Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE: DOGS OF BANGKOK

The fight club.

The air in the back-alley fight den was thick with sweat, smoke, and the sour tang of spilled blood. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a jaundiced glow on rusted steel cages and the ring taped crudely with rope. 

It wasn’t a real arena—just an old meat locker behind a wet market in Sukhumvit, but tonight, it was packed. Drunks, gang boys, dealers, and whores pressed close to the ring, shouting, betting, biting nails.

Smart stood in the center of the ring, chest rising and falling, bare to the waist. It was the end of a fight. Blood streaked his cheek, but it wasn’t his. 

The man at his feet didn’t move.

Someone rang a rusted bell. The crowd exploded. Bills and curses flew. Phones flashed. Smart didn’t look at any of them.

He rolled his shoulders slowly, cracking his neck. Calm. Not even winded. His eyes, dark, razor sharp, scanned the crowd once, like a lion bored with the slaughter.

High above, behind tinted glass in a narrow mezzanine, Boom watched.

He didn’t clap. He didn’t blink. Just took a slow sip from his glass and said, low and crisp in Mandarin, “He’s promising.”

His bodyguard shifted beside him. “Do you want me to make contact?”

Boom’s eyes never left the ring.

“No.”

A pause. Then, calmly:

“I’ll handle him myself.”

—

Downstairs. Later.

Smart wiped the blood from his knuckles with a damp rag. His deltoids gleamed with sweat under the flickering lights, skin marked with bruises and shallow cuts. Someone shoved a beer in his hand; he took it without looking. His crew was buzzing — cash exchanging hands, loud laughter, backslaps.

But Smart was still. Centered. Breathing controlled.

Then the crowd shifted.

A ripple, almost invisible — like a new current slicing through the heat and noise.

He turned his head.

And saw him.

The man looked like he belonged somewhere colder. Tailored black suit with a deep burgundy satin shirt(so not office-wear), unbuttoned enough to show off the silk skin. Not fully Thai. Definitely not street. Chinese maybe. Mixed. His posture spoke fluency in wealth. But his eyes — those still eyes — had the same edge as a loaded gun.

Smart’s grip tightened on the beer.

The man stopped just short of the ring. Not close enough to intrude, not far enough to ignore.

“You lost, fancy suit?” Smart said, voice flat.

Boom smiled. “Hardly. I came to see you win.”

Smart raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I had fans.”

“You don’t.” The smile lingered, a soft insult wrapped in velvet.

Smart let out a dry laugh. “You got some balls.”

“And you’ve got good instincts,” Boom said. “Most people wouldn’t have noticed me arrive.”

Smart stepped down from the platform, beer still in hand. He didn’t bother putting on a shirt. “You don’t exactly blend.”

Boom’s eyes slid over him once. Appreciating. Calculating. “No. I don't.”

Smart stopped in front of him, just out of reach. “So. Who are you really?”

Boom took a breath like he was savouring the question. Then: “Let’s just say I represent people who believe Bangkok is…underutilized. And I’m here to correct that.”

“Triads?”

Boom didn’t answer. “Your name’s been circling lately. Street-level brilliance. Brutal when necessary. Unstoppable when angry.”

Smart took a slow swig of his beer, watching him over the rim. “Sounds like a dating profile.”

Boom chuckled. “You joke, but men like you only get two outcomes. You rise fast, or you die faster.”

“You trying to recruit me?”

“I’m trying to invest in you,” Boom said. “What you’ve built is impressive. Raw. But messy. Unprotected.”

Smart leaned in slightly, the space between them charged.

“You think I need protection?”

“I think you need options,” Boom replied, voice dropping. “Imagine having access to weapons, routes, laundering operations, intel. Your territory won’t just be the streets...the whole of Bangkok will be your oyster.”

Smart’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes—there was a flicker.

Boom added, softer now: 

“I don’t come with strings. Just choices.”

There was a pause. Long. Hot. Loaded.

Then Smart asked, “You always come down from your throne to pitch deals like this?”

Boom’s gaze didn’t flinch.

“Only when someone’s worth it.”

Smart smirked. “Smooth.”

“I’m patient, not smooth.”

“Same difference when you wear suits like that.”

Boom stepped in, just a fraction, and suddenly they were close. Not quite touching. But it would only take one reckless breath.

“You’ll find,” Boom said quietly, “I’m not like the men you’re used to.”

Smart met his gaze, calm and steady. “I don’t do leash deals.”

“This isn’t a leash,” Boom murmured. “It’s a door.”

Another silence. Loud with what neither said.

Boom finally reached into his pocket and took out a matte-black card. No name. Just a number. He laid it on a crate nearby.

“I’m staying at the SO/ Bangkok,” he said. “Suite 1802. Come talk if you want to stop surviving and start ruling.”

Then he turned and walked away.

No threat. No demand. Just confidence in the offer.

Smart watched him go, jaw tight, thoughts moving too fast to show on his face.

Around him, the noise returned—his crew hollering, the next fight starting, someone cheering with a bottle raised.

But Smart didn’t move.

He just stared at that black card like it might catch fire.

—

END OF CHAPTER 1

Author's note: Thanks so much for clicking and reading! I hope I captured that rough, gritty vibe I was going for. The next chapter is ready too 😊

Now that we’ve had a glimpse into Smart’s world—tough streets and gang life—it’s time to step into Boom’s.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2: COME PLAY 

The karaoke bar outside thumped with off-key ballads and cackling laughter — someone butchering a Bird Thongchai hit like it owed them money.

Inside the private back room, everything was low-lit and hazy. Air thick with smoke, the clink of bottles, and a hum of something half-feral beneath the surface. His guys sprawled across mismatched couches, sorting cash and sipping cheap booze like kings.

Smart sat in the center, not loud, not grinning, just watching, the quiet coil of muscle and eyes that saw too much.

Ken had his arm slung around one of the hostesses, whispering something crude into her ear. She giggled, red lips smearing her straw, long nails drumming on his thigh.

Another girl sat perched on the armrest near Smart, fingers tracing lazy shapes on his sleeve. She smelled like drugstore jasmine and smoke. Everything smelled like smoke in here.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t want perfume.

He wanted answers.

And the black card still sitting on the table in front of him wasn’t giving any.

It had been two days since the underground fight. Since the suit with the sharp jaw and colder eyes slipped him that sleek little invitation.

Smart hadn’t called the number.

Didn’t like being baited.

Didn’t like being studied.

And Boom — that’s what they called him, right? — had looked at him like a damn microscope.

Too quiet. Too calm.

Smart didn’t trust calm men. Especially ones with soft voices and knives behind their teeth. 

The door opened without a knock.

Instant tension. The room shifted like a pack of wolves scenting something wrong. Ken straightened. The girls quietened.

The man who entered didn’t blink at the heat aimed his way. Mid-thirties, tall, pale gray blazer, pressed black shirt, no tie. 

He held something in his hand.

A black envelope sealed in gold wax. And a dark red casino chip glinting beneath his fingers.

“Delivery,” the man said, smooth as marble, eyes never straying from Smart’s.

Then he crossed the room, ignoring the bristle of muscle and suspicion around him, and laid the items down with deliberate care on the table in front of Smart.

A pause.

Then he turned and walked out.

Gone. No explanation. No name. 

The silence was long.

Ken let out a low whistle. “Well, shit. That guy’s from the Triads, right?”

The hostess beside Smart tensed slightly, eyes on the wax seal. Her smile faltered.

Smart didn’t speak.

He reached forward, picked up the chip — heavy, good quality, real weight. Embossed in gold:

The Lotus Vein.

He cracked the wax open. Inside: a card, thick and clean, smooth under his fingers.

No printed type. No flourish. Just handwriting.

Come play.
—B

And below it: Friday. Midnight.

Smart stared at it, thumb brushing the edge.

Ken nudged his shoulder. “What, no ‘love you long time’?”

Smart flicked the chip up with his thumb, caught it midair.

He didn’t laugh.

Didn’t answer.

Just leaned back, cigarette low between his lips, the card still in his hand.

Boom was playing games.

The question now was — did Smart want to play back?

—

The Lotus Vein, Friday, 10 minutes past midnight

Smart stepped out of the car like he owned the pavement. Black button-down open at the collar, no tie. Still bruised from the fight, still beautiful. Out of place — but not uncertain.

He hated the way the place smelled: incense, money, and threat.

The walls were dark velvet. Gold inlay ran up the corners. Men in tuxedos moved like ghosts. Hostesses bowed just enough. Everything gleamed like a promise.

The woman at the front didn’t ask his name. Just gave a nod and led him past the roulette wheels, past the card tables, toward a private lounge behind mirrored double doors. Like they were expecting him. 

Inside: quiet jazz, low lighting, crystal. A koi tank lined the wall like living art.

And there, already seated with a glass of something expensive, was Boom.

He didn’t stand. Didn’t smile.

Just looked at Smart like he was both a curiosity and a piece on a board he was about to move.

“I see you came,” Boom said.

Smart dropped into the chair across from him. “I got curious.”

Boom held out a crystal decanter. “Whiskey? Or would you prefer something harder?”

Smart leaned back, watching him. “I don’t drink with strangers.”

Boom poured for himself, unbothered. “Good policy. You planning to keep me a stranger?”

Smart didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked around. The quiet guards. The perfect glass. The ceiling mural of some old Chinese battle.

“This place yours?”

“It’s ours,” Boom said. “The syndicate. My name’s on the permits, though.”

Smart whistled low. “You really don’t do subtle.”

Boom smiled faintly. “Subtle doesn’t get you noticed. And I wanted your attention.”

