ISS 2012: for hoaegi
Title: Catch Me
Pairing/Focus: Sunggyu/Hoya
Rating: R
Warning: blood, violence
Word count: 2224
Summary: Wherever Sunggyu goes, Hoya is there. Assassin AU.
To: hoaegi
From: Your Secret Santa
1.
The first time they meet is in Chiang Mai, but it’s barely a meeting. Sunggyu is lining up the shot from a rooftop, flat on his belly against the gravel, when suddenly his target crumples to the ground, reacting to an angle that isn’t his. He looks up from the sight of his rifle and sees a man on a slightly higher elevation than he is calmly packing away a gun. Then the man’s dark head dips below the line of the roof, and he disappears.
The money, Sunggyu thinks.
He packs up clumsily, folding the case of the gun together and scrambling to his feet. He’ll pay for that later, probably, but all he can think about is getting to the rendezvous point as soon as possible. He attempts to diagram the city in his mind as he runs, turn it into a clear route, but it’s all jumbled up like so much string. The man on the other roof had a razor-sharp jawline and leather gloves, this he remembers. As he scrambles for his cab, Sunggyu wonders, deliriously, if he and the other man are working for the same person, if they were supposed to be racing against each other, if one was a setup for the other all along.
The rendezvous point is an electronics store in one of the less populous sections of the city, and it takes Sunggyu ten minutes too long to get there. On his way in, he bumps the shoulder of someone walking out, and they both pause. The other man is smaller than Sunggyu and broader, filling out the shoulders of his shirt. The bottom half of his face is covered by a mask, but his eyes are sharp and searching like a wolf’s.
"Sorry," he mumbles to Sunggyu in Korean before he continues on his way. Sunggyu catches on the drawl of his voice, and when he enters the back room of the store and returns the gun in exchange for nothing, his curiosity dampens the harshness of failure, at least a little.
2.
Sunggyu sees him again weeks later in a Macau casino, observing the action at one of the blackjack tables while Sunggyu wastes time at a tropical-themed slot machine. Even casually dressed among the tourists and regular gamblers, his sharp features stand out. When he looks over and their eyes lock across the room, everything in Sunggyu's body freezes and sticks him to his seat.
He's still stuck there when the man comes over and sits next to him. "I think we got off on the wrong foot," he says.
Sunggyu snorts and punches the buttons, forcing himself to turn back to the screen, even as his body refuses to leave his chair. "If you want to correct that, you could start by handing over the money you took from me."
The pictures scroll across the screen, pixelated flowers and fish; he has lost $40. "By the looks of it, you could use it," says the other man. Sunggyu scoffs and places a higher bet. "But that was just a misunderstanding. A miscommunication between my client and yours."
"Was it now." He loses again, the numbers in the corner getting close to zero. It doesn't matter, in the long run, but he still tries again. "And is that what's happening now? Another miscommunication?"
"No, this is just a second chance." The man pauses as Sunggyu pushes another button, and they both watch as he loses $75.
Sunggyu slams his hands against the control board and presses the cash out button. "You're my bad luck charm," he says, and his voice wavers a bit using the possessive. "You should work for the casino."
The other man chuckles. "I already have a job," he says, "but I'll consider your suggestion."
When Sunggyu steps outside, $200 poorer than he came in, he puts his hands in his pockets and feels the stiff edges of a card. He pulls it out - it's the casino's. On the back is some quick, skinny hangul:
See you next time, Sunggyu.
Hoya
Sunggyu thinks of Hoya's hand slipping into his pocket, close to his body but not quite touching, and he feels that chill run through him again.
3.
"So what is this?" asks Sunggyu.
It's 2 a.m. and they're in Tokyo eating burgers. Hoya stops to lick some grease off the pad of his thumb. "It's a hamburger," he says.
Sunggyu waves his hand irritably. "I mean, this. Us eating hamburgers together. Us always being in the same place. What is this? Besides really unprofessional."
Hoya shrugs. "We're not always in the same place. Just, sometimes it happens to work out, sometimes not." Hoya does not eat attractively, chewing with the food in the front of his mouth and talking with his mouth half-full, but Sunggyu still finds himself looking at the flash of his pointed teeth whenever he goes to take a bite. "And as for unprofessional... If anything, it's nice to have someone to talk to who you can relate to, I think." He wipes the corners of his mouth. "I don't think you make many friends in this line of work. Especially not you."
