In many ways, an is very much like death.

The shivers, the arched back and stiffened limbs, that single moment when the buildup finally explodes and wipes your mind clean - it’s about relinquishing your control and submitting to the lust within.

Jungkook is all about control, absolute, unchallenged control. But for Taehyung, he makes exceptions.

Something about that pretty face, alluring eyes with desire blazing, wet lips quivering as hot gasps spill out freely.

As he lies splayed over the backseat of the car, Taehyung is straddled over his hips, each sending waves of pleasure that makes him grunt out loud.

“, you’re gonna make me come - …” Taehyung cusses with sweat beading down his face, one arm propping himself up, only to swallow his words as Jungkook s up and into him harshly.

“Not yet.” He commands, hands giving Taehyung’s thighs a rough squeeze, “Not until I say yes.”

Taehyung hums between ragged breaths, and pulls on his lower lip with his teeth, tugging and biting. His cheeks are flushed, lips glistening in the dark, luring him in, daring him to come closer and claim him. Jungkook reaches his hand towards those wet lips and shoves his fingers in. Taehyung’s mouth parts as his eyes flutter shut.

It’s warm and sloppy, just like him, made of wet desires and lewd moans, lingering on Jungkook’s mind far longer than he’d ever admit. Taehyung’s tongue laps around his calloused fingers, moistening them with saliva, hot breath fanning his hand.

“Always like having something in your mouth, such a little .”

A whimper escapes Taehyung at the words. How Jungkook loves the way he looks right now, eyes half lidded, torso painted by a glowing flush, all wrecked and his to ruin.

An idea flashes across his mind, of something morbid and tempting that calls to him.

He pushes himself up and grabs onto Taehyung, who gasps, “, what you doing?”

“Hold on.” Jungkook reaches between the front seats and retracts something from the storage section.

It’s a revolver, worn out by the passage of time, the metal barrel polished and shining dimly in the dark. Taehyung stiffens at the sight of it.

“Relax, it’s more of a keepsake than anything.” Jungkook murmurs, and releases the cylinder with a resolute click.

Taehyung breaths into his shoulder, “Model 29, pretty.”

“Yeah, my very first gun.” Jungkook tilts the cylinder and catches the gleaming bullets with his other hand. His hand pauses as he suddenly arches a brow at Taehyung, who narrows his gaze, “Oh , I dont like that look, what’s on your mind?”

Jungkook tilts his head and s his hip, making Taehyung moan out loud, “A game, ?”

Taehyung tugs on his lip, “, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yesss, if you’ll finally touch me. , Guk, I can’t - I’m - I need to ing come.”

Jungkook chuckles darkly, “Greedy.” He grabs one single bullet and drops the rest onto the floor carelessly. With his eyes trained on Taehyung, Jungkook pops the one bullet in and gives the cylinder a brisk spin, before loading and locking swiftly with one hand.

The light in Taehyung’s eyes swirl and flicker, as he his lips.

“ on it. Show me how much you wanna come.” Jungkook rasps, as he lifts the gun towards Taehyung’s ruddy lips.

The wooden grip feels familiar in his palm, grains long polished into a smooth surface. Taehyung’s dark gaze is locked to Jungkook, as his fingers loop around the steel barrel. His tongue swipes long strips up the side of the metallic shaft, a string of whimpers falling out as his hips resume rhythm, grinding into Jungkook desperately.

“Always take it so well. So noisy and needy.” Jungkook’s other hand digs back into Taehyung’s flesh, kneading it, leaving marks on his golden-toned skin.

The tip of the barrel disappears between Taehyung’s lips, as his torso leans into Jungkook, desperate for the friction between them.

Jungkook feels the heat pooling in his abdomen again, as he stares into Taehyung’s glassy eyes and finally reaches in to palm his .

A stuttered moan escapes from the back of Taehyung’s throat, as his lips tremble around the gun, “Oh - yes -“ he’s leaning into Jungkook’s touch, body moving to the rhythm of his hand, back arched and brows pinched.

Jungkook feels his self restraint finally breaching. A blind need for release cumulates, making him go wild and pumping into Taehyung relentlessly. As his fingers loosen from the gun handle, Taehyung’s hand slips in.

