I want | taepyo
summary: When Jihoon comes face-to-face with the arsonist he's been chasing for months now, things escalate in a way he never would have predicted.
words: 3,345
rating: NC-17
notes: I’m back (not that anyone cares) and still bad at summaries! yahoo! Jihoon's a corrupt cop, Taeil's an arsonist who likes to push boundaries. That's all you need to know, really. It's just a PWP basically ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Just a heads up, though, that this fic does contain some power imbalances. Taeil consents, but the sex is somewhat violent, and because he is a suspect and Jihoon's a cop whether he is in a position to consent is up for debate. I personally don't think it's dubcon, but please do take heed and decide for yourself if you want to read or not.
aff // ao3
“What have we got?”
Ordinarily, Jihoon would start at 10 am. He likes starting late, likes the routine, likes being able to sleep in after one too many scotches the night before. The only time he’s called into the station this early—and 8 am is practically dawn, as far as he’s concerned—is for emergencies. This is apparently an emergency, if Jiho’s harried look is anything to go by.
“That arson case?” Jiho babbles, shoving files into Jihoon’s hands and taking his coffee in one smooth motion. “You know. Those linked ones? All six of—” he cuts himself off at Jihoon’s quirked eyebrow. “Right. We have him. His prints match the ones we found at the last site.”
“What did he do to get caught?” Jihoon murmurs, shifting the files to under his arm and gesturing for his coffee again. Jiho hands it to him obligingly, and he sighs at the warmth. He really is too tired for this.
Jiho runs a hand through his hair as they walk through the station, nodding at their uniformed colleagues, heading towards the interrogation rooms at the back. “Tried to rob a convenience store.”
“Armed?”
“Nope.” Jiho’s voice is wry. After working together as long as they have, Jihoon can tell he is not impressed. “He’s built like a brick and covered in tattoos. I guess he thought that would be enough.”
Jihoon takes a swallow of his coffee and winces; it’s horribly bitter. All the better to wake him up with, he supposes. He’s still not sure that the lead suspect in the arson cases is enough justification for dragging him out of bed this early, considering they were pretty low profile. Reported in the news enough, sure. The media had had a field day with that, and had tried to convince the public they were all in danger of having their houses burnt down in the night. But the suspect never went for populated areas, never went near anything with people inside. Most of his hits were on dilapidated warehouses, or empty public housing; once he had hit an abandoned petrol station, and the explosion from that could be felt from suburbs away. And now he’s ended up in Jihoon’s lap, tied with a ribbon? It’s way too good to be true, and his gut is telling him something’s up.
“Alright,” he mutters to himself as he opens the door to the interrogation room’s side viewing area. It’s not very big, about the size of a large cupboard, with a desk and monitors showing the inside of the two interrogation rooms. One whole wall is taken up by the one-way mirror looking in, but Jihoon doesn’t even look up as he dumps the files on the desk and swallows the rest of his coffee. “Do you want him?”
Jiho grunts, a noise that Jihoon interprets as a no, so he shrugs and picks up the file closest to him, flicking it open to the first page. As he does so, he glances up through the one-way mirror, not really knowing what to expect—and nearly drops his damn cup.
The man sitting there is pretty, with wide eyes and round glasses that he pushes up his nose awkwardly. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows off the tattoos littered up and down his arms, and it clings to his muscles. Jiho was right. He is built like a brick, despite being tiny—he probably only comes up to Jihoon’s shoulders, if that. He’s looking nonchalantly around, like being in a police interrogation room is nothing out of the ordinary for him, and when his eyes pass over the mirror Jihoon has to repress a shiver. Holy shit.
“Name?” he asks, taking a step closer to the mirror, the file in his hand completely forgotten.
There’s the sound of rustling papers behind him, and then Jiho begins to read, his voice monotonic. “Lee Taeil, 27 years old. No prior arrests.”
The name rings some faint bell in Jihoon’s head, but he ignores it and looks down at the file in his hand. It’s the most recent arson case, an abandoned and run-down shop. It’d been completely decimated in the fire. The fire department had taken one look at it and determined it as arson, and not just any old arson but done by someone who knew what they were doing—they had factored in the properties of the accelerant, the direction of the wind, and the way the fire would have moved through the shop. Everything is pointing towards this Taeil being an expert at setting fires, but why? What motive would he have?
