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⛓️
The sweetness of the gum in Jimin’s mouth is long gone, leaving a rubber tang mixing with his saliva, but he’d rather chew it into nothing than spit it out and have Byungchul try to kiss him again. The man’s hand has been progressively creeping higher and tighter up his thigh as liquor loosened him up, and Jimin may be used to fucking him, but he still can’t handle the cigars on the man’s breath.
It’s already been a half hour of this and Jimin is bored—so bored, he actually thinks he’d rather be on a pole instead, never mind that it’s tiring work. At least there his spectators give him money, not just send him sneers because they’re mad they can’t have him. But it’s Byungchul’s club and Byungchul decides which toys are his alone.
It almost makes Jimin roll his eyes. He’s sure these guys can have their pick of the whores in the club, they just want Jimin because it makes them butthurt he’s off-limits.
Normally Jimin would be happy for a chance to eavesdrop at a meeting like this—though, is it eavesdropping just because they think he’s too dumb to understand?—but these men are talking so much and saying so little it’s almost impressive. It’s nothing but Byungchul’s chance to show off his club and his pets.
Byungchul better be lifting a hefty sum from Jimin’s debt just for sitting here and dealing with it.
He finds himself watching the dancers, the way they sway to the music, stick out their chests and asses, slide the fabric down their skin. They’re well trained—talented, even. For any regular spectator, the show would be arousing, but every time Jimin begins to get lost in the haze, some ugly thought snaps him back: She doesn’t want to be there. He looks underage. Is that one sexier than me? I can’t even do that move . . .
He pushes his ass back against Byungchul’s groin with a sigh, hoping it’ll make him hurry the hell up. The man’s large hand tightens on the inside of Jimin’s thigh, but he can’t tell if it’s a sign of impatience or a warning, so he decides to quit just in case. Not a good idea to make Byungchul mad right now.
Jimin does notice one of the other men slide hungry eyes down Jimin’s body, though, and settles for entertaining himself by teasing him until he can see a tent forming in his tailored dress pants.
Jimin mentally pats himself on the head as the guy squirms uncomfortably.
Jimin counts two songs changing before a figure stumbles into the private section, looking so out of place Jimin wonders if he’d inhaled some drug at some point and started hallucinating. One never knows, with all the cocaine in this place.
The boy’s T-shirt and sweatpants look big enough to swallow him, but Jimin can tell he’s broad underneath them. His brown hair is fluffy around his head, and his eyes are so big that even in the dim lighting of the club, Jimin notices how shiny they are.
Did some college kid mistake this for an Internet cafe? He almost says something similar out loud—and thank the lord he doesn’t, because Byungchul speaks first. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, I’m late.”
“Who is this?” one of the men asks, eyes flickering towards Byungchul nervously, maybe worried he’s in trouble. The kid is broad.
Jimin smacks his gum.
Byungchul seems nervous, too, from the way his knuckles are whitening on Jimin’s knee. It hurts, so he shifts a bit, accidentally rubbing against his crotch, and Byungchul hisses as if he’d burnt him.
“I’m his son,” the kid says, and Jimin finds the situation so hilarious, he nearly chokes trying to hold in his laughter. “Jungkook.” He holds out a hand to the man that spoke, who shakes it, a bit surprised.
“I didn’t know Byungchul had a son.”
Just wait until you hear about his wife, Jimin thinks.
“He’s been studying abroad.” Byungchul is suddenly more collected.
“I’m back for spring break,” Jungkook says, taking a seat across from Byungchul and, consequently, Jimin. He can make him out better now, can observe the roundness of those eyes and cheeks, the way they puff out when he places a sushi roll in his mouth. God, there’s no way this kid knows the shit his daddy’s up to.
Jungkook keeps throwing pointed glances at Jimin, but doesn’t seem shocked by the fact that his father is a cheater, nor that he fucks people his son’s age.
Jimin lays back against Byungchul’s chest and watches him through hooded eyes, licking his lips, and the kid blushes. Just what made him walk in and disturb his father’s meeting like this?
“Your security is lousy,” Jungkook answers when Byungchul asks. “They didn’t even try to confirm who I was. I set them straight, don’t worry.” He practically hides from Jimin’s gaze when he catches him looking.
Byungchul shudders under him, and sure, if Jimin was a mafia boss with thousands of enemies, he’d probably be worried about security too.
The meeting doesn’t take much longer—it was only a confirmation of a deal and some bribes anyway, and Jungkook’s appearance seems to make Byungchul want to cut it short.
The kid sits quietly in the corner, avoiding glancing toward the dancers, and Jimin sees a gate of opportunity open in front of him.
Jungkook is soft and naïve, and so easy to mold, Jimin can’t believe fate would smile upon him this way. Maybe it finally decided Jimin has had enough suffering in this dumbass club.
It won’t take long to slither into this boy’s mind, a few sweet words, some seeds of doubt planted in his mind—his father obviously isn’t a family man—and he’s good as a marionette.
Jimin is sure Jungkook is the only child, so there’s no doubt he’s the sole inheritor. He’d only heard Byungchul speak of him a few times, in moments of drunken weakness that would be pathetic had he not had the thread of Jimin’s fate wrapped around his fist. God, and Jungkook . . . he said, cigar smoke swirling through the air, up off the balcony. What am I supposed to do with him?
Jimin keeps close tabs on the things he says when he’s vulnerable, because those are the only times he actually makes progress with where he is. Byungchul is too guarded, too hard—as expected from someone who’d survived in this line of work for so long, but it doesn’t exactly work in Jimin’s favor. It had taken Jimin years to crack him down, and even now he’s only in the position of favorite prostitute, nothing more. Sure, it’s better than any of his colleagues have, but it’s not enough. With Byungchul’s son, though, he could be a lot more . . .
Jimin stretches his arms above his head when Byungchul nudges him to get up, knowing it’ll make his crop top ride all the way up to his chest. He sneaks a glance toward Jungkook, heart quickening when he catches the boy’s gaze lingering.
“I’m too tired to dance again,” Jimin groans, smirking when Byungchul wraps an arm around his waist, hand sliding under his shirt.
“You’re not dancing tonight, kitten, don’t worry.”
⛓️
There’s nothing Jimin can do to stop Byungchul from kissing down his neck, so he just lets him, clutching the bedsheets like a lifeline. It’s funny, and Jimin can’t for the life of him understand why he’s completely fine with giving blowjobs, being thrown, groped, fucked, but saliva is where he draws the line.