With a grunt, Jungkook feels his body stiffening, every fiber screaming for release. The washes over him like a tidal wave, killing all the incessant noise, wiping the slate clean.

As his body slacks and lingers in the high, Taehyung’s pumping turns hurried. But there’s something in Taehyung’s gaze, beyond the lust threatening to peak, something dark and reckless, calling to his own demon within.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock as Taehyung’s fingers curl around the trigger, lips tightening onto the barrel. He clenches his jaw and braces for impact, hands gripping onto the carseat with white knuckles.

Click.

Jungkook’s breath hitches, as time suddenly seems to freeze. Something vivid flashes across his mind, of splattered crimson and the morbid warmth of tense limbs at the moment of extinction. But instead of the blinding flash of explosion and the deafening blast, he sees the rosy flush of Taehyung’s cheeks in the darkness, as his body tenses up and arches desperately. Taehyung’s eyes flutter as he paints Jungkook’s abdomen with white ropes. He collapses onto him, torso boneless and breath ragged.

Taehyung’s chuckle rings in the tense air, “, that was - that was wow…”

“You’re insane.” Jungkook mumbles, stilling reeling from what just transpired.

“It was your ing game. You got some crazy kinks.” Taehyung retorts.

Jungkook forces out a long exhale. He’s got a point there, but still.

After a pause, Taehyung murmurs, just loud enough for Jungkook to catch, “It's not the worst way to go anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, if I had to pick a way to die, that was probably not the worst one. At least you’d remember me forever, yeah?” His voice is teasing as always, Jungkook can almost feel the self-deprecating grin in the dark.

They stay in silence for a moment, with Taehyung pliant on top and leaning into his chest. Jungkook wraps an arm around him absently, thoughts muddled.

“By the way, nice of you to come here and meet me.” Taehyung’s voice is in a trance.

“It was on the way.” Jungkook grumbles.

“Oh really? Where to?”

“...Dusseldorf.”

“Ohhh. Ammo run before a job?”

Jungkook doesn't respond.

“Come to think of it, it’s almost been a year. Crazy, right? Who would’ve thought.”

Jungkook concurs silently. What are the chances. That they are both still alive to this day, still hooking up sporadically all over the world.

“We should almost have an anniversary date in Paris, yeah? Think your French is better now?” Taehyung teases, and groans when Jungkook punches him on the side.

That was a wild day, torrential rain pouring down punishingly, washing away the blood on both of them, as they ducked for cover behind cars on a side street in Paris. The target was a mafia leader, and Jungkook quickly realized that multiple assassins were hired for the same job, Taehyung being one of them, or Charon, as his codename went. Outnumbered by the mob and the police, on the run to get the out of the situation alive, they formed a reluctant alliance.

Jungkook will never forget the way Taehyung looked at the end of that day, with multiple bullet wounds all over his body, leaning against the faded wall of an abandoned warehouse. A smirk played by his lips, as he coughed and pushed out the words casually, “Call me, hot stuff. Let’s do this again some other time.”

Jungkook glared at him while striding away briskly, “You won’t make it out of here alive like that, save your breath.”

He heard Taehyung hollering from behind, “Is that a challenge, Orpheus? So if I live, you promise to call? You better, I’ll be waiting.”

The words lingered with him, inexplicably so. Jungkook tracked him down a month later. Taehyung was right about one thing, he did live. And again, and again. Or in Taehyung’s own words, he’s like the roaches in a sticky Daegu summer, “tough to catch and even tougher to kill”.

Granted, the is spectacular every time.

But their interaction stops there. The texts are always brief and to the point - where, and when. Finding people is a part of their profession, so it’s only a given that they’d always find each other - in the crowded floating market of Bangkok, over the desolate mountain ranges of the Rockies, or this time, on a remote hilltop by the fringe of west Berlin.

“Thinking about all our hot dates there?”

Taehyung teases, pushing himself up with one hand, head dipping down to inspect the mess between the two of them, “Ugh gross. You don’t happen to have a towel, do you?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and sits up to reach for the white tee by the front seat. He leans in and starts to wipe Taehyung carefully, earning a soft giggle out of him, “Agh it tickles.”