Smart’s jaw ticked. “You’ve got it. What now?”

Boom sat forward, hands steepled. “Now we talk real business. Territory. Pipeline cooperation. And what you get in return.”

Smart’s lips curled. “Sounds like a pitch.”

“It is. But not just for your crew.”

A pause. Boom’s eyes didn’t leave his.

“It’s for you.”

Smart held his gaze. It was hard to tell if Boom was making an offer or setting a snare — but either way, the man’s calm confidence was like a spotlight in the dark.

“Why me?” Smart asked. “I don’t play well with handlers.”

“You’re not being handled,” Boom said. “You’re being...upgraded.”

He gestured with two fingers, and one of the velvet-robed attendants appeared from nowhere. She opened a side door Smart hadn’t noticed before. No sign. No guards. Just black lacquer and gold trim.

Boom stood. “Walk with me.”

Smart hesitated, then rose — not because he was told to, but because his gut said see the damn cards before folding the hand .

They moved through a quiet corridor, past mirrored walls and hushed whispers. The air changed. Cooler. Cleaner. No trace of the casino floor’s noise. They passed a biometric scanner. Boom didn’t even slow down — the door recognized him instantly.

Behind it: a different world.

Not the flash and gold of the gaming lounge, but something colder. More functional. A security hub lined with monitors. Maps. Cameras trained on ports, back alleys, checkpoints. Men with earpieces spoke in low, sharp Mandarin.

Boom paused beside a digital display showing Bangkok's river routes.

“See this?” he said. “That’s our current pipeline for arms and uncut meth out the Golden Triangle. One of your local rivals tried hijacking a shipment last month. They failed.”

Smart raised a brow. “You’re running product through Bangkok already?”

Boom nodded. “Minimal. For now. But we want to scale. We need someone who knows the streets. Someone who can keep order while the infrastructure grows.”

“And what happens when the streets push back?”

Boom’s expression didn’t shift. “Then we push harder.”

Smart glanced at one of the monitors. A grainy camera showed the outside of a low-end bar in Ladprao. Two men were dragged into a van. No sound. No struggle. Just vanishing.

“You’re not subtle,” Smart said again.

“We’re not here to ask permission.”

Boom led him down another corridor. This one ended at a wide glass wall that looked into what might’ve been an upscale boardroom — if not for the naked man handcuffed to a chair in the center. Bloody lip. Black eye. A knife on the table, untouched.

“He tried skimming,” Boom said, tone flat. “From us. We don’t tolerate that.”

Smart didn’t look away, but something in his shoulders shifted. He didn’t flinch but he filed the scene somewhere deep.

“Bangkok’s a city of masks,” Boom said quietly. “Smiles, incense, rituals. But underneath it? It’s hunger. We’re just honest about it.”

They turned. Headed back toward the lounge.

Back in the velvet quiet, Boom poured them both a drink. This time, Smart took it. No toast. Just silence and amber heat.

Boom sat again, his posture elegant but grounded.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You keep control of your crew, your street rep. But we funnel product through your routes. We use your knowledge. We back your turf if anyone steps out of line.”

“And in return?”

“Eight percent off the top. Preferential access to weapons shipments. First look at new cargo contracts. Protection.” A pause. “From rivals. From cops. From anyone stupid enough to think you’re still just a fighter.”

Smart leaned back, glass in hand, considering. “And when your bosses decide they don’t need me anymore?”

Boom’s gaze didn’t waver. “They’re not here. I am. And I’m telling you — this works as long as you keep delivering.”

Smart took a slow sip. Let the taste burn down into the hollow behind his ribs. Still silent.

Boom’s voice dropped, casual, almost bored, but edged with steel. “You’ve got loyalty. Power on the ground. But you’re still working with scraps. No protection. No backing. You bleed for every inch of turf.”

Smart said nothing, but his jaw ticked once.

Boom leaned forward, folding his hands. “The triads can change that. Logistics, safe houses, supply routes. Muscle when needed. You keep control—but now you answer to something bigger.”

Smart exhaled slowly. “And if I don’t like answering?”

“If you say no, we’ll find someone else. That’s not a threat. It’s logistics.” Boom shrugged. 

Smart’s jaw tightened just slightly. Boom clocked it.

“There are other men with muscle,” Boom continued, smooth, even. “Some even with ambition. But what you have—control, loyalty, instinct—we don’t come across that often. So I brought this to you first.”

Boom didn’t blink as he added, “Don’t mistake that for begging.”

The quiet between them stretched. Smart didn’t look away, but the line of his mouth had gone cold.

Smart’s mouth twitched — not a smile, but the start of something. Sharp. Dangerous. He leaned forward an inch, elbows on the table.

“And if I take the deal?” he said, voice low. “What happens then?”

Boom’s gaze slid to his. “Then I stop treating you like a maybe.”

Another silence.

Smart studied him. The cut of his collar. The polish. The distance in his eyes. “You always this diplomatic,” he asked, voice low, “or am I getting the deluxe seduction package?”

A flicker. Just a flicker but for that one moment, Boom’s calm slipped.

Only for a second.

His fingers tightened faintly around his glass before he smoothed the movement, voice measured. “I don’t seduce men who bore me.”

Smart smirked, but didn’t look away.

Boom stood then, adjusting his cuffs. “Words only go so far. I want to show you something.”

“Tomorrow. Nine. Jade Pier, Khlong Toei.”

Smart didn’t move.

“Wear something washable,” he said, voice like smoke.

Then he turned and left, motioning for one of his men to show Smart the way out. 

No handshake.

No goodbye.

Just the quiet pull of gravity in his wake.

—

End of Chapter 2

Author’s notes: Thank you so much for reading! I tried to keep them in character within the context of this gangster story, though I know it’s quite a departure from the real-life adorableness of Smart and Boom. Just play along with me😅 

If you enjoyed it, a kudos or comment would mean a lot and totally make my day. * bows deeply*

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3: SMOKE IN WATER

The Chao Phraya at night was all black glass and secrets.

Cargo boats drifted slow and heavy under the bridge, shadows swaying in the wake of deeper currents. The pier smelled like rust and river rot. A dog barked once, somewhere in the dark. Then silence again.

Smart stood by the railing, one hand shoved in his back pocket. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow, tattoos twitching faintly in the heat. He wasn’t relaxed, but he made it look that way. Watching. Always watching.

He didn’t like rivers. Too many places to sink things. Or people.

Boom stood beside him, murmuring into his phone in Teochew. His blazer was off, shirt crisp and tucked. He didn’t sweat like other men. Even with the heat rising off the water, he looked cool and composed.

Too composed.

“…Understood,” Boom said quietly, then ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket. His tone was the same whether he was ordering dinner or orchestrating violence.

“This one of your smuggling routes?” Smart asked, nodding toward a long, flat boat hugging the edge of the dock. Half-covered with a green tarp, stacked with unmarked crates.

“This is only a trade route,” Boom replied. “For now.”

Then, without looking at him:

“Drugs, eventually. Weapons. Things that don’t like customs.”

“You always this upfront with your business partners?” Smart raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re not a partner yet. But I want you to trust me.”

Smart watched a boat push through the darkness, its wake splitting the water into fleeting mirrors.

“What’s in the crates?” the younger man asked.

“Counterfeit handbags. Knockoff sneakers. Bootleg Korean skincare. The usual sins.”

Smart’s lips twisted. “High fashion for Bangkok’s night market elite.”

Boom didn’t smile, but something flickered behind his eyes. “And untaxed cigarettes. Russian imports. High-end fakes. You wouldn’t know they were knockoffs.”

Smart exhaled through his nose, smoke curling around his jaw. He didn’t mind smuggling. Didn’t mind lies. Knockoff bags, black-market smokes — that was just economy. But drugs and weapons? That was blood. That was war.

Smart wasn’t naive — if he didn’t do it, someone else would.

And it was big money.

“You showing me this to impress me?” he asked.

“I’m showing you this,” Boom said, “because if you join us, this becomes part of your income.”

Smart exhaled, slow and even. “What do I do in return for this ‘income’?”

Boom’s eyes locked on Smart’s. “You won’t just move goods. You’ll move power. Control the streets where the cops look the other way. Keep the runners in line. Make sure shipments get through clean — no leaks, no surprises. Protect the trade routes from rivals and ghosts.”

He tapped the railing lightly. “Sometimes that means muscle. Sometimes it means making friends in the right places. Sometimes...” His voice dipped, “...making sure the message is clear to anyone who thinks they can cut in.”

Smart exhaled, eyeing the dark water. “So, enforcement. Collection. Keeping the peace on your terms.”

Boom nodded, like he’d just handed Smart the keys to a city that wasn’t his yet. “And you get access — weapons, intel, money. A network. Not just to survive, but to expand.”

“Sounds like a leash.”

“Freedom is a leash if you don’t know how to hold it.” Boom smiled faintly, razor sharp. “If you don’t want to, we won’t force you. There’s always someone else.”

Boom was always very smooth in his words. 

Smart chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice to know I’m not special.”

“You are,” Boom said, and there was a softness beneath it, too quick to catch, but there. “But the triad doesn’t wait on romance.”

Smart arched a brow. “So this is seduction?”

Boom didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped closer, not enough to touch, but just enough to shift the air between them. There was a flicker of something unspoken, dangerous. Like a fuse lit at both ends.

Smart could feel it — the invitation, the tension.

And he hated how much of it he didn’t want to ignore.

He didn’t trust Boom. Not even a little.

But he couldn’t stop watching him.

Boom’s voice dropped, smooth as a blade.

