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The first time Namjoon saw Jimin was through the glass of the interrogation chamber.
“Body is pretty new, Kim. They found the old man face down in the pool. They haven’t finished the autopsy yet, but they’re saying he died around five in the morning,” Lee iterated.
Namjoon ran a thumb along his suspenders and took a look at the man in the glass room. His head was in his handcuffed hands and his black hair was messily intertwined with his curled fingers. He was wearing a long-sleeved loose purple shirt of some kind, along with some non-matching jeans. He looked like a mess.
“Got it. Who’s this? The sugar baby? What was his name again? Jim something?” Namjoon picked up his beige blazer from the back of a swivel chair.
“Jimin Wang. They found him passed out on the patio next to the pool. There were bruises all over his arms and legs, but he was also the only one there who could have seen anything.” Lee paused, adjusting the mic. “Our only lead. We can only detain him for forty-eight hours, Kim. Please make it count.”
“I know, Cooper. I’m the best. Don’t worry too much.” He put on his jacket and shot Lee a thumbs-up, picking up the case files and swinging the door to the room open.
The man in the room immediately lifted his head from his hands, and Namjoon saw his entire face. There was glitter below his eyes that glinted under the harsh tube light. His eyes were shiny with tears and the black stuff around his eyes smudged on his cheekbones. He blinked a few times, trying to get the blur out of his eyes as he bit down on his dry lips.
There was a raw sort of pain and loss in his eyes. Namjoon thought it was pretty.
“Good morning, Mr. Wang, my—”
“My surname is Park. Wang was his name. But he’s dead now.” His voice was a tenor, soft and melodic, colored with emotion, almost like he was on the verge of having a sore throat.
“I apologize, Mr. Park. I am Detective Kim, and I want to ask you some questions about your late husband’s murder. Is that okay with you?” Jimin nodded and Namjoon continued. “Can you tell me what you did, starting from the time you woke up yesterday?”
Namjoon heard a soft swish as the man in front of him sat up straighter on the chair, a look of determination in his eyes. “I woke up around ten in the morning, and then I went on my daily gym session and coffee run. I was planning to go visit a few shops in the afternoon, but Spence—I’m sorry—I mean Mr. Wang, called me and said he wanted me home. He sounded…very lost, almost desperate. I should have known then.” Jimin swiped a palm across his wet cheeks. “I should have fucking known there was something wrong then. But I didn’t think much of it when I came back. He was still in bed, all covered up with the sheets, and he was crying, like, crying a lot. So I, um, I tried to cuddle him, but he didn’t want me near. I gave up and went to the kitchen to make us food. We ate on the bed, and then, uh, he said he was going to miss my cooking so much. I laughed it off, but I should have known, right” Jimin looked up at Namjoon, his eyes shining with fresh tears. “I should have known that those hugs and kisses were the last he was ever going to give me? The last words he was going to say to me? I should have known that he was going to fucking swallow those pills and drown himself in the pool, right?”
His voice had alarmingly started to rise in pitch till it almost started sounded like a siren. Namjoon closed the file in front of him and put his hand on the other man’s arm, a comforting touch. “It’s okay, Mr. Park. I am sure there was nothing you could have done to prevent this.”
Jimin looked down at the single point of contact between them, and looked back up at Namjoon’s face. He straightened his spine and the shirt he was wearing slid off the right shoulder, revealing pale skin and the edge of a sharp collarbone.
Namjoon retracted his hand and looked down at the file again. There wasn’t much on it, but he took a look anyways. “Please continue with your story, Mr. Park.”
Jimin sniffled and continued. “We ate and then I went downstairs to do the dishes and watch something on the TV. He clearly did not want me there. He did have days like those occasionally, and it was usually best to not bother him when he was like that. So I finished my movie, ran a few miles on the treadmill and then went for a shower. I did not see him at all during this time. The last time I saw him was when he seemed to be asleep on the bed. I gave him…gave him a kiss on his forehead and went to sleep myself. I can’t believe he’s actually dead.”
“Did you find his body? Was it you who called the police?”
