a couple of minutes later reaches his ears. There are footsteps passing by his room, and the elevator leaves the floor soon after. That'll do.
He gets out as soon as there's silence again, leaving his door visibly open.
The room just around the corner is his, he knows. What he doesn't know is who he is. Yes, he understands he refers to the guy like he's the fucking Satan. He could be, for all Kibum knows.
The plan is simple; see if his door is left open. If so, he'll- well, go in. If not, abandon ship. He'll just go back and use his non-existent sleepiness as an excuse for being so out of it.
But the thing is the door's unlocked indeed. So when he pushes at it, leaving the hall to dive into the darkness of the unexplored room, the scent that hits his nostrils is strong enough to make him dizzy. It's not unpleasant by any means, just really intense. Masculine, if you will. He closes the door behind him with a soft click and turns towards the only source of light - the bathroom.
He starts feeling a bit guilty. Not for breaking into a stranger's room, really, but for probably waking up a poor housekeeper to clean up the mess in his room. The mess he deliberately made, mind you. But he just can't let it go. The curiosity clawing its way out of his stomach is enough to make him uneasy, and it's been like this for a week already. Since the moment he first saw him, actually.
There's something completely off about him, and Kibum has decided to find out what it is. To be honest, he thinks he already might know, in the very back of his head, but doubts that's the case.
So he just walks into the bathroom, like a moth attracted to light. He's unsure what he's trying to find (basically, thinking about it, this is all stupid - what if he comes back any time now?), but he knows he'll recognise it when he does find it. Looking around, he's astounded by the lack of personal items in here. If anything, bathrooms are usually ridden with little things, tiny details that show off personalities.
This one? It's just got a contact lenses case and a matching lubricant. A shampoo that possibly smells like tons of man, and a couple of different colognes, all on the marble counter in front of him. He turns around, hoping to take a look at the rest of the room, when his head betrays him, he momentarily loses his orientation for yet another time today, and his hands come up to steady him as he falls. He doesn't zoom down, he just keeps leaning forward and down, down until his palms clutch the edge of the toilet tank. There's a metallic thunk, deep and muffled, when the tank shifts, but Kibum can't make much of it.
He just stays until he comes round, thankful he didn't knock something over, and patiently straightens up. That's what you get for trying to play detective, I guess.
The next moments feel hazy, not really registering in his head. He thinks there was a bunch of rays of light on the corner of his eye, for a few seconds, but he wouldn't bet on it. At least now the rest of the room is dark, just as before. He's seriously lost track of time. He's also lost the point in this. Turning around and planning on getting out of the bathroom, the only thing in his mind is that all of this was idiotic to begin with; there's nothing he could possibly find. Just trouble.
He steps out, sighing, but the last part of his breath comes out heavier, louder and hoarser as he's bent, chest crushing against the wall and arms twisted behind his back. Motherfucking ouch.
He thinks he's dreaming for a second, his brain playing some kind of trick on him, mixing memories and feelings, when the scorching pain on his jaw alerts him. He's pretty sure he would have been taken out if he hadn't turned his head to the side on the last moment, and the realisation stirs him up. No, this is all reality.
And then a breath goes down his neck, rough and hot. He shudders, eyes straining to see as clear and wholly as they can. And he sees it. Not him, it.
The exact same vision as three months ago; the exact same stare that was burned into his mind that night. Suddenly, it all comes really clear in his head.
"What the hell," he rasps out uncontrollably, chest still tight and lungs struggling for air. One hour ago he would have said the idea of this meeting sounded like salvation. Clearly, he wasn't expecting it this soon.
"Can't just stay out of trouble, can you?" Yongjin asks, maybe a bit spitefully, pressing into Kibum's back mid-sentence for emphasis. It's morbidly amusing, Kibum thinks, how he's taller than the other, yet he's the one immobile and in pain.
He lets his eyes close, giving in. Into what, he's not exactly sure. "Just- Just do it," he whispers, and suddenly realises how dry his mouth is.
The guy snorts. "Do what?"
Kibum's still not looking. "Finish the whole thing. Kill me," he replies the best he can, and the humorous sound the other emits makes him open his eyes in surprise.