“This city is a corridor. Everything passes through it — money, drugs, influence, people. You’re either part of the traffic… or under it.”

“And which one are you?”

Boom’s mouth twitched. “What do you think?”

A silence stretched between them. It wasn’t comfortable.

Then, somewhere in the distance — a faint scuff. A footstep on metal. Not dockworker rhythm. Too cautious.

Smart’s head turned slightly. He didn’t reach for his weapon yet.

But his stance changed.

Boom’s voice was low. “You hear that?”

Smart’s eyes narrowed. 

“I do now.”

Then —

A gunshot split the silence.

Smart spun, instincts wired tight at the shattered quiet. 

Two men emerged from the shadows behind the containers: dark clothing, masks, silenced pistols. No shouting. No warnings.

Just gunfire.

Boom’s bodyguard shouted in Mandarin, drawing fire. Another two figures flanked them from the dockside.

Smart shoved Boom hard behind a crate and dropped flat.

“Four,” he hissed. “No — five. High ground, back container.”

Boom grunted, dragging a pistol from his ankle holster. He fired twice — clean, efficient. One attacker dropped. The rest shifted, quick and disciplined. Not Thai street kids. Too quiet. Too trained.

Smart vaulted over a crate, grabbed a crowbar, and ducked another shot that sparked against the metal. He was close now — close enough to see their eyes. Calm. Focused.

He swung hard.

The blow crunched into one attacker’s arm, breaking it with a sickening snap. A muffled cry, but no words. The man went down. Another turned toward him—

—and then Boom gasped.

A sharp cry behind him.

Smart turned.

Boom was half-collapsed behind the crate, hand clamped to his thigh. Blood soaked through his trousers. Not a kill shot — but bad enough.

Smart cursed under his breath and launched himself at the last gunman, ducking low, disarming him in a brutal flurry. Elbow. Knee. Head slam into concrete.

The fight ended as fast as it had started.

Three down, two fled.

Silence returned — the kind that screamed.

Smart knelt beside Boom, fingers already peeling back the fabric.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Grazed, but deep.”

Boom’s face was pale but hard. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, I get it. You’re a tough cookie.” Smart yanked off his belt, tightening it above the wound.

One of Boom’s men jogged up, breathless. “Sir—”

“Secure the perimeter,” Boom ordered, sharp. “Don’t let them disappear.”

As the man ran off, Smart leaned closer, voice low. “You know who they were?”

Boom didn’t answer right away. His eyes were steel, but his jaw had gone tight.

“They weren’t locals,” Smart said. “Too fast. Too clean. No tattoos. No noise.”

Boom met his gaze, cool and unreadable.

“I’ll find out who gave the order,” he said. He motioned for the rest of the men to detain the caught attackers…for ‘questioning’.

Smart held that stare. “You don’t already know?”

Boom didn’t blink. “I’ll find out.”

The silence that followed felt like a second ambush — this time from inside.

Smart stood. “You gonna make it to the car, or do I carry you?”

Boom smiled thinly, pushing himself upright with a hiss. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not that easy.”

Smart smirked, looping Boom’s arm over his shoulder anyway.

As they limped toward the waiting car, blood trailing behind them on the cracked concrete, Smart’s thoughts spiraled.

He didn’t know who had sent those men.

Didn’t know if Boom was in control.

Didn’t know if he himself had just stepped into someone else’s war.

—

End of Chapter 3

Author's Notes: I’m used to writing about angst and war, but it feels like a real one is happening now. Dear Auralis—please, hold on. We need to be there for SmartBoom!

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4: BLOOD AND LOYALTIES

The narrow alleyways of Chinatown reeked of incense and sweat. Neon signs buzzed faintly above cramped stalls stacked high with dried herbs and strange jars. The hum of the city felt distant here, muted under the weight of secrets and whispered deals.

Smart’s arm was looped tight under Boom’s, steadying the man’s limping gait as they pushed through the maze of backstreets toward a nondescript doorway hidden behind a curtain of faded red lanterns.

Inside, a cramped room reeked of antiseptic and spice. An older man with graying hair and quick hands looked up, eyes sharp beneath thick brows. Without a word, he gestured for Boom to sit.

Smart peeled back Boom’s bloodied trousers, revealing an angry gash along his thigh where the bullet grazed. The medic’s practiced fingers probed gently, then shook his head.

“Not deep,” he muttered in accented Mandarin, pulling out a needle and thread. “But glue is not going to be enough. We’re going to have to stitch it.”

Clean. 

Local anaesthetic. 

Boom didn’t wince as the stitches went in—methodical, silent.

Smart watched, quiet. When the last knot was tied and the old man disappeared into the back room, he broke the silence.

“Not sure if the triads will be a good partner,” he said, voice low. “That ambush? That didn’t look like you were in control.”

Boom’s eyes met his, cold and unreadable.

“Control is an illusion,” he said. “I have an idea who this might be.”

Smart exhaled, the tension thick in the room.

“Then who?”

Boom’s jaw tightened. “I will need to confirm something first.” Boom leaned back, wincing as he shifted his weight. 

“Listen, I get it. Tonight looked messy. It shouldn’t have.”

Smart crossed his arms, eyeing him sharply. “Messy isn’t the word. That’s heavy firepower to bring just to cause a bit of mess.”

Boom’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a test. The streets don’t hand out respect — you have to earn it.” Even among our own. He thought to himself. 

He paused, voice dropping, softer but no less certain. “You think I’m flawless? That this whole operation is some neat, locked-down empire? It’s chaos. But chaos is opportunity.”

Smart’s eyes narrowed. “And what if that chaos swallows you?”

“I didn’t peg you for someone who is scared of chaos.” Boom met him squarely, slow smile twitching. He reached out, brushing a faint smear of blood on his thigh. “You want control? This is it. A chance to build something. Not just muscle and money — respect.”

Smart looked away, exhaling through his nose. “Respect has a high price.”

Boom nodded, voice dropping to almost a whisper. “You pay it, get the respect or you die anyway. This is the world you and I live in, isn’t it?”

The air between them thickened, not just with the sting of pain and sweat, but something unspoken. An invitation. A challenge.

Boom’s eyes flicked to Smart’s, sharp and steady. He caught the slight hesitation there, the tightening around Smart’s jaw, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

A slow smile curved Boom’s lips, one that didn’t reach his eyes but sent a ripple through the room. He shifted closer, letting the space between them shrink just enough to unsettle without overstepping.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Boom murmured, voice low, velvety. “But I want you to know…this isn’t just about muscle or money. It’s about power. It’s time to be the one holding the cards.”

Smart wasn’t sure when he started holding his breath. The room felt smaller. Hotter. He kept his gaze on Boom’s face, trying to parse the layers beneath the smooth words.

Boom’s hand brushed against Smart’s forearm — just a whisper of touch, light enough to be accidental, but deliberate.

“You’ve been watching me tonight. Seeing what I’m willing to do,” Boom said, voice dropping another octave. “But have you thought about what I’m willing to give?”

Smart swallowed hard, heart thudding in his chest. The doubt, the suspicion…it battled with something darker, something magnetic.

Boom’s gaze didn’t waver, locking onto Smart’s eyes. “You want control. You want respect. I can give you that. But I need to know you’re ready to take it.”

Smart’s lips parted, but no words came. Boom’s presence was a slow burn, drawing him closer to a line he hadn’t dared approach.

Boom leaned in just slightly, breath warm near Smart’s ear. “The city’s a dangerous game. You don’t have to play it alone.”

A pause. Then Boom’s voice, softer still: “But once you step in, there’s no stepping back.”

Smart met Boom’s eyes again, the tension now electric.

He knew he was standing at a crossroads, caught between wariness and something that felt dangerously like desire.

And as Boom’s hand lingered a moment longer on his arm, Smart realized just how much of the invitation he was tempted to accept.

—

Boom sat back on the creaky stool in the cramped medic’s room, watching the faint twitch of his thigh as the pain throbbed steady beneath the stitches. The wound was minor, nothing that would slow him for long, but the reminder stung sharper than the bullet.

The ambush wasn’t random. It was a message. A warning.

His mind circled the name he’d been chewing over since the gunfire. Even though he knew , he needed more power first. 

A rival from within his own triad, hungry and ruthless, eager to pry open Thailand’s underground and push Boom out. The man thought Boom was vulnerable, thought he could topple him while his defenses were down.

They were playing for keeps. But Boom was determined to win this game: secure Bangkok under his control. 

But to outmaneuver his rival, Boom needed to raise his game. He needed something more than the usual connections and hired muscle. He needed local eyes and ears in Bangkok’s labyrinthine streets. Someone who could navigate the city’s tangled underbelly with grit and instinct.

Smart was exactly that.

Boom’s eyes lingered on the younger man’s rough edges—the way his tattoos seemed to crawl beneath his sleeves, the depth of his gaze, the quiet confidence that didn’t ask for permission. Not his usual type. Boom was used to silk and precision, not bad boys with a chip on their shoulder. 

Yet there was something about Smart, a raw magnetism that unsettled him, drew him in despite himself.

A slow smile tugged at Boom’s lips as he watched Smart’s eyes linger on his just a moment too long, sensed his breath hitching in his throat as his hand lingered on his arm.

If this was a game, then seduction was just another tool. Maybe the oldest one. Maybe the sharpest.

He’d be willing to do whatever it took to bring Smart fully into the fold. To make him a partner, not just in business, but in territory, influence…maybe even something closer.

Subtle. Calculated. Dangerous.

Because in a city where trust was currency and betrayal was inevitable, Boom knew one thing for sure:

To survive and to conquer, he couldn’t afford to play alone.

