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27 July 2010 @ 07:06 am
.012 - Might as Well [Kanjani8/KAT-TUN]  
Title: Might as Well (or: Three Times Jin and Yoko Failed an Assignment, and Once They Made the Most of It)
Pairing/Group: Yoko/Jin – Kanjani8/KAT-TUN, mention of past Yoko/Ryo
Rating: NC17
Warnings: assassin AU, crack, porn
Notes: For je_holidays 2009. spurious, your request post made me squee and flail like crazy over all my choices, and seriously, if I could, I’d write you a fic for every pairing you had and I may or may not have a folder of WIPs dedicated to you. I hope I chose the right one. So, thank you for the awesome in my head. Happy Holidays! ♥ Thanks to JemzaBeth for coercing persuading me into choosing this pairing. Crystal, Bei, & Liz, thank you so much for your awesome feedback and for putting up with my wibbling.
Summary: Not all assassins are cool, suave, and perfect one hundred percent of the time. Everyone has their streak of (epic) fail. The key is to just make the most of a bad situation, even (especially) if it involves hopping into bed with your partner.


1. In which the I.T. department's idea of a prank is not funny, as usual

The assignment arrives by bicycle courier, as always. Inside the manila envelope, there is a sheet of paper with a deadline (including date and time), and a short profile. It’s an unremarkable assignment—single businessman, male. No frills, no fancy costumes are necessary, just a keycard to get into the building, and he pickpockets that in the blink of an eye. Surveillance is boring, but necessary, and Yoko drums his hands on his steering wheel, waiting for the deadline to approach.

At two in the morning, when his mark has stumbled home after drinking with his colleagues and is sound asleep, Yoko stands in the unfortunate’s apartment screwing the silencer attachment onto his gun. Quietly opening the bedroom door, he aims, and is about to pull the trigger when a man emerges from the under the bed.

“Fuck,” he breathes, jerking his wrist to the left to shoot the other man first, but the other man dives at him, knocking him to the floor in what could only be a trained move. Another assassin then, one who is obviously determined to get them both caught. There’s a silent scuffle—well, voiceless, because the rasp of clothing on carpet and the thud of fists and feet smacking into bodies is hardly silent—until Yoko looks up at his assailant, who is dimly illuminated by the streetlight. He recognizes the man from the Tokyo branch; they used to do work together in their training days.

Jin?” he hisses.

Jin pauses, fist still raised. “Yoko? What the fuck?”

“The hell are you doing here?!”

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ This is my assignment. What the hell are you doing here?!”

“He’s my assignment!”

By this time, their voices have become raised, enough to stir the businessman from his drunken stupor.

“Wha—who’sh there?”

Jin plasters himself against Yoko, and they both hold their breath, hoping that he won’t think to look on the other side of his bed. It’s a bit awkward, considering that Jin has one thigh between Yoko’s legs and his hair sticks into Yoko’s nose and mouth. Yoko quietly tries to snort and spit it out, but largely fails. At least it smells clean, but he’s uncomfortable taking all of Jin’s weight; Jin is not a small man, and he’s hardly the tall and lanky type. Moreover, his elbow is digging into Yoko’s spleen.


“Kenichi,” Jin murmurs in a deep voice. “I am your father.”

(“Are you serious? That’s not going to work,” Yoko whispers.)


“Yes, go to sleep…my son,” Jin adds as an afterthought.

There’s a bit of shuffling on the bed, and a low sigh. Jin and Yoko painstakingly army crawl to the main room.

“We have to kill him,” Yoko says.

“No way, mission aborted. He could be awake and calling the police right now,” Jin protests. “You can kill him if you want, but at least let me get out of here, first.”

There’s movement in the room next door, the creak of a mattress followed by the telltale squeak of the floorboards, and Jin and Yoko unstealthily run out of the apartment (complete with the novice error of ignoring the door as it heavily closes) and to the stairs.

“Fuck, he’s definitely going to report that,” Yoko complains. “Why did you let the door slam?”

“I’m not the one running like a gorilla,” Jin yells back as they exit the building and walk out casually, both heading towards the nearby parking garage.

“Whatever,” Yoko mumbles, reaching over and dragging his fingers along Jin’s collarbone. He never forgets a weak point once he’s learned it. Jin collapses and shrieks. “I win.”