“Have you been misbehaving, Jimin?”
He swallows, nervousness creeping up his guts. Byungchul never uses his real name unless he means business. “What, sir?” he asks in as sweet of a tone as he can manage.
One second Byungchul’s hands are on his hips, the next they’re around Jimin’s throat, cutting off his air supply. His own hands fly up to try to dismantle them, but it’s no use. Despite the years of honing his upper body strength to hold himself up on a pole, Byungchul is big. Runs in the family, apparently.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Jimin tries to shake his head. Play good, play good. He blames that damn boy for distracting him and keeping him from realizing Byungchul is angry. He’s usually good at judging the man’s emotions.
“How much did you tell them?” Byungchul sneers. “Wave some money in your face and you’re babbling like crazy, huh? Or was his dick just that good, you slut?”
The money part is ironic coming from Byungchul, considering he’s the reason Jimin would be desperate for it at all, but that’s not what gets him. Dread crashes down on him so fast, he swears he can hear it make way past his ears. Byungchul’s hands loosen enough for him to drink in some air, coughing as his eyes tear up. “I—I don’t know what you—“
“Don’t play pretend now, kitten. You may be dumb, but not that dumb.”
Jimin clenches his teeth. He was top of his class before his parents fucked off to god-knows-where and left him with debt up to his neck, but it’s not like Byungchul would know that. Not the school part, anyway. “Sir, really—please, I didn’t do anything.”
“Kim Hwangbon. You told him I was planning to get rid of him, and now he’s gone with my product and my money.”
Jimin throws his hands up, eyes widening in horror. “I would never! Please, what would I have to gain from that? He can’t give me anything you’re not already.”
Byungchul sneers, about to say more, but Jimin interrupts before he can gauge his sincerity. “Who told you that? Was it one of the whores? They’ve been trying to get rid of me for years, but when have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?” He must look so desperate—eyeshadow smeared around his wide eyes, pink hair washed-out and wild around his head, half-dressed and trembling. Harmless, harmless.
He catches a flicker of doubt on Byungchul’s face, and feels relieved enough to press up against him, reaching down to stroke his crotch.
“You better not be lying,” Byungchul whispers in his ear, making him shiver. “You know what I’d do to you if you are.”
Jimin knows all too well, so he distracts him.
Of course he told Kim Hwangbon. Not because he had any care for that sleazy asshole who’s often just as bad as Byungchul, but because he wanted things to start going wrong, and then Jimin would have all the information on how to fix them, because he’d gotten it from Kim Hwangbon himself.
Men let their guard down when they’re having sex with someone, it’s like they think they’re on top of the world. Hell, Jimin could tell Byungchul about Hwangbon’s one-way ticket to his grandfather’s house in Italy right now, if that wouldn’t just give him away.
He knows the other club workers don’t like him, but he doesn’t think they’d go as far as to stalk him. They’re jealous—and Jimin can’t blame them, even if he himself thinks there isn’t much to be jealous of—but he doubts they’d kill him just to take his place. And he still doesn’t understand how they managed to find out.
Jimin had been so careful—so who the fuck ratted him out?
⛓️
He swishes mouthwash around in his mouth until the tang is gone, thankful Byungchul was stressed enough for a blowjob to knock him out.
Jimin thinks of the son again, and tries to recall the times Byungchul had spoken of him.
What am I supposed to do with him? I can’t keep him here—it’ll cause so much trouble. God, why did I get him that fucking dog?
When Jimin exits to the suite, hair damp from his shower, he’s surprised to see the light to the kitchenette on. Byungchul is still sleeping in the bedroom, so that’s more than a bit creepy.
Jimin cranes his neck to see around the cabinet, sighing in relief when he makes out Byungchul’s son in the dim lighting. Jungkook.
“What are you still doing here?” Jimin whispers. And how long had he been here, while Jimin was sucking off his father in the next room? Jimin assumed he’d have left, even though the other men probably stayed, took some whores to bed.
Jungkook is leaning against the counter, an open packet of chips in his hand. “I saw a motorcycle in the back parking lot. The one customers don’t use. Is it yours?”
Jimin blinks. “Uh, yeah, that’s mine. How did you know?”
Jungkook shrugs. “Gut feeling.” He drags his gaze down Jimin’s body—only draped in Byungchul’s loose button-up. “You done with my dad?”
Jimin snorts, using his palms to lift himself on the counter, fighting his grin when Jungkook flushes at the sight of his bare thighs. “For the night, yeah. Why, you want a ride on my bike?” Jimin reaches into the chips packet and munches on a piece, clearly meaning it as an innuendo, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to catch it.
“You would, really?” he says, pushing himself off the counter. “Geez, you’re so cool. Let’s go, then.”
Jimin is really baffled for a moment, but it quickly turns to fondness. Jungkook acts so normal. Jimin missed it. He shakes it off, because that’s not a very useful emotion in his position, but he’d be a fool to let the opportunity pass by. “Let me get dressed, okay?” he says, hopping down from the counter. “But your daddy can’t find out.”
⛓️
Sleek black covering that shines in the city lights, leather seat and handles, engine that purrs to life with a pretty murmuring sound—the motorcycle is the best thing Jimin managed to get out of this whole thing with Byungchul. For now, hopefully.
Jungkook’s doe eyes somehow manage to get wider as he runs the tip of a finger down the side of the seat.
“Nice, right?” Jimin says, leaning his hip on the bike.
“So cool. I always wanted one, but Dad keeps me too busy, sending me to study in different places before I can really think about these things, you know?”
Jimin tilts his head, curious. “Why? He thinks you’re not ready for the real work?” he teases, nudging him with his hip.
Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t really mind. I like to have fun, and it’s easy to avoid a mess if I don’t stay in one place for too long.”
That makes sense, but what surprises Jimin is that Byungchul actually cares to keep his son out of danger. Is that why he was so nervous when Jungkook showed up? He thinks he’s too soft for this kind of life?
“Alright baby, let me show you some real fun,” Jimin says, lowering his helmet over his head. Jungkook looks amused at the cat ears, and Jimin snorts swinging a leg over the seat. “Your daddy’s got a sense of humor when he wants to. Hold on tighter, I don’t scratch.” He makes himself snort at that. “Well, not unless your dick is real good. But really, I don’t want you flying off.”
Jungkook’s hands are surprisingly firm on his waist, body warm as he drapes himself over Jimin’s back. Through the material of their clothes, Jimin feels the hardness of his stomach. He really is broad.