—

End of Chapter 4

Author's notes: I need to escape from reality a little. Next chapter, Smart and Boom's sexual tension reaches boiling point! Thank you for reading and please do leave me a kudos or any comments.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5: HEAT

The club pulsed like a living thing.

Bass thudded through concrete walls, lights flickered in strobes of red, violet and blue, and the air was thick with smoke, too-sweet cologne, and a hundred bodies grinding to synth-heavy rhythms. Smart hated these places. Too loud, too flashy, too many people pretending to be kings in a rented booth.

But tonight, he was one of them.

Boom sat beside him in the velvet-lined VIP corner, his injured leg stretched just so, no longer a limp, now more of a calculated lean. The wound was healing, but Boom still moved with care. With deliberation. Everything Boom did was deliberate.

Across the table, a Thai gang boss named Niran laughed too loudly, gripping Smart’s shoulder in a way that might’ve been friendly or threatening. Smart didn’t flinch.

“This guy,” Niran said in Thai, gesturing toward Boom with his whiskey glass, “I didn’t think he’d be this pretty.”

Boom smiled without showing teeth. “I can say for sure I’m not just a pretty face.”

They laughed. Toasts were made. The deal was sealed with a clink of ice and a handshake that meant violence if broken.

Smart watched Boom through his lashes as the night bled on. The slight way he shifted closer when they shared a smoke, the way his voice dropped when he leaned in to ask Smart if Niran was bluffing, or if that glint in his eye was real.

It was the way their knees brushed once under the table. Then again, slower. It was the way Boom tilted his head to listen, lips just a fraction too close to Smart’s ear when he spoke.

“You’re playing with fire,” Smart murmured once.

Boom didn’t pull back. “It’s not the fire that scares me,” he whispered. “It’s how much I want to burn.”

Later, after Niran left with his crew, Smart stayed. So did Boom. They didn’t say why. Their guys hung around, called girls over.

They ordered more drinks. They didn’t toast. Didn’t talk about business.

Smart leaned back, lazy on the leather couch. “You always charm your way into new partnerships like that?” he asked.

Boom sipped his drink, watching Smart over the rim. “Only when it matters.”

Their legs brushed on the table. Neither of them moved.

Boom stood slowly, smoothing his shirt. “I’ll be back,” he said, casual. But there was a heat in his gaze that lingered longer than necessary. He turned and disappeared into the back hallway.

Smart sat there, motionless, for maybe thirty seconds.

Then he rose and followed, not hurried, but not slow either.

The restroom was dim, lit with a red hue. Graffiti scrawled the stall doors. The pounding of the music was muffled here but one could still feel its vibrations in the floor. 

Boom stood in front of the mirror, washing his hands even though they were already clean. He didn’t look up when Smart entered.

“Took you long enough,” Boom said expectantly. 

Smart locked the door behind him.

Boom turned. His smile was slow, sure of himself. And Smart didn’t stop walking until they were chest to chest, heat radiating between them like a fuse about to ignite.

He didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it didn’t matter. Mouths crashed together, all heat and friction. Hands gripping, sliding, claiming. Shirts shoved up, buttons popped undone— desperation met flesh.

Boom hissed as Smart pushed him against the wall, careful not to slam his thigh but not gentle either.

“Still hurt?” Smart murmured against his neck.

Boom’s breath stuttered. “Shut up.”

Smart laughed and kissed him again, harder this time. Fingers at belts, zippers, the sound of it swallowed by moans and the beat of music pounding through the walls.

For a moment, there was only this: the slick press of skin, the breathless gasps, the feeling of losing something without knowing what. It was messy, rough, fast. This wasn’t about love. Nor was it about trust.

It was a storm breaking loose in a locked room.

Boom gasped when Smart sank his teeth into the spot between neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to bruise, then sucking until a mark bloomed dark and certain. Boom’s fingers dug into the ridges of muscle along Smart’s back, clinging, anchoring. Their trousers lay tangled around their ankles, shirts discarded in careless heaps. Everything raw, exposed, undeniable.

Smart kissed him again, hungry, possessive. His mouth pressed hard, lips dragging over Boom’s jaw, teeth catching at the edge of his mouth before he pulled back just enough to speak. 

“You make me fucking crazy,” Smart muttered, voice rough. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted someone this badly or if he ever had.  “And I hate that I want more.”

Boom’s eyes locked onto his, dark and hooded with heat. He bit down on the corner of his lower lip, slow and deliberate.

“That’s the problem with a taste,” Boom murmured, voice silk-wrapped steel. “It only makes you hungrier.” He let his fingers drift dangerously low over Smart’s abdomen. “So take what you want, Smart. Just don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it.”

Boom’s words hung in the air like smoke. Heavy, provocative, impossible to ignore.

Smart’s jaw flexed. That voice, that look. It was calculated temptation and it was working.

He stepped in closer, breath brushing Boom’s cheek.

“You always this cocky?” Smart murmured, voice like gravel and heat. “Or is it just me?”

Boom’s lips curved, slow and knowing.

That was all it took.

Smart grabbed him by the hips and turned him; no warning. Boom didn’t resist. He braced his palms against the wall, spine arching.

That’s when Smart saw it.

A sweeping tattoo stretched across Boom’s back, stopping just above his hips. Black, grey and crimson ink etched into his skin. An irezumi of a phoenix, mid-rise, its wings unfurling in a storm of feathers and flame. The bird’s eyes blazed over Boom’s shoulder blade, fierce and knowing, rising from ashes that curled down his spine in delicate tendrils of smoke and fire.

It was raw. Aggressive. The mark of someone who’d clawed his way out of something ruinous.

Smart stared, transfixed.

He reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the bird’s wing. “A phoenix,” he muttered. 

Boom’s voice came low, controlled. “You don’t get born twice unless you’ve died once.”

Smart let that settle. His hand slid lower, over the dip of Boom’s back. “You wear it like a warning.”

A beat passed. Then Smart leaned in, mouth close to the ink just below Boom’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, slow and deliberate.

“It’s beautiful,” Smart murmured against the skin.

Boom shivered at the unexpected gentle contact. The tiles felt cool and grimy against his palms but he didn’t care. 

Smart’s hand moved, over the curve of Boom’s hip, down the muscled line of his thigh, then back up again… between his legs. He smiled when he felt the older man stiffen against his touch. 

“It’s gonna hurt like hell without proper lube…” Smart warned against Boom’s ear, pushing two fingers past Boom’s lips.

“Do I look like a man who is scared of a bit of pain?” Boom finally said when Smart removed saliva-slickened fingers.

Smart didn’t answer, fingers tracing the sensitive skin between Boom’s legs again. He felt Boom’s breath hitch and falter as he eased one finger, then two, past the tight hold. His other hand wrapped firmly around Boom’s cock, steady and sure.

“Remember to breathe, okay?” he murmured, teasing as his fingers moved in a steady rhythm, coaxing Boom into a moaning mess and driving him dangerously close.

Just as Boom felt the hard length pressing against him, sharp and demanding, he tensed and slipped free from Smart’s grip. “Hold on.” He found his wallet and slipped out a condom to hand to Smart. 

The taller man laughed, breath ragged in anticipation. “You really are prepared for anything.”

Without hesitation, he tore the wrapper and rolled the condom down, then spun Boom back against the grimy wall, parting his legs with a firm knee.

With a rough, deliberate thrust, Smart drove into him from behind.

Boom bit down on a cry as the rhythm came. Hard and fast, raw and merciless. Each thrust pushed him against the cold tile, his palms braced flat as his breath came in jagged gasps. His fingers scraped along the wall, searching for anything to ground him.

One of Smart’s hands slid up, firm across Boom’s chest, skin slick with sweat, then higher to the base of his throat, fingers splaying wide, possessive. Not choking, but commanding. Holding him there. Holding him still .

Smart’s breath was hot at the back of Boom’s neck. “You’re mine,” he growled, voice rough and breaking. “Don’t forget it.”

Boom let out a breathless, jagged laugh: a dare more than amusement. “Try me.” His voice was low, wrecked, but defiant. Smart might think he’d won but Boom was never easy prey.

The next thrust nearly knocked the air out of him.

Smart moved harder, deeper, pushing past the edge of restraint. His other hand reached around, fingers wrapping tight around Boom’s cock, stroking in rhythm that was fast, unforgiving. Every sound was swallowed by the throb of bass through the walls and their own sharp breaths.

Boom’s body arched. His muscles clenched, the line between pain and pleasure long since blurred. The grip around his throat, the relentless motion inside him, the rough hand on his cock…it was too much yet it was not enough .

“I’m—fuck—” Boom choked out, head thrown back.

Smart didn’t stop. “Come for me,” he snarled. “Now.”

Boom shuddered, his entire body seizing as he came hard into Smart’s hand, groaning into the wall, the world strobing behind his eyes.

Smart was right behind him. Two more thrusts, then a hoarse growl tore from his chest as he buried himself deep, the heat of release crashing through him.

For a long moment, they stayed there. Breath tangled, sweat-slicked skin pressed together. A mess of heat and bruised hunger, still trembling, still burning.

Then Boom pushed off from the wall, chest rising and falling, lips swollen and red. Smart picked up his shirt from the floor, ran a hand through his hair.

Boom looked at him. Really looked.

“You’re dangerous,” he said, voice hoarse.

Smart gave a lopsided grin. “You started it.”

Boom smirked. “I’m not sorry.”

Smart stepped closer, pressed a lingering kiss to his mouth, softer this time, tasting Boom. “Me neither.”

They stood there, silent, for a few more seconds.

Then Boom put on his clothes, composure sliding back into place like a knife into a sheath.

