Woong-cheol considered a case only truly successful when Jung-moon didn’t get stabbed at the end of it.
Adrenaline from the fight made Woong-cheol careless as he pushed Jung-moon against a storage closet wall with more force than he’d intended. Jung-moon let out a little surprised huff of air but then grabbed him by his shirt collar and kissed him when he opened his mouth to apologize.
Then Woong-cheol wasn’t thinking about their latest case or being too strong for his own good because Jung-moon could kiss like nobody else he’d ever met before, like he was going to dive inside of him and take him apart piece by piece. Woong-cheol had originally thought that Jung-moon was cold and severe—and to be fair he generally was most of the time—but he loved it when that switch flipped in his psychopathic friend and he burned hot, his long body soft under Woong-cheol’s hands. Not that he actually thought Jung-moon was a real psychopath.
Nobody had ever accused Woong-cheol Park of being a smart man, that’s not what people wanted him around for, but he was smart enough to have seen the relief in Jung-moon’s eyes when they’d found the kidnapped boy in their newest assignment. He was smart enough to think that if Jung-moon was a dangerous psychopath, a potential menace to regular citizens even now when it was clear that he wasn’t a serial killer, then everybody was a psychopath and no one more than Woong-cheol for wanting him so badly.
“Inspector Yu will be looking for us,” Jung-moon murmured against his mouth, even as his long fingers dug into his shoulders.
“Gu-tak and Tae-soo will distract her,” Woong-cheol said back. Gu-tak owed Jung-moon a lifetime of favors and that bastard Tae-soo had somehow become the closest friend Woong-cheol had in this miserable world. So he’d known he could count on them when the case had ended and he’d dragged his attention away from Jung-moon folding in his stun baton long enough to nod at them.
He needed this time to confirm that Jung-moon was still in one piece before they all got carted back to prison.
Woong-cheol kissed him again, fierce and lingering, and then he flipped him around, boxing Jung-moon against the wall as he pulled off his hoodie. He slid his hands under his short-sleeved shirt and assessed the damage.
There was the scar from when Jung-moon had saved his life. He touched it as tenderly as he knew how and kissed the back of Jung-moon’s long neck. Jung-moon breathed out slowly and relaxed into his hands. Moving to the other side he grazed the scar from when Jung-moon had been stabbed in the lobby of his boss’s office while he’d been several stories above, stupidly trying to solve a mystery on his own. He barely touched the scar but it still made Jung-moon reach behind him to dig his fingers into his hip, making a muffled noise behind his teeth. Woong-cheol kissed along his neck more gently in apology, fingers slipping away.
He was hesitant as he reached for Jung-moon’s last scar, long and vicious on his arm. He would always miss Doo-gwang, even if the prick had sold him up the river for Gu-tak. This scar made him feel angry and sad and about a million other things that all equaled out to relief that Jung-moon was alive and sorrow that Doo-gwang was dead.
He slid his hands over the rest of his body in a way that he could pretend was borne purely from friendly concern but he doubted Jung-moon would believe that. Jung-moon was smart. Woong-cheol hated clever assholes but he’d always liked a smart man, somebody who could figure out a situation and then lay it out straight for him so he could deal with it.
“Look at that, you didn’t even get hit that much this time,” Woong-cheol said, circling around the only bruise he could feel forming on Jung-moon’s body. Jung-moon pressed against his fingers and then turned his head back, regarding him with that one cool eye. Woong-cheol would never tell him so because he would probably take it the wrong way but he reminded him a bit of a solemn giraffe, all long and skinny legs with a watchful expression above his thin neck. It was very cute. Jung-moon was a pretty cute guy for a little punk.
“You were hit a lot,” Jung-moon said and deliberately raked his nails over a spot where Woong-cheol had been slammed in the side with a jagged metal pipe.
“Hey, now, don’t do that.” Woong-cheol slammed his hand up to the wall, trapping it as he wedged his fingers apart to entwine them with his. “That hurts. Bastard.”
“Tae-soo has been a good teacher.” Jung-moon’s voice was flat and emotionless as he spoke but Woong-cheol knew him well enough by now to catch the amusement hidden there. He knew the punk was trying to rile him up, trying to make him jealous or something just because it had made more sense for Tae-soo to teach him how to fight properly, given that Woong-cheol had never really bothered to learn how to dodge most blows. He didn’t need to most of the time. The majority of people were so weak that it was sad. He was sad for weak people like Tae-soo who had to flit around like a dancer just because he couldn’t take that many good solid punches.
Weak bastard assholes like Tae-soo who could use a few good solid punches so that Jung-moon’s praise wouldn’t give him a bigger head. If there was time after this, he might just see his way towards giving him some.
Or maybe not. He also liked the sound of a few drinks and a nap. Plus he owed Tae-soo some money from their last game night and he didn’t want to give the lousy bastard a reason to remember.