He uses the victory to start his car, leaving him with the last word. Jin uses hand signals from their old classroom days to communicate something that doesn’t make sense (“I kill chicken you eat cheese?”) and Yoko watches him walk to his own car in the rearview mirror. The drive home is short, and Yoko isn’t surprised to hear his cell phone ring as soon as he steps into his apartment.

“The upper tier is not pleased,” his manager says.

“It’s not my fault. Someone screwed up and gave two of us the same assignment,” Yoko protests. “Jin got in the way.”

“They’ve decided that you two can work together until this is resolved.”

There’s a brief pause while Yoko digests that statement and all that it entails.

“Someone in the tech department got our case numbers tangled up, didn’t they?” Yoko concludes dryly. “I’ll kill him for you. For free.”

“Just think of it as a refresher course in training,” his manager replies and hurriedly hangs up to stop further arguments. Yoko glares at the phone, though he’s used to it after having the same manager for ten years.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Jin; they’ve always gotten along. Jin is fine, more than fine, from what Yoko could tell when Jin was lying on top of him on the floor, and that is sort of the problem. He doesn’t need or want that sort of distraction on the job.

But he has yet to win an actual argument with the Powers That Write His Paycheck, even if they do give him quite a bit of free rein by frequently looking the other way.

2. In which reading a map does not involve a key, with unsurprising results

Jin knocks on his door a few days later, even though Yoko is fairly certain that he’s never given Jin his address. But quick access to free information is sort of the point of being part of an underground organization like J&A, Inc.

“You couldn’t have called first?” The only beer he has is the nice quality imported stuff that he never shares. But he forgot to restock on the cheap beer he puts out when other members of the Osaka branch drop by. With a long-suffering sigh that disappears into his refrigerator, Yoko offers Jin a bottle.

“Big Brother is always watching,” Jin replies solemnly, taking the beer. Yoko wonders if it’s an accident that Jin gropes his hand first—it’s not the sexy sort of lingering drag that is part of the intentional move in their seduction script. Jin isn’t watching what he’s doing, so he over-reaches and feels up Yoko’s wrist instead. Yoko almost asks if Jin’s suffering from concussion-induced temporary blindness, until Jin looks down and takes the bottle properly.

“Hn.” Though Yoko thinks Big Brother would be a lot more interested in his illegally downloaded porn collection.

The mark has a large house outside the city limits and a small handful of servants, which makes surveillance just a little more obvious. It’s not like they can pretend they’re visiting the neighbors when the neighboring houses aren’t remotely near them. And servants are notoriously nosy.

“We’ll go in this way.” Jin slides his finger along the architectural plans. “It bypasses the servants’ quarters. There are going to be at least two bodyguards—you can handle them. I’ll take out the target.”

“I’m just back-up, huh?” Yoko would feel insulted except for the fact that he’d do the same if he’d been given the information first. It’s not a bad plan. If it were up to him, he probably would have tried to get into the master bedroom using the hidden escape route, but they have no way of knowing if it’s possible to open it from the inside of the secret corridor, or how to do so. Trained bodyguards are a pain in the ass, though. “Are you sure we can’t poison his food?”

“There aren’t enough servants; we’d never be able to infiltrate it and make sure that he was the one that ate it. Too hard.”

Some gut instinct tells him to stay away from the large house. He’s had experiences with those before. “What if we arranged a meeting with him under the pretense of selling our company and poisoned his wat—”

“Hey, are you the leader, or am I?” Jin glowers.

“Are you going to finish my expensive beer or not?” Yoko changes the subject. Looks like the plan is fixed in stone, then.


He does it to show off. He can’t help it—Jin looks damn good in his all-black ensemble, with his shirt hugging his back perfectly from behind, and the other man has always been so very capable—so Yoko hops over the wall and executes a perfect forward dive-roll, right into the chest of a giant fucking dog with slobbering jaws and the prerequisite large (and sharp) teeth.

“Oh shit,” he says weakly, and scrambles backwards in a graceless crabwalk.

Jin is yelling and trying to climb the fence again, but another dog has a good grip on his boot.

“Use the taser!” Yoko shrieks, barely standing and jumping to the side in time as the dog lunges. He’ll feel guilty about it later, because they’re dogs doing what they’re trained to do; they can’t help that they are vicious demons, but better guilty than dead.