“Yes. I woke up to drink some water and went down to the kitchen. I was just looking out to the pool when I saw something floating in there.” Jimin sniffled again. “There was this horrible, dreadful feeling in my stomach, almost like I knew what I was going to see. But nothing could prepare me for when I actually saw his body. I remember screaming, and then I remember passing out. Our chauffer must have heard me and called the police, because when I woke up, the police were already there.”
“This chauffer, does he always stay overnight?”
“Yes, he has a small room next to the garage just in case Spencer had to head out somewhere at night.” Jimin dragged the edge of his shirt up to cover his exposed shoulder. “Can I go home soon, Detective Kim? I have to start planning a funeral that is hopefully as worthy as the beautiful life my Spencer lived.” The crying had stopped, but the tears still lingered, smudged and tainted with glitter and makeup, on his cheek.
“Just a few more customs, Mr. Park. Then we’ll let you go.”
There was a pause, as if Jimin was absorbing it in. “Thank you, Detective Kim. You’re very kind.”
His voice was soft and quiet, almost hummed under his breath. “Of course, Mr. Park.” Namjoon stood up, his chair scraping loudly in the silence. “I extend my condolences to you and your family.”
“He was my only family.” His head was bowed so Namjoon couldn’t see his eyes. “He was the only one who made me feel anything anymore. I miss him already.”
Namjoon picked up the papers from the table. “I really am sorry, Mr. Park. We’ll let you go very soon.”
Jimin’s head was still bowed, silent. The detective was about to step out when he heard the man speak up again. “You can call me Jimin, Detective Kim.”
“Of course, Jimin,” Namjoon stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.
Lee was leaning against the control desk, his sleeves rolled up to his elbow. “That was interesting.”
Namjoon looked back at Jimin through the glass. “It’s not him, Cooper.”
He could feel his co-worker’s eyes boggling at him, mouth slacked open in surprise. “What? Kim, how can you just say that—”
“Have I ever been wrong?” He snapped back.
“Well, no. But—”
“Then don’t question me. I know this is a high-profile case, but I’m going to trust my intuition, and I’m going to be correct, like always.”
There was a moment of silence as Lee switched off the mic and the cameras that were monitoring the room. “Kim, I know he’s really pretty, and he looks very vulnerable right now, but—”
Namjoon slanted his eyebrows at the other man. “Are you implying something?”
“No.”
“Then stop dawdling and find out more about this chauffer. I’m sure it was a suicide but I want to rule out every possibility of an unsub.”
Lee picked up his phone and walked towards the exit, whispering, “maybe if your big head wasn’t so stuck up your own ass…”
Namjoon looked back at the screwed-up face of mistrust, acne-prone at his big age. He never did like Lee Cooper, but he had to deal with his annoying ass for certain cases like this one. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly. Come back to me when you have this chauffer.”
Namjoon looked back at Jimin, and heard the door quietly shut behind him.
-
Namjoon was in the courthouse when he saw Jimin again.
He had been handing in sealed evidence to a judge when he saw him sitting on a wooden bench in the hall, again with his head in his small hands.
“Mr. Park?”
Jimin looked up, his eyes big and shiny. He was wearing a brown two-piece with a matching tie that looked entirely too big on him, the shoulder line hanging over his arm. “Detective Kim? What are you doing here?”
“I was here to hand over something for another case. Is your court date today?”
Jimin dropped his palms to his lap and nodded. “Yes, the judge just announced a break because it was getting too heated in there. They’re all…they’re all accusing me of k-killing my own husband. I’m sitting here, wearing my dead husband’s suit because I have no formal clothes, and they’re saying I killed him.” His voice broke off in a sob at the last word.
Namjoon had met so many people like him, overcome with so much grief and yet they still had to keep it all together in the face of law and the cruel system that would pound into them till they blurted the truth that they needed to hear. It was harsh and bloodthirsty, unforgiving. As a detective, Namjoon automatically fell into this category, and at the end of the day, this was his job and he was going to execute it to the best of his ability. But, he could still show a little sympathy.
