Archive of Our Own ^beta

This was different, but Jackson was prepared for anything.

The hitman’s chest tightened as he sat across from the younger male, a new client that promised a large sum if he took on this job. The tousled mop of black hair, plump lips, and alluring pair of brown eyes had him distracted from the instant they met. This was a briefing, and Jackson needed to treat it as such. Ever since they met at their rendezvous spot, Jackson felt as if this encounter had a peculiar air.

A cup of coffee awaited him and he pulled the chair out for him. He wouldn't complain; it had been forever since he’d seen somebody with manners, but most people didn't treat their hitmen like a first date.

The young man sat across from him and oozed confidence. He didn't look out of place in the trendy coffee shop; from Jackson's view, he felt like he was looking at a picture of somebody dressed to impress without putting too much effort in. As if he wanted you to think he woke up like this.

“So, what's up man? You're-" Jackson cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his blonde undercut. His eyes gave his client a hard stare. You’d think some people would think before they talked. They were in public, and usually, Jackson liked to keep a low profile about his occupation of choice.

Jackson crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "You know who I am,” He replied with a calm smile. He nodded towards the mysterious man. “You double B?"

"I am, I am. So...got a few questions for you before we start."

"Alright, I'm listening." Now things seemed to go in a better direction; people usually wanted to know how this thing worked. Hiring a hitman on the dark web was risky. Some things could go wrong, but Jackson was fully prepared to answer all questions. “Double B” took a sip of his iced latte and crossed his legs. His designer peach jacket was cozy, shimmering with what Jackson recognized as Swarovski crystals. Could it have any more gems on it? He must have been a trust fund kid who liked to spend his money. Jackson had to admit- he looked really good in it. The client smirked and placed his coffee down. He leaned into Jackson, chin resting on his hand as his question came out, audible to just the two of them.

"Okay, question one. Are you a dom or a sub? Or are you a top or a bottom?"

Jackson...was pretty sure he didn't hear him right. A finger wriggled in his ear, and he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, can you repeat?"

"Oh, yeah. Let me rephrase. If there was nothing but a bed and space between us, would you want me to rail you or would you wanna rail me?"

Jackson did not. Want that image. In his head. As he began to stand up, a hand grabbed out at his arm, the man's eyes laced with a look of desperation.

"Just humor me, I swear it'll make sense."

Jackson glared but sat down. He wanted to see this make sense. A huff left his mouth and he looked at the coffee left in front of him. Probably best to not drink it.

"I'm verse, top leaning. I prefer to dom more than sub."

"Oh yeah? That's what's up. What are your turn-ons?"

"My turn...ons? You know what I do, right?"

"Yeah- I do. Now, what makes your dick hard?"

"Jeez- uh...I don't know. I like observing. Choking is great. Brats. What's it called when they don't cum but continue playing with themselves?"

"Edging."

"Yeah, I like that. I love knives. Torture is nice after a long day. Edgeplay."

"Oh, you're into some freaky shit."

"What about you?" If Jackson was gonna be answering all the queries, he wanted responses from his client in return.

“Lemme see. I'm verse. I like both. As long we both cum I'm alright with how it happens. I'm really into exhibition. I enjoy the attention."

Jackson's eyebrows rose, and a hand waved across his face. "Pause. Stop, stop- I'm gonna need an explanation."

"Okay, so- “ There’s a manilla envelope slid across the table towards Jackson, the man across from him grinning broadly, nodding toward the envelope. “Here, your target is in there.”

Now, they were talking. All Jackson wanted was to get this briefing over and done with. He never had a client so blatantly ask for a hit and a hookup in the same meeting. His palm flipped open the envelope, dragging a single photo out from its back. As he turned the large photo, one look at the photo itself, and he was already flipping it back over, clearing his throat before the glare was back. This was a game to him.

“That’s you-”

“Yeah, you like the gag?” Double B grinned, pleased at his photo and the flustered look Jackson gave him.

For the five seconds that Jackson looked at the photo, yes. Yes, he did like the gag. His client was naked, gagged, and on all fours. The main thing that burned in Jackson’s brain was how those round, full lips wrapped around the red ball gag. He looked sinful and what was at first full-blown annoyance at this meeting had Jackson oddly aroused and curious.

“So, you’re the target?” He asked, a smirk growing on his face.

“Hell yeah, man. I have a lot, and I mean a lot of people looking for this sweet ass. I’m kind of a big deal. After today I won’t be in Seoul, and I want you to see if you can hunt me down and find me.”

Jackson nodded, that’s doable. He had enough between the photo and the coffee cup to get a headstart. “Okay. And once I find you?”

The client smiled and stood up, taking his half-full coffee. He didn’t have any other instructions so far but to find him.

“I want you to find me, and fuck me so good that it’s the only thing you think about for the rest of your life."

--

Jackson was still thinking about his meeting with this odd client. He wasn’t given a time, (“Sooner rather than later, but you take your time.”) or any other details (“You’re the hitman, this is your day job. You got this.”), so he did what he does best; he took the breadcrumbs he did have and started piecing what he could together.

The coffee shop had no details other than the tipped generously. It didn’t do any good for Jackson, just from the clothes alone and the smell of expensive cologne, Jackson could tell he had money. Anything else he recalled was just physical. His sculpted face, the black nail polish on his nails. The warm bronzy skin that looked soft to the touch, the ball gag.

"Ah, Jackson. The tests came back, man. Hello? Look at me when I'm speaking. Jackson!"

Jackson looked up from his cozy spot on the couch, the sound of his hacker partner fussing away at him, interrupting his thoughts away from his mysterious hit. Jackson looked over at Youngjae, the man's eyes were glued to the screen he was operating, fingers typing a mile a minute. If Jackson said that out loud, Youngjae would have corrected him to 86 words per minute, but Jackson knew better than to let Youngjae have his clever comments. Jackson watched him at work, waiting for results.

