Work Text:
Hoseok lulls his head against the wall, pressing his temple into the plastic padding of the surface, softly singing a song from the past that gets stuck in his head time and time again. How long he has been in this room, Hoseok has no clue, nor does he care. He is happy to sit comfortably with his arms wrapped in this white jacket, content on rolling around on the cold, soft pads of the floor. He is happy to keep singing this song whenever it comes in his head.
There are footsteps, faint from the closed window of the locked door, but Hoseok keeps singing. He knows how much the guards love to hear his voice.
The window slides open, a rush of air that only adds to the familiar sounds Hoseok is now used to hearing. He is still singing, eyes closed and leaning against the cushioned wall.
"Might want to save that pretty voice of yours," one of the guards, Namjoon, suggests. He sounds just as bored as he usually does, done with a situation before it has even began. When Hoseok peeks a glance through an eye, the guard's face matches his tone with his eyes heavy from disinterest and mouth set in a frowning line.
Depending on Hoseok's mood, he might try to spark up conversation just because he knows Namjoon would become so frustratingly indifferent; it's funny to Hoseok sometimes.
"Yeah," another familiar voice booms, and soon the other guard, Taehyung, is shoving Namjoon aside to grace Hoseok with a smug, evil grin. "Save it for Yoongi's funeral."
Taehyung is a different case. He's exciting, irritable, goading, cocky. Hoseok is always in the mood to converse with Taehyung; he knows their back-and-forths will be interesting. He smiles knowingly at the guard.
Hoseok heaves himself into a standing position, sliding his back against the wall until he's upright; he saunters over to the small opening, giving a pout to the menace on the other side of the barred window.
"Then you'd never hear me sing again. Wouldn't that be sad?" His voice feigns melancholy, overdramatic and childish. He's sure Namjoon rolled his eyes, but Hoseok focuses on Taehyung, the way the latter chews at his bottom lip, eyes roaming his face almost suggestively.
"You sure about that, sweetheart?" Taehyung's question is rhetorical. He continues, "Two of our guys caught up with your boyfriend. And it's safe to say he's dead. No one gets past Seokjin and Jeongguk alive."
Hoseok guesses he should feel grateful that he's never run into the aforementioned duo. It was Taehyung and Namjoon that caught him during a chase after he and Yoongi brought down a restaurant, killing most onsight while the frantic mob did the rest of the work for them. It had been Hoseok's idea to stay awhile, admire their work and eat off of unfinished dinner plates. They were just getting to their lobster entree when Namjoon and Taehyung showed up, guns on their backs and gazes set to Murder.
The worst they had done to him was rip the shoulder of his golden suit jacket, which lead them to get an earful as Hoseok thrashed in their holds, spitting venom about how his boyfriend had it handmade just for him .
Of course, Hoseok was not complaining for long since they knocked him out cold. And he woke up in the padded room, straight jacket keeping him restrained; he laughed to the ceiling, already imagining when Yoongi would get him out of here. Hoseok knew it then.
He knows it now. Because Yoongi isn't dead.
"Yoongi isn't dead," Hoseok states matter-of-factly, calmly, with an uneasily gentle smile.
Eyebrows raised, Taehyung gives a lopsided smile. It's sneaky and beautiful. Hoseok lives for it. "Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?"
Hoseok presses his face closer, whispering in a way he knows gets under the other's skin. "How can you be so sure?"
This makes the guard smirk. "I have evidence, baby. I'd tell you to brace yourself, but..." he trails off, nodding down tauntingly. Hoseok, of course, doesn't respond, his expression even as he waits for Taehyung to produce his evidence .
He pulls something out of his back pocket, tinkering with it and the light that illuminates his face gives a clue that it's probably his phone. Taehyung brings the screen to the window, and Hoseok focuses attentively, studies the picture.
It's Yoongi, lying on asphalt with blood pooling out of gunshot wounds on his chest, at his heart. His body is paler than usual under the flash of the picture, limp and lifeless. When Taehyung feels Hoseok has gotten a good enough eyeful, he swipes to the next picture. This one is more up close on Yoongi's face to show the gashes and bruises on his usually smooth skin, blood that spills from knife cuts on his throat, the crimson matting his black fringe to his temples. Swiping again, another picture shows Hoseok's dead boyfriend from another angle.
"God, Jin can be so brutal when he kills, can't he? And isn't Jeongguk a master of photography? I'd suggested we have these developed into posters, frame them in our headquarters." He giggles, fucking giggles at the the prospect of being able to hang the evidence of the great and notorious Min Yoongi being dead and gone to their walls in victory.
It's at times like these where Hoseok can clearly see the mirror that sits in front of him. These men that think they're doing a service to the world are just as fucked in the head as he is.
At least Hoseok doesn't hide behind a bulletproof vest. Hell, he welcomes the danger with open arms.
His heart lurches in his chest though his face remains just as collected. "Yoongi is not dead." It's all he says.
