At Gunpoint 8/10
Title: At Gunpoint 8/10
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: Kibum wakes up later than usual the next day, the scent clinging to his skin not entirely his, and the lack of nausea surprises him.
A/N: I don't know what to really say rn, so this A/N shouldn't really exist, if you think about it /moody. I just hope you enjoy ♥
Kibum wakes up later than usual the next day, the scent clinging to his skin not entirely his, and the lack of nausea surprises him.
He's not exactly sure how or why, but the ability to lay around lazily is more than enough to make him stop worrying. He stretches, long and slow, eyes closing on their own as he groans.
With arms still over his head even after he's done, he lets everything wash over him; the sunlight coming in through the curtains, the muffled sounds of the busy city outside the windows. He doesn't remember having a morning like that in these past three months, he can't even remember waking up at -he turns his head to look at the digital clock next to him- 10 a.m.
Still, his hair sticks to his skull and his briefs are too tight and heavy around his hips.
Gotta get moving, he thinks with a deep sigh that gets his blood humming, and gets off the bed as gingerly as possible. He practically sprints to the bathroom, and allows himself to spend fifteen minutes more than necessary, while taking a shower.
+
Slipping his mobile into his left pocket and the room keys into the right one, he lets the door behind him fall shut softly and cranes his head to the side. His feet remain screwed to the floor for a bit, his eyes trained on the hall's corner, but he gets over it soon. Emptying his mind, he turns the other way around and starts climbing up the stairs.
What he first sees when he reaches the top is men. Four or five of them -four, he decides after a moment-, all in black suits and possibly armed. They all turn to look at him, even though he can't really be sure, considering their dark glasses, and he smiles, confused.
"Good morning?" he greets unsurely, and they all nod briefly. At least they haven't gunned him down yet.
He steps closer, approaching the suite's door, but the guy next to it seems to have an objection. He doesn't really talk, just stands in between Kibum and the entrance, hands crossed over his crotch and muscles tightening underneath his suit. Kibum stops in his tracks and points over the guy's shoulder.
"I wanna see my uncle," he says, eyebrows rising.
"He has requested that he remains uninterrupted," the other simply replies, voice way too low for comfort. His hair is deep dark and slicked back, caught into this strict and painful-looking ponytail.
Kibum can't quite let go yet. "Something wrong?" he tries to buy himself some time, ears almost straining to catch onto the sample of a male voice behind the door. A young, simplistic, almost bored male voice. But that was only for a second, before the bodyguard in front of him distracts him.
"He just needs privacy."
And that is all. Silence fills the hall, making Kibum's skin crawl. The stares of four pairs of eyes feel like needles, and that makes it more than a little obvious that he's unwanted. Unwelcome.
"Okay then," he says while backing down, momentarily lifting his palms up in defeat. What is even going on? he wonders while walking down the stairs, way too far away to even manage to hear anything that's going on on the nineteenth floor of the hotel.
And then he's back, back to where he started off, rooted in front of his room, but wanting to be somewhere else.
He sighs. One would seriously have gotten tired of playing cat and mouse; of pursuing something that's so hard to catch. For some reason, though, it really doesn't all feel that untouchable to Kibum. He's been there, he's done that, he's cracked something, no matter if it only was the outer shell of Jonghyun. He saw something, and even if his eyes aren't always reliable, he felt it. It happened, it really did, he assures himself.
And that's enough to make him move forward, take those steps needed to reach the corner of the hall. Just seconds away from his destination, though, the handle turns.
"-be waiting," he hears clearly, the voice being followed by a body, and then a head, completing the image. A boy comes out of Jonghyun's room, a grin on his lips and an old backpack on his shoulders. Kibum can't determine his age, can't even think past what? as the boy closes the door, eyes falling on Kibum only while he walks past him.
"Hi," he briefly greets, all to cheery, before disappearing around the corner. His footfalls can be heard as he reaches the lift, which dings gleefully mere seconds later.