“Alright,” he sighs, turning away from the mirror and gathering the files back up in his arms, turning to head out of the cupboard room. “Turn those cameras off.”
“But—” Jiho protests weakly.
Jihoon rolls his eyes. He likes to play a little fast and loose with the rules, which is probably why they’d paired him with Jiho, who treats the law as rigid, inflexible, unbreakable. They play off each other well, usually, especially when Jihoon wants to be bad cop. He wants to teach this idiot a lesson; fire isn’t to be fucked with. “Off,” he repeats firmly, rounding the corner to push open the door of the interrogation room.
The man—Taeil—looks up when he enters, and a faint smirk settles on his lips. Just the sight of that has Jihoon’s blood boiling, but he conceals it, settling in the seat across from him and spreading the files out on the desk.
“Let the record state that on Monday the 6th of February, the interview was started at… eight- thirteen am by detective inspector Pyo Jihoon. Let the record also state that the suspect is Lee Taeil, twenty-seven years old, no priors.” He looks up at Taeil and nearly blanches at the weight of his stare, unflinching and unwavering as he reads Taeil his rights.
“So… robbing a convenience store, huh?” He picks up the file earmarked as exactly that and flips it open, stretching out in the chair and relaxing. From the looks of it, Taeil did not come across as a threat, and the fact the robbery was not armed means that if he’s charged he’ll get off pretty lightly. His involvement in the arson cases complicates things, though. “Seems a pretty fucking stupid thing to do for someone so good at being a criminal.”
Taeil shrugs and licks his lips, and although the gesture should come across as nervous, it doesn’t. Jihoon’s eyes follow the path of Taeil’s tongue and he has to repress another shiver. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jihoon nearly drops the file. Taeil’s voice is high, melodic, beautiful, and it catches him so off guard he almost swallows his own tongue. It looks entirely out of place coming out of him. “Your fingerprints were everywhere at that last one,” he sighs, opening up another file and sliding a photograph across to Taeil. It’s the remnants of the shop, black and charred and gutted. “You’ve suddenly gotten sloppy.”
The moment Taeil lays eyes on the photograph, he starts grinning, and that’s when Jihoon knows he’s got him. What kind of psychopath smiles at causing that kind of destruction? His anger flows through him again, and he clenches his fists under the table, resisting the urge to wipe the smirk off Taeil’s face. Instead, he reaches across to the tape recorder and presses stop, slamming his fist on the table, making Taeil jump. “I don’t have time to fuck around,” he growls, splaying his hand on the cool metal of the table so as not to do anything stupid like put his hands on Taeil. “If you confess, I can try and keep you out of jail. You’re looking at a while. Each arson charge carries at least ten years.”
“Your evidence is circumstantial for the other five.” Taeil’s voice is just a whisper, and when he smiles at Jihoon his heart nearly stops in his chest. “And I have no priors. They’ll slap me on the wrist and I can be on my merry way.”
Jihoon knows that he’s right. That’s the worst thing. He’s seen too many criminals slip through his fingers because of situations like this, where there’s enough evidence for everyone in the damn station to know they were guilty but not enough to convict. It’s with this boiling through his veins that he gets up, grabs Taeil by the hair, and slams his head into the metal table. If Taeil wants him to be bad cop, then a bad cop he shall be. There’s a roaring sound in his ears as Taeil looks up at him woozily, glaring at him, and he feels a small thrill of success at finally extracting some emotion that’s not smug from him.
“Wanna try that again?” he breathes in Taeil’s ear, curling his hand in his hair and yanking it so he can see the outline of Taeil’s throat.
With the glimmer of a smile, Taeil blinks up at him, but Jihoon doesn’t miss the way his chest is heaving, almost like he enjoys this. “You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that, officer,” he says breathily.
“Okay,” Jihoon replies nonchalantly with a shrug, slamming Taeil’s head into the table once more. Before he can react, he hooks a hand around Taeil’s elbow, yanking him to his feet to propel him into the wall with a shove. He grinds Taeil’s face into the wall, his big hand splaying across the entirety of Taeil’s face, gritting his teeth to try and distract himself from the fact that he’s getting hard. “Good enough?”
Taeil turns to look at him slightly, and he looks wrecked—lips parted, hair messy, want written all over his face. He really does like this. “Maybe if you sucked my cock I’d tell you what you wanted to hear,” he mutters.