Like a ing kid. A deranged and needy little kid, decidedly atypical for their occupation. Jungkook sighs and continues, catching every smear and scanning one last time before moving onto himself.

“Man, you have no idea how much I needed this, it’s been ing crazy lately.”

“How so?” Jungkook asks.

“So many hits on my head, I think I pissed off the Bratva last time.”

“Right.” Jungkook thinks back to the last time he saw Taehyung by the German Russian border, a few days after he escaped interrogation, with hollow eyes and low spirit, barely able to walk.

“Or maybe it’s that one Rothschild I capped in the summer, who knows. I’m so ing tired, you know, the chase, the lack of sleep, all the chronic pains. , sometimes I just want a really good rest, just shut it all off and be done forever.”

“That’s a dangerous thought.” Jungkook comments flatly, taking in all the bruises and scabs on the honey-toned torso facing him.

Taehyung sighs, “I know.”

Jungkook’s gaze moves towards the fogged up windows, as his thoughts drift.

Eventually, he manages to grab another shirt from the trunk and starts the car. They zoom past nondescript streets and finally stop at a dingy-looking gas station.

Taehyung yawns, “Dropping me off the corner like some dirty hooker again, I see.”

“If you prefer a different spot-“

A wave of his long fingers, “Nah it’s fine.” He turns to face Jungkook, head tilted, with a hint of fondness gleaming in his eyes, “It was nice. It’s always nice to see you.”

The dim lights of the gas station are behind Taehyung, casting a soft glow on his silhouette, the fringe of his hair blurred in a golden filigree. Jungkook ignores the heaviness in his heart, and hums in response.

Taehyung snorts and grabs the backpack resting by his feet, “Always so stingy with words. Well, until next time.” He opens the door, but turns around as he steps out, “Thank you, by the way.”

Jungkook arches his brow, “For what?”

A careless shrug, “For everything I guess.”

Jungkook stays silent and watches as Taehyung slams the passenger door and saunters away slowly onto the street. As he drives away, he spots an unlit cigarette in the empty cup holder, the paper around the tip still a little damp.

So sloppy, always leaving something behind. Jungkook frowns, keeping his eyes on the road.

He drives through the clamouring streets of downtown west Berlin, past the throng of tourists, until the landscape around him begins to change, tall modern skyscrapers replaced by worn out sandstone buildings. The curbs are crumbled, and the asphalt cracking and wearing thin. As Jungkook gets closer to location, he starts checking off what he observes - shops, abandoned structures, parked cars - comparing everything to memory.

Jungkook parks his car in a secluded corner he’s found the day before, and waits in the driver’s seat.

By the time he finally steps out of the car, the sun is already up, shrouding the neighborhood in golden tranquility. Jungkook opens the trunk and pulls out two duffle bags hidden under the carpet. He throws on a black cap and makes his way towards the decrepit looking apartment building across the street. There are a few squatters scattered amongst the floors, but as Jungkook climbs the stairs covered in layers of graffiti and grime, he leaves them behind and reaches the rooftop.

There’s a slight draft up on the roof, refreshing against his skin. Jungkook pulls out the MK11 sniper rifle and lines up all the parts - Nightforce optics, IR laser that attaches to the rifle forend with a resounding click, the clunky but reliable KAC suppressor that slides into the gas block notch seamlessly…

A photo flashes across his mind, of two soldiers in combat gears against a dusky horizon, the one in the back has his head dipped low, but Jungkook recognizes the way he stands and holds the MK11 with both hands.

“A good gun for urban sniper missions, saved me quite a few times. Especially that day in Najaf when we were outnumbered and ambushed.” Namjoon’s voice rings in his ears.

Personally, he prefers hand to hand combat, revels in the surge of adrenaline as he locks eyes with the target. Something about staring into the face of death that makes him feel exquisitely alive.

But this specific mission calls for a different tactic. Jungkook gulps, hands staying busy, checking and rechecking.

He pulls out his phone and sees a message flashing on the screen.
you good?