Kibum can only be frozen there, too many questions going through his brain.
For the first time this Monday, he's feeling nauseated.
+
He taps his foot.
He cracks his fingers.
He bites at the inside of his cheeks and seethes.
It's been seven hours. Seven hours of contacting the front desk, hearing Taemin's voice answer his calls each and every time. I'm sorry, Kibum, things are just kind of hectic right now. We're all doing the best we can, he told him during their most recent conversation half an hour ago, almost confidentially.
He has ordered every single type of salad off the menu, asked for practically all available beverages, and has even kind of snapped at Taemin, at some point. All orders were delivered by different people, none of which resembled Jonghyun even a bit. Kibum feels irritated. He feels like a child being denied of candy. If he allowed himself to be this melodramatic, he would actually say he feels like a fish being denied of water.
What the fuck.
He directs a pillow towards the opposite wall and scowls.
And then someone knocks on the door.
His heart misses a beat, maybe, but he doesn't move. Just stands there, in the middle of the room, facing the door. He doesn't even need to utter It's open.
Jonghyun is in mere seconds later, a suit carrier hanging from his left hand as his right one closes the door. Kibum simply stares and Jonghyun copies him for a while, something happening even though Kibum can't decipher it.
Jonghyun clears his throat and efficiently breaks the spell. "I was told to deliver this to you," he says, eyes snapping to the bag in his hand, and his voice works too well on Kibum, making his spine straighten just a bit too much. "For Wednesday, Mr. Kim said."
Kibum licks his lips, suddenly too dry, and doesn't stop himself from asking, "Is that when everything's gonna happen?" He watches as Jonghyun remains stiff, unreadable. "That thing you're planning?" I mean, come on, armed guys all over the place and the feeling of Doomsday creeping behind me; you can't go wrong.
Jonghyun seems to give up faster than expected, walking closer and past Kibum, letting the carrier lay straight on top of the mattress. He sighs, and Kibum has to turn around to face him. "None of this concerns you."
"It does. I'm going to help. Try me, just this once and then-"
"No," is what cuts him off, harsh, serious and desperate, not too different than the latest rejection coming from Jonghyun's lips. It's all a never-ending cycle.
Kibum clenches his fists. "Why?" he inquires, frowning hard, all the frustration in him emphasising his question. He's capable of shouting it out right now, screaming it, even, and no one would be able to tell him he's exaggerating. It would all be too genuine. "Why is it that you make me feel it's all so fucking easy and then you simply shove me away just like that?"
And then Jonghyun is all too close, suddenly, knocking out all the air out of him. Shoving him again, only this time physically, hard and into the wall behind him, fingers wrapping against the base of his neck, just barely.
"Because people like you get people like me killed," he says, all coolness lost, raw emotions way too heavy on his tone. "I'd rather not even know where you are, than worry you may die in front of me," he almost growls, stare alternating between Kibum's eyes and mouth. Kibum can feel Jonghyun's chest rise and fall shallowly - or is that his own? He can't tell.
"I'm-" he begins, but fails.
"Unfair, that's what you are," Jonghyun says, managing to bring himself down, the hand around Kibum's neck going higher, thumb ghosting over his lower lip and the rest of his fingers resting on his cheek. "Unfair."
And Kibum feels his ribs tighten, almost suffocating him.
That's when he loses the warmth of Jonghyun's palm and body, as the other lets him go. Kibum watches as he smooths over his uniform, the fire in his eyes dying down gradually - no, being masked.
"And I think that would be all," he hears him say, "Sir."
Kibum nods stupidly, too numb, too speechless, too distant to respond or put up some resistance.
Good, Jonghyun almost says with a nod of his own, and turns away.
Before Kibum even knows it, the door falls shut again, and his palms are sweating against the wall behind him.
He doesn't feel heart-broken or anything else that would compare him to a helpless teenager. He just feels nauseated.