"You think this is about you, don't you?" he actually smiles (albeit a little bitterly, maybe?), and thankfully relaxes on his hold. Kibum's muscles burn, the pain reaching its peak when he's finally being let go of. The other doesn't really move, just barely lets Kibum turn around, back against the wall. "I'm not some killer," he says, shaking his head and continues, "I'm an assassin."
There's a pause, during which Kibum finds a question or two climbing up his throat, even though the other answers them before he manages to word them.
"God, no, I didn't come back for you or anything," he rolls his eyes. "I only deliver hits I'm ordered to, and that's for money. I don't kill for hobby or because I hate certain people," he says, and Kibum is taken aback by how this feels like normal chit chat. Or, actually, it would be, if it weren't for the fact that he's talking nose-to-nose with a dude who's been the last thing lots of people saw - or didn't get the chance to, really.
Kibum looks to the side. No dying for him, then. Not for now, at least. He frowns. "Then who are you here for?"
The guy blinks. Once. Twice. "It'd be a little unprofessional of me to tell you, don't you think? It's none of your business, anyway," he says, irony evident in his voice, and Kibum's mouth twists meanly at that.
It was my business when you killed my father, he wants to spit out, blood beginning to boil, but doesn't. The issue with his father is a door he doesn't want to open. Instead, his hands come up, hesitantly at first, and his palms push at the other's shoulder blades, suddenly unhappy at the proximity.
The other is shoved back, a little, and they proceed to just standing there, Kibum's mouth tightening while the guy just stares.
"Will you lea-"
"My stupid uncle hired you, didn't he?" he cuts him off, and doesn't offer a big amount of silence. "If you're here, one of them brought you. Does he want Park out and me in?" he rambles, eyes squinting and hands gesturing absently.
"That's quite-" he stops himself, chuckles alone and hides half his face into his palm, as if in disbelief of something. Kibum watches incredulously. What's wrong with him. In the end, he calms down. "Look, we're not gonna talk over this. Just leave."
"I'll give you in," he warns as if not even listening, unmoving, and places his hand on his hip.
He chuckles yet again. "Yeah, sure, go ahead. There's nothing that connects me to anything. Plus, I could be out of here before dawn breaks."
Kibum, well, he pauses at this, for some reason. "You're not afraid," he says.
"Why would I be? I'm good at what I do," he replies confidently, and successfully shuts Kibum up before he even speaks again, mouth barely opening, "Now, just go. And stay out of this," serious this time.
When Kibum neither talks nor moves, just thinking, thinking of what to say or do or feel, the other just sighs.
"Go, before I knock you out and tuck you into bed myself. I've done it once before, anyway," he says in the end, and Kibum can't quite believe how this is happening. How the guy just got found out and is still cool enough to act cocky. He can't stand how there's nothing he can do to upset him, to stir him up. Somewhere along the way, he also realises that he actually recognised him. It's definitely not news, but Kibum was slow on that one. "Still here?" he asks, bringing him back.
So he just exhales violently in response, not sure what to actually say, and turns away in defeat. He only manages to touch the door handle when the other speaks again.
"Though the glass trick was nice decoy, gotta admit."
He just can't believe this. He wants to make him seethe, not stand there with a smug expression on his face. Most of all, he hates how his eyes taunt him even more than his words.
Before storming off and slamming the door behind him, he may as well have muttered something along the lines of screw you.
He spends the next three minutes wondering if the guy's all torn up now, in the comfort of his room, anxious and upset.
No, he probably isn't.
→ previous. next.
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: One week of confusion and pointless almost-flirting later, Kibum feels fed up.
A/N: I was reading through this a couple of hours ago and it just hit me, how you have every right to be impatient. I swear, though, all this is going somewhere orz. Hope you enjoy ♥
One week of confusion and pointless almost-flirting later, Kibum feels fed up.
He's had enough of the tip-toeing, of Yongjin making his head hurt; he's like a wild animal. He's alluring, always pushing boundaries as if he's brave, and when Kibum even so much as takes a step closer, the other snaps back. He's bold yet unstable, and as difficult to understand as a book in a whole different language.
Yes, Kibum's fed up.
That's why at three in the morning he turns off the television, gets off his bed, and stares down at the nightstand. He lets two or three seconds pass, giving himself a moment of contemplation, before he wraps his fingers around the glass of water in front of him and lifts it. Effortlessly, he lets it drop to the floor.
