Double Agent Desires

Season 1

The Seoul skyline was a jagged silhouette of neon and glass, sliced through by a biting midnight wind. Joss Wayar Sangngern didn't feel the cold; the adrenaline humming through his veins acted like a shot of pure electricity. He crouched on the edge of a skyscraper’s ledge, his massive frame encased in a matte-black tactical suit that clung to every ridge of his muscles. The fabric strained across his broad shoulders and the heavy curve of his thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. He looked less like a spy and more like a weapon designed in a lab—pure, concentrated power.

"Target is moving. Third floor, west wing. You've got a forty-second window before the patrol rotates," a crisp, accented voice crackled in his earpiece.

Joss smirked, the expression sharp and predatory. "Forty seconds? You're giving me too much time, Changyeon."

Down in a nondescript van parked three blocks away, IM Changyeon stared at a wall of monitors, his eyes scanning lines of code and heat signatures with military precision. He was smaller than Joss, compact and wired like a spring, his posture rigid from years of grueling Korean special forces training. He didn't smile, but there was a flicker of kinship in his gaze. He’d met Joss during a joint operation in Thailand a year prior, and while the man was an arrogant powerhouse, he was the only person Changyeon trusted to watch his back in a kill zone.

"Don't get cocky, Joss. If you trip a laser, I'm not coming in to drag your oversized ass out," Changyeon replied, his voice a low, steady drone.

"Copy that, Shorty," Joss whispered.

He didn't jump; he plummeted.

He descended the side of the building on a high-tension rappelling line, the friction heating the cable. He hit the balcony of the third floor with a muffled *thud*, rolling instantly into a crouch. He pressed his back against the cold concrete, chest heaving, the scent of ozone and expensive city smog filling his lungs.

He breached the glass with a silenced glass-cutter—*skreeeee*—and slipped inside like a shadow. The interior was a minimalist nightmare of white marble and gold accents. As he moved, the tactical gear shifted against his skin, the tight material rubbing against his hardness as he navigated the corridor.

Suddenly, a guard rounded the corner.

Joss didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, a blur of raw strength. He slammed the guard against the wall with a bone-jarring *crack*. The man didn't even have time to scream before Joss’s hand clamped over his mouth, the grip bruising and absolute. With a fluid, brutal motion, Joss drove his knee into the man’s gut—*oof!*—and followed it with a lightning-fast strike to the carotid artery. The guard slumped, unconscious, Joss catching him before he hit the floor to avoid any noise.

"Clear," Joss breathed, his voice dropping an octave, thick with the rush of the hunt.

"Move. Now. You're at thirty seconds," Changyeon urged.

Joss slid into the private office, his eyes locking onto the encrypted drive sitting on a mahogany desk. He reached for it, but as his fingers brushed the cold metal, a sudden spike of movement appeared on Changyeon's screen.

"Joss! Get out of there! Someone else just breached the perimeter. They aren't government. They're fast—too fast."

Joss froze, his muscles locking. He felt a presence behind him, a shift in the air, a scent that didn't belong in a corporate office—something like sandalwood and expensive citrus. He spun around, his fist already coiled to strike, but he caught only a glimpse of a silhouette. A lithe, agile figure in charcoal grey, moving with a grace that made Joss’s own power feel clumsy.

The stranger didn't fight him; they vanished. A flash of a slender waist, a teasingly sharp gaze from a pair of hooded eyes, and then—*shink*—a smoke pellet detonated.

*Pshhhhhhh.*

Thick, grey smoke engulfed the room. Joss lunged through the haze, his hand grasping at the air, nearly catching the fabric of the stranger's suit. He could hear a soft, melodic chuckle—a sound that felt like a caress and a challenge all at once.

"Who the fuck was that?" Joss growled, coughing as the smoke cleared.

The drive was gone. The room was empty.

"I don't know," Changyeon's voice came through, sounding genuinely perplexed for the first time. "But whoever it was just played the government's best asset for a fool. You just got robbed, Joss."

Joss stood in the center of the room, his heart hammering against his ribs, not from fear, but from a sudden, violent spark of curiosity. He could still smell that sandalwood scent lingering in the air. He didn't know who the ghost was, but as he clenched his fist, a dark, hungry smile spread across his face.

He wanted to find them. He wanted to hunt them down and pin them to a wall until they gasped for air.

"I'm going to find this bastard," Joss muttered, his voice husky. "And when I do, I'm going to make them regret ever touching my mark."

Later that Night

The bar was a subterranean sanctuary called *The Velvet Void*, a place where the lighting was a bruised purple and the music was a low, thrumming bass that vibrated in the marrow of one's bones. It was the kind of place where people went to be forgotten, or to find things they shouldn't.

