Work Text:
enkrateia
(ἐνκράτεια)
noun
- a state of power; mastery
- possession of power over something or someone
- the antonym of akrasia
—
The storm is terrifying.
It chills Jimin to the bones, clings to his skin, drenches him in that awfully cold rain.
Someone else would stop and find somewhere to hide until the worst is over but Jimin pushes through, hunching into himself, forcing his teeth to stop rattling so much.
He promised Jeongguk he would make it to the student residency before the RA made his rounds, and he can’t disappoint him. He knows the risk, knows it would ruin everything if they get caught.
So Jimin braves the weather, clutching his overnight bag to his chest, groaning under the added weight of his clothes. Still, he despises the weird sensation of his soggy trainers squishing with every step he takes.
Jimin runs by an empty tennis court, now just a muddy field, pressing his back to the side of one of the dormitory buildings, wiping the rain from his eyes when a loud thunder rumbles across the sky, dark as night even if it’s still 5PM.
A small victorious smile replaces the grimace on his lips. He made it to the dorms without crossing paths with anyone, now he has to find his way to Jeongguk.
His fingers feel like ice, nails taking on a purplish hue, but Jimin finds strength to make it inside, the front door unlocking easily with the maintenance code Jeongguk gave him.
No tracks, no footprints.
The warmth inside settles like a thick blanket on his frozen body, almost too stifling when compared to the absolute chaos outside.
A gust of wind follows him inside and Jimin’s hold on the handle slips, the door slamming shut with a thunderous thump. It echoes around the small lobby, loud enough to alert any of the first floor residents.
Worried, Jimin rushes to the emergency stairwell to his left, following Jeongguk’s order to take the stairs and avoid the camera inside the elevator.
He climbs it two steps at a time, weighted down and soaked with icy rainwater, rivulets running down the sides of his face, down his neck to the bottom of his spine.
The stairs are endless, a loop of steps and concrete blocks, but Jimin doesn’t care. He ignores the burn of his lungs, the way he’s close to wheezing. Ignores the burn of his muscles, the tremble of his limbs, the way he can barely feel his fingers—
Jeongguk is all Jimin thinks about.
It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of quick glimpses from afar, of having to wear the pitiful mask that’s harder and harder to keep on.
Three weeks of having to stomach the sight of hands all over Jeongguk, touching him, hugging him, kissing him—forced to witness an endless stream of pictures and videos on social media documenting how the whole fucking world wants a piece of him. Which, fair.
Jeongguk is the dean’s son: the star of the swim team, extremely popular on the internet, hottest student on campus—the perfect person to suck up to if you wanna climb the social ladder inside Yonsei.
But he’s also Jimin’s, now. His owner, his lover, his everything.
Jeongguk is his.
And the time apart did nothing to pacify the monster within Jimin. If anything, it made things worse.
Jimin craves Jeongguk.
So he knows. He knows desire when he sees it, especially in the eyes of Choi Hayoon, Jeongguk’s new fling. Well, girlfriend.
He recognises the want in her eyes in the pictures, he notices the arch of her back, the way she pushes her boobs up close to Jeongguk’s chest when they hug, fighting off the other sluts who crave him, the ones unable to hide the suggestiveness of the ‘friendly’ touches, the underlying desire of their words.
And then, there’s Jimin. Watching from afar, knowing there’s nothing he can do, knowing he has to just choke back the rage and let them leave their traces all over Jeongguk. An essential part of the student council, Jeongguk is a structural pillar when it comes to social events and college festivals, especially the YonKo Games.
The celebration of Jeongguk’s birthday in early September ties into the week in which the entire city of Seoul is split in blues and reds, thrumming with excitement in the days leading up to the iconic match between Yonsei and Korea University.
Like all students, Jimin and Taehyung attend every single function, happy for a break from all the essays and assignments. They get to the stadium early in the day to try and secure a nice seat, the idol group snatched to perform at the opening ceremony being one of Taehyung’s favourites.
Jimin nearly loses it when they join the queue for student merch and he sees Jeongguk helping the student committee hand out the bag of goodies. He hasn’t seen him in over a week by then, and the sight of Jeongguk in that blue Yonsei jersey and snapback cap has Jimin fighting off the urge to jump his bones right there and then—fuck their deal, fuck the pretend, fuck everything.
But Jeongguk catches his eye before they even make it to the start of the line, the barely there arch of his brow a warning sign to not pull any tricks.
So Jimin obeys, choosing to silently pull his day collar out from where it’s hidden under his clothes, the small ㅈ pendant bright in contrast to the black sweater he wears.
“Here’s your merch,” Jeongguk says politely, bending slightly to pick gift bags from the huge box beside him, handing one to Taehyung. “We’re providing raincoats, proceed to the next line if you’d like to receive yours.”
Jimin knows he should keep his eyes downcast, play his role, but he tilts his head up instead, meeting Jeongguk’s incensed eyes straight on.
So righteous, his eyes say.
Behave, is the reply he gets.
