The first time Inspector Han Juwon had noticed it was when he walked into Manyang Substation with the confidence of a young, handsome man who had aced the National Police University, could speak four languages, was in peak physical condition and drove a luxury Camaro worth more than the entire precinct’s annual equipment budget.
He was ready to solve a long row of femicides in this little stinking village of Munju, ready to expose corruption and catch criminals. Ready to fix this backwards town by force, if necessary.
What he wasn’t ready for however was...Lee Dongsik; his prime suspect. The mysterious man - a former inspector in Seoul himself - he had observed from a distance long before he went to Manyang.
The man who made him question many things. His identity, his family status, his entire life for example, on top of all that.
They had just been partnered up by senior officer Chief Nam who was oddly confident they would, in his words, "balance each other out”, after the entire team doubted his courtesy for pairing these two. Both Dongsik and Juwon were eventually sent out on patrol in a police car that smelled like cigarette smoke, old leather, wet socks, cheap deodorant and greasy fingers; a friendly accommodation of getting to know each other in proper standard uniforms, the mutual suspicion however peaking in nonstop passive-aggressive conversations.
Juwon despised everything about this, the patrolling, the stinking car, including Dongsik who stank in his own way - like suspicion, annoyance, musky aftershave and deep-seated grief.
In the late afternoon they came back for some hot beverage before the shift change. And that’s when he saw it.
That swing. The lazy, sideways roll of Officer Lee Dongsik’s hips as he walked past him, stripped off the tactical vest. A man who knew exactly how much space he took up in this station among his colleagues, who absolutely didn’t give a damn what a high class inspector and chaebol heir from Gangnam thought about him.
Juwon’s brain - oh so trained, disciplined, analytical - briefly forgot how to function, eyes busy staring holes at Dongsik who stood across the room, leaning over the printer. His police shirt rode up just enough to reveal the lean slope of his lower back through the bluegreen fabric, the way his black belt hugged his narrow hips too well for it to be legal in a government-issued uniform.
Get a grip, he’s your prime suspect. He’s rude, crazy, volatile, probably guilty of murdering his sister and-
Juwon’s eyelids flicked up. Then down. Up again and stayed, unable to turn his gaze away.
Unfortunately long enough that Jihoon and Gwangyoung, both chilling behind the counter, couldn’t hold back their indirect jabs.
“I counted twelve seconds this time.”
Juwon pretended not to listen, but his ears were set on alarm mode.
“Aishi…that’s a personal best.”
Jihoon snorted, packing up an old case file. Gwangyoung lifted his shiny silver moka pot and poured himself some strong coffee with a flourish to get ready for a long shift.
“ㅎㅎLooks like we’re gonna have to report a Code 69, huh?”, Gilgu had thrown in from the hallway, zipping up his vest, preparing for the follow-up patrol shift, causing brainless laughter roaring through the entire room much to Juwon’s confusion because these stupid, infantile backwoods men all talked in riddles to him, and he wasn't realizing how he became the center of an ongoing roast while thirsting in full view of everyone.
Jihoon wheezed with a dramatic sigh, blowing his hot ramyun to cool off. "Y’know…I never believed in soulmates. But then I saw hyung’s lower back in that shirt…man...”
“And those pants.”, Gilgu added. “Oof, that fit.”
“I’d kneel in church for that silhouette.”
Juwon was still lingering on the bench, still clueless because he, in all honesty, couldn’t stand this insufferable Manyang peanut gallery anyway. He hated how they all apparently didn’t talk to him directly out of respect and avoidance, keeping their distance, yet seem to gossip about him or Dongsik without ever dropping a name.
Juwon blinked, stiffened, didn't say a word and pretended to study the bulletin board to his right but he froze the moment he heard Dongsik’s bored, lazy voice from the printer corner.
“Is my ass really that distracting?”
Dongsik turned around, printed papers in his hands, his expression relaxed, not at all bothered by any of the silly talk surrounding him, as if he was used to them clowing around.
“You want me to turn a little more? Or should I stand still while you sketch it for, you know, murder evidence?”
Papers still in hand, he arched his hip a little, rubbing a hand all over his waist and chest, skilled, pretty bedroom eyes straight focusing at Juwon.
The peanut gallery howled.
Dongsik leaned back against the desk, stole a sip from Gwangyoung’s cup without asking, and smirked in his disgusting, infuriating way.
Juwon adjusted his collar, face flushed, stood up quickly and walked out of the station building - determined and resolved never to walk, sit or stand behind Dongsik ever again and, most importantly - not to stare at him to avoid gay panic.
Yeah, fuck this. Fuck this old man and his weird anatomy, fuck these twats and their insufferable, childish humour.
Two years later. About to date Lee Dongsik. Kind of.
The same torture, but this time without a risk of having to endure endless mocking laughter in his ears.