As he starts the engine, Jimin finds himself hoping the vibration of the engine along with their proximity turns Jungkook on, and not just because that would serve his goal.
Jungkook is hard not to like, and they only met a few hours ago. Jimin hasn’t had a ‘crush’ since he was a teenager, but he thinks if he’d known Jungkook then, he’d be head-over-heels for him.
The wind rushing past him is always exhilarating, but feeling someone’s warmth against him like this sure is new. He pushes his ass back into Jungkook’s body until he can feel his bulge, smirking at the way the fingers on his waist tighten just a bit.
When they stop at a red light, Jimin lays a palm over one of Jungkook’s hands, sliding it down to his thigh. He’s surprised to see tattoos on the knuckles, letters that don’t seem to spell out anything. They bring attention to his long, elegant fingers. Jimin snorts at the implication of his own thought.
He takes them to a quiet spot on the top of a hill that overlooks half the city, but as they lean on the bike, Jungkook is watching him instead of the view.
Which is good, because Jimin didn’t get all dressed up for a mere glance. His leather pants hug every curve of his thighs, hips, and ass, the corset-like belt cinching his waist and making his hips look more luscious.
Jimin sucks his lollipop in what initially started as a purposefully obscene act but quickly subsided into plain sugar indulgence. Jungkook doesn’t seem to need any more seduction, not with the way he’s already watching him—head low, barely blinking, like he’s mentally taking note of every detail, from the curves of Jimin’s cheekbones to his calves. It’s almost creepy, but maybe that’s just what romantic interest looks like when it’s not plain lust. The thought makes him want to giggle.
“So, what made you come to Ecstasy tonight?” Jimin asks, legs swinging as he sits sideways on the bike. “Missed daddy that much?”
Jungkook’s gaze slides over him in that strange way—not like he’s checking him out, but as if he’s sizing him up, evaluating him. “You’re interesting, Jimin.”
For a moment, Jimin is thrown back by the fact that he knows his real name. Then, he laughs. “Interesting? I hope so.” Seduction comes off flat without something to pique the object’s curiosity.
“Hmm.” Jungkook looks at the sky like he’s thinking about how to word what he wants to say. “I’m a person who gets bored easily. But with you, I can’t ever fully grasp you.”
“Really?” Jimin sucks the sugar off his teeth. “I’m really easy to figure out. I want the same things everyone wants.” Money, power, good dick on the side.
Jungkook shrugs. “Maybe, but . . . “ His eyes linger beneath Jimin’s, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s looking at his throat. It’s been a few hours—the bruise must be starting to show already.
For a moment, Jimin thinks he can use this to hurry the situation along. Yes, your dad hits me, isn’t he awful? Wouldn’t you help this poor kitten and kill him for me? Then put me on your will, maybe your life insurance, as well. That would work if there was actual pity or concern in Jungkook’s eyes, and not chilling darkness, those round eyes nothing but swirling black holes.
Jimin fights a shudder, squeezing his hands into fists to stop them from coming up to cover his neck.
“You’re so pretty,” Jungkook breathes, and Jimin sighs in relief. He can go from here.
“Yeah?” Jimin says, expression innocent as he scoots closer until he’s pressed flush against Jungkook’s side. “Because I’ve been trying to keep my hands off you this whole time.” He’s surprised to find that it’s the truth, too. There’s something so irresistible in the way he holds himself, like he has no need to pretend or inflate himself.
Jimin strokes his neck, twirls a strand of his soft hair around his finger. “Baby, you can’t just say that and go silent. Come on, you have such a nice voice.”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, lashes brushing his soft cheeks as his pink lips quirk up. Oh, fate was kind to him all right, giving him that angelic face.
“Jimin,” he breathes with a dazed smile.
“Ah, aren’t you gorgeous?” Jimin sighs, mouthing along his cheek. His skin is soft as clouds. “Can’t believe your father kept you from me for so long. Bet he knew I’d like you better.”
That brings a smirk to Jungkook’s lips, and Jimin inwardly mirrors the smugness. So he was right—there is some sort of tension between the mafia boss and his son.
“He’s always been—“ Jungkook cuts off when he feels Jimin palm his bulge, and it makes Jimin wish he hadn’t. Thankfully, Jungkook continues. “—been scared of me.”
Jimin tilts his head. “Yeah? Because of what you know?”
“Because of what I do. Fuck—yes.” He pushes into Jimin’s palm, hard as a rock.
That didn’t take much, Jimin muses.
He strokes over the sizable bulge in Jungkook’s sweatpants, the material making the glide easy. Jimin shifts on the bike so that he’s sitting right behind him, Jungkook standing between his spread legs.
This makes it easy to reach inside his waistband and give his cock a proper, thorough stroke. Jungkook groans and lets his head fall on Jimin’s shoulder, one hand coming up to fist the hair on Jimin’s nape, harsher than he would have expected from him, the sting sending thrilling waves down to his toes.
But that doesn’t deter him from his goal.
Jungkook is so responsive with his little gasps and moans, and Jimin knows what fake pleasure sounds like, but Jungkook seems entirely lost in what Jimin is doing to him, more, Jimin might even say, than anyone ever has been. And this is just a simple handjob.
Jungkook’s cock is heavy and slick in Jimin’s palm, so thick Jimin can’t get the tips of his fingers to touch around it. That’s enough to get him hot himself, and Jimin’s no stranger to getting aroused during something he sees as a job or even dreads doing, but he never gets hot and bothered enough to get distracted. No, he may beg for daddy’s cock, but that’s all on a clear head, despite what Byungchul would like to believe.
Now, though, he finds himself getting hard against Jungkook’s muscular back, the scent of the sweat on his neck driving him crazy, the squelching sounds his hand makes echoing inside his head. He wants Jungkook to fuck him right now on his own bike, to have that thick cock ramming inside him as it does into his fist. He doesn’t even care that Jungkook may not be as rough as he’d like, he’d take anything—
Jimin takes a deep breath, squeezing the base of Jungkook’s cock.
The boy inhales sharply. “Ah, Jimin—“
He loosens his grip, sliding up to finger at his slit in a half-assed apology. He needs to focus. Fuck, just how long has he been getting fucked by old men to be this worked up over the first willing person his age?
He can’t fuck Jungkook now, he reminds his own throbbing cock. Jimin can’t give him what he wants this quickly. Jungkook himself said it—he gets bored easily. If he lets Jungkook inside him now, he’ll have no reason to come back.
Jimin wants him begging and groveling at his feet before he lets him fuck him. That’s how a good pet is trained, and Jimin is thorough.
