Namjin Smut

possession

Written by: bishounen

Summary:

This situation right now, with Seokjin holding onto Namjoon's expensive Vintage Aniline leather as he tries his best to stifle the moans that Namjoon is leisurely fucking out of him, certainly isn't the first time they've had an audience.

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"Three of Jaebom's men were seen in our club in Daegu yesterday night, boss."

The information gets through to Namjoon only vaguely.

He's busy.

Namjoon's currently got Seokjin bent over the leather couch in his office, a hand fisted in Seokjin's platinum blonde hair to pull his head back—so that Seokjin can't hide his pretty, flushed face from Namjoon's right hand man who is standing in the doorframe. Namjoon doesn't even bother sending the man away before he unzips his pants.

"Go on," Namjoon says gruffly to his right hand man, but does not deign to send him a glance.

He tugs at Seokjin's jeans and underwear until it's bunched up below his ass. When Namjoon parts his cheeks with his thumb, he's quietly pleased to be greeted by the sparkly end of a diamond-crested plug. It's one of his more recent gifts; by far not his most expensive favor, but obviously put to good use. Namjoon pulls it out of Seokjin's ass so slowly that the resonating filthy squelch brings tears of shame to Seokjin's eyes. The heavy metal toy, all warmed up by Seokjin's insides now, finds its new place on the couch.

Not missing a beat, Namjoon pushes his hips forward and slides himself into Seokjin's gaping asshole to fill the toy's place—all the while he's being briefed by his right hand man.

Namjoon stops once his cock's fully buried in Seokjin's delicious, tight heat in favor of giving a response to the question his right hand man asked him.

"Send out Jeongguk to get the CCTV footage, then. But tell him not to make a mess like last time."

The atmosphere in the room is so normal that it's absurd. Namjoon might as well be sitting in his armchair drinking whisky and having a smoke right now, taking care of his business like any other man would do in this situation.

But he's not.

Namjoon's got his little pet bent over the couch in his office with one hand in his blonde hair, the other on the small of his back, and his dick balls-deep buried in his ass. Their position couldn't be any more compromising while Namjoon's right hand man is in the room with them, and Seokjin clenches around Namjoon every time the man glances down at him with barely veiled desire.

The blatant interest on behalf of the man leaves Namjoon unfazed initially.

He pulls out and savors the way Seokjin's walls immediately squeeze around his cock as if to keep it inside, and then he slams back in with a force that has Seokjin cry out and the couch move half an inch across the floor.

Setting a much gentler pace, Namjoon continues thrusting.

This situation right now, with Seokjin holding onto Namjoon's expensive Vintage Aniline leather as he tries his best to stifle the moans that Namjoon is leisurely fucking out of him, certainly isn't the first time they've had an audience.

If Namjoon doesn't have Seokjin bent over his couch like this, then he has him sitting close at dinners with business partners or in his lap during meetings with his men. Namjoon doesn't care if people see him shove a hand between Seokjin's thighs or tease his nipples through his shirt. Life hasn't afforded him an opportunity like that yet, but Namjoon would very much go as far as screwing Seokjin while negotiating with his enemies; would get that greedy hole wet and nice and loose and stuff it full right in front of those bastards, and he wouldn't give a shit about it all because he's very confident in what he has and that only he will have it.

To be precise, Namjoon doesn't care as long as nobody looks too long or touches what's his; it's an unspoken rule and every last one of his men obeys to it.

Or should know about it, at the very least.

Really, Namjoon's right hand man should know better than to let his eyes wander so much.

Namjoon looks away from the man; uses the hand on the small of Seokjin's back to push down on it and make him arch more. He's fucked Seokjin in front of mirrors often enough to know what his right hand man is seeing from his perspective right now; the tempting curve of Seokjin's pale back, his small waist. Namjoon runs his hand over the swell of Seokjin's ass before he gives it a firm smack—just hard enough to make Seokjin feel the impact of the heavy rings on his fingers.

As expected, Seokjin moans and clamps down hard on Namjoon, pushing back against him ever so slightly.

"Filthy whore," Namjoon mutters under his breath before he looks up.

And as expected, his right hand man has his eyes on Seokjin again—and his only mistake is that he removes them a little too late.

Namjoon draws his gun before understanding can fully dawn on the man's face, and Namjoon shoots him clean in the head before he can even think of stuttering out a half-assed apology.

The dead body of his used-to-be right hand man crumples to the ground, and Namjoon's dick pulses inside of Seokjin's spasming walls. He slides his gun back into his shoulder holster hidden underneath his immaculate Armani suit, tangles his fingers harder into Seokjin's blonde hair, and bends a little over him.

"Look at this bastard," he says, watching Seokjin's dazed expression focus on the dead man in front of them. A puddle of blood is slowly forming around his head. Namjoon picks up his pace, fucking into Seokjin with a harder rhythm. "Look at what happens to men who think they can have you."

Seokjin's mouth falls open for a moan. His red, plush bottom lip is shiny with spit. The urge to kiss and bite it builds in Namjoon like a wave, but he holds himself back; wants to keep watching how frenzy clouds Seokjin's eyes until he looks absolutely gone with it.

"You like this?" Namjoon murmurs lowly into Seokjin's ear. "You like seeing these men die for you?"

For a second it seems like Seokjin wants to answer him; trembling lips, a quiet inhale—but then Namjoon angles his hips and Seokjin goes completely still. His lashes flutter as his eyes roll back, he whimpers and then he comes, going so tight around Namjoon that it pulls a groan out of him. For good measure, Namjoon lays another harsh smack on his ass right when he's at his climax.

"You morbid slut," Namjoon says and laughs, letting go of Seokjin's hair and watching his shaking body collapse over the back of the couch. He makes sure to fuck Seokjin well through his orgasm, and then some until he himself comes inside of Seokjin's tight heat.

By the time they're finished, two of Namjoon's men have already come to remove the dead body from Namjoon's office. Seokjin's still trembling, his body slumped lifelessly over the couch, and his flushed rim is twitching every other second while he stares at the puddle of blood on the floor. It's just a large spot of dark red in his blurred vision, and while Namjoon rubs the smooth, cold surface of the plug over his hole a few times to tease him before he works it back inside, Seokjin quietly moans and thinks, Filthy whore, morbid slut, yes, I fucking love all of this.

Https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950581