→ previous. next.
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: Kibum wakes up later than usual the next day, the scent clinging to his skin not entirely his, and the lack of nausea surprises him.
A/N: I don't know what to really say rn, so this A/N shouldn't really exist, if you think about it /moody. I just hope you enjoy ♥
Kibum wakes up later than usual the next day, the scent clinging to his skin not entirely his, and the lack of nausea surprises him.
He's not exactly sure how or why, but the ability to lay around lazily is more than enough to make him stop worrying. He stretches, long and slow, eyes closing on their own as he groans.
With arms still over his head even after he's done, he lets everything wash over him; the sunlight coming in through the curtains, the muffled sounds of the busy city outside the windows. He doesn't remember having a morning like that in these past three months, he can't even remember waking up at -he turns his head to look at the digital clock next to him- 10 a.m.
Still, his hair sticks to his skull and his briefs are too tight and heavy around his hips.
Gotta get moving, he thinks with a deep sigh that gets his blood humming, and gets off the bed as gingerly as possible. He practically sprints to the bathroom, and allows himself to spend fifteen minutes more than necessary, while taking a shower.
+
Slipping his mobile into his left pocket and the room keys into the right one, he lets the door behind him fall shut softly and cranes his head to the side. His feet remain screwed to the floor for a bit, his eyes trained on the hall's corner, but he gets over it soon. Emptying his mind, he turns the other way around and starts climbing up the stairs.
What he first sees when he reaches the top is men. Four or five of them -four, he decides after a moment-, all in black suits and possibly armed. They all turn to look at him, even though he can't really be sure, considering their dark glasses, and he smiles, confused.
"Good morning?" he greets unsurely, and they all nod briefly. At least they haven't gunned him down yet.
He steps closer, approaching the suite's door, but the guy next to it seems to have an objection. He doesn't really talk, just stands in between Kibum and the entrance, hands crossed over his crotch and muscles tightening underneath his suit. Kibum stops in his tracks and points over the guy's shoulder.
"I wanna see my uncle," he says, eyebrows rising.
"He has requested that he remains uninterrupted," the other simply replies, voice way too low for comfort. His hair is deep dark and slicked back, caught into this strict and painful-looking ponytail.
Kibum can't quite let go yet. "Something wrong?" he tries to buy himself some time, ears almost straining to catch onto the sample of a male voice behind the door. A young, simplistic, almost bored male voice. But that was only for a second, before the bodyguard in front of him distracts him.
"He just needs privacy."
And that is all. Silence fills the hall, making Kibum's skin crawl. The stares of four pairs of eyes feel like needles, and that makes it more than a little obvious that he's unwanted. Unwelcome.
"Okay then," he says while backing down, momentarily lifting his palms up in defeat. What is even going on? he wonders while walking down the stairs, way too far away to even manage to hear anything that's going on on the nineteenth floor of the hotel.
And then he's back, back to where he started off, rooted in front of his room, but wanting to be somewhere else.
He sighs. One would seriously have gotten tired of playing cat and mouse; of pursuing something that's so hard to catch. For some reason, though, it really doesn't all feel that untouchable to Kibum. He's been there, he's done that, he's cracked something, no matter if it only was the outer shell of Jonghyun. He saw something, and even if his eyes aren't always reliable, he felt it. It happened, it really did, he assures himself.
And that's enough to make him move forward, take those steps needed to reach the corner of the hall. Just seconds away from his destination, though, the handle turns.
"-be waiting," he hears clearly, the voice being followed by a body, and then a head, completing the image. A boy comes out of Jonghyun's room, a grin on his lips and an old backpack on his shoulders. Kibum can't determine his age, can't even think past what? as the boy closes the door, eyes falling on Kibum only while he walks past him.
"Hi," he briefly greets, all to cheery, before disappearing around the corner. His footfalls can be heard as he reaches the lift, which dings gleefully mere seconds later.