"Yeah, I'm looking at you now but you can't look at me?"

"I'm working and you're daydreaming about Mr. Blueballs– fine, so my forensics guy sent back the results. You wanna know what they found?"

"Did they find prints on the cup or the envelope?"

"Zilch, dude. Nothing."

Well, that got Jackson’s attention. His legs swung off the couch as he sat up properly, an eyebrow raised. “Okay, so he knows what he’s doing, then. Enough to conceal his tracks at least. Were you able to pull the footage from the coffee shop yet?”

“You always take me for an amateur, it’s very insulting.” Youngjae stops typing and pouts at Jackson, leaning back in his seat with a huff. Youngjae did not spend eighteen months (and counting) on the CIA’s watch list to be taken for some wet around the ears hacker. Jackson has heard the same spiel time and time again, and Youngjae won’t waste his breath repeating it. Jackson clasps his hands into a prayer stance, falling to his knees with the sweetest smile, just for Youngjae.

“You know you’re my favorite hacker, Youngjae. I’m sorry for treating you like anything other than the master that you are. Now, please. Please please, please. “

Youngjae liked the way Jackson groveled for him when he knew he was irritated, but one look at the teasing grin on Jackson’s face and Youngjae was gently kicking at him to get up. “Yah, get up before I steal your card information. Again.” Jackson got up and went back to the couch, letting himself slip back into his serious behavior. Youngjae’s fingers continue to flutter across the keyboard. ”Footage has been uploaded, scanned and I’m doing a facial recognition search right now. Once that’s done I’ll see if I can cross-reference it with the web and find any social media or websites he may have.”

This is why Jackson exclusively worked with Youngjae. He was younger, but always two or three steps ahead of Jackson. He got up and walked to the kitchen to help himself to some of Youngjae’s brewed pot of coffee. His brain was caught on the thought of how bold his target was at their meeting. He took a long sip and thought about the desperation in his eyes when he grabbed Jackson’s arm, he didn’t want him to leave that shop without saying yes.

“Probably a lonely boy who’s never gotten laid.” Jackson murmured, hearing a curious hum from across the way, Youngjae’s typing stopped, the hacker’s eyes peered into the screen.

“I got something for you,” he said, waving Jackson over to the monitors. He swiftly walks back to his seat, coffee in hand as he saw a young man waving on the screen. There was that angular face, plump lips smiling on a beach. It wasn’t anything notable, there was nothing that Jackson could use, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes bore into the video. There was something about him that made it very hard for Jackson to look away, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to.

“It’s from an account user called… BamBam16.” Youngjae murmured and with a few clicks of his mouse, the profile was drawn up. Jackson pushed Youngjae until the hacker was halfway off his chair, Jackson taking one side and sitting comfortably. Youngjae yelled in annoyance as Jackson took control of the mouse, clicking on a photo and scrolling slowly. There were your usual stale Instagram photos; beach shots, food porn, mirror selfies. The more he scrolled down the more he noticed a shift in the style of the photos. They were dark, a lack of clarity which could be from the dim lighting or a filter, Jackson could not tell.

Gagged mouth, legs spread, giving just enough for the imagination to take and run away with. Jackson's eyes may have lingered a little too long. There was something about the long legs, the gaze that was distorted but still pierced into his brain. Something about the lighting, his inviting eyes, the way his face seemed to catch the light just right every time, it was...

Youngjae struggled to sit, eyes glaring at the distracted man half on his seat. The hitman was glued to the screen. Youngjae reached over, rubbing a finger against Jackson's mouth. "You got some drool– Right. There." Youngjae snickered, gaining some form of balance.

Jackson pushed his hand away gently, eyes cutting to Youngjae before he relinquished the spot on the chair, resolving to just sit in Youngjae’s lap. "So you found his Instagram. Is that all?"

Youngjae, once again comfortable, even with the extra weight on his thigh, nodded and typed away. "Yeah, there's.. literally nothing else on the web but his Instagram."

No fingerprints, no documents, and an Instagram. Jackson scrubbed his face slowly, sighing as he weighed his options. Youngjae kept looking because what seemed like a speed bump to Jackson, was a fun game for Youngjae. He began reading comments, checking IP addresses and locations. Youngjae loved picking apart every piece to make the big picture make sense. Once the picture was there, Jackson could put it together and take the hit.

The more Youngjae showed Jackson, the more he wanted to see. On the left monitor, Youngjae streamed clips from Bambam's profile. Bambam was on a bed of silk sheets, holding a gun to a man's head as his wrists were bound behind his back, face deep in Bambam's ass. It was hard to see, but the soft sounds of sex, flesh, and moans were enough for Jackson to clench his thighs in response. There was one image with the young man in nothing but white lace panties, a knife caught between his teeth, and some weird substance on his chest. ("It's cum." Youngjae would quip before going to the next photo). Jackson was inquisitive, how he wasn't banned and reported Jackson could not comprehend.

"This is his 15..16th? yeah, 16th profile- " Youngjae murmured, reading Jackson's mind without reading it. Jackson raised his eyebrows, leaning his head back on Youngjae's dingy brown couch. “He likes to do shows and people view in from everywhere. He keeps getting banned because of indecent behavior.” The hacker typed away, chewing at his thumb lightly before pulling up Bambam's Instagram story. “He’s got a live later tonight. You could check it out, maybe get an idea where he is right now.”

Jackson nodded and stood up with a loud exhale. There was enough to go off of here for Jackson to find him, the only hindrance he found was that he couldn’t take his eye off of Bambam. At a glance, he was some bored-ass rich kid, but something about his provocative poses left him uncomfortably curious and hard. “I got this, man.” Jackson looked at Youngjae with a cocky grin. Youngjae looked at Jackson with a blank stare, eyebrow-raising. Youngjae wasn’t convinced by the waver in Jackson’s tone or the growing bulge in his jeans. All he does is smiles wide, his mouth twitching up in a smirk before he turns to the blue glow of his computer screen.