Joss sat at the far end of the mahogany bar, a double whiskey in his hand. He was still wearing a dark, fitted button-down that strained against the expanse of his chest, the top two buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of bronze skin and the hard line of his collarbone. He looked like a predator trying to blend into a crowd of sheep, his presence too heavy, too commanding for the dim atmosphere.

Changyeon had looked at him with genuine confusion before leaving. *"You're actually staying? You usually bolt the second the debrief is over. What's the play, Joss?"*

Joss hadn't answered. He couldn't explain that he was still chasing a ghost. He was haunted by the memory of a slender waist and a melodic laugh that had echoed through a smoke-filled room. His skin felt tight, an itch under his surface that he couldn't scratch—a mixture of professional failure and a sudden, violent surge of attraction.

A few stools down, Gawin was leaning back, swirling a glass of chilled champagne. He had shed his tactical gear for a sheer, oversized silk shirt that draped provocatively over his lean frame, leaving his collarbones exposed and the scent of sandalwood and citrus radiating off him in waves. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't "The Ghost." He wasn't the Syndicate's most prized infiltrator. He was just Gawin—a man who enjoyed the finer things and the thrill of a secret well-kept.

He felt a gaze on him. It wasn't the usual lingering look of a stranger; this was a weight. It was a physical pressure, heavy and hot, pressing against the side of his neck.

Gawin turned his head slowly, his hooded eyes meeting Joss’s burning stare.

The air between them didn't just spark; it ignited.

Joss didn't look away. He tracked the line of Gawin’s throat, the way the silk shifted over his shoulder, and the slight, teasing curve of his lips. He felt a familiar, primal pull in his gut—the same instinct he'd felt in the office, but now stripped of the violence and replaced with a raw, sexual hunger.

Gawin smirked, a slow, dangerous expression. He didn't know the man next to him was the government's blunt force instrument, but he recognized the energy. This man was power. He was dominance personified. And Gawin had always had a weakness for power he could provoke.

Gawin slid his glass across the bar, the crystal clinking softly. He shifted his body, angling himself so his thigh brushed against Joss’s—a fleeting, electric contact that sent a jolt of heat straight to Joss's groin.

"You look like you're hunting for something," Gawin purred, his voice a low, velvet caress that made the hair on the back of Joss's neck stand up. "Or maybe you're just lost?"

Joss didn't move, but his grip tightened on his glass, his knuckles whitening. He leaned in, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated in his chest. "I found exactly what I was looking for."

The proximity was intoxicating. Joss could smell the champagne and the sandalwood, and he wanted to reach out, grab the silk of that shirt, and rip it open just to see if the skin beneath was as soft as it looked. He wanted to press Gawin against the cold marble of the bar and taste the arrogance right off his tongue.

Gawin let out a soft, airy giggle—*heehee*—that was pure provocation. He leaned closer, his lips inches from Joss's ear, his breath hot and teasing. "Is that so? And what exactly is it that you're looking for, stranger?"

Joss turned his head, their noses almost touching. The tension was a living thing, a coiled spring ready to snap. His gaze dropped to Gawin's mouth—plump, glistening, and inviting.

"Submission," Joss whispered, the word thick with a promise of something hardcore and absolute.

Gawin’s breath hitched. A shiver of genuine anticipation raced down his spine. He liked the way this man spoke—no games, just raw intent. He didn't know he was flirting with the man who had almost caught him in Macau, and Joss didn't know he was playing with the thief who had robbed him blind.

All they knew was that the chemistry was an explosion, and neither of them wanted to put out the fire.

"Careful," Gawin whispered back, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I'm very expensive to keep."

"I've always had a taste for the high-end," Joss replied, his hand finally moving, his large palm sliding firmly onto the small of Gawin's back, pulling him flush against his hard, muscular frame.

The contact was electric. Gawin gasped—*ah!*—his body molding perfectly against Joss's bulk. In that moment, the missions, the agencies, and the secrets vanished. There was only the heat of two bodies colliding and the dangerous, delicious promise of a night that would leave them both bruised and breathless.

The walk from the bar to the hotel was a blur of frantic, bruising kisses and hands that couldn't stay still. The moment the door to the suite slammed shut, the pretense of civility vanished. Joss didn't even let Gawin turn on the lights. He grabbed the smaller man by the waist and slammed him face-first against the door, the impact drawing a sharp, startled gasp—*ah!*—from Gawin’s lips.

Joss’s large hand clamped over Gawin’s mouth, muffling his moan, while the other hand ripped the sheer silk shirt open, buttons scattering across the hardwood floor like tiny plastic raindrops. Joss groaned, a low, animalistic sound, as he pressed his massive, hard chest against Gawin’s arched back. He could feel the heat radiating off Gawin, the scent of sandalwood now mixed with the musk of pure, unadulterated arousal.