"What does that mean," snaps Sunggyu, even though he knows that it's true. Hoya just laughs and drinks his soda.
In four hours, Sunggyu will meet a woman at a club, where she stayed up all night. She will be alone by that point, in a private room. He'll put a bullet between her ribs, quick and final, and then walk back out into the street, melding into the crowd. (No knives unless it's absolutely necessary; he hates dealing with the blood.)
Their knees bump under the table and Sunggyu starts. Hoya wipes his hands and crumples his napkin into a ball, letting it drop to the wax paper on the table.
"Do you not want to meet any more?"
"It's not that,"says Sunggyu. In four hours, Hoya will be at the airport, allowing the customs officer to hold a South Korean passport up to his face, printed with the name Nam Woohyun. And then Sunggyu will be alone again, wandering up and down the hemisphere, always looking over his shoulder in whatever city he's in and hoping to spot those sharp eyes, wondering if the last time has already happened and he's wasted it. As far as he knows, Hoya has never botched a job - and neither had Sunggyu, until Chiang Mai - but half of this profession is knowing just how close death can be. "It's not that at all."
Hoya nods. Their knees touch under the table again, and Sunggyu swears he feels Hoya is sliding up towards his thigh before it drops away. "Good," Hoya says. "Because, you know, I could use a friend too."
4.
Having a friend proves useful in Gwangju.
The job is straightforward, no frills or conditions. The client has no interest in theatrics. The mark turns and walks down an alley and Sunggyu is there. He draws his gun, and then someone else rounds the corner behind the mark.
Sunggyu fires. The man behind the mark also fires. Sunggyu flinches as the bullet sparks against the pavement, inches from his feet. His mark is not as fortunate; he crumples where he stands.
Sunggyu turns and runs.
He doesn't get very far before he's caught, but he manages to hit the gun out of the other man's hand. The man's knee connects with his groin and he groans and his knees buckle forward. He shoots, but only manages to catch the man in his shoulder, and the man reaches out and slashes Sunggyu across the cheek with a knife, dangerously close to his eyes. Sunggyu yelps and pushes at the man's arms, trying to keep them away from his throat.
Then there's the unmistakable sound of a bullet firing, and the man sinks to the ground, slowly and gradually. Sunggyu falls forward onto his hands and knees. Someone holds a hand out, and he looks up.
"This is ridiculous," he mumbles, taking Hoya's hand. His entire body feels cold and numb with leftover adrenaline. "You're ridiculous."
"No, you're just terrible at cleaning up after yourself," Hoya replies. "Come on."
Hoya's staying in one of the neon-lit motels close by, with a statue of Boticelli's Venus on the roof. Once they're inside, Sunggyu staggers to the bed and out of his jacket. Hoya has a little first aid kit in his bag, and he starts to clean the wound on Sunggyu's face. "Nothing terrible," he says.
"Easy for you to say," Sunggyu mutters, and gasps as Hoya swipes an alcohol wipe against his cheek. "Fuck."
"Don't be a baby," says Hoya absently, dabbing at his cheek. Sunggyu can't help it; he looks at Hoya's face, the bow shape of his lips and the angle of his eyebrows over his eyes. He can't help it; he leans forward and kisses him.
There's a moment when Hoya doesn't move, his hand still in the air, but as soon as Sunggyu starts to pull away, he grips him around the shoulders and pulls him back. His lips are thick and warm and they part easily. He runs his tongue along Sunggyu's lower lip and then bites it gently.
Sunggyu lets Hoya push him against the bed and lift his wrinkly white T-shirt over his head, then watches as he takes off his own shirt. He remembers how broad and solid Hoya had looked when they first bumped into each other in Thailand; he seems smaller now, but he's also closer, so much closer, and his skin is dry and hot and soft against Sunggyu's chest when he holds him, trailing kisses over his jaw and down his neck to his chest. Sunggyu runs his hands over the taut muscles of Hoya's back, lightly at first and then firmly, pushing his hips down to feel the shape of his erection in his jeans. Hoya makes a small noise, his tongue paused against Sunggyu's nipple. He looks up, and his eyes are dark, his eyelids heavy. He lifts his head and reaches up to run his thumb lightly against the cut on Sunggyu's face. Sunggyu turns his head and presses his lips against Hoya's palm, then runs his tongue against it. He tastes like steel, like the sting of disinfectant, but under it there's skin.
