Jimin’s the CEO of some big corporation, grown and passed down to him by his father, and Jungkook is the super hot repairman that everyone thirsts after.
Oh, yeah, and his husband.
Everyday they come to work together, early enough that no one sees Jungkook get out of the driver seat of a black Rolls Royce Phantom. No one even knows that they’re together, all they know is that they’re both extremely attractive and happen to wear wedding rings. Apparently, no one has noticed that their rings are matching. Or the fact that things happen to mysteriously “break” in the CEO’s office every. single. day.
Jungkook doesn’t mind his job. Really, he doesn’t. And Jimin’s offered to get him a higher position before but nothing was ever really appealing. So, he sticks with fixing the printer on the 5th floor that always breaks on Fridays and cleaning the windows every Monday, all the way up to the 28th floor. And spending most of his time in Jimin’s office “fixing” the office chair. and the couch. and the desk. and the door.
(Though to be fair, half of those things are “broken” because of him.)
There was one day that the air conditioning broke and, although Jungkook tried his best, they ended up calling a guy to come fix it. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of summer and the air conditioning guy couldn’t get there until the next day. So, Jungkook spent his entire day with the top half of his coveralls unbuttoned and hanging around his waist, only in a thin, white tank top.
Office workers ogled as he stood on a latter, head disappearing through one of the ceiling panels as he rewired one of the lights. Jimin had come down to the 17th floor once he’d heard his secretary say that the “hot repair guy is only wearing a tank top”.
“Oh my God, looks at his arms.”
“Too bad he’s married.”
“Screw that. I’m taking a chance.” That was when Jimin drew the line.
Jungkook was too busy with his work to notice the crowd staring at his sweaty chest and was too nice to tell them to “fuck off” anyways.
Jungkook would smirk when he’d hear Jimin call him by his last name, knowing that he only did that in front of employees. He’d dip his head and look to him attentively.
“Yes, Mr. Park?”
“Come to my office when you’re finished, please.” Jimin would push the sleeves of his white button-up further up his forearms as he walked back to the elevator, his jacket discarded due to the heat.
And after about 10 minutes of pretending to work, Jungkook would climb back down the latter, wipe the sweat from his forehead, and pack his things up before making his way to the elevator. He’d planned to just walk into the office as soon as he’d reached the door. Unfortunately for him, the secretary would have other ideas.
“So, Jungkook,” He’d stop just as his hand reached the doorknob, cursing himself for not just ignoring her, “you’re married, huh?”
“How long?” She would try to be coy, showing off parts of her body that he failed to be interested in.
“Who’s the lucky woman-”
“Jeon!” Jimin’s voice would snap as he opened the door, interrupting the secretary sharply.
Jungkook would walk into the office, head ducked low in faux-submission, sly smirk on his face once the door had closed.
Jimin would be on him in a second, hands pulling him closer by the waist of his coveralls. They’d be nose to nose when Jungkook would chuckle lightly and loop his arms around the CEO’s waist.
“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Park?” Jungkook would tease him, untucking the bottom of Jimin’s shirt to run his hands up his back before settling into the dimples below his spine.
“Oh, shut up.” Jimin would growl and yank his head down, mouths meeting in a heated and messy collision.
And when Jungkook would pull away, taking great restraint to not take Jimin right there against the door, he’d grin through his light panting and walk them towards the desk before plopping down in the chair himself and pulling Jimin into his lap.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Jungkook would mumble against Jimin’s neck, peppering kisses up to his jaw and back down to his collarbones.
Jimin would sigh happily and lean into him, threading his fingers through Jungkook’s hair before frowning and grumbling to him.
“Everybody lookin’ at you. Thinkin’ they have a chance.” The kisses would stop and Jungkook would raise his head, stupid grin plastered to his face.
“Baby,” He’d whisper, knowing that it made the seemingly big and bad CEO melt into a puddle, “you know that I’m all yours.”
And for a powerful CEO, one would not think that Jimin would so easily pout like a child and send puppy eyes to, well, anyone really. But when it came to Jungkook, Jimin was all soft touches and sweet smiles compared to his sharp tone and intimidating presence around the office.
And when the secretary would barge in without knocking, finding her boss on the lap of the super sexy repair guy, Jimin couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it.
“Mr. Park, I- oh. Oh.” He’d only look over to her with a smug smile and turn Jungkook’s face towards him, reveling in the hooded look Jungkook sent him before turning back to his secretary.
“Can I help you?”
“N-no. No, sir. I-I’m sorry.”
At the end of the day, Jimin would gather his things and find Jungkook waiting for him outside his office in a black dress shirt, a red tie, a smug smile, and fresh bruises above the collar of his shirt as he offered his hand.