And Jimin’s eyes, looking up at him with all the things Namjoon never wanted to see, made him want to reconsider the actions that were behind by these bad consequences, consequences he didn’t want anyone to ever go through. At the end of the day, most humans were strong, and they were resilient. People always got through whatever shit that was thrown at them; he really hoped Jimin was just as resilient.
“Can I sit, Jimin?” When Jimin nodded, he sat down in the space next to him. “You’re going to get through this. You’re so strong and capable. I know it seems like the entire world is against you right now, but I’m not. I don’t believe you killed him.”
Jimin’s face was looking down, so Namjoon couldn’t see his eyes, but he could see how his tensed shoulders slowly relaxed, so he continued. “I really don’t believe you killed him, and my intuitions are usually right. So trust in that, and trust in the system that was made to protect you.”
The smaller man twisted to look back at him. “Do you really believe that?”
Namjoon considered the question for a second. “Mostly. But I really believe you didn’t kill him.”
There was a second in which neither of them spoke and Namjoon scanned Jimin’s face. That grief was gone, and had been replaced with wide-eyed hope. The detective knew exactly how that felt.
Then there was a quick flurry of air and he suddenly had a handful of Jimin. His arms wrapped around Namjoon’s shoulders and his head buried in his chest. “Thank you, Detective Kim.” His voice was muffled in his shirt.
Namjoon’s palms settled on his waist over the thick suit. Jimin smelled clean, like bleach and expensive men’s perfume. He chuckled, “Namjoon. And you don’t have to thank me.”
“No, I do. Thank you, Namjoon.”
The detective was about to shoot him an embarrassed reply, but then Jimin’s phone rang, trill and loud in the busy courthouse. He untangled himself from Namjoon and fished it out of his front pocket to check who it was.
There was a quick surge of something on Jimin’s face, here and gone like a flash, something that made his jaw clench, quiet uncharacteristic for the smaller man in front of him.
But Namjoon chose to ignore it and stood up. “I’ll be going, Jimin. It was nice meeting you again. I wish you all the best for your case.”
Jimin looked up at him with a small smile on his face, that had settled back into that unsure sadness. “Of course. Thank you again, Namjoon.”
Namjoon walked away.
Later that day, Lee emailed Namjoon the name and the file of the chauffer. His employee name was Vincent. He had dark, messy hair that fell to his shoulders, and large eyes that stared into the camera. He had been arrested before for minor felonies, like selling fake license plates and stealing car parts.
He had been missing since the day of Spencer Wang’s death.
-
The third time Namjoon saw Jimin, he was in this fancy suit-and-wine club downtown called The Sphere. It was invitation-only, in a room with high ceilings and a gorgeous view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
It was late in the evening, and Namjoon was planning to go back home soon. He was here to collect some papers from the owner, nothing very important, and he had been invited to stay back for a drink.
So the detective sat on the sleek metal high chairs on the bar and swirled a finger around the rim of the half-empty martini glass in front of him, his eyes swiveling around the room, brushing past the people gathered around the dance floor and the private tables that were dimly lit by the blue light.
He was just about to take out his wallet to pay, but at that moment, he saw two figures come out of one of the booths, clearly engaged in a heated discussion. They were hard to recognize under the low lights, but as they came closer, Namjoon’s heart stopped in his chest.
One of them was definitely Jimin Park, but he did not look anything like the Jimin that Namjoon was familiar with. His hair was bleached blond, pushed off his forehead, and he was in a black slim-fitted evening suit buttoned-up at his waist. His fists were clenched to his side as he argued with the other man.
The other man was definitely Asian, blond too, long hair, ponytail, tattoo sleeves, a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, several earrings glittering on his ears. His hands were in his pocket, and he looked exasperated.
And they were both rapidly getting closer to him.
So Namjoon quickly left a couple of bills, picked up his blazer and sped towards the nearest door, which was the bathroom. He put down his jacket next to the sink and bent down to wash his face.
Namjoon did not know who this person was. There was no sign of the wide eyes and the soft skin that he had noticed in the two times that they had met. There was no sign of that uncertainty and the sadness, the man who had needed reassurance about a dead husband and a pending court decision.