“Now,” Boom said, cool again. “Let’s get back before someone thinks we killed each other.”

Smart opened the door, the music rushing in like a punch. He glanced over his shoulder.

“No one’s dying tonight,” he said. “But I can’t promise the same tomorrow.”

Boom followed with a small, dangerous smile.

The hallway swallowed them back into the bass and lights and heat. Nothing about them said anything had happened, except maybe the way Boom walked with that barely-there limp and the way Smart watched him like he already owned the next round.

—

End of Chapter 5

Author's notes: Hope you enjoyed this and it helped you blow off some steam! 

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 - No Saints in Bangkok

Months passed. 

It was working.

Smart leaned against the balcony of a second-floor gambling den in Chinatown, watching his men and Boom’s crew laugh, smoke, and count out fat stacks of cash under the buzz of a flickering fluorescent light. Below, motorbikes idled and girls in too-tight dresses smoked long cigarettes by the alley entrance, eyes darting for cops, clients, or something worse.

Boom’s triad operation had slid into Bangkok like a blade, sharp, silent, and impossible to stop. Smart had never seen anything move this efficiently. His own boys had stepped up, eager for new guns and steady pay. 

Business was good. Every nightclub, back alley, and brothel in a ten-block radius now paid a cut. And their territory was expanding fast.

"The streets respect us now," one of his men had said earlier that week.

"They fear us," Smart corrected.

Money was rolling in faster than they could clean it. Girls were moving through the massage parlors and karaoke lounges. Drugs were moving down the Mekong, then into Bangkok’s club circuit. Every deal felt smooth, untouchable.

Until it didn’t.

Two nights later, Smart followed up on a tip from one of his lieutenants about a storage warehouse near Lat Krabang. It wasn’t on any of their usual distribution maps, not for weapons, not for product. That was already a red flag.

The building sat low and rust-stained against the skyline. Unmarked trucks. Guards with no colours. He stepped inside and was hit with the stale reek of piss, sweat, and something metallic. The air was too quiet.

Then he saw them.

Girls. Young. Some didn’t look a day over fifteen. Thai, maybe Laotian or Vietnamese. Blank-eyed. Huddled in the far corner of a windowless room like broken dolls, dressed in cheap clothes too big or too small.

Smart’s stomach turned.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded. His voice cracked across the warehouse floor like a gunshot.

One of the crew, not one of his boys, but a Thai runner he vaguely recognized, looked up from a clipboard. “Just a holding stop. Temporary. They ain’t ours.”

“Whose are they?”

The runner shrugged. “Shanghai crew. Passing through. Just using the space. Boom said it’s fine.”

Boom said it’s fine.

The words twisted something deep inside Smart. He stood still, too still. His pulse roared in his ears.

“Unload this fucking place,” he said low, too calm. “Now.”

The runner blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t give a shit whose stock it is. Get them out. Now.”

Smart turned and walked out before the fire building in his chest could push him to do something stupid.

—

Back at his place, he stared down the beer bottle sweating on the table like it might offer answers. He didn’t drink it. Not yet.

He kept thinking of the girls. Their faces. Their silence. Their eyes. 

And then Boom’s.

Boom, who had cleared the path for this empire to rise. Boom, who moved like smoke through any room, who could cut a man’s throat or fuck him breathless and leave both feeling like mercy. Boom, who’d looked at him like he was more than just muscle and ambition.

And yet…

“Boom said it’s fine.”

Smart rubbed his palms over his face. When had the line moved? Had it always been this blurry?

He didn’t pretend to be a saint. He’d dealt drugs, ran scams, broken bones. He’d put people in the ground.

But this…this was different. He didn’t know what it was that made him even give a damn.

He wanted to hate Boom. Wanted to blame him, shove the responsibility off onto the man who’d slid into his life like smoke and fire; dangerous, seductive, and utterly untouchable. 

But hatred didn’t come. Not yet.

Because beneath the cold edge of business, beneath the ruthless empire they’d built, there was something else. Something that twisted Smart’s insides in a way he couldn’t name.

He thought back to those nights. Raw, rough desire that pulled them together like magnets. Boom, so guarded and precise in the daylight, yielding beneath him in the dark, opening his legs for him and his defenses. The way Boom’s hands clenched and relaxed like a man on the edge of control, trusting Smart to hold the chaos at bay.

It had driven Smart crazy; the power, the vulnerability, the heat. It was a secret language, spoken without words. And it made everything else disappear, in that one moment.

But now… now that language was breaking down.

They were making money. No, they were building an empire. Bangkok bowed under their weight. But this kind of money? This kind of empire?

Smart clenched his jaw. How did Boom sleep at night? Did the cold calculation hide any flicker of doubt? Guilt? Did Boom see those girls in the warehouse, hear their silence, or was it just another calculated cost in a game he played too well?

Smart didn’t have the answers. He wasn’t sure he wanted them.

He wanted control. He wanted Bangkok’s streets to bend under his name. But was this the price? Was this the line he was willing to cross?

The thought left a bitter taste.

He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog.

Boom had changed the rules of the game. Maybe even changed Smart.

Now, Smart wasn’t sure if he was chasing power or what.

And worse, when Boom touched him, when Boom looked at him like he saw through all the bravado and straight into the fire, Smart forgot the question entirely.

Boom’s hands on his skin. Firm, sure, demanding. The way his fingers traced every line, every scar, like he knew the map of Smart’s body better than anyone ever had. That slow, almost mocking smirk when Smart bit down too hard on his lip, and Boom didn’t flinch, just leaned in closer, as if daring him to try again.

The heat of Boom’s mouth on his neck, teeth catching just enough to sting, breath hot and ragged in the dark. That same mouth enveloping him as if worshipping him. Boom’s body arching beneath his, muscles taut and trembling, the faintest tremor betraying the cold mask he wore.

The sound…Boom’s ragged moans, half-curse, half-plea, echoing, sometimes in cramped, grimy rooms, sometimes in luxurious hotel suites. The way Boom let go, just enough to lose control without breaking it completely.

And now, here he was, sitting alone, chest tight, heart racing as those memories flared like fire under his skin.

Smart cursed under his breath. “How is he doing this to me even when he’s not here?”

He ran a hand through his hair, the hardening ache between his legs almost unbearable. The same heat that had driven him wild now twisted into something darker - confusion, guilt, maybe even fear.

This wasn’t just lust anymore. It was something tangled up with loyalty, power, and a sharp edge of something he didn’t want to name.

But even as the questions burned, so did the desire. Boom was like a drug he couldn’t quit.

An addiction. 

He needed to know how to hold it all together. How to keep control.

But right now, it felt like Boom was the one holding the strings.

And Smart wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull free or let himself fall.

Maybe that was the most dangerous part.

—

End of Chapter 6

Author’s notes : I’m going to lose myself in the world of AU. Please leave me some kudos or a comment to let me know what you think. 

Next chapter : Strip away the superficial glamour of the underworld, its insides are always ugly. Smart confronts Boom about what he saw in the warehouse.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 - Monsters in Velvet

The private casino suite was tucked high in a nondescript Silom hotel, windows blacked out, walls padded with dark velvet and lacquered wood.

The air smelled of leather, whisky, and cigarettes. A single Baccarat table stood in the center, felt green, immaculate, untouched. Low light glowed from a chandelier shaped like falling coins.

Smart stood with his back to the room, staring out through the one-way mirrored glass at the rows of slot machines and card tables below, watching the ebb and flow of the empire they’d built.

Boom shut the door behind him with a soft click.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said. If he was surprised to see Smart there, he didn’t show it. 

Smart didn’t answer.

Boom crossed the room unhurriedly and poured them both a drink from the crystal decanter. Brandy. Neat. When Smart didn’t turn, Boom placed the glass on the edge of the table closest to him and kept his own in hand.

“You knew about the girls,” Smart said finally, his face dark.

Boom didn’t blink. “Yes.” Of course, he heard about the shipment Smart returned. 

Smart’s jaw ticked. “That doesn’t bother you?”

Boom exhaled slowly, deliberately. “It obviously bothers you.”

“They were kids, Boom. They weren’t even fucking legal. They looked scared out of their goddamn minds.”

“They were just passing through. Not ours.” Boom moved next to Smart with the slow confidence of a predator that never needed to chase. “Shanghai crew’s side business. One night. Quiet and clean.”

Smart turned to face him now. His eyes were dark. “You let it happen.”

A pause. Boom took a slow sip of his drink, feeling the burn down his throat. “I said it was fine. I never said I liked it.”

Smart’s voice rose in volume. “What the fuck’s the difference?”

Boom’s gaze slid to him, unreadable, but not cold. “You want a clean empire? Build it in heaven. This is Bangkok. This is blood and concrete and compromise.”

Smart looked away, biting down on the fury swelling in his chest. “They were kids.”

“And you’ve sold heroin to teenagers, Smart. Don’t pretend you’re clean.”

“That’s not the same.” Smart’s voice cracked, rough with something close to guilt.  “This isn’t what I signed up for.”

Boom’s eyes flashed. “Yes, it is. You just didn’t read the fine print.”

Then, a visible shift in Boom’s demeanor as he stepped closer to the younger gangster. The sharp edges softened as he placed his glass on the Baccarat table. His hands moved, resting lightly at Smart’s waist. Not pulling. Not yet.

“You’re angry. I understand that. You saw something that shook you.” His voice dropped lower. “But you're still here.”

“I came for answers,” Smart said, though it sounded more like a defense than a fact.

Boom nodded slowly. “Then let me give you one.”