“Ah—“
“Close, baby?” Jimin murmurs into his ear. “You’re so cute.”
He contemplates calling him a good boy, the words already on the tip of his tongue, but the last thing he needs is to scare him off by making him realize he’s submitting. Men are fragile, Jimin learned, and college boys even more so.
Jimin lets himself explore a bit more before Jungkook cums, learning the shape of his cock, gliding over the hot, slick skin to cup his big balls.
Jungkook spills with a moan, obscene amounts of hot fluid coating Jimin’s hand. He strokes him through it, Jungkook’s hot breaths heavy on his neck as he continues to roll his hips lazily into Jimin’s hand.
“Hmm, thank you, kitty,” he murmurs into Jimin’s skin, as if Jimin had been carrying out his request or something. Before he can dwell on it, he feels wetness on his neck and freezes. Strangely, he feels no urge to jerk away like he usually does. He just lets Jungkook trail lazy kisses around his neck, sucking—
Oh, he can’t have that. Jimin almost pulls away then, but quickly realizes Jungkook is keeping the sucking to the spots over the bruises. He sighs in relief, thinking of the next time he’ll see Byungchul, how he’ll have no idea Jimin’s neck has his son’s claim on it.
Jungkook whimpers, and that’s when Jimin realizes he’s still stroking his soft cock. He lets go with a last teasing tug, Jungkook’s breath hitching.
They lean their weight on each other for a few moments, watching the city lights.
“You know,” Jungkook says, suddenly serious, “I have a dog.”
Jimin blinks. “Cool? What’s his name?”
“Bam. A Doberman. Not sure if you’ll get along, kitty,” he sounds half-asleep.
Jimin laughs. “I’m not an actual cat, baby. And I’m great with animals.”
“Hmm, good.” Then, “My dad hates him. He tried to get him put down once.”
The pain in Jungkook’s voice makes sympathy throb in Jimin’s chest, and he places a kiss behind his ear. “Then it’s about time you teach him a lesson, right?” Jimin murmurs in his ear, pressing another kiss next to it. “Come see me dance on Friday. It’ll be fun.”
⛓️
Not here yet. Not here yet.
Jimin fights the urge to groan in frustration like a kid as he observes the upside-down club, dropping down the pole and squeezing his thighs on the metal right before his head hits the ground. That might have been more cool than it was sexy, but he doesn’t much care right now.
There he is.
Jungkook’s smile is wide as he gives him an amazed clap, like this is a dance competition, not a strip show.
Fuck, that’s cute.
He’s wearing a dark turtleneck that does a better job showing off the muscles of his chest and arms than the large T-shirt had.
Jimin takes the chance to show off, focusing more on his dancing abilities than the actual stripping, but it seems to have more of an effect on Jungkook anyways. And as long as Jimin ends up in shorts that barely cover his ass in the end, the other customers won’t have reason to complain.
Jimin still finds himself getting turned on just by knowing Jungkook is watching him. He meets his eyes as he grinds into the pole, growing hot as he feels it graze his dick.
Jungkook’s gaze has that strange darkness again, one that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with arousal. Maybe it’s just the dim lighting.
When the song ends, Jimin leaves the money on the ground and steps off the stage. It’s not like it’ll go to him anyways.
He makes to stalk towards Jungkook, but Byungchul beckons him over, so Jimin feigns an apologetic look and goes to him instead, perching next to the man and nuzzling into his side like Byungchul wants him to. He loves flaunting his possessions in others’ faces.
“A bit flushed, aren’t you?” Byungchul asks him, pressing a cool hand to his cheek.
“Hard routine.”
“Yes, I saw.” He sounds somewhere between proud and annoyed, and Jimin doesn’t bother trying to figure it out. He takes the bottled water gratefully, knowing they’re gawking at him as he pours it down his throat, liquid escaping around the rim of his mouth and trickling down his body. His nipples harden from the coldness of it, and Jungkook’s dark eyes are still on his mind. The leather of the couch is wet from his own sweat under him, making his skin slide over it. He crosses his legs, but it doesn’t do much to hide the erection in his shorts, and only jostles the plug inside him.
Come on, Jungkookie. Don’t you want me? Come on.
“Hi, kitty.” The familiar voice tickles his ear.
The way Jimin jumps is not feigned. “J—“
“Jungkook?” Byungchul exclaims, pulling Jimin into his side like it’ll keep Jungkook away. “I thought you were busy with Kim.” His fist is tight around Jimin’s wrist—tight enough to bruise—but he doesn’t seem aware of it.
Jungkook pouts—pouts. “I’ll get back to him. It’s no fun alone. And anyway, I want Jimin to meet Bam.” He reaches for Jimin’s free hand, pulling him to stand, but Byungchul just holds on tighter, making Jimin wince.
“No the fuck you aren’t,” he says, voice trembling—with rage? Of course, Jimin counted on him being possessive, but he never lost control over something like this before. He never lost control at all.
Jungkook frowns, looking taken aback as he lets Jimin’s hand drop.
Byungchul stands, moving Jimin behind himself. “Not him. He’s off limits, got that? He’s not getting anywhere near that rabid animal. Fuck, haven’t you got enough playthings?”
Jimin thinks that’s ironic coming from him, but he can’t say he’s not a little flattered. He had no idea Byungchul cared this much about him—maybe Jimin’s got a chance with him after all? But Jungkook is easier.
All semblance of softness disappears from Jungkook’s face in a flash. “They’re not Jimin. I want him.”
Jimin shivers at the coldness in his tone.
“Jungkook,” Byungchul starts, sounding like he’s trying to keep himself together. “I treat you well, don’t I? I give you the best I can get, provide you the best education, a big allowance. I let you indulge in your . . . fun.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes at the hold Byungchul still has on Jimin’s wrist. “But just as long as I don’t step on your toes, right?”
Byungchul’s teeth click as he clenches his jaw.
Jungkook approaches like a wolf, those dark eyes searing into Jimin’s soul. He holds out his palm, glancing at his father like he’s expecting him to put something into it. With a start, Jimin realizes he’s waiting for his own hand.
“Jungkook, listen.”
“It’s been too long. Bam probably misses me.”
Byungchul’s fist trembles on Jimin’s wrist as he slowly places it into Jungkook’s hand.
Jimin feels a bit as if his leash has just been passed to a new owner. Fuck, this isn’t what he’d counted on at all. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined Jungkook winning over his father tonight. He’d just wanted to make him resentful, not do . . . whatever the hell this is.