He doesn't move, drops of water sprinkled on his bare feet, but instead just reaches for the telephone on the nightstand, next to were his glass used to be. One hand bringing the device to his ear and the other dialling the reception's number, he waits. The night auditor sounds alarmed, and all sleepiness disappears from his voice when Kibum asks for somebody with a mop and a broom right this instance.
He hangs up at the on the way, sir, rolls over the bed in a fluid motion and stands up in the other side of the room. His shoes are on just seconds later, his eyes on the mirror for a moment, until he's finally standing by the door to his room, cracked open just a tiny bit. He listens to nothing in particular for a while, the hall quiet, when the sound of a door opening a couple of minutes later reaches his ears. There are footsteps passing by his room, and the elevator leaves the floor soon after. That'll do.
He gets out as soon as there's silence again, leaving his door visibly open.
The room just around the corner is his, he knows. What he doesn't know is who he is. Yes, he understands he refers to the guy like he's the fucking Satan. He could be, for all Kibum knows.
The plan is simple; see if his door is left open. If so, he'll- well, go in. If not, abandon ship. He'll just go back and use his non-existent sleepiness as an excuse for being so out of it.
But the thing is the door's unlocked indeed. So when he pushes at it, leaving the hall to dive into the darkness of the unexplored room, the scent that hits his nostrils is strong enough to make him dizzy. It's not unpleasant by any means, just really intense. Masculine, if you will. He closes the door behind him with a soft click and turns towards the only source of light - the bathroom.
He starts feeling a bit guilty. Not for breaking into a stranger's room, really, but for probably waking up a poor housekeeper to clean up the mess in his room. The mess he deliberately made, mind you. But he just can't let it go. The curiosity clawing its way out of his stomach is enough to make him uneasy, and it's been like this for a week already. Since the moment he first saw him, actually.
There's something completely off about him, and Kibum has decided to find out what it is. To be honest, he thinks he already might know, in the very back of his head, but doubts that's the case.
So he just walks into the bathroom, like a moth attracted to light. He's unsure what he's trying to find (basically, thinking about it, this is all stupid - what if he comes back any time now?), but he knows he'll recognise it when he does find it. Looking around, he's astounded by the lack of personal items in here. If anything, bathrooms are usually ridden with little things, tiny details that show off personalities.
This one? It's just got a contact lenses case and a matching lubricant. A shampoo that possibly smells like tons of man, and a couple of different colognes, all on the marble counter in front of him. He turns around, hoping to take a look at the rest of the room, when his head betrays him, he momentarily loses his orientation for yet another time today, and his hands come up to steady him as he falls. He doesn't zoom down, he just keeps leaning forward and down, down until his palms clutch the edge of the toilet tank. There's a metallic thunk, deep and muffled, when the tank shifts, but Kibum can't make much of it.
He just stays until he comes round, thankful he didn't knock something over, and patiently straightens up. That's what you get for trying to play detective, I guess.
The next moments feel hazy, not really registering in his head. He thinks there was a bunch of rays of light on the corner of his eye, for a few seconds, but he wouldn't bet on it. At least now the rest of the room is dark, just as before. He's seriously lost track of time. He's also lost the point in this. Turning around and planning on getting out of the bathroom, the only thing in his mind is that all of this was idiotic to begin with; there's nothing he could possibly find. Just trouble.
He steps out, sighing, but the last part of his breath comes out heavier, louder and hoarser as he's bent, chest crushing against the wall and arms twisted behind his back. Motherfucking ouch.
He thinks he's dreaming for a second, his brain playing some kind of trick on him, mixing memories and feelings, when the scorching pain on his jaw alerts him. He's pretty sure he would have been taken out if he hadn't turned his head to the side on the last moment, and the realisation stirs him up. No, this is all reality.
And then a breath goes down his neck, rough and hot. He shudders, eyes straining to see as clear and wholly as they can. And he sees it. Not him, it.
The exact same vision as three months ago; the exact same stare that was burned into his mind that night. Suddenly, it all comes really clear in his head.