His fingers slipped under Smart’s shirt, just the tips grazing bare skin, the kind of touch that said - I know you. I know how to undo you.  

Boom leaned in, brushing his lips against Smart’s jaw—just a ghost of a kiss. “You came here with anger in your chest,” he whispered, “but you knew how this would end.”

Smart’s fists clenched at his sides, white-knuckled. “You’re playing me.”

Boom’s mouth curved. “Of course I am. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

Smart’s breath caught, a sharp, involuntary thing. He hated that Boom was right. Hated that part of him was already melting under the heat crawling up his spine.

Boom’s hands slid higher, thumbs brushing along tense ribs. “You’re soft inside, Smart. That’s what makes you dangerous.”

Smart’s eyes closed, just for a second…not weakness, just needing to breathe.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Boom only smiled. “Don’t what? Don’t touch you?” His fingers drifted higher up Smart’s chest. “Don’t make you forget why you came?”

His mouth was on Smart’s neck now, not kissing, just hovering, warm breath sending goosebumps down his skin. “You keep pretending this is about morality,” Boom murmured. “But really, it’s about control.”

“I had control,” Smart said hoarsely.

“No,” Boom whispered. “You had pride. You had noise. But I see through all that.”

His hand slid lower, under the waistband of Smart’s jeans, fingers curling just inside, tips brushing against the pubic hair. “I know exactly what makes you unravel.”

Smart’s body betrayed him, arousal surging against a tide of guilt and rage. He could feel Boom’s mouth curve into a smirk at his reaction.

“This isn’t fair,” Smart muttered.

“Fair?” Boom laughed softly. “You’re in the wrong business for fair.”

He turned Smart’s face towards him and kissed his lips then, deep, slow, deliberate. Not with the hungry roughness they were used to, but something worse. Something careful. Seductive. Calculative. A performance Boom had rehearsed a thousand times but rarely gave with such precision.

Smart cursed under his breath. “What the hell have you done to me?”

Boom leaned in, his voice a whisper against the damp skin of Smart’s neck. “Made you powerful. Made you feel something.”

And Smart did. Even now. Especially now.

He should push Boom away. Demand answers. Draw lines.

Smart gripped his shirt like he might shove him away — but didn’t.

He let Boom press him back against the glass. It felt cool even through his shirt. Boom’s hand was between his legs now, unzipping him, stroking him through the guilt and the noise. 

Then the older man dropped to his knees in front of Smart and looked up at him. 

Looked up at him with those eyes. 

“You think I’m a monster? You want to hate me,” Boom said softly, fingers still working him with maddening control. “If it makes you feel better, then hate me. Hate me properly.”

Smart’s breath hitched. His head tipped back against the glass with a thud. “Fuck.”

Boom smiled, slow and sinful. “That’s the plan.”

Then Boom’s mouth closed over him, hot and wet, and Smart’s mind fractured. There was fury in it, and longing. Precision that felt like worship and punishment all at once. 

Smart moaned low, desperate, hating how much he wanted this, how Boom always knew exactly when to use pleasure as weapon, as salve, as chain. His fingers tangled in Boom’s hair, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away, just holding . Like that contact could anchor him to something real.

But everything was wrong. Everything.

He looked down. Boom’s eyes met his — dark, steady, knowing . Smart hated that he was falling apart for a man who’d sold his soul long before they ever touched.

Boom took his time. Slow, merciless worship with the rhythm of a man who owned his opponent even as he knelt before him. Boom hollowed his cheeks, pulled him deeper, like he was dragging Smart’s sins out through his skin, like his mouth could erase the guilt.

Boom’s mouth moved faster, teasing, coaxing. Every inch of him whispered power, control, seduction.

And inside, Boom calculated every reaction, reading Smart’s tremors like cards in his hand.

He didn’t enjoy manipulating Smart. Not exactly.

But part of him — the part that had seen blood run down China’s alleyways and watched entire families disappear into dark vans — understood the necessity of it. Compassion was weakness. And weakness got you killed.

Yet, something about Smart's defiance… his stubborn grip on decency… touched a part of Boom he’d long buried. Maybe that’s why he liked him. Maybe that’s why he kept coming back.

Because Smart still flinched .

And Boom didn’t know whether he wanted to preserve that or crush it.

Boom moaned softly with his mouth all around Smart, not from pleasure, but because he knew .

He knew Smart had forgotten the warehouse. The girls. The dirt in the concrete.

He knew this war was already won.

And like any good gambler, Boom played his hand slow, steady, letting Smart believe the house hadn't already taken everything.

But then something shifted.

Smart pushed him, not roughly, but deliberately , and Boom stumbled back, caught off guard by the intensity in his eyes.

“On the table,” Smart growled.

Boom blinked once, then obeyed.

He stepped back against the Baccarat table, palms splayed on its edge. The felt was pristine. Regal. Untouched. Until Smart grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him onto it.

Chips clattered to the floor. The glass toppled, spilling amber liquid, and shattered into shards on the floor. Neither of them flinched.

Boom propped himself up on his elbows. Before he could say anything, Smart shoved him back flat against the felt and climbed over him, dragging his shirt open with one hand, the other pinning him down.

It should’ve felt like dominance. But it didn’t.

It felt like desperation .

Like he needed to take something before it was taken from him again.

Boom’s eyes darkened as Smart leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“Don’t talk,” Smart muttered. “Not this time.”

And Boom didn’t. He only smiled, knowingly, because silence could be just as loud.

Smart unzipped Boom fast, rough, his own jeans half-undone. The heat between them snapped like wire, tension electric, animal. Boom’s trousers were flung carelessly to the floor.

Fingers digging into Boom’s hips hard enough to bruise and tilting him, Smart slid inside him with a groan, deep and furious, without a condom, without lubrication. Raw. Boom arched, lips parting in a silent gasp, breath catching at the back of his throat.

But Smart didn’t want sounds. He didn’t want sweetness. He wanted clarity .

Every thrust was a question he didn’t want answered:

Is this who I am now?

Did you make me this?

Or was it always in me?

He hated how good it felt. Hated how Boom wrapped around him like a promise he never made. Hated the tight, perfect heat and the way Boom looked at him — like he knew exactly what Smart was running from.

Because Boom didn’t resist. He let him.

And that was the worst part. The letting .

Smart kissed him, hard, biting at his lower lip; a punishment, maybe, or a prayer. His body moved on instinct now, all rhythm and rage. No thought. No room for it.

The guilt hadn’t vanished.

It was still there, shoved into a corner of his chest like a debt he couldn't pay yet. But for now, the need was louder.

When he finally came inside Boom, it was brutal and wordless. Like something inside him had been carved out.

He didn’t collapse. He didn’t speak.

He just stayed there, buried in Boom, hands fisted in the felt, breath stuttering through clenched teeth.

Boom stroked his back. Softly. Too softly.

“Feeling better?” he whispered.

Smart laughed, hoarse, broken, scraped raw by everything he wouldn’t say.

“You think this fixes anything?” He didn’t pull away, though.

Boom kissed his temple. Gentle. Uncalculated. “No,” he said. “I know it doesn’t.” Another kiss. This time on the forehead.

And for the first time that night, Smart didn’t flinch.

He closed his eyes.

And let himself be held.

Just for a moment.

Maybe we’re both monsters.

—

Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed that. I thought long about the plot - I'm sorry if this content or how I portrayed Smart and Boom has offended anyone. Please do leave me a kudos or any comments. Thanks for reading!

Next chapter, we see more of Boom and sometimes even monsters have a heart.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8 - SOFT SPOTS AND SHARP KNIVES

The lacquered wood gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, the air thick with incense smoke, bitter and biting.

Boom sat at the head of the long conference table, his fingers lightly drumming, every movement measured and calm. Around him, the triad’s Bangkok faction leaders exchanged glances, their faces tight with unspoken frustrations.

Cheng Kai, lean and smug, took a slow drag from his cigarette, smoke curling in deliberate spirals. “The Thai boy’s soft,” he said in Cantonese, voice dripping with scorn. “Sent back two shipments. Spooked the local crews. Our supply chain’s bleeding because your pet’s playing moral cop.”

Boom said nothing.

Another man, older, broader, face mottled with old scars, cleared his throat. “He’s interfering with triad logistics. That warehouse in Lat Krabang was delayed by nearly a week after he stepped in. You told us he’d fall in line.”

Boom tilted his head. “He’s kept the streets clean. He’s efficient. Our profits in Bangkok have doubled since he came on.”

“Profits you brought in,” Cheng said. “He’s just riding your momentum. He’s emotional. Undisciplined. He’s not one of us.”

Boom didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. He rarely needed to raise his voice.

“Then I’ll train him. Like I trained my lieutenants. Or would you rather gamble with a half-dozen cokehead thugs and hope one doesn’t bring the cops to your doorstep?”

That landed sharp. Even Cheng’s smirk faltered.

Still, he pressed: “There are other Thai leaders who’d be grateful for our business. Men who wouldn’t send our stock walking out the back door just because they don’t like what it looks like.”

Boom leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, slow and unbothered. “You want Bangkok to burn down? Try running it without a local who knows the land. Smart’s not perfect, but he understands the territory and the local rules. If we change now, it’ll be war. We can’t make money in chaos.”

Cheng’s gaze sharpened, something cruel glittering behind his eyes. “You’re getting sloppy.”

Boom let that sit in the silence. A long beat passed.

Then Cheng chuckled. “You’ve gone soft for pretty Thai boys. They’re a good fuck, eh?”

The words were meant to wound. A jab dressed as a joke.

Boom’s face remained unreadable. “You confuse softness with control. That’s why your last lieutenant bled out on Silom Road while the police filmed it.”