He yanks Jin over the stone wall, and they run, not stopping until they get to the car a few miles down, where they stand, hands on their knees, breathing raggedly.

“How could you not know about the dogs?!” Yoko asks in disbelief, checking for the fourth time to make sure that all his limbs are still attached.

“I thought they were bushes on the plans,” Jin replies, shaken. “They looked like big fluffy bushes. I’m never getting plans from Ueda again.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t die.”

“My shoe did,” Jin mourns, looking at the teeth marks. “I just bought them too. They have pink on the sole.”

“You could potentially have no foot, so I’d say they were worth the price. Might as well celebrate the small successes and ignore the massive failures. And also,” Yoko continues, “go drinking. Mission leaders have to buy consolation alcohol. I’m thinking tequila.”

“Fine, but you buy the limes.”

They get completely trashed in Yoko’s apartment, where Yoko does not think about taking body shots off of Jin’s collarbone (or other parts of his body), and doesn’t stare at Jin’s lips every time he licks them after a shot. He’s sure that he’s imagining that Jin’s looking back at him with hooded eyes—he must be, since he isn’t watching Jin at all, of course. Jin is most likely tired, anyway—hence the lowered eyelids.

A bit of lusting after a coworker isn’t so unusual for Yoko, but this attraction is beginning to become a serious issue. A distracted assassin will end up a dead one.

So he calls his handler the following morning.

“They want you to learn teamwork skills.”

“I’m an assassin. We usually work in teams of one. I don’t need to have teamwork skills.”

“You did just fine with Nishikido.”

“Because he’s afraid of me.” Yoko smirks, recalling the time when Ryo had said that. Their partnership had ended somewhat awkwardly, and hearing that he unwittingly had had the upper hand all this time made him feel much better about life in general.

“What about the branch-wide assignment? That was a team of eight—”

“They’re different. And we’ve all worked together before,” Yoko grits his teeth.

“You worked together with some of the Tokyo branch before.”

“Just send the assignment to me, next time,” he sighs, shutting his phone.

It’s not like he’d actually say, “But we had barely gone through puberty, so at the time I didn’t want to earn my fee by screwing my partner.”

3. In which some doors close and opportunity tries to squirm through the cracks anyway

The next assignment is delivered to Yoko, and, determined to not cock up this one, he drafts a complete plan, including a script. It’s a fucking epic plan, if he says so himself (and he does).

My, what large tits you have? Seriously? Have you ever slept with a woman?” Jin asks incredulously.

“Of course I have. Have you?” Yoko shoots back, though, admittedly, it is a stupid question.

Jin glares frostily. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that. Were these women you supposedly ‘had relations with’ wearing too much make-up and had huge hair when you picked them up off the street?”

“…Maybe,” Yoko coughs. And they might have been hostesses escorting him to a magical land where the alcohol flowed all night and his wallet was miserably empty upon leaving (without sex), but it’s not like Jin needs to know that.

“Right. Well, remember that if you hit on her, it will leave witnesses.”

“And how many times have you seduced your mark?” Yoko asks pointedly, and Jin looks away guiltily. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Besides, I thought you’d be the one hitting on her.” Like he’d ever be stupid enough to possibly fail at picking up people in front of Jin—ha!

Unfortunately for both of them, the woman proves to be one of the straight-edge types who is completely uninterested in clubbing or in being picked up on the street by perfectly good-looking guys.

“She must be a lesbian,” Jin sulks. “One of the ones who hates men.”

“Or completely frigid, no sex drive at all,” Yoko nods, watching the lights go out in her apartment. “But at least she doesn’t own a dog.”

“Because she lacks a heart,” Jin mutters. “No security cameras in the stairway, one in the elevator.”

“There’s one between the stairs and her apartment, but it has an obvious blindspot.”

“Stairs it is.”

“Rock, paper, scissors for who gets to kill her?”

Yoko is relieved when he loses. Women of this sort tend to be terrifyingly violent (and terrifying in general).


They enter the building through a side entrance, and it’s a quick shuffle along the wall to the stairway. Yoko is starting to feel pretty good about this assignment—they finally have a plan that works, and maybe after this, Jin will be up for more drinks (Yoko is too uncertain to ask for more, but he hopes that maybe if Jin is drunk enough, he won’t have to).

They reach the top floor, with Jin in front, and Yoko very much enjoying the view.