Taehyung scoffs, putting his phone away after one last longing glance at the pictures. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. Whatever makes it easier for you to sleep. But I'd start doing so with one eye opened," Taehyung warns. "Now that your boyfriend's dead, who's to say we won't off you next?" He leans forward, resting his forehead to the iron bars just as Hoseok does the same. "You're fucked and worthless, and there's no one to stop us."
It's Hoseok's turn to laugh as though he'd been told a secret. Oh, how he loves to hear these threats the guards hurl, loves how their gazes harden, irises dark and cold; it sends excitement up his spine, through his veins.
"Again with the empty threats," he gasps, hiding a smile behind biting his bottom lip. "I'd love to see you guys try and hurt me. You'll never make it hurt like Yoongi does."
" Did ," Taehyung corrects. His voice is low, something animal and arousing lacing his tone. "Ever been fucked with a baton?" At Hoseok's responding moan, he smiles. "I can make that happen for you, baby."
There's a tight grin on Hoseok's lips. "Promise?" He flutters his lashes, trying his best at an innocent look, a distressed fuck coming from Taehyung's lips.
Hoseok loves talking to Taehyung.
"All you have to do is admit your precious boyfriend is dead."
"You're all idiots," Hoseok seethes, shifting the mood easily and abruptly as he hisses. "He's not dead!"
There's a breathy chuckle, and both of them remember Namjoon is still there. "He must be crazier than we thought." The comment is directed at Taehyung. Namjoon hardly ever directly speaks to Hoseok. He's not important enough.
"Right?" Taehyung agrees, turning to his comrade before giving a glaring smile to their prisoner. "Yoongi must have fucked him up real good."
"Or maybe he was fucked up to begin with," Namjoon wonders, somehow sounding genuinely intrigued and nonchalant all at once.
Taehyung shrugs, attention still on Hoseok. "Either way, we'll have fun killing him, right, Nams?"
Ah, the prospect of killing, something Namjoon has no problem perking up to. He straightens from the wall, coming to stand next to his partner. "And why wait? Let's have some fun. Celebrate Yoongi biting the dust with a little blood."
Hoseok is not fazed, features calm as he backs away from the door. He listens to the click of the door unlocking, a smile spreading on his face as the two guards enter. A thrill shoots through him; finally they'll try to hurt him.
He's so fucking ready.
They're both armed, of course: guns in holsters at their hips, chests adorned in heavy, sleek, clothed armour, knives strapped to their arms, their ankles. Taehyung pulls out the baton he mentioned before, and they both catch the way Hoseok's eyes light up at the weapon. They share a look. "This is gonna be fun." Namjoon smiles for the first time today.
Hoseok feels loose as they step forward, doesn't move until the black weapon in Taehyung's hands blur- and suddenly Hoseok ducks away. The adrenaline is a steady dose shot to his heart, and he fucking loves it.
Anyone that saw him now would be surprised either man had caught him at all, because Hoseok is fast , quick on his feet, eyes darting calculatively as they try to back him into one of the padded walls.
But of course, like the night they captured him, Hoseok makes a misstep, and is in Taehyung's strong arms in no time. His frame trembles at the hardness that digs into his thigh. He laughs breathlessly.
"Is that a gun in your pocket?" he asks, trying his hardest to jerk himself out of the other's grasp. But with his arms maddeningly trapped in the jacket, his efforts might as well be futile. He's hopeless. Still he kicks, digging his knees into Taehyung's crotch and only getting heavy grunts in response.
Behind him, Namjoon grabs Taehyung's discarded baton, striking the back of their prisoner's neck and feeling a surge of power at the other's involuntary groan.
"Why don't we just shoot him and get it over with?" Namjoon sounds frustrated, angry. Hoseok smiles to the ceiling sadistically...or is this masochism?
Taehyung drags Hoseok's wriggling body to a wall, his body sandwiched between it and Taehyung. Hoseok almost curses the cushion of the surface, wanting hard cement behind his back to dig into his bones.
"No," Taehyung heaves. "We have to go slow, make it hurt. You'd like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?"
Leaning his head back against the wall, Hoseok licks his lips, going limp. He doesn't answer, waiting for Taehyung's grip to slacken a bit. He takes that time to throw his head forward, his forehead connecting with Taehyung's face, the indistinguishable sound of bone cracking.
Taehyung falls backward, not a lot but just enough so Hoseok can get free. Namjoon is there to catch the slightly disoriented man, dragging him to the floor. Hoseok snarls just as Taehyung hovers over them.
"Crazy motherfucker," he bites through the hand covering his nose and mouth, not giving Hoseok time to respond as he gives a hard kick to the other's head.
The brunt force spreads from his temple, traveling down his neck and he's sure there's a smile on his lips. It feels so fucking good .
Namjoon hears it first, a shuffle and thump outside the opened door of the room. Taehyung is raring in for another kick when Namjoon grapples at his leg. "Did you hear that?"
The other guard is panting, death in his eyes, but he still stops, controls his breathing enough to hear another thump. He looks towards the door before stalking out. Namjoon follows.