Cheng’s jaw tensed, just a flicker. Boom caught it.

Before things could escalate further, the man at the far end of the room finally spoke, the one they all still called Uncle Wei, though “ uncle ” felt more like a warning than an endearment.

He wasn’t swathed in shadows. He didn’t smell like incense. He sat in an immaculate black tailored suit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing a minimalist smartwatch and the fine, spiderweb scars of someone who’d survived another era and adapted.

He was scrolling through something on a foldable tablet, one AirPod still in his ear. When he spoke, it was without looking up. His voice was low, clipped, calm. Authoritative. 

“Boom is still bringing in the money. That’s what matters.”

Just that. Not a declaration. Not a defense. A verdict.

Cheng’s smirk twitched, faltered. He looked ready to speak, then thought better.

Around the table, a ripple of acknowledgment passed like static. No one else needed to weigh in after Uncle Wei did. 

The meeting was done. Discussion over.

Boom stayed behind, eyes tracing the dragon carved into the lacquer. Thinking about the price of balance.

He hadn’t lied - business was still booming. The drugs, the weapons, the money laundering, all smoother than ever under his watch. 

But he had quietly made sure no trafficking routes involving underage girls passed through Smart’s zones again. He’d diverted those shipments elsewhere. Paid off local commanders. Absorbed the heat.

Smart didn’t know about this. He couldn’t.

Boom did this not because he was soft.

Because he respected the man who still gave a damn .

It was dangerous. Reckless, even. A sign of personal attachment, which in this world was almost worse than weakness. But Boom had lived long enough to know the difference between control and brutality. He could run this empire without dragging every piece of it into hell.

Maybe it was better that way.

Still, as Boom finally rose and straightened his collar, a flicker of something passed through him. Not regret. Not quite affection. But a softness he rarely let rise to the surface.

Smart was young, volatile, too principled for his own good. But he reminded Boom of something he’d long buried…what it was like to still have lines that mattered .

Boom’s mind flickered to those private moments with Smart — the vulnerability hiding beneath that tough exterior, the softness that frightened him almost as much as it drew him in.

That softness… maybe it’s why I like him.

And if Boom had to carve out space in the empire to protect that rare, fragile piece?

He would.

The knives were turning, though. The whisper of betrayal grew louder. Cheng was hungry, circling like a shark smelling blood. Boom knew he was behind the ambush at the pier. And Boom knew the higher-ups watched carefully. Any sign of weakness, Boom would lose their protection.

But for now, the money flowed. The empire held.

A hint of smile softened his eyes. 

He would protect Smart, the soft underbelly in his hardened world, even if it made the knives turn toward his own back.

-

End of Chapter 8

Author's notes: Boom isn't all bad. Deep inside, he feels too. Please do stay with me for the rest of the story as I develop their relationship. *bows*

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 – Smoke and Silk

The skyline outside Boom’s hotel suite at SO/ Bangkok was smeared with light - red, blue, and neon-white bleeding together on the glass like war paint. It was too quiet inside. The kind that made tension ring louder than any gunshot.

Boom stood by the minibar, sleeves rolled back, ice settling in the glass with a crackle. He didn’t look up when Smart walked in.

“Is it true?” Smart said. No greeting. No buildup. His voice echoed in the emptiness like a blade drawn in the dark.

Boom’s eyes flicked up, cold, guarded. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Don’t fuck with me.” Smart stepped in, jaw clenched. “I heard they want to replace me. That your bosses think I’m too much of a problem. Too soft.”

Boom didn’t flinch. “So you finally started listening to the street rats.”

“And you’re not denying it.”

Boom straightened, moving slowly, exhaling. “What do you want me to say? That the Triad is happy letting some Thai idealist run part of their empire like a community service project?”

Smart’s laugh was bitter, humourless, accusatory. “So I’m a fucking joke to them. And to you.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Smart closed the distance, their chests nearly brushing. The air between them sizzled.

“You told me from the beginning I was replaceable,” Smart said, voice quieter now, but shaking. “That one wrong move and you’d find someone else. I was a fucking fool to think otherwise.”

He hated himself for how much he still wanted this man. How much of his own pride he’d swallowed, letting Boom pull him back in time and time again. He knew Boom was dangerous. Seductive. Manipulative. 

And he was being manipulated time and again. 

But somewhere along the line, the danger stopped mattering. The manipulation blurred. He wanted more. Wanted something real with this Chinese triad prince who kept slipping through his fingers. Something he himself couldn’t name.

Boom’s stare didn’t waver. But something behind it cracked. His voice dropped, sharp and icy.

“You think I haven’t put myself on the line for you?” he hissed. “You think those girls just disappeared from your turf because the wind changed? I told them you didn’t want underage girls running through your blocks. And I made sure they listened. You know what that cost me?”

Smart blinked. That detail, he hadn’t known. He thought Boom always held the cards. He hadn’t realized Boom had played any for him.

Boom kept going, jaw set hard. “My rival in the Triad’s been circling like a dog in heat, waiting for me to slip. He’s already whispering to the higher-ups, saying I’ve gone soft for some pretty Thai boy with street tattoos and a saviour complex.”

A soft spot . 

Boom hated that phrase, but the truth of it clung to him like blood on silk. He’s made a thousand calculated moves to keep Smart close - seduction, leverage, sex - but none of it explained the tightness in his chest now. None of it explained why he hadn’t let go.

Smart’s mouth twisted into something between a laugh and a curse. “Then why keep me around?”

Boom stepped in, hands gripping Smart’s collar. Not rough…not yet. Just close enough to feel the heat under Smart’s skin.

“Because you’re soft,” Boom said. “And maybe because I like you.”

He didn’t know he was going to say it until it was already out. And once it was, it hung there between them, too honest, too bare. It sounded stupid in the open air. But also right.

Smart didn’t move. His throat worked around something unsaid.

“You’re a bastard,” he muttered.

Boom’s face flushed against his will. “Takes one to know one.”

For a moment, everything hung in balance. The fists. The sex that felt like war. All of it teetering.

Then, finally, Smart’s hand came up, slowly, like touching something that could burn him, and curled around Boom’s wrist.

“For once… can we not touch each other in anger? Not to prove who’s in control?”

Boom didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Something in his chest was breaking open and he didn’t know what to do with the unfamiliar emotion that poured out. So he just stood there. Let it happen.

Smart’s arms slid around his waist, pulling him close. Not rough, not desperate but solid. Warm.

Boom’s head dropped slightly, his tension bleeding out all at once, like someone had defused a grenade he didn’t know he’d been holding. He leaned into the embrace, his fingers brushing over Smart’s hand, lacing them together without a word.

And then he tilted his head, just enough that their foreheads touched.

It was barely anything, barely contact, but it made Smart exhale like he’d been holding his breath for years. This wasn’t power. This wasn’t strategy. It was just them .

Their lips met with the slow dance of people who knew how to hurt each other, but didn’t want to anymore.

There was no fight this time. No teeth. No scrambling for control. Just fingers tugging at shirts, hands spreading over scars and tattoos, bodies pressing together like they were relearning what softness meant.

Boom’s back hit the wall with a quiet thud. Smart’s mouth was on his jaw, then his neck, tracing old territory but with something new under his touch, like he was memorizing, not claiming.

He’s still trying to save me, Boom thought, dizzy from the gentle way Smart kissed him.

Clothes came off in pieces, like neither of them wanted to rush. They weren’t good at this part, never had been, but tonight they tried. And maybe that’s what made it different.

When Smart pushed Boom back onto the bed, it wasn’t domination. It was need. The kind that begged to be understood. He trailed delicate butterfly kisses along the soft skin of Boom’s inner thigh as he moved upward.

Boom’s breath hitched when Smart looked up at him, eyes burning with something deeper than lust. He was on his knees between Boom’s legs, forearms resting on the mattress, face close enough that Boom could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over sensitive skin.

It felt like they were seeing each other for the first time.  

Smart’s hands moved slowly, tracing the lines of Boom’s hips like he was learning them by memory. His gaze didn’t waver, and neither did Boom’s, caught in the kind of silence that doesn’t ask for words.

Then Smart leaned in, pressing a kiss just above Boom’s navel softly, deliberately. Boom’s fingers curled into the sheets, a quiet gasp slipping from his lips.

They moved together, not against. Every touch a hidden confession. Every kiss an unspoken apology. Every gasp a sinful truth they hadn’t dared speak aloud.

When Smart entered him, Boom gasped. Not because it was rough. 

But because Smart was so careful. 

Smart held the back of Boom’s neck, his other hand on his hip, as he rocked into him gently. Looking into his eyes all the while.

They had had sex many times before; rushed, rough, urgent. The way men like them did everything: with too much heat, too little softness.

But never like this.

Boom’s breath hitched as their bodies met again and again, the rhythm slow, languid. His hands gripped Smart’s arms, not to pull him closer, not to anchor him, but to feel. 

The tension in muscle. 

The steadiness of his weight. 

The quiet strength that had come when Boom hadn’t expected it.

Smart wasn’t trying to dominate him.Wasn’t trying to prove anything. He was just there , present in a way Boom didn’t know how to name, didn’t know he needed until now.

“Look at me,” Smart whispered, voice hoarse. Not a command. A plea.

Boom did. And it hurt . The way Smart looked at him, like he saw everything Boom was and wasn’t and still stayed.

Still wanted him despite the sins and bloodstains. 

Their bodies moved together, slow and slick, the air thick with the sound of skin and breath.