But maybe Namjoon was overreacting a little. He picked up one of the warm towels on the trays and dried his face, looking at himself in the mirror. He was still wearing his work clothes: white button-up that was getting too tight around his chest, old black trousers, black suspenders that hadn’t been buckled up properly and an empty holster. His gun was in his inner coat pocket. His dark circles were showing and his short, dark hair was a mess.
Namjoon was about to pick up his jacket to feel the familiar weight of his weapon, when he heard the restroom door open and close, followed by a faint click. Namjoon’s hands immediately went to the soft material of the inside of his coat when he saw him walk in.
“Namjoon.” His voice was still the same; so it wasn’t some diabolical long-lost twin; which seemed silly to the detective as soon as he thought of it.
“Jimin. Fancy seeing you here.” His hands were in his pockets, and Namjoon wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt by not thinking it was a weapon.
Jimin must have noticed his eyes swivel down to his hands, because he removed them, letting them drop to his side. “Relax, I’m not hiding a knife or something in my pocket.”
Namjoon did not relax. “So what are you doing here?”
The blond man moved forward to wash his hands, gently wiping them off with a towel. “Why? Can’t a man just come here to have a couple of drinks?”
“It’s an invitation-only club. Not a lot of people get them.”
There was a soft thump of the wet towel dropping into the bin below the sink. “The owner is an old friend of mine.”
There were too many questions running through Namjoon’s mind, so he asked the first one that came up. “You said you didn’t own any formal clothes.”
Jimin rolled his eyes. “Tsk, tsk. Look at you, well-known detective, asking the stupidest fucking questions. Are you sure you’re supposed to be one of the best out there, or is that all just big talk?”
Namjoon prickled at the insult, but before he could open his mouth, Jimin continued. “Ask me the real question, detective, c’mon. Ask me where the chauffer is. Ask me who was the man I was just talking to outside. I know you saw us—I could feel your eyes on me—ask me who he was. Ask me if I killed my husband.”
With each sentence, Jimin took one step closer to the taller man, till the distance between them dwindled to almost nothing. His lips curled up in a sneer. “Big officer in our spectacular government institution, and he asks about my clothing choices. How fucking pathetic.”
Namjoon knew his skin was burning up in anger and shame, his teeth clenching at the smirk on Jimin’s face, but this is what Namjoon was best at: controlling his emotions and playing mind games, he had been doing this in the face of several worse criminals all his adult life. There had been no one who could get better of him. And yet it seemed like he had met a match, someone who could finally trump his emotions, someone who could get under his skin.
But he kept it all under check, like he had been taught. “Okay then. Tell me where Vincent is.”
“Who?”
“Your missing chauffer.”
Jimin had not backed up yet, he was still in the detective’s space. He was slightly shorter, looking up at Namjoon, but it felt as if he was staring him down. “Oh, Tae? I don’t know, he told me he would run, and he did. He’s probably across the border in Mexico or Canada by now. ‘Vincent’ was from Van Gogh, one of his favorite artists. Isn’t that so cute?”
“So you knew him, then.”
“Aw, what an astute observation our genius detective has made. Do you want a reward, Sherlock Holmes?” Namjoon boiled and burned, but he pushed it back again. He didn’t reply and Jimin continued. “But to answer your question, no.” There was a smile on his face, wide and mocking. He was clearly lying.
“If you’re not going to tell me that, who was the man you were talking to?”
“His name is Jungkook. He’s a chef at this place. He came over to the house every Sunday to make sushi for me and steak for Spencer. Spencer had hired him around a year ago. Now, do you want to know if he liked his steak well-cooked, or do I have to spoon-feed you both the questions and the answers.”
“Did you know Jungkook before you married Spencer?”
“No,” he smiled.
The detective’s fingers slowly inched towards the lump in the jacket that was still in his hand. “What’s the point of asking you these questions if you’re just going to keep lying?”
Jimin threw his head back and laughed. “Isn’t that your job to find out, Detective Kim? Or is all the ass-kissing getting to your head and making you too dumb to function?”