“Sure, whatever you say, Simp.”

---

The video was dark, but Jackson could see everything he needed to see. The young man on his phone was sitting on a desk. The room was illuminated by dim violet light. Miguel could be heard faintly in the background. He was wearing a black tank and leather jeans, a small hunting knife snug between his teeth. Jackson recalled that same move from the pictures, and just like before it sent a shiver down his spine. It reminded him of how a dog held a bone, excited and eager for his prize. Bambam takes the knife from his mouth, and then slowly, dips the blade into the fabric of his shirt. Rip, rip, rip. The blade slides down his shirt, fabric tearing softly again the shiny sharp blade. He's looking into the camera with a small smirk, biting his lip as the knife stops at his belly button. He lets go and the knife drops, falling out of view. There's a soft thud, and he’s tugging the fabric apart. It comes off easily and Jackson's eyes are treated to a view of his toned abs. Jackson dips his hand past the band of his sweatpants and grunts softly.

"Hello, again. Nice to see you." Bambam's voice is sultry, not the same playful yet desperate tone that Jackson heard in the coffee shop. He smiles and stands up from his desk, unbuckling his belt. As Bambam slides it out, a soft sigh leaves his lips. He wraps the leather strip carefully around his neck, and tugs until it’s snug around his throat. Bam unzips the tight leather pants he's wearing and shimmies them off. He slowly exposes his thighs, Jackson can tell he waxed recently.

"Did you have a good day?" Bam whispers to the camera, and suddenly Jackson wishes he can hide comments. He grips his half-hard cock gently, slowly pumping it as his eyes stay glued to the screen. Bam is now in a pair of black briefs and nothing else. "That sounds like a long day." Bam coos to his audience, sitting back on the desk and giggling. One hand is pulling his cock out of his underwear and the other is tugging the belt. He strokes himself lazily, shutting his eyes and sighing sweetly. "You know you can just spend the night with me. Let's not think about anything but what I'm going to do to you. Understand?"

He couldn't understand what it was that made Jackson listen so intently, but the way Bam's voice was playful and airy, but still intimidating...It did things to him.

"So, Play with me. Go nice and slow. Keep up with me. " Bam's pace was slow, Jackson had watched him play with himself enough times from the videos to know how he liked it. He matched his pace, a soft moan rumbling out of his lips. Bam plays with his head, tightening the grip before gliding his hand over his cock. It was a normal pace now, his grip getting hard around his length, squeezing his head every time he met it. Jackson did as such, his fingers now tacky with precum. Bam tugged harder on the belt around his neck, a quiet moan leaving his mouth. His hips began jerking into his hand, Bam taking a deep breath before he tugs the belt. Jackson went faster, the blood fully rushing to his cock. He turns himself to the side, propping his phone on a pillow. His hand searches underneath his sheets, squirming and fumbling around until he feels a familiar small bottle of lube. He pops it open, spilling a small amount on his cock, and more on both hands.

Jackson laid on his side, one hand on his cock, two fingers in his ass as he worked himself from both ends, watching Bam. Bam was now thrusting his hips roughly into his hand, precum dripping from his tip. Desperate whines leave his mouth, muffled and soft. He's holding his breath, and with every tug of his belt, Bam looked like he was close to the edge. Jackson likes this, he likes watching this man who doesn't care who knows what he does. Would he admit to it? No, but it was enticing and sexy. Bam exhales, his hips stop. He whines louder, denying himself the release he knows will come soon, and inhales again, tugging the belt. He continues with this newfound breath, Jackson following along, stroking in time with Bam. He stops when Bam does, and at some point realizes he needs to take a breath. Bam is so close, and Jackson can tell from the way his legs shake. There is a long drip of cum that is trailing all the way off-screen and Jackson thinks about how it must taste. His mouth waters.

Bam's hips get more erratic and he's tightening up around his cock, Bam gasping as he cums. It squirts and spills, some hitting his leg and some spilling over his hand. Jackson’s pace is quickening, he stops toying with his ass and his hand is quickly clenching at his throat. Tighter and tighter the grip gets until Jackson is keening in his pillow, a pool of cum squirting out and onto his sheets. He looks up through half-lidded eyes and sees Bam is pulling his briefs up and humming along to the background music, picking the knife up and staring at it with a playful expression. He looks at the screen and smiles.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Jackson?"

At the sound of his name, Jackson's eyes twitch and he sits up. Bam is staring at him, and he stares back. More than two thousand people are watching, and cum is drying to his hand.

"Don't keep me waiting too long," Bambam mutters, his tongue licking the knife slowly. He waves as the smile on his face diminishes into a lonely expression. He sighs and ends the steam. Jackson calms himself down, shoving his soft dick back in his sweatpants and leaning his head onto the pillow. Bambam looked lonely, and it stuck with Jackson more than he’d like to admit.

As the stream ends, Jackson’s eyes shut and he pinches his nose. He was supposed to be looking for clues, and here he was. Sticky with cum and on a Bambam fuel dopamine rush. Jackson got to work, pulling his phone contacts up. What would he do without Youngjae?

Without a second ring, Youngjae picks the phone up and sighs. “He’s in Busan. I have the address.”

“Youngjae, you’re amazing,” Jackson says with a sigh of relief.

There’s a flicker of annoyance in the way Youngjae clicks his tongue, but it’s followed with laughter. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Jackson~” He mocks, before hanging up the phone and sending the coordinates to Jackson.