Boom’s legs tightened around Smart’s waist. His hands slid up to cup his jaw, thumbs brushing over cheekbones like he could memorize this, the furrow between Smart’s brows, the way his mouth trembled with restraint.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Boom whispered, breathless.

Smart didn’t answer with words.

He just kissed him, full, slow, a little desperate. Like a man kissing someone he didn’t want to lose.

Like a man who had already decided he wouldn’t.

They moved like that as the tension crested, as release swept over them in ragged, shuddering waves, not clinging, not breaking apart, but holding on.

After, Smart didn’t pull away. He stayed inside, forehead pressed to Boom’s, chests rising and falling together like they were learning how to breathe in sync.

Their hands wandered aimlessly.

Not for more..but just to stay connected .

Boom rested in the crook of Smart’s arm. He had seduced Smart. Controlled him. Taught him his body was like a map to be conquered.

But this stillness? This closeness ? It was a language he didn’t speak.

You’ve always been the one with the bleeding heart, Boom thought. But now look at me. Look at what you’re making me feel.

It scared him. More than knives. More than guns.

When he turned to face Smart, he found the younger man gazing at him. Their eyes met. No masks. No swagger. No game.

Boom’s gaze didn’t drop. And neither did Smart’s.

But both of them felt it, like a cage tightening around their lungs: this impossible, terrifying thing blooming between them.

Feelings.

Not lust. Not possession. Not rivalry.

But feelings.

Boom reached first, his fingers moving without his permission, to touch Smart’s face. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed. Like Smart might flinch. 

But he didn’t.

Boom’s voice was the first to break the silence. Barely above a murmur. “This…I don’t know what this is.”

Smart didn’t answer right away. He just looked at Boom, taking in the disheveled hair, the post-orgasmic glow of his skin, the flicker of fear Boom tried and failed to hide. Not fear of him.

Fear of this .

Of what they’d just done.

Of what it meant.

Smart’s fingers found Boom’s, slowly, carefully, like handling something volatile. He didn’t grip. He just held .

When Smart spoke, his voice was sure and steady. “This is something…real.” Then his face shifted closer, lips hovering near Boom’s, not demanding, not teasing.

Just asking.

Not sure if he was allowed this kiss. 

Their foreheads brushed.

And then finally, finally , they kissed.

Not hungry. Not cruel.

But soft. Slow.

Like the kind of kiss you don’t survive unchanged.

Their lips pressed together with a trembling ache, not because they wanted to win…

But because they didn’t know how else to stay.

And maybe they were still fools.

Still doomed, with too much blood on their hands and targets on their backs.

Still wired to self-destruct.

But in that kiss…quiet, shivering, real…they tasted something they weren’t built for.

—

Author’s notes: Silly men. They don’t even know love when they’re right in it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave me a kudos or any comments. 

Next chapter: Danger for Boom.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 10 - Blood in Water

Some weeks later.

The night air reeked of salt, rusted hooks, and old diesel. The docks were mostly deserted, fishing boats idling in dark water like sleeping beasts. Boom’s boots echoed against the warped wood as he moved, eyes sharp, hands empty. The mainland intermediaries were late.

Something was off.

He didn’t flinch when a gull screamed overhead. But he did flinch when the first bullet punched into the crate beside him.

“Fucking hell-” Boom dove behind cover just as the crack of suppressed rifles tore through the stillness. Shadows moved along the dock. Four, five, maybe six men. One of them shouted in Cantonese.

Hong Kong guys. 

Cheng Kai.

Boom gritted his teeth. So it’s not business tonight. It’s a purge.

Gunfire erupted in sharp, controlled bursts. Boom returned fire with smooth, brutal precision, dropping one of Kai’s men with a shot to the throat. But they had numbers. Too many. And they were driving him toward the end of the pier.

A sharp pain bloomed in his chest like a punch made of fire. He staggered back behind a crate, fingers slick and wet. Fuck. Fuck. Upper chest. Deep. His breath rasped like broken glass. His lung had collapsed. He could feel it - tight, wet, wrong.

Still, he kept moving. Ducking, shooting, bleeding.

He wasn’t going to die in a fish-stinking alleyway.

—

Elsewhere in Bangkok, 11:34 PM

Smart’s phone buzzed with an encrypted message. Just coordinates. No name.

But he knew that string of digits. One of Boom’s burner channels.

He didn’t hesitate. Grabbed his gun. Called in a favour with a guy who owed him eyes on police scanners. He’d always suspected Boom kept backup ears in weird places.

Fifteen minutes later, Smart was barreling down the highway, heart hammering harder than the engine. The dock district glowed ahead, orange and black and deadly.

—

Back at the dock

Boom was on his knees, hand pressed to his wound which wouldn’t stop bleeding. Breathing was almost impossible now. There was blood in his mouth. He was slumped behind a rusted winch, barely conscious, but he heard the roar of an engine…then gunfire not aimed at him.

A familiar voice shouted.

“BOOM!”

Smart.

Boom didn’t know if it was relief or delirium from blood loss, but he managed a bitter smile. Stupid bastard came.

Smart moved like a demon, clean, fast, ruthless. Took out two shooters with double taps. Covered the last thirty feet to Boom in seconds.

“Jesus Christ…” Smart’s hands went to Boom’s chest, trying to stanch the bleeding. “You’re shot. You’re fucking shot in the chest.”

“No shit,” Boom rasped, voice slurred with an odd wet quality. “They teach you that in Boy Scouts?”

“Shut up. Fuck! This is bad. We need to get you to a hospital.”

Boom coughed, blood flecking his lips. “No hospital.”

“You’re kidding…”

“I said no fucking hospital,” Boom growled, wincing in pain . “Safehouse. Two klicks west. Warehouse 19. Back entrance. Code’s 4817.”

Smart didn’t argue. He lifted Boom in his arms, shoved him into the car, and drove like the devil was clawing at their bumper.

—

Boom’s Safehouse – Warehouse 19

Smart kicked the back entrance open with his shoulder, Boom slumped half-conscious in his arms. The warehouse loomed dark and cavernous, but the interior was colder, sterile, fortified. Not what it seemed from the outside.

Smart laid him on a metal table, breathing hard. Then he saw it, really saw it.

The front of Boom’s shirt was soaked through in blood. Not a drop. Not a patch. A flood . A haemorrhage .

Smart’s chest constricted. Fuck. Fuck. That’s too much. That’s too much blood.

His fingers hovered above Boom’s chest, useless. Shit, where is it coming from? Is it arterial? Did it hit the lung? It did, you idiot, he told you…

Boom gasped and twitched, and Smart’s panic rose to a fever pitch.

You’re losing him.

He tried to bark a laugh but it sounded like a sob. “You fucking bastard. I didn’t get you out of that ambush just to watch you bleed out on a fucking table.”

Boom’s lips moved. A rasp. “Med kit. Red box. Weapons locker.”

Smart found it, yanked it open. Inside were IV bags, morphine, a large-bore needle, a scalpel, gauze, and, thank God, a chest decompression kit. Not that Smart had any idea what to do with it. 

“They’re on their way,” Smart said. “The medic. He’ll be here in ten.”

“By then I’ll be a cold dead fish,” Boom muttered flatly.

“Don’t say that.”

“Shut up and listen.”

He coughed again, wheezing. “You need to decompress the chest. Large bore cannula….orange one. Second intercostal space, midclavicular line.” He pointed to the spot between his upper ribs. 

Smart froze. “Boom…”

Boom grabbed his wrist, eyes locked on his. “Do it. Or I die.”

Smart was kneeling beside Boom again before he could think. His breath was ragged. His heart was smashing against his ribs. All he could think about was how he couldn’t lose Boom like this. 

If you die, you fucking piece of shit… if you die, I don’t know what I’ll do.

When he removed Boom’s shirt, it was drenched through. 

Boom’s voice cracked. “Between the second and third ribs. Don’t hesitate.”

Smart’s shaky hand hovered over Boom’s bare, bloody chest.

And then…he saw him.

Not the calm, untouchable Triad prince. Not the seductive manipulator with a gun and a smirk.

Just a man. Pale. Desperate. Trusting him with his life.

Smart blinked hard. Steadied his hand. Then slid the needle in. Smooth. Controlled. He didn’t even feel his own breath until the pressure hissed out and Boom took in a shaky, deeper gasp.

Relief hit Smart like a bullet. He sat back, hands shaking. Warm blood coated his palms. His shirt. Everything.

He didn’t realize he was whispering until he heard the words come out:

“Don’t die on me. Please.”

Boom's fingers twitched against his wrist. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Smart almost laughed. It came out broken.

“You don’t get to joke. You’re still bleeding.”

Boom’s voice was weak, but steadying. “Tell your medic to bring blood. A neg. Safe’s behind the wall panel. Ammo crate. You’ll find type-match pints in deep freeze.”

Smart looked at him. “Jesus Christ. You really do prep for everything.”

“Occupational hazard,” Boom muttered. “Planning for betrayal and bullet holes.”

Smart’s throat tightened. He pressed gauze against the wound and leaned over, just close enough to breathe the same air.

“You’re not allowed to leave me, Boom.”

Boom didn’t answer right away. Then his fingers closed around Smart’s wrist again, weaker now, but still there.

“Not planning to.”

And Smart stayed there, frozen in place, with Boom’s blood all over his hands, and a fear in his chest more brutal than any knife wound he'd ever taken. Because losing Boom didn’t feel like losing an ally.

It felt like losing the only person who had ever truly seen him.

-

End of Chapter 10

Author's notes: Sorry for the short chapter - action scenes are my Achilles heel💀 I promise I'll try to do better next time!

Next chapter: They're not safe yet. Boom is not safe yet.