minor offenses; suho/chen
Title: Minor Offenses (or, No Longer a Clumsy Massacre)
Pairing: Suho/Chen, kind of.
Rating: R (for slight gore)
Words: 666 words (literally)
★ happens in the same au as these ones.
★ i am sorry for killing the person that i do kill in this fic
★ miia is actually my favorite ya know
Warnings: violence imagery and minor character death.
Jongdae opens the door at half past midnight, keying in the security code with practiced ease before easily slipping into the apartment. This isn’t entirely an unusual scenario-Jongdae often ends up working until odd hours in his office, editing Junmyeon’s writing, reading and re-reading the paragraphs before publishing it online for the world to wake up to next morning. Admittedly, his schedule isn’t the easiest to work with, which is why things end up like this-with him closing the door behind himself wordlessly, as quietly as possible, and toeing his shoes off in the dark.
To his surprise however, the living room is illuminated by a thin stream of light coming in from the kitchen. Jongdae can just barely make out the faint outline of a shadow.
He takes a step towards the kitchen, a slow smile slipping onto his face at the knowledge that Junmyeon isn’t asleep yet.
“I’m sorry for being late,” he pacifies, taking a confident step into the room only to be greeted by the strong metallic smell in the air.
“You might as well start sleeping in the office,” Junmyeon grunts as a half-response and Jongdae blinks a few times, taking several deep breaths to get used to the smell before walking up to Junmyeon and wrapping his arms around Junmyeon’s waist. He rests his chin on Junmyeon’s shoulder and looks at the body lying atop their kitchen counter-fresh, healthy and exceptionally dead.
“I can’t help it if your writing is simply that horrendous,” Jongdae mummers against the shell of Junmyeon’s ear.
“White lies, Kim Jongdae,” Junmyeon says, taking a step away from Jongdae, wriggling out of his hold, to wash the knife under running water. “I am the most amazing journalist you’ve ever met-”
“You make an even better cook,” Jongdae argues, craning his neck to look at the man’s face. It’s hard to make out his facial features from where he is standing but the man isn’t exceptionally tall. He is, however, slim and extremely well-proportioned. A gym instructor perhaps, Jongdae thinks idly. “Where did you find this one?” he asks.
“Stumbled upon him,” Junmyeon says, aligning the knife alongside the ribs and bringing his hand down on it with force. The ribs crack open with a loud crunching noise, the sound resonating in their quiet apartment, musical, enchanting, delicious. “We got lucky with this one. Really lucky.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Junmyeon insists. He slides the knife all way down to the hipbones, cutting the first layer of skin open and letting the blood pool on the sides. “It’s not every day that you simply walk by Kim Minseok without being overrun by bodyguards.”
“Wait, what?" Jongdae double takes. "Kim Minseok?”
“Don’t you know him? He’s one of the fastest players on-”
“I know who he is,” Jongdae says, cutting Junmyeon off mid-sentence. Of course, he knows who Kim Minseok is. At the age of twenty six, and with enough money to provide for not only for his parents, but his sister, too, and her family, Kim Minseok is a man with 'numerous talents and far too few flaws'. He is-or was, now-a prodigious player on the soccer field, the key to FC Seoul’s entry to the K League’s finals and to top it off, he was, most important of all, exceedingly charming. A national heartthrob. A beautiful headline.
“Great catch, don’t you think?” Junmyeon asks, eyes still intently focused on Minseok’s body as he speaks. Jongdae can already see the articles he'd be editing about the country's superstar's accidental death. Alcohol poisoning maybe, or drug overdose, or maybe something slightly more tear-jerking. He'd have to talk it out with Junmyeon, of course, but he can already see the number of hits they'd be getting over this. For being the first to report yet another tragic accident.
“Like you have to ask,” Jongdae replies.
Pairing: Suho/Chen, kind of.
Rating: R (for slight gore)
Words: 666 words (literally)
★ happens in the same au as these ones.
★ i am sorry for killing the person that i do kill in this fic
★ miia is actually my favorite ya know
Warnings: violence imagery and minor character death.
Jongdae opens the door at half past midnight, keying in the security code with practiced ease before easily slipping into the apartment. This isn’t entirely an unusual scenario-Jongdae often ends up working until odd hours in his office, editing Junmyeon’s writing, reading and re-reading the paragraphs before publishing it online for the world to wake up to next morning. Admittedly, his schedule isn’t the easiest to work with, which is why things end up like this-with him closing the door behind himself wordlessly, as quietly as possible, and toeing his shoes off in the dark.
To his surprise however, the living room is illuminated by a thin stream of light coming in from the kitchen. Jongdae can just barely make out the faint outline of a shadow.
He takes a step towards the kitchen, a slow smile slipping onto his face at the knowledge that Junmyeon isn’t asleep yet.
“I’m sorry for being late,” he pacifies, taking a confident step into the room only to be greeted by the strong metallic smell in the air.
“You might as well start sleeping in the office,” Junmyeon grunts as a half-response and Jongdae blinks a few times, taking several deep breaths to get used to the smell before walking up to Junmyeon and wrapping his arms around Junmyeon’s waist. He rests his chin on Junmyeon’s shoulder and looks at the body lying atop their kitchen counter-fresh, healthy and exceptionally dead.
“I can’t help it if your writing is simply that horrendous,” Jongdae mummers against the shell of Junmyeon’s ear.
“White lies, Kim Jongdae,” Junmyeon says, taking a step away from Jongdae, wriggling out of his hold, to wash the knife under running water. “I am the most amazing journalist you’ve ever met-”
“You make an even better cook,” Jongdae argues, craning his neck to look at the man’s face. It’s hard to make out his facial features from where he is standing but the man isn’t exceptionally tall. He is, however, slim and extremely well-proportioned. A gym instructor perhaps, Jongdae thinks idly. “Where did you find this one?” he asks.
“Stumbled upon him,” Junmyeon says, aligning the knife alongside the ribs and bringing his hand down on it with force. The ribs crack open with a loud crunching noise, the sound resonating in their quiet apartment, musical, enchanting, delicious. “We got lucky with this one. Really lucky.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Junmyeon insists. He slides the knife all way down to the hipbones, cutting the first layer of skin open and letting the blood pool on the sides. “It’s not every day that you simply walk by Kim Minseok without being overrun by bodyguards.”
“Wait, what?" Jongdae double takes. "Kim Minseok?”
“Don’t you know him? He’s one of the fastest players on-”
“I know who he is,” Jongdae says, cutting Junmyeon off mid-sentence. Of course, he knows who Kim Minseok is. At the age of twenty six, and with enough money to provide for not only for his parents, but his sister, too, and her family, Kim Minseok is a man with 'numerous talents and far too few flaws'. He is-or was, now-a prodigious player on the soccer field, the key to FC Seoul’s entry to the K League’s finals and to top it off, he was, most important of all, exceedingly charming. A national heartthrob. A beautiful headline.
“Great catch, don’t you think?” Junmyeon asks, eyes still intently focused on Minseok’s body as he speaks. Jongdae can already see the articles he'd be editing about the country's superstar's accidental death. Alcohol poisoning maybe, or drug overdose, or maybe something slightly more tear-jerking. He'd have to talk it out with Junmyeon, of course, but he can already see the number of hits they'd be getting over this. For being the first to report yet another tragic accident.
“Like you have to ask,” Jongdae replies.