“Hurry,” Jung-moon said and pressed back against him.
“Bossy, bossy. You’re so demanding sometimes. It’s not good.” Woong-cheol squeezed his hand and then sent his other one to the front of Jung-moon’s skinny jeans, always way too tight around his hips, like the brat was trying to get him to look at him even more. He popped open the button and slid his hand down inside.
Jung-moon was always so quiet, save for those precious moments when he’d shown Woong-cheol inside, when he’d wept and raged. Woong-cheol would forever be haunted by the memory of his face that night in the streets, when Jung-moon had closed his eyes and waited for him to kill him, tears slipping down his cheeks.
Just the thought of it made Woong-cheol stroke down Jung-moon’s cock more firmly, desperate to push that memory away with the more satisfying sounds of Jung-moon’s quiet sighs, his stifled moans.
One of these days, Woong-cheol was going to bribe those bastards to give him a whole night to explore Jung-moon’s body, to see if he could pull pleasure out of him as nakedly as he had seen fear and anger.
One day, one day. No time today though, not with Inspector Yu probably already calling ahead to the prisons to expect them back that night. He had a lot of respect for Miss Yu, he really did; she was a tough woman and she’d figured out this way for them to all be together again in the wake of Prosecutor Oh’s betrayal but she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body.
So he carefully pulled Jung-moon’s cock out and began stroking him in earnest, feeling him tense and shift and tremble against his chest as he worked.
“You like that?” Woong-cheol asked and breathed out hard against his neck when Jung-moon’s hips jerked against him. He would love to yank his stupid skinny jeans down and really see if he could get him to make some noise but likely as not he’d be the noisy one and he wasn’t sure how far away the others were.
“That prick’s not teaching you better than this, is he? I’m teaching you this.” Woong-cheol bit down, gently, into Jung-moon’s shoulder at the sudden thought of Tae-soo giving him this sort of intimate instruction. He wasn’t sure if he liked or hated the idea but it sure made him hard as he rubbed himself against Jung-moon’s body, listening to his breath catch as his cock began to leak in his fist.
“Please,” Jung-moon said, short and clipped, even as he began squeezing Woong-cheol’s hip in time with his strokes. He was getting close and so soon. He really had no stamina. They would have to work harder at that. Woong-cheol kissed his neck again and released his hand so he could have a free one to open up his own jeans, free his own cock, hard and eager for something around it.
He would definitely make a night of this soon, Woong-cheol thought as he turned Jung-moon back around. His lean face wasn’t nearly as cool as it usually was and Jung-moon shook as he took both of their cocks in hand, rutting together quickly.
“You’re going to come already? You need to learn some patience, Psycho,” Woong-cheol scolded even as he stroked them faster. Jung-moon swallowed thickly, his long neck shifting as he leaned down to kiss him again, hungry and shaking.
Nobody kissed like Jung-moon. Woong-cheol moaned into his mouth as Jung-moon came all over his fist, his hands gripping into his back, his long legs shaking against him. He pushed him down to the ground without even thinking about it and the eager face that Jung-moon lifted up to him was beautiful as he stroked out his own release against it, over his cheeks and lips.
“Goodness,” Woong-cheol breathed out hard as he looked at his come splattered across Jung-moon’s normally blank face. Jung-moon curiously licked over his lips and Woong-cheol rolled his eyes at the sight, snorting forcefully. Jung-moon was trying to kill him, that was clear now, he was trying to murder him by being too damn cute for his own good when Woong-cheol was about to spend what could be months of Jung-moon-less nights alone. He wondered if it was possible to die from blue balls.
He could ask him. Jung-moon was so smart that he would probably know but he might not tell him if he was trying to arouse him to death.
Then the rush lifted from him just enough to get a good look at Jung-moon, come-splattered and looking like he was about to fall asleep for the rest of the week, and Woong-cheol realized he had bigger things to worry about than being too turned on.
“Inspector Yu is going to kill me when she sees you,” Woong-cheol said and tried rubbing off some of the evidence, mussing up his hair, which just left Jung-moon looking like a sleepy giraffe that some idiot had come all over.
“I’ll protect you,” Jung-moon said calmly and let Woong-cheol pull him up to his feet. He nuzzled briefly against his shoulder and Woong-cheol made a face even as he patted him on the head. Jung-moon moved to the side of his face and murmured in his ear, “I’m the one who fought without getting hurt.”
“Tch,” Woong-cheol scoffed but then he moved his hand to his favorite place on Jung-moon’s body, that little spot on his torso that didn’t have a scar because he hadn’t stabbed him that night, he hadn’t deprived the world of this strange, wonderful not-psychopath.
Truly, this had been one of the most successful cases of their short new careers. He hoped it was a sign of good things to come.