When Hoya doesn't move, Sunggyu nudges him in the side with his knee. "Well, get on with it," he says. His voice is shaking.
Hoya fucks him so tenderly it's almost cruel, a slow, constant pace like a fire burning at the edges of his brain. The cheap cotton sheet shifts and wrinkles under Sunggyu's knees with every thrust as he attempts to push back, small groans leaking out of his lungs every time. Hoya's arms are strong, one bracing them against a wall and the other wrapped around Sunggyu's chest, keeping him close. Hoya keeps his face buried against Sunggyu's shoulder, half kissing him and half mouthing obscenities into his skin.
At one point he lifts his head and breathes against his neck, "I've wanted you for so long."
"How long?" says Sunggyu.
Hoya laughs and it's mostly a gasp. "I don't know. Maybe always."
When Sunggyu is about to come he says Hoya's name, and at first he means it as a warning. But the way it drags out of him makes Hoya growls and moves faster, and so he says it again, and again, and then his orgasm surges through him like dark lightning and he keeps saying it, even when he can't make a sound and it's just air coming through his lips. He drops his head to the sheets and he can feel Hoya's fingers tighten against his skin as he follows. The sweat starts to cool against his forehead and over his shoulders.
Later, Sunggyu is putting his socks back on and Hoya's still lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling. Then Sunggyu says, "Thank you."
Hoya lifts his head. "You're welcome."
This makes Sunggyu snort a laugh as he stands.
"You know," says Hoya, watching him, "you don't have to go anywhere."
Sunggyu picks up his jacket, then turns and looks at Hoya, dark against the white sheets. Even like this, even after everything, he looks slightly cold and unknowable, the mysterious man seen only on a different rooftop or across a room. He thinks of all the times he has walked alone in Hong Kong or Seoul or Jakarta looking for his face, and the feeling it gives him whenever he sees it, simultaneously hot and cold, anxious and comforting. It's a face he wouldn't mind seeing for the rest of his career - for the rest of his life.
He puts his jacket down and lifts the sheet, and Hoya moves over. "You're right," he says, getting into bed, "I don't."
Pairing/Focus: Sunggyu/Hoya
Rating: R
Warning: blood, violence
Word count: 2224
Summary: Wherever Sunggyu goes, Hoya is there. Assassin AU.
To: hoaegi
From: Your Secret Santa
1.
The first time they meet is in Chiang Mai, but it’s barely a meeting. Sunggyu is lining up the shot from a rooftop, flat on his belly against the gravel, when suddenly his target crumples to the ground, reacting to an angle that isn’t his. He looks up from the sight of his rifle and sees a man on a slightly higher elevation than he is calmly packing away a gun. Then the man’s dark head dips below the line of the roof, and he disappears.
The money, Sunggyu thinks.
He packs up clumsily, folding the case of the gun together and scrambling to his feet. He’ll pay for that later, probably, but all he can think about is getting to the rendezvous point as soon as possible. He attempts to diagram the city in his mind as he runs, turn it into a clear route, but it’s all jumbled up like so much string. The man on the other roof had a razor-sharp jawline and leather gloves, this he remembers. As he scrambles for his cab, Sunggyu wonders, deliriously, if he and the other man are working for the same person, if they were supposed to be racing against each other, if one was a setup for the other all along.
The rendezvous point is an electronics store in one of the less populous sections of the city, and it takes Sunggyu ten minutes too long to get there. On his way in, he bumps the shoulder of someone walking out, and they both pause. The other man is smaller than Sunggyu and broader, filling out the shoulders of his shirt. The bottom half of his face is covered by a mask, but his eyes are sharp and searching like a wolf’s.
"Sorry," he mumbles to Sunggyu in Korean before he continues on his way. Sunggyu catches on the drawl of his voice, and when he enters the back room of the store and returns the gun in exchange for nothing, his curiosity dampens the harshness of failure, at least a little.
2.
Sunggyu sees him again weeks later in a Macau casino, observing the action at one of the blackjack tables while Sunggyu wastes time at a tropical-themed slot machine. Even casually dressed among the tourists and regular gamblers, his sharp features stand out. When he looks over and their eyes lock across the room, everything in Sunggyu's body freezes and sticks him to his seat.