---

Busan was a bust. Jackson found the location of the live from the information given by Youngjae. It was a small three-bedroom house off the coast of the beach. It was gonna be simple; pick the lock, dash in, fuck him and leave. But once he got there, he was greeted to an open door, an empty house, and a note on the bed. It was on delicate stationery, a message in neat cursive that read “Too slow”. Jackson sat on the bed and groaned, fighting the urge to chastise himself for being so off of his game. His nose inhaled the scent in the air; shower steam, oatmeal, and honey. He wondered if that was what Bambam smelled like, and the sudden ring from his phone stole the thought away.

[Unknown Number]

This was Jackson's work phone, an untraceable burner phone he could replace periodically. He stared at the screen, and then answered with a grunt. On the other end, he hears silence at first, then muffled shuffling. There's a faint sound of crashing waves and seagulls and a teasing laugh. He just missed him.

"Damn, Jackson. If I knew you preferred a slow burn I would have asked you out first."

Jackson wasn't surprised when he heard Bambam's voice on the other end of the phone. A smirk creeps up his lips, leaning back on the bed.

"What can I say, I live for the chase." Jackson was impressed that he went to all these lengths for a… hookup at best.

"I took you for a professional. Get the job done clean and quick. What’s taking so long man?” Bam’s tone was playful but there’s an undertone of disappointment. Before Jackson could respond, they were disconnected.

He tried to call the number back, but all he received was an out-of-service tone in response. Bambam was something indeed, and even if this wasn’t a real hit in Jackson’s mind- he was still being paid. Bambam got under his skin in a good way, in a distracting way. He allowed himself one last inhale of the room, lightly palming his half-hard dick before going back to his job.

--

Jackson loved being a hitman because he loved the thrill of the chase. The way his marks would look at him with a sense of dread at the final moments. When they knew there was nowhere to run, and all that was left for Jackson to do is make that one shot. It was the steps from intel and tracking, all rewarding as they spun a trail. It became a high Jackson had been chasing for years. After some time they all began to feel like quick cash grabs, the steps were the same and once you knock off one greasy rich guy, you knock them all off. The spark was gone. Now he was faced with someone one who was spotty and shrew. Who kept themselves a step or two ahead. It wasn’t as easy as tracking someone down on a secluded island and sealing the deal with a gun behind their back. Jackson had become rusty, so comfortable with the easy jobs that he was taken aback by how throughout Bambam took to hide.

The weeks after the miss in Busan were a disappointing game of cat and mouse. Jackson would find his hit’s location, only to be welcomed with an ostentatious gift but no Bambam. There were notes, lipstick prints left on the windows. A diamond-studded thong that Jackson may or may not used to jack off in his car alone one night. Jackson gave some of these gifts to Youngjae for analysis, while some were stored in his glove compartment as motivation.

Bambam preferred to contact Jackson at inconvenient times, messages and calls from burner phone numbers became routine. Jackson ceased being startled by how rapidly Bambam would trace the phones. Each call left Jackson’s gut in a ball, scrambling to trace the number to no avail. Occasionally Bambam would leave images of himself that Jackson shamelessly found himself drooling over. Minor distracting spurts interrupted Jackson when he was tracking leads. When he missed a receipt in plain sight in an empty hotel room, it was because Bambam decided to send a video. Bambam somehow knew how close Jackson was to find him, and with that used his flirty nature to be the right little hiccup to make Jackson stumble. Jackson may be skilled in hunting down anyone with the right price on their head, but even the most strong-willed hitman had weaknesses.

Bambam was dressed in a fluffy pink sheer robe and nothing else. His lips were kissing a pair of hairy legs, rising to strong thighs. The young man’s eyes focused on the camera as if he was meeting Jackson’s gaze. Whoever he was with was there to get his dick sucked and nothing less, nudging his thigh against Bam’s cheek. Bambam got to work, his mouth enclosed on the man’s cock, more engaged with putting on a show for Jackson than whether the man was getting off or not. Jackson sat there in his car outside of a villa in Spain, hand palming the crotch of his jeans while Bambam sucked the man’s head. He was last located here, with this man in the video. Jackson gritted his teeth, eyes refusing to shy away. The only way he could rationalize himself to leave the car and go in was that if he shut the video off, he could feel that and not watch it on a phone. Off he went, throwing his phone in his pocket and leaving the car a few blocks away from the location. Jackson's stealthy, following along the shadows until he sees the house in view. He crouches, running from the side of the building towards the back. He steps up the back stairs quietly, his ears catching the rising and falling sound of a man moaning. A bed creaking, and a familiar voice.

He pulled a silver Baretta from behind his back, a hand touching the doorknob. Jackson twists it slowly, and to his luck, the door is unlocked. He takes a deep breath, focuses on the noises, and opens the door. Jackson is painstakingly slow as he moves through a dark kitchen, following a dim light ahead coming out of a bedroom. His steps become ghostlike, years of hunting have earned him the talent of being in a room but not heard. He walks past the living room and follows the voices that lead him to a small hallway.

There’s a loud creak, and Jackson swerves quickly to hide in an open room. He hears the thorn in his side.

"You should shower with me." Bambam says to whoever he's decided to bed tonight. The man’s breath was heavy and muffled. Bam lets out a slight chuckle, and the bathroom door slams shut. Jackson doesn’t hesitate to move swiftly, lump in his throat as he aims his gun at a young man in the next room. There was a familiar ball gag snugged between his mouth, and Jackson simmers internally. Oh, how he wished he was in that position. At the overwhelming scent of vanilla and honey, Jackson turns his attention to the bathroom door. Jackson doesn't knock, lifting his leg to kick open the door. A cloud of shower steam enveloped him, he quickly walked to the shower, pulling the curtain back with his gun aimed at-

Nothing.