“It won’t open,” Jin whispers after a few seconds of fumbling.

“Why are you whispering? We’re the only ones here.” Yoko reaches around and tries the knob himself. It doesn’t budge, and there is no keyhole.

“We’ll have to take the elevator,” Jin sighs as he heads back down to the first floor.

Yoko tries all the doors on their way down, with no success, and begins to feel the first stages of panic.

“We’re locked in,” Jin announces. “The door to the outside is locked too.”

“This is a fire hazard,” Yoko gripes.

“It could be a tiny little closet,” Jin points out. “One of the ones that’s so tiny there wouldn’t be any room to sit. We’d be packed in so tightly that it’d be impossible to move without touching—or stand. Good thing it’s not, right?”

Yoko thinks of that scenario, of Jin pressed against him, bits of hair brushing against his cheeks with his lips a scant distance away. They’d be caught with their pants down literally, he’s sure. He’s heard things about certain members of the Tokyo branch, Jin included. Ryo’s a big talker when he’s drunk, and Aiba blurts out seemingly random things without appearing to notice.

But Yoko knows better than to sleep with a current partner; it had happened once, accidentally (read: drunkenly), and he and Ryo hadn’t been able to look at each other for the rest of their partnership. They’d communicated by email even when they were in the same room. Sex was so much easier when you didn’t have to work with them the next day—though whether it was because of residual sexual tension or embarrassment or a combination of both, Yoko really can’t say.

Giving his head a small shake to clear it, Yoko shifts his weight to hide the fact that his cock respectfully disagrees. “Uh, yeah, good thing.”

“It happened with Pi once, and every time he moved his legs I was positive that he’d knee me in the balls. Most agonizing thirty minutes of my life.”

“Yes, that would be bad,” Yoko winces both at his response and the mental image. Suddenly his pants feel a lot looser. “How did you pass the time?”

Jin smirks, and Yoko curses as his pants once again become too snug. “It’s a secret. But,” Jin sits and leans back against the stairs on his elbows, “if we had a closet, there might be cleaning supplies, and we could blow out the doorknob.”

“Oh yeah, that would maintain our cover,” Yoko snorts. “I’ll email Hina.”

After approximately forty-five seconds of silence, they both sigh. Yoko walks up to the landing between the ground and first floors and sits with his back to the wall, his ankles and feet hanging over the stairs.

“Should have brought my DS,” they say in unison.

“Don’t suppose you have a deck of cards?” Jin asks hopelessly.

“I’ve got ten thousand yen in my pocket in case of an emergency, and that’s it.” Wallets and identification are, of course, left at home.


“How long did Hina say it would be?”

“He didn’t.” Yoko makes a face. “He said it would take a bit of time, which means he’s probably at dinner and won’t leave until he’s finished, because he’s a horrible person and doesn’t want to bring me leftovers.”

“Tell him I’ll give him my ten thousand for a pizza,” Jin groans. “I’m fucking hungry.”

Five minutes pass, during which they both restlessly tap their feet against the concrete floor.

“You’re from the Tokyo branch,” Yoko says suddenly, scooting forward so that he can see Jin.

Jin gives him an odd look, though part of that is because he’s looking at Yoko from below, and his face is upside-down. “Ye-es,” he drawls, in the sort of tone reserved for idiots.

“Why are you my partner?”

“Got an assignment that unexpectedly took me to Kyoto. I got our first assignment the same night.” Standing, Jin climbs the stairs to sit on the landing next to Yoko. Though the stairway isn’t that wide, it’s not exactly small, and Jin sits, in Yoko’s opinion, unnecessarily close. He’s pressed against Yoko from foot to shoulder, and he feels startlingly warm in the coolness of the stairwell.

“Oh.” Yoko tries to discreetly edge to the side—just enough to put a millimeter of space between them, but he just ends up shifting his weight. He feels tense, hyperconscious of his body and his posture and Jin.


More time passes, as well as their deadline. Yoko declares the mission a total bust (again), and Jin tries to start a game of “I Spy,” but when the options are limited to stairs, railings, ceiling, floor, weird stains, and “your face,” it becomes redundant.

“What about ‘I Never’?” Jin turns to look at him. For a second, it feels like gravity shifts, and instead of dragging him down, it drags him towards Jin, who has this inviting little secretive half-smile hovering about his lips and—Yoko jerks backward.