He's still stuck there when the man comes over and sits next to him. "I think we got off on the wrong foot," he says.
Sunggyu snorts and punches the buttons, forcing himself to turn back to the screen, even as his body refuses to leave his chair. "If you want to correct that, you could start by handing over the money you took from me."
The pictures scroll across the screen, pixelated flowers and fish; he has lost $40. "By the looks of it, you could use it," says the other man. Sunggyu scoffs and places a higher bet. "But that was just a misunderstanding. A miscommunication between my client and yours."
"Was it now." He loses again, the numbers in the corner getting close to zero. It doesn't matter, in the long run, but he still tries again. "And is that what's happening now? Another miscommunication?"
"No, this is just a second chance." The man pauses as Sunggyu pushes another button, and they both watch as he loses $75.
Sunggyu slams his hands against the control board and presses the cash out button. "You're my bad luck charm," he says, and his voice wavers a bit using the possessive. "You should work for the casino."
The other man chuckles. "I already have a job," he says, "but I'll consider your suggestion."
When Sunggyu steps outside, $200 poorer than he came in, he puts his hands in his pockets and feels the stiff edges of a card. He pulls it out - it's the casino's. On the back is some quick, skinny hangul:
See you next time, Sunggyu.
Hoya
Sunggyu thinks of Hoya's hand slipping into his pocket, close to his body but not quite touching, and he feels that chill run through him again.
3.
"So what is this?" asks Sunggyu.
It's 2 a.m. and they're in Tokyo eating burgers. Hoya stops to lick some grease off the pad of his thumb. "It's a hamburger," he says.
Sunggyu waves his hand irritably. "I mean, this. Us eating hamburgers together. Us always being in the same place. What is this? Besides really unprofessional."
Hoya shrugs. "We're not always in the same place. Just, sometimes it happens to work out, sometimes not." Hoya does not eat attractively, chewing with the food in the front of his mouth and talking with his mouth half-full, but Sunggyu still finds himself looking at the flash of his pointed teeth whenever he goes to take a bite. "And as for unprofessional... If anything, it's nice to have someone to talk to who you can relate to, I think." He wipes the corners of his mouth. "I don't think you make many friends in this line of work. Especially not you."
"What does that mean," snaps Sunggyu, even though he knows that it's true. Hoya just laughs and drinks his soda.
In four hours, Sunggyu will meet a woman at a club, where she stayed up all night. She will be alone by that point, in a private room. He'll put a bullet between her ribs, quick and final, and then walk back out into the street, melding into the crowd. (No knives unless it's absolutely necessary; he hates dealing with the blood.)
Their knees bump under the table and Sunggyu starts. Hoya wipes his hands and crumples his napkin into a ball, letting it drop to the wax paper on the table.
"Do you not want to meet any more?"
"It's not that,"says Sunggyu. In four hours, Hoya will be at the airport, allowing the customs officer to hold a South Korean passport up to his face, printed with the name Nam Woohyun. And then Sunggyu will be alone again, wandering up and down the hemisphere, always looking over his shoulder in whatever city he's in and hoping to spot those sharp eyes, wondering if the last time has already happened and he's wasted it. As far as he knows, Hoya has never botched a job - and neither had Sunggyu, until Chiang Mai - but half of this profession is knowing just how close death can be. "It's not that at all."
Hoya nods. Their knees touch under the table again, and Sunggyu swears he feels Hoya is sliding up towards his thigh before it drops away. "Good," Hoya says. "Because, you know, I could use a friend too."
4.
Having a friend proves useful in Gwangju.
The job is straightforward, no frills or conditions. The client has no interest in theatrics. The mark turns and walks down an alley and Sunggyu is there. He draws his gun, and then someone else rounds the corner behind the mark.
Sunggyu fires. The man behind the mark also fires. Sunggyu flinches as the bullet sparks against the pavement, inches from his feet. His mark is not as fortunate; he crumples where he stands.
Sunggyu turns and runs.
He doesn't get very far before he's caught, but he manages to hit the gun out of the other man's hand. The man's knee connects with his groin and he groans and his knees buckle forward. He shoots, but only manages to catch the man in his shoulder, and the man reaches out and slashes Sunggyu across the cheek with a knife, dangerously close to his eyes. Sunggyu yelps and pushes at the man's arms, trying to keep them away from his throat.