Jungkook flinches. It’s unusual for Namjoon to text during a job. He purses his lips and feels a tinge of guilt.

It’s his fault, letting the situation slip and escalate to this point, where even his mentor is showing concern.

Most ing unprofessional.

Jungkook hastily types up a response before turning the phone off and throwing it into the duffle bag:
Yes, sir.

He checks the watch on his wrist: 9:42am, 18 more minutes before target arrives. Jungkook starts setting up the rifle.

The familiar motion is welcoming, clearing his mind and calming the rapid thrumming of his heart. Each step is purposeful, as all the components click into place in a meticulous sequence.

Jungkook was six when he first fired a gun. He remembers that unassuming day, when Namjoon handed him his own revolver and pointed at the empty pop can in the distance.

“Think of it this way, Gukkie, shooting is the most logical thing in the world. It has nothing to do with feelings. There are precise steps to it, all black and white, down to every little detail.” Namjoon fixes Jungkook’s small fingers against the wooden grip, voice gentle but flat. “Emotions are useless when you are aiming to kill, so snub them out, get rid of them. Follow all the steps that I teach you, and you will be one of the best marksmen in the world. Think you can do that? Think you can show hyung what a good boy you are, Gukkie?”

Jungkook can still remember the gleam of kindness in Namjoon’s eyes when he uttered those words. It was like a kiss of sunshine after living in perpetual gloom, and it made Jungkook felt useful, valued.

Kill the emotions, follow hyung’s instructions.

He’s obeyed those words ever since, lived by them, fading everything else out of his life. And it paid off - the alias Orpheus has weight in the industry, associated with an almost mythical perfect success rate, no matter how impossible the job is.

And this one is no different. Just another job, another target.

There are only two kinds of assassins in the world: the ones who are born with a switch and can shut off their emotions at will, and the ones who have learned the hard way that feelings are a luxury they cannot afford, who hollow themselves out willingly. Jungkook thinks Namjoon is the latter, his gentle smile always a tad empty, words a little too flat to be natural. Not that he’s ever asked.

Jungkook props the rifle against the edge of the rooftop and lies down on his stomach, feeling the wind in his hair. Two miles an hour, give and take, southeast direction. On his mind, he recites the target intel word by word.

Target has been assigned a fake mission at Cafe Denae, to commence at 1000 hour.

He aligns both sights with his dominant eye and aims for the main door of the small cafe across the street sixty feet below, calculating the path of projection and adjusting accordingly. No pedestrian on the street, no traffic, one customer inside. Easy job, zero risk. Time check: 0956.

Target is armed and highly dangerous. 5’11” height, Korean descent, with combat training and expertise in explosives.

Jungkook waits, eyes fixated and each muscle taut and controlled.

At a few minutes past ten, he sees a tall slender figure crossing the street. The stride is lazy and nonchalant, with a black backpack slung over his shoulder. Jungkook in a sharp breath, and shifts his sights to follow the gentle motion of the figure.

The sun warms his skin languidly, and there’s bird chirping in the distance. The figure steps towards the cafe door and pauses. A perfect clear shot, no obstruction, no bystander. Two shots to the head would guarantee immediate extinction.

Jungkook inhales and feels his focus culminating into a single point. He forces all his muddled thoughts to the side - the murmurs in the dark, the lingering fingertips dancing on his skin, a moan that penetrates his solitude - all gone.

Namjoon’s words reverberates on his mind, “If you can’t control your emotion, Gukkie, then kill it instead, snub it out completely until nothing remains.”

As he pushes out a stuttered exhale, the figure turns around at the same moment. The familiar bright eyes pierce straight through Jungkook, and those pretty lips that he’s kissed a hundred times in the dark, now mouthing out a silent phrase that he suddenly longs to hear.

Target name: Kim Taehyung, codename Charon. Termination on site, without exception.

Death, in many ways, is very much like the moment of during - arched back, stiffened muscle, a desperate moan escaping as intense sensations explode like fireworks. Then, as extinction sets in, the mind drifts into a state of detached subconsciousness, away from the tangles and regrets of this world forever.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble, and pull on the trigger.

FIN