“You never what?” Yoko asks blankly, staring at his toes, glad that his hair is covering his ears, which feel hot, and are most likely red.

“Ten Fingers, Ten Toes? No? Hold out your hands like this,” Jin demonstrates, “and say something you’ve never done. If I have, I put one finger down. First person with no fingers left loses. I’ll go first. I’ve never had sex with a man.”

Yoko curls one finger towards his palm, a bit confused at the question, given what he’s heard about Jin and who his sources were. He becomes more so when Jin puts down a finger as well. “Doesn’t it defeat the purpose if we both put fingers down?”

“Not if it answers a question that wanted answering,” Jin replies in a sing-song voice. “Your turn.”


They both jump and stare at the door.

“Who’s there?” Jin cautiously asks as they both walk down the stairs.

“Oh good, it’s the right one. We were knocking on the other stairway for like ten minutes.”

“That’s Hina,” Yoko murmurs to Jin.

“Stand back,” Hina says.

There are some banging noises, metallic taps, and with the loud, grating screech of metal rubbing against metal, the door is pulled away.

“Quick,” Maru grins as he helps lift the door. “Ask how many Osakans it takes to remove a door?”

“You’re drunk. Completely pissed. Share,” Yoko holds out his hand, looking around for the bottle.

“How many does it take?” Jin asks politely.

“Twice the number of senpai you’ve been drinking with,” Maru crows. “But we left Nagase and Mabo at the bar.”

“There are only three of you.” Yoko looks around. The exit leaves them at a corner of the parking lot, and Hina’s car is parked there, empty of people.

Ohkura giggles drunkenly and almost drops the door. “Nooo~,” he drawls.

“I will kill you all,” Ryo mutters from the open trunk of the aforementioned car. His legs are hanging over the edge, and when Yoko walks over to take a better look, he sees that Ryo’s clumsily trussed up. Though Yoko thinks, with a little effort, Ryo could probably free himself from the confusing tangle of ropes.

“He tried to get away,” Maru says cheerfully.

“We’ll put you in the back seat when we go,” Hina reassures Ryo as he jams the hingepins back into place. Ohkura messily pets Ryo’s hair.

“Another failed mission. Might as well go drinking,” Yoko declares.

“Might as well,” Hina agrees. “You coming with us?”

“Deadline’s passed, so yeah. Where did you leave the senpai?”

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he feels Jin’s breath on his ear as he talks.

“I thought it was customary for the leader of the failed mission to buy for his poor, depressed team.”

“Oh. Right. Nevermind,” Yoko says hastily. “Have fun, guys. Thanks for breaking us out.”

“Wha--oh,” Hina says, understanding dawning on his face to Yoko’s horror.

“No—“ he whispers, dragging Jin towards the parking lot as fast as he can. Unfortunately, their car is at the corner furthest from them, which leaves them well within earshot of Hina.

“Please take care of our Yoko!” Hina yells after them. “Use protection, and lots of lube, I think it’s been a while for him!”

“He’s lying,” Yoko protests, and Jin looks at him with interest, gaze combing him from top to bottom and back again.

“About which?”

Yoko chooses to rant about Hina instead of answering, and drinks so much (to drown his embarrassment) that Jin confiscates his car keys and pours him into a taxi, sighing over lost opportunities.

Yoko leans out of the taxi to proudly exclaim that he’s opened a window, and has no recollection of his near decapitation by streetlamp the following morning, though he remembers enough to be too embarrassed to think Jin’s name without turning red and losing his train of thought for three days straight.

4. In which pimping is not easy

It’s with equal parts relief and regret that Yoko receives the final assignment with the news that his partnership with Jin will be terminated after the completion of the mission. Working with Jin has been interesting and fun and the man is easy on the eyes, but Yoko’s rather tired of feeling like a failure.

Jin shrugs over the news. “It’s not like they could make us permanent. We’ve sucked at everything they’ve given us, and you know how much the managers hate doing transfer paperwork. What’s the assignment?”

“Gay male who racks up massive charges on his credit card to love hotels. There’s only one scenario here that’s going to work,” Yoko taps his lip thoughtfully.

“Pimp and prostitute?”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

“I thought I had telepathy once, but it only worked with Yamapi, so it’s probably coincidence. You can be the pimp,” Jin offers. “I’m good at being a slut—everyone says so.”