Dongsik had rolled over ten minutes ago with all the casual grace of a man who had done this a thousand times before in his own, old, creaking bed. He ended up giving Juwon his back simply because he could sleep easier on the preferred side position, facing the door - as if it meant nothing - because, yes, it absolutely meant nothing.
Like he hadn’t just exposed the full curve of his lower back to a very hungry man on the brink of starvation, suffering from psychological ruin over…a waist.
That goddamn waist. Right there now in front of him. Close. Too close.
Juwon’s cautious eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness in the room, with the only light source being the quiet moonlight spilling through the flimsy linen curtains in faint streaks.
Enough light to watch. To observe, to stare at Dongsik's back.
A steady outline against the thin, grey sheets, the silhouette of his oddly wide hip barely covered, chest rising and falling in a rhythm Juwon couldn’t match at all. The bed dipped ever so slightly toward him and beneath the blanket, heat radiated from Dongsik’s body like a furnace.
It was one of those hot summer nights in Manyang which didn't help to cool him off either. No air conditioner; Dongsik’s house didn’t have that kind of luxury. Just a small fan whirring on a wooden dresser in the corner, blowing at least a tiny refreshing breeze of air through the bedroom. No. This obviously wasn’t his well-tempered, acclimated apartment in Seoul and he wasn’t lying in a bed that he didn’t have to share with an incredibly hot, middle-aged menace of a man.
Everything had gone still and silent in this town at the late hour. Dongsik, the familiar house, the bedroom, even the last few drunk, noisy youths outside on the village streets.
Juwon regretted that he didn’t take the couch for a sleepover. Now he was almost on the verge of a meltdown as he tried to focus on his shallow breath, on the soft hum of the fan, the circulating breeze kissing his heated skin. On anything except the very real, very warm body lying a few pathetic inches away from him.
Dongsik’s back hadn’t moved, as he was still facing away, still giving Juwon some personal space but the gap between them was even more precarious and for some strange reason it became smaller with every minute. Dongsik’s shirt had ridden up, bunching a little under his shoulder blades, baring an obscene amount of slightly sweaty skin. His smooth spine was sharp and shadowed by the right amount of muscles, waist narrowing into a ridiculous, sharp, angled curve, snug and clean, descending into the band of his underwear - like it was made to be grabbed, held onto. Licked, sucked and bitten.
Juwon could see where his avid palms might fit, like the universe had shaped that waist for him.
Dongsik’s ass was tucked and hidden in those way too tight black cotton briefs like a criminal’s secret; barely a breath away from Juwon’s hip. Barely.
Why is your waist shaped like that??
Juwon kept staring and sweating, fists clenching his own blanket, thoughts spiraling into the most humiliating and desperate scenarios a sexually constipated virgin man could imagine.
Dongsik’s pose wasn’t intentional or dramatic nor supposed to be suggestive. It was just fucking anatomy. That damn tiny waist just existed and didn’t even know what it was doing but for Juwon however it was a naughty, anatomical trap carved out of sturdy flesh and sharp bone, shaped by years of heavy police work and moral ambiguity and-
…and it was killing him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking legal in his personal sense for justice. Dongsik’s waist absolutely shouldn’t be allowed to look like that.
That waist could maybe be held with one hand…Two for proper leverage during-…If I touched it, would it flex? Would he arch his back a little..? Moan at me? Would he let me get close enough to-
Sweaty palms wrapped in the blanket, Juwon’s fingers twitched and his thighs clenched together as the familiar heat boiled up inside his lower belly.
His hopeless body didn’t want any distance. Not when Dongsik was right there, soft and breathing and real, after all those years of sexual self-repression, all the late nights alone in Gangnam, picturing this and telling himself he, who definitely wasn’t a thirsty, touch-starved 30 year old unfucked chaebol son, didn’t need any of it…and five minutes later still somehow ended up masturbating to Dongsik’s waist like a desperate, horny highschool boy.
Juwon wanted to press closer even if this would erase the last remnants of his nerves that currently stopped him from just grabbing this godforsaken waist, pulling it against his shaking form. Just a little, of course, but still closer. No morally questionable things.
As if the universe, the universal mind reader, hadn’t already made enough of a mockery of him here in this bedroom, Dongsik suddenly stirred in his sleep, presenting a feast. His hip flexed in a subtle shift against Juwon's groin, muscles moving under warm skin and Juwon saw the definition - that cursed line. That subtle but damned V-line...
I hate you. I hate your waist. I hate your body. I hate that it looks like it belongs in my hands.
Cursing under his trembling breath, struggling with a massive boner twitching happily between his legs, Juwon forced himself to squeeze his eyes shut.
It’s not like he could just grab him. Right?
Just to feel it; to make Dongsik feel him and his silent suffering that he was causing by merely existing.
Read the finished work on AO3♥️