He furrows his brows and pinches the bridge of his nose. Not fucking again. The steam begins to settle as a cool breeze washes over the bathroom. Jackson's head turns to an open window across from the sink and he's instantly jumping out, barrel rolling onto the grown and to the front of the house. He has no sight of Bambam anywhere, the whole street is silent. Then a crescendo forms. It's soft at first but then there's a revving of an engine and a car speeding down the street. Jackson squints, watching a familiar black McLaren speed pass. A McLaren that he parked nearby. Bambam was in the driver's seat, blowing Jackson a kiss as he zooms past him. Jackson chases after him for what feels like seconds before Bambam is once again out of sight. The frustrated shriek that leaves his mouth echoes through the neighborhood. He storms back into the house, fully enraged that he lost him once again and lost his car in the process.

As he rushes back into the house, he goes straight to Bambam’s plaything of the evening and rips the ballgag off with a loud snap. The man gasps for breath and eyes Jackson with wide eyes. His black hair clings to his forehead, confusing covering his face. Jackson holds the gun to his face again, the man looking at the gun with an offended look.

"I'd advise you to get that thing out of my face." He says, in which Jackson pistol whips his face with force.

"I'm gonna ask some questions. I want answers. If you wanna play games too, I will not hesitate to fuck you up." Jackson cracked his neck, eyeing the handsome man down. He was not the man from the last video as Jackson expected, but this was definitely the same room. "What's your name?"

"Park Jinyoung. What's a brute like you want with Kunpimook?"

Kunpimook. Another name. "What were you doing with him?"

Jinyoung regarded Jackson as if he smelled like rotting meat. " I'm not telling you anything. So you can ruin my name. Tch."

Jackson cocks his gun and sighs, aiming it directly at the man's forehead. Jinyoung wasn't intimidated, but he rolled his eyes. "He's my escort. I met him through a business partner a few months ago. He's very selective with who he does this with," Jinyoung smirks. "But it's worth every penny."

"So he's a prostitute for rich men. got it." Jackson should have guessed, no wonder he kept a low profile. "Where’s his things?"

"And you're not gonna tell me who you are?" Jinyoung gives him another look, ignoring the gun in his face. There was a gleam in Jinyoung's face as if he's been in this type of situation before.

"Jackson Wang. Hitmen for hire. "

"Ohh...Bammie mentioned you. The new plaything." Jinyoung laughs softly. "You haven't been doing a good job. "

The fact that Bambam talked about him to others made him feel something, like the callout on the Livestream. Jackson raises an eyebrow, Jinyoung raises one back. He places the gun down and looks around the bedroom. It looked like Bambam's belongs were still around, some article being familiar to Jackson. He digs around, looking for some form of wallet or phone for Bambam or this Jinyoung character. But nothing could be found.

"Did you bring your wallet with you?" Jackson asks out of curiosity. Jinyoung, who was wriggling his hardest out of his restraint, pauses at the query.

"I did, why do you need my wallet?"

Jackson ignores his question, reaching down to a pair of crisp linen shorts that he assumed were Jinyoung's. He shook them on the bed, a flimsy pen and pocket lint tumble out, but no wallet. Scanning the pen he saw the name o a luxury hotel nearby. Jackson paused, a wide smile growing on his face as he digs his phone out of his pocket, speed dialing Youngjae. If he didn't have his wallet, Bambam did. He shot Jinyoung a wink and a quick "Thanks, man." As he leaves him tied up, rushing out the door to the sounds of the businessman yelling at him. Once Youngjae picks up, Jackson ignored the snide remarks made on the other end, running down the street with a pep in his step.

"We fucking got him. We got him."

--

There was the hotel room door. The number 46 in gleaming gold letters, like a medal of sorts. After weeks of teasing and red herrings and dead ends, Jackson hoped this was the end. He prayed that once he opened this door, that right behind there would be Bambam or Kunpimook or whatever his name was. His heart lunged in his chest, mouth dry and for the first time in his career, his hands felt clammy. He dug into his pocket, holding the hard plastic key card that Youngjae had made for him. It was a skeleton key of all the rooms in the hotel, specifically room 46 on the 12th floor that was reserved for Park Jinyoung. One deep breath and one slow exhale. Go in, acquire the target, blow his back out and the job would be done. No more messages, no more games of cat and mouse. This was it.

And as Jackson pulled the key out, every step dropping more anxiety off his shoulders, and he slips it ever so calmly into the door, a smirk reaches his lips. He opens the door quickly at the sound of a small beep and swiftly lets himself in, and turns around into the room. He had won.

At least, he thought he won.

But when his eyes met Bambam’s, he felt his stomach drop.

There was his target, scantily clad in black thigh-high boots, a black collar, and leather briefs. The rest was beautiful bronze skin that smelled like honey and oatmeal soap. Bambam sat on the bed, legs crossed with a warm gaze and a smirk that seemed to stop Jackson from any train of thought. One hand rested on the bed, and the other held a sleek silver tranquilizer gun, and it was aimed at Jackson sideways.

Don’t hesitate, just execute. He knows better than this, but if anything he learned about Bambam in the past few weeks it was that the young man loved to keep Jackson on his toes. He should have known better than to think this encounter would be any different. But here he was, frozen and stopped in his tracks by a net-savvy instawhore. For as much as Jackson hesitated, Bambam did not. There was a quiet woosh as he pulled the trigger, and Jackson felt a sharp sting from his chest. Bambam giggled like a schoolgirl, watching Jackson slump and charge towards him with little to no luck. Jackson lunged forward, and Bam rolled over to let the distracted hitman hit the bed. As Jackson pulled out the dart, his vision went hazy. There was the sound of more giggling and a metal jiggle. His vision darkened, the last thing he heard was Bambam’s voice hot and soft against his ear.

“ You’re too late. “

--

When he came to, the room spun for a few moments. There was the smell of honey and vanilla incense. There’s candlelight and a dim violet glow that Jackson was all too familiar with. Once his vision was steady, he feels the pressure on his wrists. Jackson is naked, muscles rippling and glistening in what he can only assume is some kind of oil that reeks of sandalwood. His head leans back, wrists tied securely against the bedpost with black rope and when he leans his head forward, he can see that his ankles are also bound.