Namjoon could feel the gun now. His digits curled around the trigger. “I could arrest you right now and take you back to prison. Why are you still talking to me?”
“And what proof are you going to give against me? Do you think I’m dumb enough to kill my own husband when I’m the only one in his will? Do you think anyone’s going to believe the poor, despairing widow of someone who clearly loved him?” Jimin batted his eyelashes, his eyes suddenly growing wide and teary. “My b-beloved Spencer. I loved him so much, I can’t believe he k-killed himself,” he sniffed.
Jimin’s face fell back to the sneer. “It’s a man’s world, Detective Kim. And I know men, men just like you.” The shorter man leaned forward, lightly brushing his nose against Namjoon’s sensitive neck. Namjoon could feel his eyes flutter shut. “Besides, I like talking to you, detective. And I still remember you walking into that interrogation room with your tight shirt, buttons almost popping and your nipples hard because of the cold. God, you are so fucking hot, you could have just bent over the desk and asked, and I would have told you my entire plan.”
Jimin’s fingers had been tracing over the material of his suspenders, and Namjoon could feel a finger slip under it, pulling on it, then letting it go, allowing it to snap back harshly on his chest, leaving a stinging burn over his pectoral.
That was the moment that Namjoon chose to let his jacket drop to their feet and reveal his gun, pointing it at the shorter man’s chest.
But Jimin was quick. He grabbed on to the wrist holding the weapon and twisted Namjoon around, forcefully pressing it against the detective’s back. Namjoon tried to twist back under his arm, tossing the gun to his other hand, but Jimin kicked the back of his knee, pushing him against the nearest marble wall to prevent him from losing his balance and collapsing to the floor.
Now Namjoon was being pressed up against the bathroom wall, his hands painfully twisted behind his back as Jimin shoved his knee to the back of his thighs to hold him down, his gun in his other hand, both heavily breathing at the flurry of movement.
“You’re surprisingly strong,” Namjoon panted out on the wall, breathing out through his squashed cheek.
Jimin was breathing into the back of his neck, and he could feel his entire front push up against Namjoon’s back. “You keep underestimating me with first impressions, Namjoon.”
Namjoon could feel something hard shove up against his ass, and he had no doubt it was Jimin’s cock. His mind was buzzing from the exertion, and he gave up on trying to form a coherent thought. So he pushed back on it, sliding up so it dragged between his ass cheeks. And it must have worked, because he heard Jimin’s breath catch in his throat.
But before he could do it again, the blond man gripped his waist and turned him around, painfully slamming him back on the wall and pushing the gun against Namjoon’s crotch. “Do I have to deflower the government bitch by blowing his little dick off,” Jimin grabbed Namjoon’s wrist with his free hand and placed it over his own cock tenting inside his trousers. “Or are you going to let me fuck your mouth?”
“You’re not going to shoot me.”
“Yes I will, and I have a strong feeling you’d be into it.”
Namjoon’s inhibitions had jumped out of the window long ago. He took one look at Jimin’s slitted eyes and bobbing Adam’s apple, and made his decision.
He did not break eye contact as his slid down the wall, looking up at him till he was kneeling; and he did not break eye contact as his hands automatically started unbuckling the younger man’s belt, shucking it off and throwing it to the side. Namjoon’s hands fumbled as he tried to pull down the pants, getting it stuck over his erect dick.
Jimin pressed the gun to Namjoon’s forehead and sighed, annoyed. “Useless fucking slut, have to do everything myself,” he murmured. His free hand pulled down his black boxers along with his pants, letting them pool around his knees.
Namjoon’s eyes crossed looking at the red tip in front of his face, trying to take it all in. It was long, longer than his own, and a lot thicker than he had expected it to be. It had been so long since he had held one, and he was hungry, so fucking hungry. So Namjoon wrapped his lips around the tip, pressing his tongue to the underside of the shaft and swallowed, the top of his wet throat constricting around the intrusion.
Jimin moaned above him, loud and unabashed, the gun painfully bouncing against his cranium as he bobbed his head trying to take it all in. His other hand curled in his hair loosely, almost guiding his movement, but not quiet.