Jungkook smiles at him, squeezing his hand before leading him through the club. “Hang in there, Dad,” he calls out, in typical college kid fashion. “I like him a lot, I won’t break him.”
Jimin wonders what the hell he’d gotten himself into. What reason would Byungchul have for letting Jungkook have him? The obvious answer would be that it would simply make no difference to him, but that was obviously not the case with that argument they had.
“Where are we going?” Jimin asks once they’re in Jungkook’s sleek black Bugatti. With the way Jungkook usually presents himself, it‘s easy to forget how rich his family is.
“To my house. Like I said, I want you to meet Bam. He’s a smart boy, I know he’ll love you.”
Aren’t we moving too quickly? Shouldn’t there be dinner first? But it’s not like Jimin is against that. Or, that’s what he would’ve thought an hour ago.
“I got something for you.” Jungkook reaches to the back and grabs a bundle of fabric to hand to Jimin. It’s a long, black trench coat with a shiny branded belt that would cinch his waist nicely.
“Thank you—“
“Oh, that’s not the main present. That’s just because it’s cold,” he says, eyeing Jimin’s near-naked body.
Jimin snorts, suddenly feeling more at ease again. Could it be he’d been dramatic with his reaction at the club?
But his wrist still throbs.
Jungkook pulls up to a gated driveway, typing in a passcode to the ‘house’—a mansion with a fountain yard lit up with garden lights, and about a hundred windows.
Yeah, Jimin thinks, all this is gonna be mine.
He steps out of the car with nothing under his brand-new coat but a pair of tiny shorts and stilettos that aren’t actually meant to be walked in. He hopes he can kick them off as soon as they’re inside.
“Where’s the puppy?” Jimin muses. “He doesn’t greet you?”
“He does, he’s just busy. He missed me a lot while I was gone.”
“I bet.”
Rather than leading him into the house like Jimin expected, Jungkook takes him by the hand and pulls him around to the backyard. There are no lanterns on this side, which Jimin finds strange, but he can still make out the shapes. It’s a huge yard—multiple football fields huge—the bushes trimmed into neat shapes, some towering way over Jimin. Like a labyrinth, Jimin realizes.
“You leading me on a hike?” Jimin says, only half joking. “Because I don’t really walk in these shoes, you know.”
Jungkook throws his head back laughing and pulls him into his side, warmth against the cool night air. “Just a few more steps, princess.”
It makes warmth spread in his chest that he tries to ignore. Focus.
“We’re here.”
Jimin can now hear barking from around a bush, and when they reach it, Jimin’s heart all but drops through his chest.
The Doberman is there all right—half Jimin’s size and chained to a post next to the entrance to the bush-made corner, saliva dripping from his bared teeth, his collar studded with metal spikes. Across from the dog is a chained man, and he may be covered in a sheen of dirt and yellowing, bleeding wounds, but Jimin recognizes him immediately. Kim Hwangbon—the guy Byungchul choked Jimin over.
Strangely, his first instinct is to look toward Jungkook for reassurance. His second is to kick those damn heels off and run, but Jungkook’s arm is firm around his waist, then around his wrist when he bends down in front of the dog—which, shockingly, doesn’t bite his face off.
Instead, Bam lunges at him tongue out, licking every spot he can reach on Jungkook.
“Hey, boy. Did you miss me?” Jungkook laughs, ruffling the fur on Bam’s head, giving him small pecks. “You’ve been a good boy, haven’t you? Yes, you have. Don’t you deserve a treat?”
Kim visibly recoils at that.
“You . . . “ Jimin starts, feeling sick. “You were the one who told Byungchul about—about me and him.” He nods towards Kim, who looks half-dead, but breathing. He visibly flinches when Jungkook’s gaze lands on him.
“Of course.” Jungkook pushes himself up, trying to fight off Bam’s affectionate licks. “I didn’t know how perfect you are, then. But you managed to talk Dad out of killing you. I’ve learned a lot about you from that.” He stands and presses close to Jimin, inhaling sharply up the skin of his neck. “He gave you up so easily, Jimin,” Jungkook says, meaning Kim. “Don’t worry, he’ll get what he deserves.”
Jimin understands Byungchul’s reactions to Jungkook, now. Not anger, but fear. What am I going to do with him?
Jimin really hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire. But wouldn’t Jungkook find him anyway? He knew him before they even met.
Jimin has half a mind to start begging. Please don’t hurt me. It’s already on the tip of his tongue. But wouldn’t it make Jungkook find him boring if he reacts like everyone else? And then he’ll decide to get rid of him. Losing Jungkook’s interest seems dangerous. No, what Jimin’s been doing so far seems to have been working in his favor.
Hoping Jungkook doesn’t notice his trembling hands, he reaches up and pulls him into a searing kiss. For once, he doesn’t think about saliva. As their tongues tangle and Jungkook groans into his mouth, Jimin feels relief. Jungkook tastes nice, nothing like the tobacco Jimin is used to. And isn’t Jimin’s body too hot in a situation like this? It doesn’t seem to get the memo, his face flushing at the way Jungkook palms at his skin.
“You’re so pretty,” Jungkook murmurs between the slick sounds of their lips. “So perfect. But you can’t do that shit to me, you know? I’m not my father. I won’t kill you.”
No, that much Jimin can tell from Kim’s mangled body, he thinks with a shudder.
His own body seems to be mistaking the thrill of fear for arousal as Jungkook licks down his neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth. What the fuck is wrong with him?
“You should say hi to Bam, Jimin. He has to like you.”
It’s not an assumption, it’s a condition. If the dog decides it’s hungry for his meat, Jungkook will be happy to indulge him.
Jimin shudders. This isn’t what he’d planned. At all. Ever. “Jungkook—“
“Don’t worry, kitty. He knows your scent.”
Jimin exhales, wondering if Jungkook could be talked sense into if he spoke slowly. He inwardly snorts at himself. Right.
“All right,” Jimin says, gulping. He’s sure Jungkook can feel him inching backward into him, but that’s an instinct he can’t help. “Hey, Bam. You’re a good boy. Please, don’t eat me.”
Jungkook nudges him forward with a palm on his back, and Jimin takes a step only to stumble over a dip in the fucking grass and land face-first in front of the Doberman.
He catches himself on his palms and makes to jerk away, but a firm weight on his back stops him. Jungkook’s boot.