That night, They would go home and find themselves tangled in their bed, both out of breath and in the haze of fading euphoria. Scratches decorated Jungkook’s back and bruises littered both of their necks, a few straying to Jimin’s thighs.
“If they didn’t know you were mine already,” Jimin would start, tracing the red lines on Jungkook’s back as he stood at the bathroom sink, “they sure as hell will now.”
Jungkook would only smile and grab him, pulling Jimin back to bed to cuddle before falling asleep.
And when the air conditioning still wasn’t fixed the next day and Jungkook had to fix the printer on the 5th floor in only a tank top, everyone would avert their eyes awkwardly as Jimin walked through the hall, sending a smile to Jungkook before continuing on his way, knowing that Jungkook would be in his office in the next 15 minutes.
Despite what people would think, you weren’t an idiot. Even if you were dating a criminal, a member of a very dangerous Family, you weren’t stupid. You knew what his job meant. You knew he hurt people…that he killed people. But that was distant from you. At home, he smiled and joked, had wants and needs like any other man. It was hard to even imagine him hurting someone. It was so abstract. But that was because it was kept away from you.
When you came face to face with his ugly work…you didn’t know what to do.
You heard it faintly when you were coming up the stairs to your little apartment. You could hear the sounds of a struggle, but it was silent by the time you made it to the top. It must have just been the neighbour’s kids roughhousing again. You shook your head. Someone was going to get hurt. You thought to yourself.
Just as you went to punch in the code for your apartment, you noticed the door was already open, just a crack. It was splintered around the lock like someone had pried it open. You kicked open your door, hand flicking out the switchblade your boyfriend always made you carry and then you saw it. A sea of red on your floor, pooling into puddles that lead right up to your boyfriend, looking just as shocked as you. He was holding a bloody tire iron. You looked back down to his feet, where the body of a man in what looked like a neatly pressed suit had his head completely caved in into a mush of blood and gore. You took one look back up at your boyfriend, slowly stepping closer to you like you were a frightened cat, then dropped your things and bolted back out the door.
Intriguing images for an Ian Fleming James Bond Novel Fan (i.e. me),
since the finish on this car’s passenger compartment is what Fleming
meant in “From Russia With Love” when he referred to Darko Kerim’s…
“…gleaming aristocrat of a car - an old black basketwork Rolls Royce
coupé-de-ville that Bond guessed must have been built for some
millionaire of the ’20s.”
Since it’s a 1926 Phantom 1 with a
body (passengers inside, chauffeur outside)
built for the Financial Director of Woolworths(!), this may be the very car Fleming had in mind.
Peter Sellers had a Mini with a luxurious customised interior, and a basketwork-finish exterior painted by a heraldic artist who also worked on royal coaches…
…but it’s just as likely that the pattern on the Rolls was real basketwork, either already mounted on a metal body panel or actually woven in place with tape…
…then sealed down with multiple coats of lacquer. The texture can still be clearly seen and felt, otherwise why go to all that trouble?
I’ve also seen some
commentaries suggesting that this sort of bodywork was actual wicker basketweave all the way through. It wasn’t, but the notion isn’t as silly as it sounds and not a long step from a US Woodie…
Morris Minor Traveller…
…though some wooden bodies looked much sleeker, like this 1924 Hispano-Suiza in tulip-wood.
There was a historical precedent for wicker vehicle
bodies (which had a wind-and-waterproof lining, for obvious reasons!) They were
just the thing for sidecars on early motorcycles, light and cheap, yet sturdy, resilient and
…including family size, since bikes and their road tax were (AFAIK still are) considerably cheaper than cars.
Wicker also appeared on cars, but given the difference in cost (these early runabouts were rich people’s toys) basketwork bodies tended to be more of a Statement than a Necessity…
Even when cars in general became much cheaper, some marques stayed pricey. The customer who could afford this 1929 Bugatti…
…or this 1932 Voisin…
…would have specified using basketwork for the look, not to save a few pence.
Of course there’s always room for some eccentricity. In the mid 1920s, German engineering company Hanomag made a tiny compact car, the 2/10PS (2 seat / 10 PferdStarke i.e. horsepower) which looked like an ambitious roller-skate:
They were fitted with other bodies such as delivery vans…
…or this passenger box, with the diced strip and meter that denoted a taxi…
…though occasionally taxis used the standard body and a lot more optimism.
The Hanomag was nicknamed “Kommisbrot” - Ration-Bread - since Army rye bread came out of its baking tins that shape, and as if trying to make them even more loaf-like, several were finished with super-light wicker racing shells like these…