Title: Happiness is a Warm Gun
Category: 1920s gangster AU, schmoop as requested
Summary: Early morning distraction from work.
Hankyung adjusts his necktie, throws on his favorite white hat with the narrow brim, grabs his briefcase (just for show, really—he keeps his gun pressed against his chest), and checks his image in the reflection of his pocket watch. “Good,” he says, pressing his lips together firmly. He has one foot out the door when he feels an arm tug on the hem of his blazer and pull him back in. “What is it? I’ve already fed the turtle,” he says while turning around to face a mischievous and bright-eyed Jongwoon. How he managed to creep up from behind so surreptitiously is a mystery to Hankyung, who prides himself on owning the reflexes of a mongoose.
“That’s not it, hyung.” Jongwoon spins him around so that they’re facing each other. He cups Hankyung’s face between his immaculately small hands, and Hankyung represses a smirk when he feels the soft skin against his cheek.
“You can’t possibly be thinking of that,” Hankyung murmurs, not missing the fog in Jongwoon’s heavily lidded eyes. “I’m already late for work.”
“Which neighborhood are you terrorizing today?” Jongwoon frowns. “Fine. Leave me alone. Like everyone always does.”
“The neighbor’s kid Ryeowook that you had to babysit that one time? The one who ditched you at the candy store after he’d demanded to go in in the first place? He was kidnapped. That doesn’t count, Jongwoon.” Hankyung spits onto a finger and smoothes out one end of his mustache. “Lucky for you I had a bullet left that day, or else we woulda had to call the cops.”
Jongwoon laughs, low and husky, in just the way that’s always sent piano-scale chills down Hankyung’s back. Suddenly dealing out bribery and eviction threats doesn’t seem so pressing. What’s in a job? Life is short.
He wraps one deft arm around Jongwoon and dips him, cheesy and romantic like they do in the new sound movies. “Put on some Bessie Smith, will you? God, you’ve gotten me all frisky.”
Jongwoon disappears into the guest room, and a second later smooth jazz drifts into the hallway like a lazy dream. Hankyung closes his eyes and imagines he’s sucking on a sweet caramel. Or something else.
He feels one hand groping at the bulge in his pants and another trying to undress him. “Darling,” Hankyung opens his eyes and swats away the latter hand. “I’ll take off my own coat. You get working on the champ below.”
The good thing about Jongwoon is he takes orders well, but the best part about Jongwoon is Hankyung doesn’t even need to give them. Most of the time Jongwoon understands exactly how Hankyung likes to be handled, the way he likes his balls to be fondled while Jongwoon moves his mouth up and down his cock. Jongwoon knows Hankyung likes to have the handgun close by at all times and isn’t put off when Hankyung fires into the air just as he comes deep into Jongwoon’s throat. He knows the curse that escapes Hankyung’s lips as he sinks limp into his chair doesn’t sound like Korean because it isn’t.
And Jongwoon knows well how quickly it is all over, because at the end of the day, Hankyung has a job to do, hard cash to earn. Every second lost could amount to another pinky finger being cut off by the boss—Park Jungsoo, was that his name? Oh, but he looks so mild-mannered Jongwoon sometimes forgets that Jungsoo’s the one who shot a steel rod through Kim Heechul’s leg.
Hankyung takes a plainly embroidered handkerchief from his suit pocket and wipes carelessly at the corner of Jongwoon’s mouth. He turns the stained handkerchief to its original owner and picks up his hat from the floor. “There you go. Was that good for you too?”
Jongwoon licks his lips in response. “Better than breakfast. Now go before Park Jungsoo puts you on crutches.”
I apologize for failing at your prompts D: