Beom stormed into Sasha's room, the frustration practically radiating off him. "Where the hell did that guy go?!" he thought, glancing around the messy space. But then a chill ran down his spine—his necklace was gone. "The necklace. Dad's necklace. No, no, no...where did I leave it?"
He frantically began turning over things in the room, ransacking the place without a second thought. The bed? Maybe it had fallen under there. He dropped to his hands and knees, peering under it. But no luck.
Beom scowled, reaching farther under the bed. "Great. Just what I need in the middle of this nightmare—losing the one thing that actually means something," he thought, brow furrowing as he stretched even more. "Come on, come on..."
That's when he felt it—two hands gripping his waist. The firm, warm grip made Beom freeze. And before he could even react, Sasha was pressing into him, his front fitting flush against Beom's backside.
Beom's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me," he thought. He managed to twist his head slightly, and sure enough, there was Sasha's grinning face above him, that glint in his eyes. "Sasha! What the heck are you doing?" Beom sputtered, pushing against the floor to sit up.
Sasha just laughed, not releasing him, and leaned down close to his ear. "Well, well," he murmured with a smirk. "Didn't expect to see you on all fours for me so soon, Beom. You look...adorable like this."
Beom's face flushed with both anger and embarrassment, and he swatted Sasha's hands off him, scrambling to his feet. "Adorable?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he smoothed his shirt down. "In what universe am I adorable, especially to you?"
Sasha chuckled, unbothered, leaning casually against the bedpost. "The way you're blushing right now says otherwise, Beom-ki." He crossed his arms, clearly entertained by the situation.
"Please shut up," Beom snapped, shooting Sasha a glare before straightening his clothes. His irritation was already at its peak, but Sasha's smirk didn't help. The man was clearly amused by Beom's flustered state, and it grated on his nerves.
"So," Sasha asked, still lounging like he didn't have a care in the world, "did you find anything useful?"
Beom sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I did find something...but the real answers to my questions are in his bedroom."
Sasha raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "His bedroom, huh?" He didn't say anything else, but his gaze lingered on Beom, clearly plotting something.
"What?" Beom asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. "Oh no, don't even think about it. Hell no. Ain't no way I'm going to do that!"
Sasha tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into an almost sympathetic smile—almost. "But that's the only way," he said casually, like he wasn't suggesting something completely outrageous. "From the look of things, he...likes you."
Beom scoffed, his face twisting in disbelief. "More like he likes my dick," he shot back, folding his arms and glaring at the floor.
Sasha let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "It doesn't matter. It's not like indulging his interest would hurt you, right? Besides, you've faced worse things than charming an old man."
Beom's jaw dropped, his face turning an impressive shade of red. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" he snapped. "I'm not some...some seduction puppet you can just throw into weird situations!" His voice was laced with indignation, and he pointed accusingly at Sasha.
"You seriously think I'm going to flirt my way into that creepy guy's good graces just to get some answers?" Beom continued, pacing now. "Do you know how humiliating that is? And, for the record, I don't care if he 'likes' me or not. I have standards, thank you very much."
Sasha leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You're overreacting. All I'm saying is that if he has answers, you might have to...play the part. A little charm goes a long way, Beom."
Beom shot him a withering glare, his thoughts a chaotic mix of outrage and disbelief. "Charm? Charm?! Who does this guy think I am, a spy from some soap opera? What's next, sashaying into Maksim's room with bedroom eyes and a sultry voice? Oh hell no, I didn't sign up for this!"
"Nope, not happening," Beom said firmly, shaking his head. "You're the manipulative one here. You do it."
Sasha smirked. "I could, but he's already smitten with you. Why waste the opportunity?"
"Because I'm not a damn pawn in your game, that's why!" Beom snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "Find another way. I'll do almost anything else—almost. But this? This is where I draw the line."
Sasha leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk plastered across his face as Beom glared at him. Then, without any warning, Sasha started talking.
"Did you know," Sasha began, his tone light and conversational, "that in some countries, the way someone walks backward is considered a form of art? It's called...what was it...reverse kinetic poetry?"
"What the hell are you even talking about?" Beom asked, his irritation mounting.
Sasha ignored him, continuing, "And then there's this theory about body heat. Did you know the human body emits more heat when it's embarrassed? Isn't that fascinating? Like, right now, for example...you're probably emitting enough heat to warm this whole damn room."
Beom blinked, utterly baffled. "What are you even saying? None of this makes sense!"
Sasha started walking toward him slowly, his eyes locked on Beom like a predator closing in on its prey. Beom instinctively stepped back, his brows furrowing as his back hit the wall.
"Okay, seriously, stop," Beom said, holding up a hand. "You're being weird. Like, really weird."
But Sasha didn't stop. His movements were deliberate, his smirk widening with each step. Before Beom could react, Sasha's hand shot out, wrapping around Beom's throat. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make Beom's heart race.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Beom snapped, trying to push Sasha away, but Sasha was relentless.
"Just testing a theory," Sasha murmured, his voice low and teasing as his other hand grabbed Beom's ass, giving it a firm squeeze.
Beom's eyes widened in shock. "You're out of your mind!" he growled, struggling against Sasha's hold.
Sasha's hand then moved to Beom's face, gripping his jaw and tilting it upward like he was about to kiss him. Beom's heart was pounding in his chest, and a million thoughts raced through his mind, most of them curses aimed at Sasha.
"I swear, this guy has a death wish," Beom thought, his fists clenching.
Just as Sasha leaned in closer, Beom acted on instinct, raising his knee and kicking Sasha square in the chin. Sasha staggered back, holding his jaw, but the smirk never left his face.
Before Beom could make a break for it, there was a knock on the door. Beom froze, his chance to escape dangling just out of reach.
Sasha recovered quickly, grabbing Beom's arm and yanking him back before Beom could react. "You're not going anywhere," Sasha said, his voice laced with amusement.
"What the—" Beom started, but his words were cut off as Sasha's hands wandered inappropriately.
That was it. Beom didn't hesitate. He twisted in Sasha's grasp and delivered a swift, devastating kick to Sasha's crotch. Sasha let out a strangled noise, doubling over and releasing Beom.
The door opened, and Vladimir stepped in, looking between the two of them with a raised eyebrow. "Is everything okay in here?" Vladimir asked, his tone polite but curious.
Beom straightened his clothes, his face red with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Yes, we're fine," he said quickly, shooting Sasha a glare. "I was just leaving."
He walked toward Vladimir, ignoring Sasha's quiet groan of pain behind him. As he stepped out of the room wwith Vladimir, Beom muttered under his breath, "I swear, if I survive this mission, I'm getting Sasha a one-way ticket to hell."
Beom stepped into Vladimir's room, his eyes scanning the lavish surroundings with a mix of curiosity and caution. The space was undeniably opulent, exuding the kind of wealth that only a few could ever hope to touch. Rich, dark wood paneling adorned the walls, with intricate patterns carved into the surface. The furniture was all plush and expensive, with velvet cushions and sleek leather chairs that looked far too expensive to sit in for long periods of time without feeling like an imposter.
The room had a small bar nestled in one corner, where the soft glow of warm, ambient light made the polished glasses on the shelves glisten. Behind the bar was a collection of fine liquor, each bottle more distinguished than the next. A crystal decanter sat proudly at the center, catching the light just right, making the liquid inside look like it belonged in a museum rather than someone's personal collection.
"Have a seat," Vladimir said, his voice smooth and calm, the kind of tone that made every word sound calculated, measured. He gestured to the armchair opposite him, where Beom took a seat. His gaze lingered for a moment longer on the decor, taking in every detail with the eye of someone who had learned to spot luxury at a glance.
Vladimir returned with two glasses in hand, each filled with a dark liquid that shimmered enticingly in the low light of the room. Beom caught sight of a faint, white powder swirling at the bottom of one of the glasses as Vladimir set it down on the coffee table. His eyes narrowed slightly, his mind immediately going into high alert.