“Wake up, Mr.Wang.”

Jackson groggily shoots his head towards the sound of the voice, Bambam sitting across from him on the hotel dresser, legs kicking softly against it. He hasn’t changed out of his outfit but the sheer black robe was new.

“I told y-you I'd find y-you. H-ha..” He’s coming to, yes, but the tranquilizer is still in his system. His speech is slurred and any movement he makes feels like he’s carrying lead. Jackson tries to finish the sentence but settles with a frustrated groan.

Bam tilts his head, gently biting one of his sharp black acrylic nails. “Were you saying something? I don’t think you understand, baby. You took too long. So now I have to show you how to do your job.”

Bambam begins to crawl on the bed, weight sinking as Jackson’s eyes lingered on him. He’s compromised, and Bambam is very unpredictable. As alert, as he struggles to be, in the back of his mind, there’s a small space that tingles with arousal. Bam crawls into the space between Jackson’s legs, hands resting on Jackson’s thighs as he smiles coyly. As his eyes lead to the manicured hands, there was a silver gleam on his dick. He blinked once, twice, and then his vision cleared, seeing the metallic cock cage that was adorned.

Jackson squints down at his cock, pressed down and tight around the cold curves of metal, then squints at Bambam. The reply to his expression was Bambam curling in between his limbs, flicking a finger playfully at the silver caged cock. It was just a subtle -ding- of force against him, but it was enough to make himself groan. Having the sight in front of you is completely different than a digital photo or a live stream. Jackson thought he was enthralled with Bam before? If he wasn’t groggy and frustrated, he'd have died. Bam’s tongue slips out of his mouth, gently swirling around metal and flesh.

“I was so disappointed, Jackson.” He murmurs before his plump lips wrap around the strained cage, and he shamelessly sucks slowly. There’s a jolt of pleasure that rides up Jackson’s thighs and groin from the sensation of wet, flesh, and pressure. His head strikes the headboard, a moan escapes clenched teeth, and Bambam hums in response. When their eyes meet, Jackson’s are wary but thrilled as he watches Bambam’s mouth slip away from his restrained dick. A trail of spit follows, and he breaks it with a quick swipe of his lips before he’s caressing Jackson’s thigh. The way Bambam caressed them was careful, soft purrs and moans of a man who has been waiting so desperately for Jackson to take him. He gives the failed hitman a longing gaze as he opens his mouth against bare skin, teeth digging into his thigh meat. Jackson moans through grit teeth and the gaze in bam's eyes gets darker, colder.

"You’re supposed to one of the best, but you let some dumb pictures of my slutty ass screw you over, huh?" There's a soft suckle of Bambam's tongue, licking up the beads of blood from his assault. There was no more playfulness, the gaze in his eyes was unnerving. Bambam was into the chase as much as Jackson was until it got boring. Until he became the cat, dropping breadcrumb after breadcrumb to see if Jackson would take the bait. Bambam distracting him was to throw him off, yes, but it didn't hit the same as when other men simped over him. "This isn't what I paid for," Bam bites down on the other thigh, and exclaims softly. "But I'll be sure to make it memorable for the both of us.

--

Seventy-three, and ongoing. Every bite that Bam left on Jackson’s rugged skin was splotchy and red. His vision is clearer, his breathing heavy and from the way, the sunrise catches on the metal cage, he can see the twitch of his cock, he can feel the ache. Bambam sat between his legs, a bottle of lube cradled in his lap. One hand worked his growing erection and the other was snug inside Jackson, two fingers stretching and curling into Jackson ever so slowly. The sting of his slick hole being abused mingled in with the bites. In real life, Jackson could appreciate Bambam’s cock fully. The veins, the fat head of Bambam’s cock. How thick it was, and the thought of that thing inside of him made his breathing hitched, ass clenching around the finger still deep in his ass.

Bambam’s fingers dig deeper with one swipe, thumb rubbing against the flesh under Jackson’s balls. He sucks in a sharp breath and tilts his head gently against the headboard. Jackson lets his face relax. He falls into a deep pit of wavering pleasure. He was pretty sure under the sharp achiness of bite marks, the overwhelming build-up of an orgasm was there. Bam’s eyes were caught on Jackson’s restrained cock, glistening with precum. His hand dips into the sheets and held out a small key to the cage. Jackson was putty in Bambam’s hands and Bambam knew this. He knew that once Jackson walked into that hotel room, and those eyes met his that he was the one that won. He was the lion and Jackson was the deer that would be snagged in his grip. He draws his fingers out of his ass and Jackson lets out a disappointing whimper. Bam wasn’t letting him cum that easily. Not after all the time he squandered. When Bam lines up, His eyes never leave Jackson’s gaze. He plunges deeply, slowly inching in and giggling as Jackson’s eyes shut in response.

"No, look at me," Bambam says, a hand trailing up Jackson's chest. Their hips snap into each other when he bottoms out, and Jackson refuses to open his eyes. He resists to concede, to falter one last time under the presence of Bambam. It was agony– he's been craving the man above him for over a month now. He's been an itch in his skin he couldn't scratch. And here, the way Bam touched him like he owned his body like he wasn't anything other than a toy, he would give up just to cum on those plump lips. The large hand grasps Jackson's delicate neck, tightening the grip as he moves his hips into Jackson's slick, tight hole. "I said fucking look at me, you useless piece of shit."

Jackson's eyes shoot open to a shit-eating grin and a fullness he hasn't felt in a very long time. It's warm, stings, and hurts, but everything hurts. The more it hurts the more Jackson's pleasure rises again and the concoction of both sensations leaves his eyes hazy. It's either that or Bambam's grip on his throat.