“Did they teach you to suck dick at the academy, or are you just a slut?”
No one had ever spoken to Namjoon in this way; he wasn’t used to it. And he knew he could easily grab the gun and point it back at Jimin, but he didn’t want to.
Namjoon wasn’t taking Jimin’s cock in fully, scared that it would hit the back of his throat, so he wrapped his fingers around the balls and held his head back. But Jimin realized what he was doing quickly and he began moving his hips, his fingers tightening in his hair as he started fucking into Namjoon’s mouth.
“Take it fully, cockslut,” he growled and thrusted in his mouth particularly hard. Namjoon gagged, his reflexes kicking in as he tried to pull away from the dick in his mouth, but Jimin did not relent. He just moved his mouth back over his cock by pulling painfully at his roots.
Namjoon’s eyes were tearing up and he could feel the back of his throat grow slimy with Jimin’s cum, so he groaned weakly around his dick, his palms helplessly curling in his own lap until Jimin pulled out. He could feel himself aching in his own pants, his company uniform.
Jimin must have noticed how restless the detective was getting, so he slid out and pulled him up by his hair. “Up, up.” Namjoon was back on his feet, knees weak as his chest heaved, eyes still teary. But he couldn’t do anything but look back into the eyes of the man in front of him. “Do I slam it into you raw? Would you like that, would you like to feel the full burn?”
“No, no, please—”
Jimin removed his fingers from Namjoon’s hair and the gun was against his throat now, right under his jaw. “Okay I’ll listen to you this once, but only because I don’t want to hear you whining the entire time.”
Namjoon looked down at him, mouth open and wet. The gun was on his pulse point, and the metal was hot on his skin, like it had just been fired.
Jimin clicked the safety off. “But I still want to use your fat ass. What do I do, hmm,” he wondered out loud, cocking his head to the side, eyebrows drawn together, cock loosely flopping over his bare thighs.
“Cum,” Namjoon whispered under his breath.
“What?”
“Use your cum.” This time, it was a little louder.
That out-of-place smirk was back on his pretty face. “Thank you for your brilliant input, Detective Kim.”
Namjoon curtly nodded and turned around to face the wall. He could feel Jimin slide off his suspenders and pull down his pants, grabbing him by the back of his shirt’s collar to bend him over the sink. Namjoon didn’t want to look at his own reflection in the spotless mirror, so he pressed his cheek against the cold marble and let the edge of the counter dig into his exposed stomach.
There was a moment of complete silence when he heard the soft thud and drag of the gun being kicked over the floor, and then Jimin was rubbing his wet cock between Namjoon’s exposed cheeks, letting the cum spread all over his hole.
The smaller man wrapped a hand around the detective’s throat and forced his neck up to gather the saliva that had pooled around Namjoon’s lips with his thumb, only to drag it over his hole and push his thumb in.
Jimin’s fingers were thick and wet and cold. Namjoon gasped at the intrusion and Jimin muttered, “good boy,” quietly against the back of his throat as he stretched him out.
But it was nothing compared to the gasp he let out when he felt the tip of Jimin’s cock push into him, slowly, painfully.
Namjoon’s arms flopped uselessly on the countertop and the tears were back. “Ah, ah, ungh—Jimin, please—ah…”
Now there were nails digging into his jaw, and that hurt more than the feeling of a cock entering him. Namjoon tried to lift his elbows to remove the hand on his face, but Jimin pushed them down. “No, let it distract you from the stretch.”
So that’s what he did. Namjoon closed his eyes and let Jimin fuck into him, slow and dragging at first, until the slide became a little easier, speeding up little by little. And it hurt like a bitch till it didn’t anymore. Now, Namjoon wanted him to go faster, wanted his cock to find that spot.
Jimin was groaning too, but it was low, barely audible. “Funny how you were so adamant in thinking I was all delicate and pretty just because you saw some skin, yet here you are, getting fucked by me instead, like the whore that you are.”
“God, you talk too much. Can you just fuck me in the right—” Namjoon was cut-off by fingers dangerously tightening around the sides of his throat, making him choke back a breath.