Never has Hoseok seen the outside of the room, the guards always bringing things to the room. But from where his head spins, he can make out that the outside is much bigger than he expected. His room does not reside at the end of a hall. He heaves himself onto his stomach so he can crawl forward until his head pokes out the door. Crates line the walls far away from him, the ceilings higher than his room. He's not in a prison.
He's in a warehouse.
What kind of fucking prison system was this?
Hoseok doesn't have much time to contemplate, the pain residing just a bit for him to see Namjoon and Taehyung running around.
"They're all fucking dead!" Taehyung calls out to Namjoon just as he appears in front of Hoseok's door.
"Going somewhere, precious?" He smiles wickedly, dimples deceiving as he bends forward. Hoseok doesn't bother to flinch away from him when his hand cards into his hair with a hard grip. "Thought you could get away that easy?"
An explosion rumbles the warehouse from far away, Namjoon losing his balance and catching himself as he falls forward. Whipping his head back to inspect the damage, fire begins to spark. "Tae?"
No answer.
Namjoon notices it then, the wet trail on the cement ground, how it lines and disappears behind the crate he and Hoseok are in. Could it be gasoline?
He shoots up, meeting a face that stops him dead in his tracks.
Yoongi's skin is pale, but that's normal. His skin is clean, and his smile is just as menacing.
"Going somewhere, precious?" Yoongi mocks. His mouth falls in an instant and then there's a gun at Namjoon's head. He hardly blinks when he pulls the trigger, the splatter unnoticed. Namjoon takes too long to fall though his eyes are dead, so he shoves him to the side, ignoring the ugly thump and rushes to his boyfriend lying quietly on the floor.
Some of Namjoon's blood coats Hoseok's skin. "My beautiful," he mumbles, cradling the other's jaw. He wipes the speck of blood off his lips.
Hoseok smiles adoringly, maneuvering to stand on his knees, leveled with his love.
"I knew you weren't dead," Hoseok whispers, kisses at the thumb on his lips, leans into the other's warm palm. "Fucking told them. Said I was crazy." He's leaning into the other's face, drawn to the way he breathes in and out.
Their foreheads rest together, sharing the same air as it gets stuffier with the smoke that billows outside the room. The fire has been lit, and soon it eats away at the plastic of the walls outside, melting the interior until the feathers and padding drip from the inside.
"Did they hurt you, baby?" Yoongi asks, taking note of the bump forming on the other's forehead.
Hoseok laughs, ignoring the tightness of his dry lips. "They tried to." His next words are whispered against Yoongi's ear. "But they couldn't hurt me like you do."
It's tantalizing, a groan ripping from Yoongi's chest, his grip on the back of Hoseok's neck tighter than before. Fuck, he's killed them all. There's no one to stop him from fucking his love right here, right now. "Good," he growls.
"Yoongi," Hoseok whines, and he has to stave off a tremor. "I can't breathe." He coughs then, the smoke perforating the air too thickly. Yoongi's in the same boat, but all he feels is Hoseok.
With a cackle, Yoongi pulls their heads away, looking into Hoseok's wild eyes. He's sure he looks the same.
"Good."
Their lips crash together, a bruising kiss that's sloppy with tongue and teeth and heavy panting as oxygen dwindles every second. Yoongi swallows every moan, every hiccuped gasp. He can feel the electricity flow through his fingers. How long can they go before it's too much?
What is too much?
Yoongi yanks himself away, scrounging for a knife that's wrapped around Namjoon's arm. He uses it to cut the jacket to shreds, only a little reluctant because fuck if he wouldn't want Hoseok in that while they're in bed. But right now, they need to get out of there.
It's night time, the sky dark and the road ahead illuminated by a single street light down the road. When Hoseok finally catches his breath, coughing up the smoke, he let's Yoongi drag him down the street.
"Are they all dead?"
Yoongi drags Hoseok closer. "In there, yeah. Seokjin and Jeongguk are still alive."
"But they tried to kill you." There isn't much to the statement, and he notices Yoongi wide smile, instantly understands.
Yoongi stops, pulling Hoseok in front of him and bringing him close. "I know my baby would want to help me rip their hearts out." His voice is calm and sweet, unlike his words. Hoseok's breath gets caught in his chest just as Yoongi leans forward. "Right?"
The other nods dumbly, waiting for Yoongi's lips. "We should take pictures."
Ah, this is why Yoongi loves Hoseok.
"So Taehyung is dead too?"
Yoongi pauses, cocking his head. "Yeah...why?"
Hoseok pouts dramatically, just as he did earlier with Taehyung. He knows what they all like, uses it to his advantage. "I liked him. He would have been a great toy. He talked back a lot. Know how much you love that."
Some sort of anger pricks within Yoongi. He knows Hoseok is just messing with him, but his answer is serious nonetheless. "He wouldn't have lasted five fucking minutes."
Hoseok hums, sliding his arms around his boyfriend's neck. "No one makes it hurt like you do," he repeats.
A smile quirks on Yoongi's lips, a peck on the lips to suffice neither of them. "And you would know, wouldn't you, baby?"