"I've wanted to break you since the second I saw you," Joss growled into Gawin's ear, his voice a dark, jagged edge.

Gawin writhed against him, his ass grinding back into Joss’s thick, pulsing cock, which was already straining against the fabric of his trousers. "Then do it," Gawin whimpered through Joss's fingers, his voice thick with need. "Fuck me, you arrogant bastard. Break me."

Joss didn't need to be told twice. He spun Gawin around, hoisting him up by the thighs. Gawin wrapped his legs around Joss's waist, his arms locking around the man's neck, pulling him in for a kiss that tasted of whiskey and desperation. It wasn't a kiss; it was a battle. They fought for dominance, tongues clashing, teeth grazing lips, while Joss’s hands tore Gawin’s trousers down, exposing his pale, trembling skin to the cool air.

Joss stripped his own clothes off with a violent urgency, his massive frame emerging in the dim light—a landscape of hard muscle and bulging veins. His cock was a weapon, thick and engorged, leaking a bead of pre-cum that glistened in the shadows.

He didn't use lube; he didn't have the patience. He used a generous amount of saliva, his fingers sliding into Gawin’s tight, pulsing hole with a wet *squelch*. Gawin let out a loud, piercing cry—*nnnggh!*—his head snapping back, his eyes rolling as Joss’s fingers stretched him open, prepping the tight muscle for the invasion.

"You're so fucking tight," Joss hissed, his breath hot against Gawin's neck.

He positioned himself, the head of his cock probing the entrance. With one brutal, singular thrust, Joss impaled him.

*Slaaaaap!*

"FUCK!" Gawin screamed, the sound echoing through the room. He felt like he was being split in half, the sheer size of Joss filling every single millimeter of his interior, stretching him to the absolute limit. It was a violent, overwhelming sensation, a total occupation of his body.

Joss froze for a second, his muscles locking as he felt the tight, searing heat of Gawin’s walls clamping down on him. He let out a guttural roar, his eyes darkening as he began to move. He didn't start slow. He hammered into Gawin with a raw, rhythmic violence, each thrust driving Gawin further against the door.

*Clap. Clap. Clap.*

The sound of their skin colliding was loud and wet. Gawin was a mess of moans and incoherent pleas, his voice breaking as Joss hit his prostate over and over again. *“Ah! Ah! More! Harder! Fuck me harder!”*

Joss obliged, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. He gripped Gawin’s hips, his fingers digging deep into the flesh, leaving bruises that would last for days. He was driving into him with everything he had, his thick cock sliding in and out of the dripping, swollen hole with a disgusting, beautiful friction.

"You're mine," Joss groaned, his voice a guttural rasp. "Every inch of this... is mine."

Gawin couldn't even answer. He was lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, his body shaking with every impact. He felt the build-up, the electric tension snapping in his gut. As Joss delivered one final, devastatingly deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, Gawin exploded. He came hard, his seed splashing across his own stomach and Joss’s abs in thick, white streaks.

The sensation triggered Joss. He let out a loud, triumphant shout—*RRRGH!*—and pumped his load deep inside Gawin, filling him with hot, thick jets of seed that felt like liquid fire. He held himself there, pinned deep, both of them heaving for air, their sweat mingling and dripping onto the floor.

They slid apart slowly, the sound of the separation a wet, sticky *pop*. Gawin slumped against the door, his legs shaking, his chest heaving. He looked up at Joss, seeing the raw, possessive hunger still lingering in the man's eyes.

"I think," Gawin breathed, a tired, sexy smirk on his lips, "I might actually like being broken."

***

The transition to Thailand was a blur of luxury and lust. They didn't talk about their jobs; they didn't talk about the government or the Syndicate. They existed in a bubble of shared secrecy and physical obsession.

For weeks in Bangkok, they lived in a high-end penthouse that became their personal playground. The spark didn't just stay alive; it became a forest fire. They fucked in the shower, the water steaming around them as Joss pinned Gawin against the tiles. They fucked on the dining table, scattering expensive crystal and silk napkins. They fucked in the back of town cars, the driver oblivious to the muffled cries and the rhythmic shaking of the vehicle.

Every time they touched, it was as if they were trying to merge into one person. The adrenaline of their hidden lives fed into their sexual hunger, making every encounter more hardcore, more desperate. Joss became obsessed with Gawin's submission, and Gawin thrived on the way Joss claimed him, marking his skin with bites and bruises.

They were two predators pretending to be prey, locked in a cycle of pleasure that felt like the only honest thing in their lives. They didn't know that the clock was ticking, and that the very agencies they were hiding from were already beginning to wonder why their best agents had suddenly gone silent in the heat of Bangkok.

End of chapter 1

Well its about to get heated people lies anger betrayal all at once .