Kibum can only be frozen there, too many questions going through his brain.
For the first time this Monday, he's feeling nauseated.
+
He taps his foot.
He cracks his fingers.
He bites at the inside of his cheeks and seethes.
It's been seven hours. Seven hours of contacting the front desk, hearing Taemin's voice answer his calls each and every time. I'm sorry, Kibum, things are just kind of hectic right now. We're all doing the best we can, he told him during their most recent conversation half an hour ago, almost confidentially.
He has ordered every single type of salad off the menu, asked for practically all available beverages, and has even kind of snapped at Taemin, at some point. All orders were delivered by different people, none of which resembled Jonghyun even a bit. Kibum feels irritated. He feels like a child being denied of candy. If he allowed himself to be this melodramatic, he would actually say he feels like a fish being denied of water.
What the fuck.
He directs a pillow towards the opposite wall and scowls.
And then someone knocks on the door.
His heart misses a beat, maybe, but he doesn't move. Just stands there, in the middle of the room, facing the door. He doesn't even need to utter It's open.
Jonghyun is in mere seconds later, a suit carrier hanging from his left hand as his right one closes the door. Kibum simply stares and Jonghyun copies him for a while, something happening even though Kibum can't decipher it.
Jonghyun clears his throat and efficiently breaks the spell. "I was told to deliver this to you," he says, eyes snapping to the bag in his hand, and his voice works too well on Kibum, making his spine straighten just a bit too much. "For Wednesday, Mr. Kim said."
Kibum licks his lips, suddenly too dry, and doesn't stop himself from asking, "Is that when everything's gonna happen?" He watches as Jonghyun remains stiff, unreadable. "That thing you're planning?" I mean, come on, armed guys all over the place and the feeling of Doomsday creeping behind me; you can't go wrong.
Jonghyun seems to give up faster than expected, walking closer and past Kibum, letting the carrier lay straight on top of the mattress. He sighs, and Kibum has to turn around to face him. "None of this concerns you."
"It does. I'm going to help. Try me, just this once and then-"
"No," is what cuts him off, harsh, serious and desperate, not too different than the latest rejection coming from Jonghyun's lips. It's all a never-ending cycle.
Kibum clenches his fists. "Why?" he inquires, frowning hard, all the frustration in him emphasising his question. He's capable of shouting it out right now, screaming it, even, and no one would be able to tell him he's exaggerating. It would all be too genuine. "Why is it that you make me feel it's all so fucking easy and then you simply shove me away just like that?"
And then Jonghyun is all too close, suddenly, knocking out all the air out of him. Shoving him again, only this time physically, hard and into the wall behind him, fingers wrapping against the base of his neck, just barely.
"Because people like you get people like me killed," he says, all coolness lost, raw emotions way too heavy on his tone. "I'd rather not even know where you are, than worry you may die in front of me," he almost growls, stare alternating between Kibum's eyes and mouth. Kibum can feel Jonghyun's chest rise and fall shallowly - or is that his own? He can't tell.
"I'm-" he begins, but fails.
"Unfair, that's what you are," Jonghyun says, managing to bring himself down, the hand around Kibum's neck going higher, thumb ghosting over his lower lip and the rest of his fingers resting on his cheek. "Unfair."
And Kibum feels his ribs tighten, almost suffocating him.
That's when he loses the warmth of Jonghyun's palm and body, as the other lets him go. Kibum watches as he smooths over his uniform, the fire in his eyes dying down gradually - no, being masked.
"And I think that would be all," he hears him say, "Sir."
Kibum nods stupidly, too numb, too speechless, too distant to respond or put up some resistance.
Good, Jonghyun almost says with a nod of his own, and turns away.
Before Kibum even knows it, the door falls shut again, and his palms are sweating against the wall behind him.
He doesn't feel heart-broken or anything else that would compare him to a helpless teenager. He just feels nauseated.
→ previous. next.