On my new jacket? Jimin thinks, but the dog is a more pressing concern. “Hey,” Jimin squeaks as it stares down at him, those large, large canines right in his face. “Good boy,” he croons. “Good—AH!”
Bam licks a large stripe up Jimin’s cheek, sniffing the air around him loudly, before licking him again.
Jimin fights a shudder at the wetness. Gross, gross, gross. But he’s not mauled. His pretty face is still intact.
An incredulous laugh breaks out of him as he strokes his face, and only then does he realize it’s wet with tears as much as dog saliva. “Yes!” he laughs hysterically, hugging the animal close to himself. “Good boy, Bam!”
“Told you he’ll like you, kitty.”
Now that he knows Jungkook isn’t planning to hurt him—at least, not yet—he’s breathing easier. “Haha, yes. He’s adorable.”
“I want you to unchain him.”
“What? Why?”
Jungkook glances at Kim. “It makes sense. He wronged you.”
Jimin swallows hard. Revenge, huh? He can’t say he’s never fantasized about such a thing. But it never really served any purpose for him. There are so many people at Ecstasy that wronged him. Patrons who’d threatened him, and done worse. Other workers who did petty shit because they were jealous Jimin was Byungchul’s favorite. He always thought that was stupid—they’re all in the same boat. They just hate that he has the power to get rid of any of them with a word, too blinded to see that he never would, because he knows what it’s like in their place. He never thought about getting back at them, because really, petty vengeance would get him nowhere. And he still wouldn’t touch the workers.
But as he looks at Kim Hwangbon, he remembers the times he’d seen the others cry because of him, remembers the things he’d called Jimin while they fucked, despite Jimin repeatedly asking him not to. None of Jimin’s requests mattered to him then.
And who is here to judge Jimin if he wants the guy dead?
Jimin throws his head back laughing. He’s so fucked. Really, there’s no sugar-coating it, no matter how many sweets Jimin pops into his mouth. He wants to hear that man scream for mercy. And all the rest of them. The ones responsible for trapping them in that hellhole. And Jungkook knew it the moment he met him.
His eyes are dark as he drops the key into Jimin’s waiting palm.
Jimin watches Jungkook as bloody screams fill the yard, finding the sight fascinating. He’s so intent on the scene before him, breaths growing heavy by the second, sweat dampening his dark hair.
Jimin doesn’t need to be a sex worker to recognize his growing arousal, especially with the bulge in his pants.
And, fuck, Jimin never found the idea of violence appealing, but it’s the way Jungkook does, the way his expression gets dazed and his tattooed knuckles clench, his breaths coming out in small puffs.
He feels himself grow hard just by the sight of it, wanting to touch him. His dick is growing tired of being edged all day—he has to get off.
Jimin presses close to Jungkook until he has his full attention, feeling his hardness against his thigh. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, nuzzling at his neck.
Jungkook groans, desperately grinding against him. “Jimin—Jimin, I need you. Need you so bad—fuck.”
“Yeah?” Jimin pecks him on the lips. “You’re scary, you know that?”
“You’re not like the others.” He moans as Jimin presses a hand to his cock. “You’re not scared.”
“I am,” Jimin admits. “But I like it.” It’s not like the fear he’s been feeling most of his life, where he’s nothing. It’s thrilling and interesting and makes him feel important.
“Oh, kitty—“ Jungkook breaks them apart, making Jimin keen into him. “I want you now.”
“Catch me, then.” Jimin kicks off his shoes and makes a beeline for the house, mostly because he doesn’t want to get fucked on the damp grass like he’s sure Jungkook would have no problem doing, but it gets serious anyways.
The barking keeps his feet moving on the hard concrete until he’s being pressed against the front door, Jungkook’s hands grabbing handfuls of him while his tongue works into his mouth. Jimin can hardly breathe with the way he’s being devoured.
After some fumbling during which Jungkook attempts to type in the code blind, the door falls open and Jimin nearly follows onto the floor before Jungkook catches him and pulls him back into the kiss.
He moves him backwards—Jimin has no idea where they’re going. Then he topples into a soft mattress, and his eyes adjust to a simple-looking bedroom, some comic and movie posters lining the walls. That and some strange devices that look like whips and knives.
Jungkook grinds against his thigh with the enthusiasm of a puppy and Jimin is happy to indulge him.
“My pretty kitty,” Jungkook murmurs, making Jimin giggle. How can he be so cute after what they’d just done? “I want to give you your present now.”
“Oh?” Jimin is too lost in Jungkook’s body to care much about that, but he doesn’t say it.
Maybe he should’ve paid more attention, because the next thing he knows is something that feels like leather being wrapped around his neck. He makes a confused sound and reaches for it, feeling the metal clasp. It’s a collar, he realizes.
But Jungkook has already chained it to the bedpost, grin wide. “You’re so perfect, Jimin. My pretty plaything.”
Alarms ring in Jimin’s head. Fuck. He’s so hot for this. A part of Jimin wants to try to escape, but the other part just feels himself grow harder.
“You’re insane,” he gasps, making no move to pull away as Jungkook unbuckles the belt of his coat. “Just batshit crazy.”
“Don’t be mad,” Jungkook says, latching onto his nipple, and making Jimin keen into it with a moan. “You’re just so perfect, I don’t want you to run.”
Jimin smiles. “I would, if I was saner myself.” It’s not like he has much to run back to anyways.
That makes Jungkook groan and grind into his leg. “I knew it.“ He trails kisses down Jimin’s torso, down to the waistband of his shorts, the front damp with Jimin’s arousal. “I knew you’d get it.”
He pushes Jimin’s legs up onto his shoulders before lowering his shorts and licking a fat stripe over his hole.
Jimin had forgotten all about the plug he has in, he’d become so used to them. Makes access easier for when Byungchul is impatient.
His face twists as Jungkook licks him again, cock twitching at the sensation. “Please, I’m all sweaty—“
“Taste so good, fuck.”
Jimin shivers as he dives back in, nudging the plug and sending waves of pleasure down to his toes. “Ohh!” He can’t stop the noise as Jungkook pushes his tongue inside next to the plug.
“And all ready for me.”
Jimin gasps when he pulls on the thick plug, feeling the lube trickle out, until he pushes it in again. His rim winks around the intrusion, wanting it out and simultaneously deeper.
“All mine, Jimin.” His voice is suddenly serious. He says it like a reminder. That’s when Jimin feels a sharp sting on the inside of his thigh, and cries out, trying to jerk away, but Jungkook’s grip is tight on his ankle.
“Shh, kitten. Just a little more.”