The shorter male pulled Namjoon’s head up till he met Jimin’s slitted eyes in the mirror, throat bent at an awkward angle. There was something positively sinister in his expressions, something that definitely made Namjoon question his sanity. His head was tilted downwards, his mouth near his ears. “I did not say you could speak, bitch. And if your dirty mouth opens once more without my permission, I’m going to smash your skull on this mirror till you bleed,” he growled. “Don’t piss me off.”
All his life, Namjoon had been used to being the bigger one, the stronger one, the one who looked down at everyone else. But for the first time, Jimin made him feel weak and small, both physically and mentally—a braindead doll. Like he could step on him with his shoe, and Namjoon would disappear into the ground. And he liked this feeling, he burned with it and liked it a lot.
Namjoon watched the red around his throat fade away into the crescents Jimin’s nails had left behind on his skin. He had ordered him to shut up, but he listened to what Namjoon was complaining about. And once Namjoon could breathe again, he felt his dick right on his prostate, his thrusts getting faster and his balls smacking against his perineum.
And suddenly the detective was too aware of his own cock pressed against the marble, leaking and hard, aching for attention. He whined in his throat, inching his hands on the counter closer to his pelvis. “Jih-Jimin, please, please, can I cum?”
The shorter man hummed, not ceasing his thrusts. “Mmh. No one is stopping you.”
That was true, Namjoon realized, but there wasn’t anything around his cock either. “B-but—”
Jimin slid his hands down Namjoon’s arms and guided them to lean against the mirror, placing his palms over his, pushing him further into the hard surface until Namjoon felt the full effect of the pressure. It pressed his own dick into his balls, and it pressed his walls over Jimin’s moving cock; and the detective felt himself getting squeezed between the two, the thrusts pulling the skin of his own length back-and-forth over his slit as Jimin hit his prostate.
Namjoon felt himself seize up, the pain of his hard cock being pressed on mixing with the pleasure, his eyes rolling back as he finally released, cum splattering all over his own thighs. His lips parted as the buzz in his mind increased to a loud roar and then a fizzing mute, the last waves of pleasure washing over his body.
But Jimin hadn’t stopped. He didn’t stop thrusting till Namjoon squeezed up vice-like, clenching down in discomfort, until he felt Jimin shoot his load inside him, making everything slippery and warm. And once Jimin’s panting died down, he pulled out as quick as he could, leaving Namjoon gasping for air at the sudden emptiness as he felt the mess sliding out of him in big, thick drops.
Once Jimin moved, there wasn’t anything holding him up, so he dropped down, cheeks pressed to the counter, ass aching and red as his face burned with humiliation at the thought of what he had just done. But he wouldn’t feel embarrassed about it now. In the corner of his narrowed vision, he could see Jimin pick up another face towel.
“You let me use your hole so well today, so I’ll give you one clue as to what really happened that night,” he said, wiping Namjoon around his hole, trying to finger his own cum out.
The detective groaned at the uncomfortable feeling, trying to will the blush off his cheeks and the blood back to his knees. “You were literally holding me at gunpoi—”
The towel jabbed against his sensitive hole, making Namjoon jump. “C’mon, detective. We both know you could have thrown me off any time. Now do you want the clue or not?”
Namjoon was silent for some time till Jimin finished, finally able to stand up, covering his hurting rim by pulling up his pants. “Yes.”
Jimin was throwing the towel away and pulling up his pants. “I know you still think I am robbing him of all his money by running a big, elaborate scam; but whoever said ‘opposites attract’ between couples was spouting bullshit, because Spencer was doing the same.”
“You mean to say, he was scamming you for money?”
Namjoon could see Jimin’s jaw tick in frustration. The detective knew he got under his skin. “You’re so fucking stupid. No. I am sure you have seen my financial statements by now, and there is no way I am, in any way, close to being as rich as he was. It wasn’t me he was scamming.”
Jimin checked himself out in the mirror, washing his hands for the last time before pushing some stray hairs off his forehead. “Goodnight, detective,” he said finally before walking away.
And before Namjoon could respond, Jimin was already out of the restroom, the door slamming shut behind him.
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