There’s an awkward silence. Jin clears his throat. “Um, that didn’t come out quite right.”

“What’s your price?” Yoko asks, feeling just a little dirty for asking, though it’s the good kind of dirty—or the bad, because it makes the first coils of arousal curl in his stomach.

“Ten thousand for a blowjob, thirty if they want to be fucked, fifty if they want to fuck me.”

“Ten thousand?!” Yoko gasps, shock clearing his head (both of them). “There’s no way in hell that he’ll pay for that.”

“I give good head,” Jin insists, looking put out. “You pay for quality, okay.”

Yoko remains unconvinced.

“What do you usually charge?”

“Not ten thousand,” mumbles Yoko. He’s not about to tell Jin that the highest he’s ever charged has been three thousand.

Jin sighs. “Here, look at these pictures. He obviously cares about appearances, and has money, but he’s cheap. Look at the love hotels he goes to. He wants quality without having to pay too much for it. His pride will force him to spend, but only up to a certain point.”

“Or you could just flirt with him, charge him five, and tell him it’s a special discount,” Yoko suggests.

“You undercharge, don’t you?” Jin eyes him knowingly.

“This is your way of not budging on the price, isn’t it,” Yoko sighs. They’re going to fail the mission because Jin’s an expensive whore—he knows it.

“You’re lucky you’re so attractive,” Jin says. “They probably think you have some sort of horrible deformity or disease and that’s why your fees are so low.”

Yoko groans. “I don’t have a deformity or a disease.”

“Cheer up. Pimps always take at least a fifty percent cut.”


Yoko has second thoughts about Jin being the prostitute when he sees Jin’s “undercover” outfit, though Jin’s not under much of anything, at least on top. He’s wearing a shirt that’s more like a vest from the amount of chest the low-cut, draping neck exposes, and Yoko’s having a hard time looking anywhere else, even though he’s the one driving, until he realizes—

“Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“Just a little. Slutty, yeah?” Jin glances at his reflection in the side mirror in satisfaction.

“Yeah,” Yoko shifts. And fucking hot is what he wants to say, but he refrains.

It’s ridiculously easy—almost too easy. They tail the target from restaurant to bar to club, until Jin purposely stumbles into him and strikes up the usual innuendo-heavy small talk. Yoko leans against the wall and shifts uncomfortably, hearing the conversation clearly through his earpiece despite the volume of the music. Hearing Jin’s low purr in his ear is running a figurative vibrator over his dick, and he’d really like to say, “Fuck the mission” (or just fuck Jin) and go home and jerk off. It doesn’t help that he swears Jin keeps looking at him, like he’s the one Jin’s speaking to, not the mark. But Yoko is sure that he’s imagining it.

The target isn’t deterred at all by the fact that Jin’s charging, or the amount that he charges, and he follows them at a discreet distance as they exit the club. It’s all fine until they pass a small group of prostitutes (they couldn’t be anything else, not with the purposely casual air as they clinically eye every passer-by) clustered next to a vending machine.

“Oi, back off, this one’s taken,” one of them—a man—says lazily, stalking over and draping himself over their mark. “Stop poaching my clients.”

“Now, I’m sure there’s no reason we can’t come to a compromise,” the mark says, greedily leering at both Jin and the other whore, looking pleased as punch about the whole affair.

“I don’t do threesomes,” Jin says haughtily, “at least, not with cheap tramps like that.”

“What makes you think I want to share?” the prostitute snaps.

Yoko rolls his eyes. He’d known it was too good to be true. “You should have compromised about the threesome. We could have drugged him and then taken out the mark,” he murmurs as he walks over to do damage control, knowing that Jin hears him through his own earpiece.

“Hey, what have I told you about making deals without my permission,” Yoko says roughly as he grabs Jin’s bicep.

“I wasn’t—“ Jin protests, shrinking into himself and playing up the frightened whore act.

“I think you’re getting too snooty,” Yoko growls as he starts dragging Jin away. “You need to be taught a lesson.”


“No buts . . . are they still paying attention? I’m going to keep repeating bad porn dialogue otherwise.”

Jin glances over his shoulder. “No, the whore is throwing a fit about the other man seeing other prostitutes. I thought those lines sounded familiar.”