"Yeah," Bam thrusts slow and deeply, his voice a whisper. "That's what I thought...look at you. Thinking you could catch me like any random hit? Hmm? Thought I was some dumb little slut that was playing around?" Bambam's pressure on Jackson's neck is so prominent, and when the hitman gasps for air, his wrists tug on the rope for release.

“Baby, I'm not like anyone you met." As his words trail on, his hips move slightly faster. "And you're gonna fucking remember that."

Jackson felt an overwhelming build-up of sensation, his cock drooling and hips involuntarily bucking into the air at nothing, wishing for friction. Bam’s thrusts slow to a halt, and his hand squeezes Jackson’s throat more. Bam pouts his lovely lips, raising the silver key in his free hand.

“You better not cum, or I’ll make you swallow this whole. Understand? Stay still, relax. Let me have my fun with you since you couldn’t have your fun with me. “

The thrusts begin again, and Jackson could not resist the sudden ebb and flow of pleasure coursing through him. He tugged on the restraints again, and in a moment of relief, he felt a give. Bambam thrusts were faster, Jackson's prostate being assaulted in a way that made thinking almost impossible, but he had to hold on. He tugged again to no avail, but amid the overwhelming aches and shots of pleasure, something in the corner of his mind told him to continue tugging. He tugged and Bambam hips snapped violently. Jackson could hear Bam's breath pick up, shakey and soft. He watched the small beads of sweat drip down Bambam's forehead and the want, the need to do his job quelled in his stomach.

Bambam up until this point was a mystery. He wanted Jackson to prove himself to him, to chase him down and fuck him. Every time that he was close, Bambam would escape. Why couldn't he just stay still and let Jackson take him? It was because he wanted more than just a regular ass chase. He wanted Jackson to want him, to crave him. To picture himself as every man that Bambam was intimate with in videos and pictures. He wanted to entice him just enough, so Jackson would break and take what was his. This sudden realization made Jackson's cock twitch and the overwhelming rush of orgasm shot through him. Jackson moans deeply, panting louder as he feels the orgasm creep so quickly, and Bam can see this. See the desperate need to cum building in Jacsckon's expression. His hips jerk backward, watching his cock leave Jackson at the moment the hitman's eye tears up, cum dribbling out of the cock cage and a dull feeling of pleasure and unsatisfaction in his loins. The ruined orgasm leaves Jackson pulling more and more against the rope, Bam's hand roaming from his neck to his face, squeezing Jackson's mouth open. Bambam places the key in between his lips, leaning over until their lips touch before dropping the key in Jackson's mouth. They share a heated kiss, tongues fighting for dominance. Jackson was so close to him that he could smell his soap, smell his sweat. He craved to be inside of Bambam and fuck him without inhibition. That's when he heard the snap.

The pressure on his wrist began to lessen, the kiss stops abruptly and Bam looks up, giving Jackson enough time to slip the key under his tongue. The rope begins to break, threads fray out as the tie is barely holding Jackson's grip. He may not have had brains, but Jackson was a very strong motherfucker. You could even say the rope was cheap, either way, Jackson gave one good last tug. The rope broke from the bedpost, a weight lifted off of Jackson's wrist.

Before Bambam could make a move, Jackson's hand clasps to his dainty waist. His nails dig into the warm flesh as a warning, the dark look in Jackson's eyes leaving Bambam frozen for the first time since Jackson walked in.

The hitman's voice was low and gravelly, and Bambam bottom lips bite down in anticipation. "You move and I will hurt you, understand?" Jackson's nails dig deeper and Bam nods with a soft moan. The sudden frustrated tension Bambam once has simmered into a spark of excitement, his legs slightly trembling.

Jackson doesn't attempt to tug off the other one, jerking his head towards it as his eyes bore into Bambam. Bam listens at the silent request, quickly untying the knot so Jackson's hands are free. Jackson rubs the soreness, the rope marks red against his dented skin.

This was the moment Jackson loved about his job. When the hit was right in his grasp and there was nowhere to hide. It took one moment for the power to shift. When the rope unraveled and bam was caught off guard, Jackson knew. He knew in the way Bam's air shifted, how in the same breath he went from punishing to docile. Bam didn't have him tied down any longer, and if he tried to run? Oh, it wouldn't end well.

"Now the ankles," Jackson commanded, Bambam complying quickly. As Jackson was fully released, hands massaging his ankles and Bambam sitting naked in front of him, the tension grew in the room. Bambam knew at this point, it would be best to stay still. Now that Jackson was free there was a fire in his eyes that left Bambam's aching cock leaking, throbbing. He was curious how far he could take this fire.

Jackson feels a shift of weight on the bed, Bambam scrambling to run off. Two strong hands reach out and grasp Bam's calf, watching the slim figure slump to the floor with a deafening thud. Jackson spits the key out of his mouth, standing up and unlocking the cage as his body looms over Bam.

The drop to the floor was harder than Bambam expected, having trouble as he got back up. Jackson gets on the floor, grabbing Bam’s arms and restraining them behind his back. He pushes Bam's face into the wooden floor, watching as Bambam's ass arches up. He attempts to break free, but Jackson’s grip becomes tighter, and Bam freezes in place. Jackson's cock is now free, It aches and twitches and yearns for release.

Jackson huffs, his eyes transfixed on the plug snug deep in Bam's ass, as if he was anticipating this would happen, hoping. Well, since Jackson is free to finish his job, he can definitely give Bambam his money's worth. With his hand gripping Bambam's wrists together, Jackson pulls him closer. He can feel Bambam's body heat. He's slow and precise when he takes the plug out, watching how Bambam's ass puckers and clenches around nothing.

"Open those pretty legs for me," Jackson murmurs with a harsh slap to Bambam's rear. He watched Bam's knees open up for him, Bam's voice a soft giggle, arching his back into him. "Look at you, such a good little slut when you aren't running your mouth."