Slamming Taeil into the wall once more, he presses up against his back, winding a hand through Taeil’s hair. He looks gorgeous like this. He grinds his hips into Taeil’s back, hears him exhale, has to bite back a moan himself. “Why don’t you suck mine?”
“Not much of a punishment,” Taeil shoots back.
Jihoon’s been working here for years now, and he’s interrogated countless people in these rooms—hence, he knows that the faint creak he hears is the door to the observation room opening and closing. He also knows that it’s Jiho, stepping in because Jihoon has crossed over some line. He is entirely too far gone to care, though, so he whirls Taeil so they’re face to face and draws back his fist to punch him in the face.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jiho snarls as he bursts in through the door.
Jihoon has backed away from Taeil, and he folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at his subordinate. “What I need to. Go back outside.”
Jiho’s eyes flick between Taeil, blood trickling from his nose, and Jihoon, practically trembling with rage and indignation and other emotions that he can’t recognise. He can see the cogs moving in Jiho’s head—this is such a breach of protocol that Jihoon will be fired at the very least if this gets out. But they both know of worse things that’ve happened in these interrogation rooms, so Jiho grits his teeth and backs away, shaking his head disdainfully. Jihoon can’t even bring it in himself to care.
“Is he good cop, then?” Taeil mutters, wiping at the blood on his face.
Jihoon whirls and shoves him back up against the wall, getting in his space, watching as Taeil’s eyes widen once more. “The only thing I want to hear from you is a confession.” He deliberately keeps his voice low, and when he winds his fingers through Taeil’s hair he realises he’s too far gone to turn back now. “So why don’t you just give me what I want?”
“Okay,” Taeil replies, and sinks to his knees.
Before Jihoon can even react, Taeil’s mouthing at his cock through the fabric of his pants, looking up at Jihoon through his eyelashes like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Jihoon’s vaguely aware of the fact that Jiho can see them through the one-way mirror, but then Taeil yanks at his belt, pulling his cock free, and Jihoon groans. Taeil’s hand is so fucking small and colourful wrapped around his dick, and he has to grit his teeth when Taeil licks a slow, torturous stripe up his length, because this is illicit and wrong and dirty and so, so right.
“That’s not what I meant,” he mutters as Taeil sucks on the head of his cock, his cheeks hollowed.
The noise that Taeil’s mouth makes when he comes off Jihoon’s cock—a slick pop that colours the air—nearly makes him moan again. “Are you complaining?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jihoon growls in response, pushing Taeil’s head down on his cock, deliberately making him gag.
He fucks Taeil’s mouth with abandon, because Taeil’s moaning like he loves it and he looks beautiful when his eyes fill with tears that make tracks down his cheeks. His little mouth is so hot and wet, and Jihoon’s got one hand wound in Taeil’s hair and the other on his cheek, feeling it hollow. He’s probably going to get fired over this—definitely going to get fired over this, considering Jiho’s watching, and he knows Jiho’s boundaries and this has definitely crossed into ‘things not to do with a suspect’ territory—but he doesn’t worry about that. This is all he needs right now, this is all they both need, and with Taeil moaning wantonly around his dick he isn’t going to last long. He doesn’t even have the gall to be embarrassed.
“Shit,” he groans as he comes, pulling out of Taeil’s mouth to see his come spill all over his face, splashing on his glasses, pooling on his lips. As he watches, Taeil licks his lips exaggeratedly, catching as much come on his tongue as he can, making obscene smacking sounds. “Get up,” he murmurs, haphazardly shoving his cock back in his pants with shaky hands. Taeil does, and when Jihoon looks him up and down he can see his own cock is straining at the fabric of his jeans. “Are you going to give me what I want?”
“I just did,” Taeil points out, smirking.
It’s so easy to wrap a hand around Taeil’s throat and push him back against the wall. Underneath his fingers, he can feel Taeil’s pulse, beating like a drum, and gives an experimental squeeze. “Not the answer I was looking for.” He keeps his voice deliberately low, biting his lip as Taeil ekes out a moan around his hand. “Or do I have to force it out of you?”
“Please!” Taeil begs when Jihoon loosens his fingers.