“Oh yeah? You like that one too, huh?” Yoko winks, and turns the corner, releasing Jin before peering around the building. “Oh yeah, that’s seriously overdone drama. The mark’s totally eating it up.”

“Good prostitute if he knows his client that well. Didn’t seem like the type to hype up a little poaching that much,” Jin comments, glancing at his watch. “Twenty minutes until the deadline’s up. Think we can make it?”

“Nah, it’s a bust, as usual.” Yoko shoves his hands in his pockets. “I think we were doomed to failure from the start. Inauspicious beginnings of partnerships and whatnot.”

Jin laughs. “How surprisingly superstitious of you.”

“Better that than saying that we suck at our jobs.”

They continue to walk. Jin wipes his lips, and Yoko realizes that he’d been wearing sparkly lipgloss.

“Not a word,” Jin warns, before stretching. “Well, another failed mission . . . ” His voice trails off in an almost-question.

“Might as well go drinking,” Yoko replies automatically, turning towards the doorway next to him. It looks like a sushi place, but it serves alcohol, and that’s the point.

Jin stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know, I kind of had a different idea in mind.”

“Oh yeah? Wha—”

Yoko tells himself that he allows Jin to push him against the wall, he wasn’t caught off-guard at all. Jin looks a little uncomfortable, in the “awkward moment is rapidly approaching with all the force of a train wreck” sort of way, and Yoko doesn’t really know what to make of that. It makes him nervous.

“You see, I think you’ve been checking me out, and I’ve been checking you out, but you suck at flirting and haven’t tried to hit on me and I think you’re oblivious when I hit on you and Hina emailed me to tell me that you’re too chickenshit to make the first move, so—“ Jin kisses him, soft and slow, just a hint of tongue flicking out to taste his lower lip. “Yeah?”

It takes Yoko a bit of time to collect his thoughts and realize that he’s not having a masturbatory fantasy. “Yeah. Yes. Very yes.”

“My place? Room service is on the company.”

They take a cab to the hotel, and the short ride feels like torture, mostly because Jin won’t stop touching his thighs and almost but not quite cupping him through his jeans.

“Tease,” Yoko complains when they get inside Jin’s room, kicking the door closed and pressing Jin up against it so that he can bite Jin’s collarbone in retaliation. That’s not his best idea, because Jin flails and catches him in the shoulder with his elbow.

Avoid,” Jin gasps.

“Noted,” Yoko returns dryly, rubbing the sore spot. Jin apologizes by dropping to his knees, and Yoko presses his hands against the wall, because nothing he’d been picturing was even close to the wet heat of Jin’s mouth. His tongue—and—oh fuck down his throat—shit so good—no, no, no don’t stop. He tells himself it’s a manly whimper when Jin looks up at him, lips flushed and swollen and eyes gleaming.

He pulls Jin up, swearing as he trips out of his pants and underwear and fumbling with Jin’s belt as they stumble towards the bed. Jin’s got one hand in his hair and the other around his cock, which doesn’t make the multi-tasking any easier, not with Jin nipping at his lower lip. Yoko is sure that he only moves backwards because Jin’s chest keeps bumping against his. He’s naked when he falls back onto the bed, and Jin is leaning over him, with his jeans undone (Yoko feels proud of himself for accomplishing that in the face of adversity), pulling lubricant and condoms out of his pocket and tossing them onto the mattress next to him.

“Prostitutes have to be prepared,” is all Jin says in response to Yoko’s raised eyebrow.

It doesn’t matter that Jin still has his shirt on—the loose, draping neck provides more than enough access, and Yoko explores with greedy fingers and lips. Jin’s skin is warm and smooth, tasting of sweat and cigarette smoke, of alcohol where someone’s drink had started to spill back in the club. Jin doesn’t stop touching him, squeezing his shoulders, dragging his fingertips across Yoko’s scalp before he tugs on Yoko’s hair to pull him back, just far enough for Jin to take his shirt off.

It’s when Jin places one knee between his legs on the bed, urging him to scoot backwards, that Yoko realizes he really has very little control over the situation.

“Relax,” Jin breathes against his throat, scraping the tendon there with his teeth and soothing the spot with his tongue. He bites harder when Yoko shudders and goes limp beneath him.