The moonlight puts a glint on the blade in his palm, shorter than a finger, but it does the job.
“All mine,” Jungkook repeats, tossing the knife to the side and lapping at the wound with the flat of his tongue.
The sharp sting shoots mixed sensations up Jimin’s body, and he whines, toes curling with the need to get away, the need to take more.
“Taste good everywhere.”
Jimin preens at that, feeling every bit like a good kitten for his master. A little pain slut. “Ah, please. Want to touch you.”
Jungkook grins into his skin, pulling off to crawl up his body with a hungry gaze.
Jimin breathes in the smell of his cologne as he pulls his turtleneck up over his head, revealing toned golden skin.
Jimin runs his hands along his full chest, leaning up to suck on his nipple when the chain yanks him back, the collar pushing deep on the apple of his throat.
“Ugh.” That hurt. And it sent a fresh wave of blood to his dick.
Jungkook watches him from beneath his brows, looking hungrier at the sight. “That’ll bruise beautifully.”
“Yeah?” Jimin sighs as Jungkook trails a finger along his rim, collecting the lube that escaped earlier and pushing it back inside him.
“Your skin turns such a pretty shade of blue. Blooms like a flower.” He frowns at the sight of just that on Jimin’s wrist. “He has no right to it.”
Maybe Jimin’s dick is taking over, but that makes him moan out loud. “Come on, then. Give me your cock. Need it.”
“Fuck, kitten.”
Jungkook unbuckles his belt and it’s the first time Jimin is seeing his cock—thick and leaking. He wants to taste it like it’s one of his lollipops.
Jungkook gives it a few hurried strokes to alleviate the strain, and pulls the plug out of Jimin’s hole with no further teasing.
He sinks inside him like he’s meant to fit there, and Jimin’s head falls back in satisfaction of feeling so full.
Jungkook groans as he clenches around him, his hole trying to suck him in deeper.
He begins moving with no preamble, thrusts hard and dirty, the slick sounds echoing loudly off the walls in the room.
Jimin’s breaths come out in short, little “ah, ah, ah”s, that he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He’s no stranger to faking sounds of pleasure, but he’s never thought he could be so loud for real, every graze inside him making him cry out.
“Yes, sound so pretty,” Jungkook groans, breath hot in Jimin’s ear.
The bedpost screeches against the floor with the power of his thrusts, and he doesn’t even seem to notice, all focus on Jimin’s hole sucking him in.
“God, Jungkook!”
“Again,” Jungkook groans, keeling over to breathe into his ear. “Say it again.”
“Jungkook—“
“Again, again!”
“Fuck, Jungkook—Ah—“
Jimin is wet with all sorts of fluids—the bed will be a mess, so will his new coat, but surprisingly, he finds he doesn’t care. This is so dirty. So wet and hot and messy, and he loves it.
“God, you’re so tight around me—“
And Jimin is squeezing tighter every time Jungkook hits that spot inside him. “God, I’m close.”
Jungkook wraps a hand around his ignored cock, giving him a single stroke before he spills across his stomach, the orgasm pushing him deep inside his mind after being edged all day. It’s long and drawn out as Jungkook fucks him through it.
“That’s it, kitty. So good, so tight.”
He could hardly move if he wanted to, so he lies pliant as a doll as Jungkook continues to fuck into him, utterly using him until he spills deep inside him. The warmth floods Jimin’s senses, and he lays a hand over his stomach to feel it fill, feeling the bump of Jungkook’s cock there. The sensation makes him groan, his senses pushed into overstimulation.
He can still feel the sting in his thigh from when Jungkook cut it, can feel his firm hands on his hot, damp skin.
Jungkook doesn’t pull out, just turns him to the side so he can envelop him from the back. “So, so perfect.”
Jimin smiles weakly, raising Jungkook’s hand to his face, making out the faint outlines of the tattoos on his knuckles. “Pretty. What are these?”
Jungkook sighs into his ear, body going lax against him. “Initials. For my favorite kills. Not the ones Dad gives me.”
A chill makes its way down Jimin’s back, but he traces the lines on Jungkook’s elegant fingers. “I want to know how you do it. Later.”
Jungkook breathes a curse and thrusts into him.
Jimin gasps at the fact that he’s hard again already.
There’s no way his own dick is rising so soon, but he lets Jungkook fuck him again, this time from behind, pulling his jacket down his shoulders so he can kiss and bite them.
Jimin moans when Jungkook hits his prostate, cock twitching in interest where it’s hanging between his legs.
Jungkook notices, continuing to hit that spot relentlessly with a sadistic grin that Jimin catches in the window reflection.
“Ah! Fuck,” Jimin moans, arching his back.
Jungkook’s thrusts are as frantic as before, as if the last round didn’t tire him at all. It’s outrageous. “Feel so good. Can’t get enough of you.”
Jimin hopes he never does, because that would surely mean nothing good for him.
His body is waking up to sensation again, keening as Jungkook keeps hitting that spot inside him.
A slap on his ass makes him cry out in surprise. Then again, and again, the sharp sting blooming over his lower half.
Jungkook groans each time he reflexively tightens around him. “Like a flower.”
Jimin grins through his tears, not knowing where they came from. It didn’t hurt that bad. He liked it, he realizes. He really is a pain slut.
Jungkook fumbles with something over Jimin’s shoulder and it’s only when he yanks the chain towards himself, forcing Jimin to arch his back, that he realizes that’s what it is.
The act alone would make him finish if he hadn’t cum just a moment before.
“My good, good kitten,” Jungkook murmurs, slapping his ass again. “I love you like this.”
He pulls the chain back until Jimin’s neck is craned almost painfully, making breathing difficult. That doesn’t stop him from spurting cum all over the sheets, the orgasm shuddering through his entire body, no less intense than the last.
Jungkook curses as his hole spasms around him, coming himself soon enough.
Jimin collapses as soon as Jungkook lets him, but his relief is temporary.
Jungkook pulls out to bend over his ass, dipping his tongue inside him like his own cum is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.
Jimin whimpers, sensitive, as Jungkook comes up to kiss him—mouth still full. The salty burst on his tongue has Jimin gasping, only for Jungkook to push more inside his open mouth.
“Swallow, my kitty,” Jungkook orders.
Jimin can’t believe it—he can’t believe he does, licking his lips for more afterward just to watch Jungkook’s gaze darken.
“Fuck, baby.”
He’s stroking himself, but Jimin is way too spent to do much more than watch with heavy eyelids, sleep creeping in on him.
“Come here.”