How enthusiastic about this he is is half the fun, especially when he has come and blood on his face and he’s still begging for more. He wedges a thigh between Taeil’s own, feels him arch up towards him, craving contact on his cock. But Jihoon’s cruel, and splays a hand on Taeil’s belly underneath his shirt instead, feeling how hot he is. “But you haven’t been very good,” he reminds him.
He can see the warring desires on Taeil’s face, and it’s fascinating to watch—he evidently wants to give in, and protest that he was good, that he’ll be a good boy, but at the same time the contempt he has for Jihoon is still burning bright within him. His lust eventually wins out, because he huffs and grinds into Jihoon’s hip. “Please,” he says again, drawing out the last syllable.
“I’m not doing this because you’re good,” Jihoon murmurs into Taeil’s ear as he thumbs open the button of Taeil’s jeans, slowly undoing his fly. “Because you’re not. Give me a confession.”
Taeil moans when Jihoon grabs his cock, heavy and weighty in his hand; there’s so much heat between them that it’s nearly unbearable. His strokes are slow, deliberate, designed to give Taeil pleasure but not tip him towards coming. His fingers tighten in the fabric of Jihoon’s shirt, and his eyes flutter shut, and when he swallows Jihoon mirrors him. It’s absurd, to be doing this, but they went past the point of no return long ago. “I won’t,” Taeil croaks, but it’s a lot weaker than how it was a second ago, and his breath hitches in his throat when Jihoon leans down to press a kiss to the flesh of his neck before biting there, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. “You have no proof.”
Jihoon pulls back slightly to take in Taeil in all his wretchedness. He looks completely out of it, especially when he’s panting and clutching at Jihoon as if to keep himself upright, swaying on his feet as Jihoon strokes him closer to orgasm. “Do I really need it?” he says softly, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh!” Taeil cries, his fingers digging into Jihoon’s arm so hard it’s going to leave marks. It’s pretty obvious that being degraded like that—even when Jihoon didn’t say anything, just raked his eyes over Taeil’s body—is what gets him off, and he bucks his hips into Jihoon’s hand furiously. “Please,” he whines once more, “don’t tease me.”
“But it’s so fun.” Jihoon takes his hand away from Taeil’s cock, smiles as the smaller man pushes his hips forward, craving the touch. “And so easy.”
For all his showboating, he’s hard again at making Taeil moan like this, and he desperately wants to make him come. Maybe it’s this that makes him fall upon Taeil again, closing his hand around Taeil’s cock to stroke him with renewed vigour; maybe it’s the knowledge that they surely don’t have much time left. When Taeil leans up to kiss him, he tastes himself on those lips, and slides his other hand around to circle around Taeil’s throat again. It’s rough and hard and fast, and when Taeil comes Jihoon chokes him, not caring that Taeils fingernails nearly tear through the fabric of his shirt as he writhes when he comes. If he’s going to get fired, so be it—it’s worth it to see the way Taeil’s eyes roll back in his head as his orgasm hits him and he comes all over himself.
When it’s done, he pushes Taeil away, sending him sprawling onto the floor to stand over him, their chests heaving. If it’s possible to break a human, that’s what Jihoon’s done—Taeil’s a mess, but there’s no hatred in his eyes when he looks up at Jihoon, only gratitude. “I’m going to send Jiho in now,” he says, amazed at how even his voice is even when the lust is still choking him. “And you’re going to confess to all of your little fires. Otherwise I’ll come back and we’ll do this again, and again, and again, until you’ll be so sensitive you can’t walk.” Taeil doesn’t answer him, so Jihoon kicks him in the thigh—but there’s no force behind it; all his anger has dissipated with his orgasm. “Do you understand?”
There’s a long pause, where the answer hangs in the air between them, weighty and heavy—and then Taeil’s scrambling up on his feet, shoving Jihoon back into the wall. He’s strong, surprisingly so, and when he shoves a forearm against Jihoon’s throat (he’s up on his tippy toes, Jihoon realises faintly) he’s too shocked to block. “Fuck you,” Taeil snarls, with all the vitriol of someone who knows he’s cornered. “When I get out I’m going to find you.”
“Good,” Jihoon replies evenly, grabbing Taeil by the hair to lean in and kiss him. Taeil immediately melts, his arm slipping away from Jihoon’s throat, and that’s how he knows he’s got him. “I’ll look forward to it.”
When he leaves the room, he doesn’t look back. He got what he came for.