Bambam turns his head to face Jackson. It's a look of annoyance, but Bam's eyes are blown. A glossy gaze that screams eagerness. His mouth creeps into a smirk. "If I didn't-"

"That wasn't an invitation to speak. Better yet..." Jackson looks around, grabbing his discarded shirt off the ground. He releases Bam, another smack to his rear as a warning. " Don't fucking move. Hands-on the ground, mouth open." He twists his shirt, and as soon as he sees Bambam's lips part from the side, he wraps the shirt around Bam, gagging his mouth and tying it tightly.

“Here, let's gag that pretty little mouth since you love to run it so much." There's a muffled whine and words that echo throughout the hotel room. Jackson's knuckles crack then his hands roam.

They slide down Bambam's torso, toned and soft. Goosebumps grow under his fingertips, his cock drooling and twitching for stimulation. He lets his nails dig gently into his skin and once he reaches Bam's waist, they sink into the flesh. Bam is quiet but patient. Their thighs quiver more, cock dripping a pool of precum onto the floor. Jackson relished in the sudden change of behavior, letting out a pleased laugh.

"You know, Bambam..I've been fucking obsessed with you since the first time we've met," Jackson's guiding his cock, the tip trailing Bam's freshly waxed ass until it meets his rim of muscle. Jackson is slow in his movements, wanting every moment to last as long as possible. He inches in at a snail's pace, Bambam groaning against the cloth in his mouth. "You have been..impossible to say the least."

Bam's hips gently back into Jackson, and Jackson responds by stopping his movements altogether, nails breaking the skin. "Stay still. You had your fun, right? Let me have mine." He sinks into him slower, watching how his dick disappears in him. The more he takes his time the more impatient he can see Bambam's body is. Shaking, soft murmurs. It's enough to make Jackson grin in triumph. Once he's halfway in, he snaps his hips abruptly, bottoming out and listening to Bambam's loud gasp.

And so, he fucks Bambam. Nice and slow and deep. He slams himself into him at the end of every thurst, smiling as bam's face turns to look at him. Bam's eyes are hazy, half shut, and fluttering to stay open as his lip hugs the twisted fabric. Jackson's hand cards through Bam's black locks, gripping his hair tighter as his hips thrust faster. "Are you still disappointed, baby? You act like you haven't had a dick this good in a while. Tired of the suits so you had to go find something more thrilling. How much you fuck, I'm surprised you’re even this tight. "

It’s the right kind of humiliation, and it leaves a burning, pleasure in Bam's core. The way Jackson fucks him so well and gives him something he's been wanting for a while. It builds with every remark and Bam just feels ready to cum at any moment. Then it stops. Jackson pulls out and Bambam whines as the growing bundle of pleasure began to simmer. Jackson stands up and roams the room until his eyes catch what he's looking for, Bambam's phone. He picks it up and walks over to Bambam, leaning it in his face.

"Unlock it." Jackson says. Bam hesitates, a shaky hand types in his password and gives the hitman access. Jackson pulls the phone away, busying himself before he props the phone on the floor at an angle so it shows bam's face but not Jackson’s. He resumes his onslaught on Bambam's ass, repeating the motions he did before. Inching in slowly, snapping his way in and fucking Bambam thoroughly.

"I want everyone to see this," Jackson says, Bam staring straight into the phone, straight into the live that Jackson started to show everyone. "Everyone should see how well you take dick in broad daylight, fucking slut."

Jackson's thrusts are faster and harsher and Bambam can feel himself shaking more and more, tears brimming his eyes at how good it feels to be used like this. To be caught and fucked without little to no say. To finally not be in control and let someone handle him how they wanted to, to fuck him with a desperate need. This wasn't him pleasuring someone for money, or putting on a show for attention, this was the thrill of the chase, the thrill of being caught and letting Jackson take his victory lap.

And when Bambam cums, it's loud. The cloth doesn't do much to muffle the sound of his whine, body overwhelming with a pulsing pleasure as Jackson's cock snaps into him harder, fucking him more and more as his face roams upwards. His eyes roll back, hips backing into Jackson as he cums on the wooden floor, riding out his orgasm with blissed-out whines.

Jackson loves this, seeing how undone Bambam is under him, under the eyes of thousands waiting for his live to be banned for the umpteenth time. As Bambam finishes, Jackson is feeling himself build an orgasm. He pulls out, not wasting time to stroke his cock furiously as he walks up to Bambam's face.

"Take the gag off."

Bambam is pulling the shirt out of his mouth, tongue instantly slacked-out as Jackson shoots his cum all over, groaning loudly as his body pulses with pleasure. It hits Bambam's tongue, his cheeks, his nose, his eyes. Jackson takes the head of his cock, rubbing it in his own cum and covering Bam's puffy lips, making them sticky and glossy. Bam's eyes are barely open, a fucked out mess. He giggles softly into the camera before scrambling to shut the live off. Jackson's catching his breath, watching as Bam turns off the live. He licks his lips clean and stares up at Jackson, Jackson staring back blankly. He gets up and continues to clean his face with his fingers and mouth as he wraps his robe against his body. The hotel room fills with their breaths, Bambam opening a drawer nearby and handing Jackson a large stack of cash.

"As agreed." He says with a smirk, satisfied with his purchase.

Jackson smirks in response, snatching the cash and dressing as he makes sure the amount is correct. There wasn't much for pillow talk or typing loose ends. This was merely a transaction, and that was something they both could agree on. Anything more and it'd be complicated. Besides, Jackson liked that Bam wasn't obtainable. That he was hard to grasp and that when you did catch him, it wasn't for long. He shoves his money in his pocket, and looks back at Bambam one last time, wanting to preserve this memory in his brain for as long as possible.

"Pleasure doing business."