Jimin groans when he’s manhandled to lay with his head bent over the edge of the mattress. It takes him a minute to realize what Jungkook wants to do, until the head of his cock is prodding at his lips.
Jungkook fucks him well into dawn, and Jimin has no idea if he even takes breaks, drifting in and out of consciousness. Logically, he knows he must, but his libido keeps coming back twice as strong. Jimin has no idea how a person can have this much cum in them, never mind the stamina.
He takes him in every position he can imagine, using Jimin’s flexibility to the full extent. Jimin isn’t even sure what he dreams up and what’s real. He’s certain Jungkook fucked him with the hilt of that knife at some point, because he could moan just remembering how the ribbed surface felt on his slick walls.
Jimin wakes up to sunlight streaming into the room, and Jungkook—thankfully—asleep, pressed up against him.
Jimin’s muscles scream when he tries to move, but he has to get to the bathroom. He has had sex a lot in his life, and yet he has never been this sticky.
Managing to climb into the shower, the cum practically floods out of him—Jungkook had plugged him again and it runs down his thighs, mixing with the water on the tiles. That’s when he feels the sting on the inside of his thigh and remembers the cut. J K. The letters are jagged, but clearly not careless.
Jimin wants to laugh at himself when he finds it fucking endearing.
It’s not the only mark Jungkook left on him, but it seems to be the only permanent one. In the mirror, he sees the bruises that litter his skin: handprints over his waist, thighs, ass—everywhere, as well as the hickeys all around the collar. Jimin tilts his head, thinking that Jungkook was right. They do look pretty on his skin.
The collar is a leather thing with heart-shaped metal studs, a bigger heart carved from the middle, a little bell dangling over the skin there. It makes him feel proud, of all things.
The door opens as Jimin’s busy foaming himself up, Jungkook’s wide eyes calming at the sight of him. “You’re still here.”
“Could barely make it in here with how sore I am. No way I’m running.”
Jungkook’s mouth quirks into a smile. His hair is messy around his head, and he’d thrown on a large T-shirt that drapes to his thighs. “You’re so cool,” he says, making Jimin laugh.
“I’m serious. You’re gonna fucking massage the pain out of my muscles or pay for—“
Jungkook already threw his shirt off and is walking into the shower.
“Wanna fuck you again,” he says into Jimin’s neck, fingers working into the muscles of his shoulders.
Jimin moans at the feeling, the slickness of soap and water softening the glide.
“Can I?” Jungkook says. “Please, can I, Jimin? Want you so bad.”
“God, you’re just insatiable, aren’t you?”
⛓️
“Since when does Jeon let his bitches handle the important tasks?” Yun throws a nasty glare at the collar on Jimin’s neck, but it doesn’t quite have the effect it would had he not been tied to a chair.
Jungkook’s people seem to tense in their postures, as if bracing themselves.
It just makes Jimin throw his head back and laugh. “You’re in no position to be hurling half-assed insults right now. And it’s funny how you think you count as an important task.”
Yun’s eyes flicker to the men at the door. “Where is he? I didn’t do anything to jeopardize our deal.”
Jimin stalks towards the chair, plopping himself in Yun’s lap. With a flick of his hand, the iron nails snap out of his fingerless gloves—a recent gift from Jungkook, one of Jimin’s favorites. He drags one of the spikes along Yun’s cheek, watching him squirm as blood escapes his wrinkled flesh. “For your information, Jungkook is playing with our dog. You should be grateful that’s not the bitch you’re dealing with.”
Yun looks too shocked to even throw his usual ‘slut, bitch, whore’ insults. “Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? But where’s Byungchul?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who should be doing the answering.” Jimin stabs one of the spikes through his cheek—it really shouldn’t hurt that bad, he doesn’t know why Yun is being so dramatic with all that screaming.
“You—you’re just a slut. What the hell do you think you can accomplish?”
“Ah, there he is. For a moment I was wondering if we got the wrong Yun. Byungchul is dead, of course. No one’s coming to help you.”
The fear in his eyes blooms across the rest of his face. “That brat—he—?”
Jimin clicks his tongue. “Why are you making it worse for yourself?” he says quietly, not wanting the others to hear. “You’re beyond lucky I’m here instead of him. You should be begging me to kill you quickly, because if Jungkook decides he’s bored with whatever he’s doing—“
The door opens, and Jungkook leans on the post as he gulps from a bottle of water. His hair is damp with sweat, his clothes splattered with suspicious brownish-red splotches.
“Is he behaving, kitten?” Jungkook asks, a Cheshire grin spreading across his face at the sight of blood on Yun’s face.
The bodyguards tense at that, glancing at Jimin with subtle pleading expressions. Jimin decides to be nice to them. As desensitized as they must be, so much screaming causes headaches.
Jimin leans sideways to drop to the ground, crawling to Jungkook over the expensive carpet just to see his gaze darken as he arches his back to taunt Yun with his ass.
He slides up Jungkook’s body, kissing him behind the ear. “I want him dead. He’s useless.”
The quick nod from Jungkook never fails to bring a smile to Jimin’s face. So obedient and you don’t even know it. Jimin wonders if he’s just as much an obedient doll for Jungkook and just doesn’t realize it. Outside of the times he does it purposely to watch him grin, of course.
Later, Jimin is cleaning the blood off himself with a damp towel, Jungkook plastered to his back, as he asks, “How was the hunt?”
Jungkook hooks a finger in his collar and jerks him closer to face him. “I like chasing you better.”
“You like watching me run,” Jimin corrects. “Because I have a nice ass.”
“And because I get to fuck you until you scream when I catch you.”
“I only let you catch me,” Jimin says, walking him backwards to the couch.
“Only because you’re a slut for my dick. I think that’s still a point for me.”
“That makes you a slut for my ass. We’ve come full circle.”
Jungkook pulls him in until he’s straddling him, hands gripping the leather of his pants as he kisses him.
Jimin moans, but hops off him before he can get carried away.
Jungkook whines as Jimin pops a piece of bubblegum into his mouth to replace Jimin’s tongue. He still chews it up, always a slut for sweet things.
Jimin waltzes across the room to grab the object he’d found a few days ago. The tattoo gun fits nicely in his palm as he waves it in Jungkook’s direction.
“What?” Jungkook asks, eyes so round, it makes Jimin grin.
Jungkook may not have a collar, but the letters stand out beautifully against his neck. J M.
In the end, Jimin supposes he got what everybody wants, if not quite in the way he imagined it.
⛓️