"What the hell," he rasps out uncontrollably, chest still tight and lungs struggling for air. One hour ago he would have said the idea of this meeting sounded like salvation. Clearly, he wasn't expecting it this soon.
"Can't just stay out of trouble, can you?" Yongjin asks, maybe a bit spitefully, pressing into Kibum's back mid-sentence for emphasis. It's morbidly amusing, Kibum thinks, how he's taller than the other, yet he's the one immobile and in pain.
He lets his eyes close, giving in. Into what, he's not exactly sure. "Just- Just do it," he whispers, and suddenly realises how dry his mouth is.
The guy snorts. "Do what?"
Kibum's still not looking. "Finish the whole thing. Kill me," he replies the best he can, and the humorous sound the other emits makes him open his eyes in surprise.
"You think this is about you, don't you?" he actually smiles (albeit a little bitterly, maybe?), and thankfully relaxes on his hold. Kibum's muscles burn, the pain reaching its peak when he's finally being let go of. The other doesn't really move, just barely lets Kibum turn around, back against the wall. "I'm not some killer," he says, shaking his head and continues, "I'm an assassin."
There's a pause, during which Kibum finds a question or two climbing up his throat, even though the other answers them before he manages to word them.
"God, no, I didn't come back for you or anything," he rolls his eyes. "I only deliver hits I'm ordered to, and that's for money. I don't kill for hobby or because I hate certain people," he says, and Kibum is taken aback by how this feels like normal chit chat. Or, actually, it would be, if it weren't for the fact that he's talking nose-to-nose with a dude who's been the last thing lots of people saw - or didn't get the chance to, really.
Kibum looks to the side. No dying for him, then. Not for now, at least. He frowns. "Then who are you here for?"
The guy blinks. Once. Twice. "It'd be a little unprofessional of me to tell you, don't you think? It's none of your business, anyway," he says, irony evident in his voice, and Kibum's mouth twists meanly at that.
It was my business when you killed my father, he wants to spit out, blood beginning to boil, but doesn't. The issue with his father is a door he doesn't want to open. Instead, his hands come up, hesitantly at first, and his palms push at the other's shoulder blades, suddenly unhappy at the proximity.
The other is shoved back, a little, and they proceed to just standing there, Kibum's mouth tightening while the guy just stares.
"Will you lea-"
"My stupid uncle hired you, didn't he?" he cuts him off, and doesn't offer a big amount of silence. "If you're here, one of them brought you. Does he want Park out and me in?" he rambles, eyes squinting and hands gesturing absently.
"That's quite-" he stops himself, chuckles alone and hides half his face into his palm, as if in disbelief of something. Kibum watches incredulously. What's wrong with him. In the end, he calms down. "Look, we're not gonna talk over this. Just leave."
"I'll give you in," he warns as if not even listening, unmoving, and places his hand on his hip.
He chuckles yet again. "Yeah, sure, go ahead. There's nothing that connects me to anything. Plus, I could be out of here before dawn breaks."
Kibum, well, he pauses at this, for some reason. "You're not afraid," he says.
"Why would I be? I'm good at what I do," he replies confidently, and successfully shuts Kibum up before he even speaks again, mouth barely opening, "Now, just go. And stay out of this," serious this time.
When Kibum neither talks nor moves, just thinking, thinking of what to say or do or feel, the other just sighs.
"Go, before I knock you out and tuck you into bed myself. I've done it once before, anyway," he says in the end, and Kibum can't quite believe how this is happening. How the guy just got found out and is still cool enough to act cocky. He can't stand how there's nothing he can do to upset him, to stir him up. Somewhere along the way, he also realises that he actually recognised him. It's definitely not news, but Kibum was slow on that one. "Still here?" he asks, bringing him back.
So he just exhales violently in response, not sure what to actually say, and turns away in defeat. He only manages to touch the door handle when the other speaks again.
"Though the glass trick was nice decoy, gotta admit."
He just can't believe this. He wants to make him seethe, not stand there with a smug expression on his face. Most of all, he hates how his eyes taunt him even more than his words.
Before storming off and slamming the door behind him, he may as well have muttered something along the lines of screw you.
He spends the next three minutes wondering if the guy's all torn up now, in the comfort of his room, anxious and upset.
No, he probably isn't.
→ previous. next.