There’s a brief moment where Jin stops touching him completely, and then he’s back, straddling Yoko, his cock brushing against Yoko’s abdomen, and oh, okay, this works. He cups the base of Yoko’s skull with one hand, and Yoko thinks he could never get tired of kissing Jin. His mouth is just—it’s soft, and firm, and the kissing isn’t too fast, or overeager, or sloppy, and it’s good, really good, the sort of good that leaves Yoko mentally babbling and flailing for vocabulary that he’s sure he’s never had (should have stayed in school).

It’s when Jin’s breath hitches against his lips, the sharp withdrawal cool against his kiss-swollen lips, that Yoko realizes only one of Jin’s hands is touching him. Jin is reaching behind himself with the other; the motion of his arm and the open tube of lubricant next to Yoko’s hip give his actions away.

“Oh,” Yoko murmurs stupidly, and Jin’s lips tremble briefly against his before they firm around the vibrations of a low moan.

Jin’s hand tightens on the back of his neck. “Put a condom on,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a growl, and Yoko hurries to obey, dropping the package twice in his haste.

It’s a relief touching his cock, slicking it with lubricant as Jin preps himself, sweaty forehead pressed against Yoko’s, his breath hot on Yoko’s face. He holds the base of it as Jin rises up on his knees, steadies the shaft until Jin begins to sink down on it. His eyes cross; everything becomes blurry and unfocused and it feels like the room is tilting for just a second, and then it snaps back into almost painful clarity, with his hands on Jin’s hips, and he doesn’t even know how they got there, just that there’s tight heat around his dick, and it’s so, so good, and Jin has something to do with it. And Jin, Jin moves and makes it look so easy, so—hot, and fluid, like the drop of sweat rolling down his temple, and even with his hair beginning to frizz and sticking messily to his face, with sweat-smudged eyeliner, Jin looks like—yeah, and fucking good.

Jin likes to grab and pull his hair, to scratch and bite and nip and suck, and it just sends Yoko higher; every small pain has some pleasure that makes his cock twitch and harden more. Every gasp for air is not enough, and he barely has enough brain cells to force clumsy fingers around Jin’s cock to jerk him off. The head is sticky and slick against his stomach, and drags against his skin with every movement Jin makes. The pressure in his balls grows, and all Yoko can do is rock upwards in hampered, frustrated thrusts. He thinks he whines, or maybe begs—just a single “Please”—but he doesn’t have the pride to care, even though Jin’s lips curl against his cheek and the smile slips along his jaw to his neck. Jin does—something—it’s tight, so tight, tighter than ever and fucking pulling the orgasm from him with teeth in his neck. His hands tighten, one slip-sliding down Jin’s back, the other clenching around Jin’s cock, and Yoko means to apologize but he has no voice, but it doesn’t matter because Jin likes it, shaking and losing the rhythm, dick pulsing in Yoko’s hand, dripping come across their stomachs.

He feels wrung out when Jin finally rolls to the side, their bodies messily peeling apart. It takes a full thirty seconds to convince himself that he has legs, and another thirty seconds, a mental bribe of room service, and promising his body that no, he won’t get up again afterwards, Jin can answer the door for the room service waiter, to force himself to do the polite thing and get wet washcloths from the bathroom. Used washcloths are haphazardly tossed in the general direction of the bathroom, and Yoko fidgets with the edge of the sheets as awkwardness settles in. Getting up has staved off his post-coital nap, and he’s awake enough to feel too out of place to sleep.

“The next time you’ve got a mission in Osaka…” Yoko drifts off, not sure if he’s crossing the line or assuming more than he should be. His shoulders tense.

“If you come to Tokyo….” Jin mimics, softly laughing and rolling over. His hair is a frizzy mess, and it makes Yoko feel more at ease.

His shoulders lower, relax. “That’s settled, then. Let’s order the most expensive champagne they have.”

Jin snorts. “You couldn’t even finish that sentence. Hina’s right, you really are spineless. I wonder what else he was right about.” He smiles deviously.

“I . . . where’s the room service menu?” Yoko looks around to hide his blush, even though Hina was not right about that—not entirely, at least. Not that Jin needs to know that.

“I already know what I want,” Jin purrs, trailing his fingers down Yoko’s spine, lingering at the top of Yoko’s ass.

Yoko swallows. It looks like Jin is content to find out for himself. But that suits Yoko just fine. Sliding under the sheets, he licks the tip of Jin’s cock; Yoko has his own methods of distraction.