Then there's the unmistakable sound of a bullet firing, and the man sinks to the ground, slowly and gradually. Sunggyu falls forward onto his hands and knees. Someone holds a hand out, and he looks up.
"This is ridiculous," he mumbles, taking Hoya's hand. His entire body feels cold and numb with leftover adrenaline. "You're ridiculous."
"No, you're just terrible at cleaning up after yourself," Hoya replies. "Come on."
Hoya's staying in one of the neon-lit motels close by, with a statue of Boticelli's Venus on the roof. Once they're inside, Sunggyu staggers to the bed and out of his jacket. Hoya has a little first aid kit in his bag, and he starts to clean the wound on Sunggyu's face. "Nothing terrible," he says.
"Easy for you to say," Sunggyu mutters, and gasps as Hoya swipes an alcohol wipe against his cheek. "Fuck."
"Don't be a baby," says Hoya absently, dabbing at his cheek. Sunggyu can't help it; he looks at Hoya's face, the bow shape of his lips and the angle of his eyebrows over his eyes. He can't help it; he leans forward and kisses him.
There's a moment when Hoya doesn't move, his hand still in the air, but as soon as Sunggyu starts to pull away, he grips him around the shoulders and pulls him back. His lips are thick and warm and they part easily. He runs his tongue along Sunggyu's lower lip and then bites it gently.
Sunggyu lets Hoya push him against the bed and lift his wrinkly white T-shirt over his head, then watches as he takes off his own shirt. He remembers how broad and solid Hoya had looked when they first bumped into each other in Thailand; he seems smaller now, but he's also closer, so much closer, and his skin is dry and hot and soft against Sunggyu's chest when he holds him, trailing kisses over his jaw and down his neck to his chest. Sunggyu runs his hands over the taut muscles of Hoya's back, lightly at first and then firmly, pushing his hips down to feel the shape of his erection in his jeans. Hoya makes a small noise, his tongue paused against Sunggyu's nipple. He looks up, and his eyes are dark, his eyelids heavy. He lifts his head and reaches up to run his thumb lightly against the cut on Sunggyu's face. Sunggyu turns his head and presses his lips against Hoya's palm, then runs his tongue against it. He tastes like steel, like the sting of disinfectant, but under it there's skin.
When Hoya doesn't move, Sunggyu nudges him in the side with his knee. "Well, get on with it," he says. His voice is shaking.
Hoya fucks him so tenderly it's almost cruel, a slow, constant pace like a fire burning at the edges of his brain. The cheap cotton sheet shifts and wrinkles under Sunggyu's knees with every thrust as he attempts to push back, small groans leaking out of his lungs every time. Hoya's arms are strong, one bracing them against a wall and the other wrapped around Sunggyu's chest, keeping him close. Hoya keeps his face buried against Sunggyu's shoulder, half kissing him and half mouthing obscenities into his skin.
At one point he lifts his head and breathes against his neck, "I've wanted you for so long."
"How long?" says Sunggyu.
Hoya laughs and it's mostly a gasp. "I don't know. Maybe always."
When Sunggyu is about to come he says Hoya's name, and at first he means it as a warning. But the way it drags out of him makes Hoya growls and moves faster, and so he says it again, and again, and then his orgasm surges through him like dark lightning and he keeps saying it, even when he can't make a sound and it's just air coming through his lips. He drops his head to the sheets and he can feel Hoya's fingers tighten against his skin as he follows. The sweat starts to cool against his forehead and over his shoulders.
Later, Sunggyu is putting his socks back on and Hoya's still lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling. Then Sunggyu says, "Thank you."
Hoya lifts his head. "You're welcome."
This makes Sunggyu snort a laugh as he stands.
"You know," says Hoya, watching him, "you don't have to go anywhere."
Sunggyu picks up his jacket, then turns and looks at Hoya, dark against the white sheets. Even like this, even after everything, he looks slightly cold and unknowable, the mysterious man seen only on a different rooftop or across a room. He thinks of all the times he has walked alone in Hong Kong or Seoul or Jakarta looking for his face, and the feeling it gives him whenever he sees it, simultaneously hot and cold, anxious and comforting. It's a face he wouldn't mind seeing for the rest of his career - for the rest of his life.
He puts his jacket down and lifts the sheet, and Hoya moves over. "You're right," he says, getting into bed, "I don't."