So Jimin hunches his shoulders, playing his part of intimidated nerd, making sure his fingers tremble a bit when reaching out to accept his bag of merch. And it’s with great pleasure that he basks in the heat of Jeongguk’s gaze shifting to the collar and back to his eyes, a subtle tug on the corner of his lips that says good boy.
As he follows Taehyung to the entrance, his friend going through their bags filled with t-shirts, stickers and handheld banners, Jimin looks back over his shoulder.
Hayoon stands where he stood, her hand on Jeongguk’s arm, leaning up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear but Jeongguk isn’t looking at her—no.
No, he still has his eyes on Jimin.
Only on Jimin.
It goes like this, Jimin only catching glimpses of Jeongguk around the festival grounds, watching from afar as Jeongguk barks orders left and right, an all-pass lanyard around his neck, crew hoodie on, an intercom headset sitting crookedly over his head.
If the sight of Jeongguk in executive producer mode isn’t enough of a turn on, him changing into a suit certainly does a number on Jimin.
Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok have joined them on the bleachers, the five of them in uni t-shirts and blue paint on their faces—thanks to Taehyung—when the opening ceremony starts and Jeongguk steps up on the podium alongside his father and the rest of the board, wearing a clean-cut grey suit, hair combed back to show the small hoop earrings dangling from his left ear.
The entire world fades around Jimin when Jeongguk’s face appears on the huge LED panel, speaking on the upcoming match and how excited he is for the games, being the polite student and model son he is.
Nothing else fucking matters, because there, on Jeongguk’s left middle finger, is an inconspicuously simple silver ring.
A ring that wasn’t there earlier before.
A ring Jeongguk was wearing the day he gave Jimin the collar.
A ring that left a mark on his cheek for days after Jeongguk fucked him on the driver’s seat of his dad’s car, still parked on the dean’s spot behind the administration building.
A ring that left a mark on his cheek after he jokingly said it was the equivalent of Jeongguk’s own day collar.
A ring.
An incontrovertible proof.
Though unlike that dreamy night Jimin came all over the wheel of Jeon Sir’s BMW, it rains a lot throughout the week of the games.
The monsoon season is particularly severe, with a scalding sun and a lot of drizzle during the matches.
It doesn’t dampen the mood, though. The fire that fuels the decade-long rivalry between schools burns bright, the stadium decorated with banners from both universities, bleachers shaking with raucous cheers, the teams playing strong and fiery.
Jimin has a lot of fun cheering alongside his friends, like a normal person would, attending as many matches as he can. Him and his friends stand there like drenched smurfs, cheering for their school, voices so hoarse one would think they chain-smoked fifteen packs of Marlboros.
Still, the rain that pours over Seoul as Jimin stumbles out of the emergency stairwell onto Jeongguk’s floor is more akin to a typhoon than the heavy summer shower he faced during the Games.
701, 702, 703—
“707.”
Jimin’s vision fades on the corners, limbs shaking violently. God, he doesn’t even know if Jeongguk heard him knocking—
It’s all a blur.
One second, Jimin is staring at the delicate 707 on the door to Jeongguk’s unit, the next he’s being yanked inside, shoes on and all.
His bag is wrenched out of his hands, the wet plop of it falling to the floor muffled by the storm.
“ —are you fucking insane?!” he realises Jeongguk is talking to him. “I’ve been calling you for ages, Jimin! I thought you got struck by lightning or something! What the fuck—”
Jimin recoils, squeezing his eyes shut when bright lights are turned on. Jeongguk is steering him somewhere where the storm doesn’t sound as loud, and Jimin briefly sees the flash of his reflection on the glass of a shower stall before Jeongguk’s strong arm crosses his field of vision to push the door open, ushering him inside.
Jeongguk is saying something Jimin should pay attention to, but his voice gets drowned by the rush of water on the tiles, splashing as loud as the downpour outside, Jimin’s frozen body suddenly assaulted by liquid fire.
He cries out in pain, trying to escape the stream, but Jeongguk pushes him back under the water, shivering and spluttering, frozen hands hovering awkwardly between them.
“Fuck, you’re shivering so much you’re making my teeth rattle,” Jeongguk spits harshly, tugging on the zipper of Jimin’s hoodie, pushing the soaked fabric down his shoulders, letting it plop down in a heap by their feet.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Jeongguk keeps on yelling, tugging Jimin’s shirt over his head.
Jimin blinks, forcing his eyes to focus, trying to gather his bearings. His body is in some sort of catatonic state, locked in place, mindlessly obeying Jeongguk’s harsh manhandling as he undresses him.
It’s as if his mind is shutting down with the scalding shower, focusing on weirdly specific things. Like how mesmerising it is the way water slowly soaks Jeongguk’s sweatpants, the light mesh grey turning dark all the way down to his socks, how uncomfortable his socks must feel all wet like that, how his hands feel like hot coal rubbing up and down his bare legs, how his beautiful hair is getting wet—
“Jimin?”
Jeongguk’s voice sounds strange.
Distant.
As if Jimin’s ears are suddenly full of cotton, further dulling the noise around them.
“Jimin? Fucking talk to me, damn it!”
He wants to answer, he really does, but his throat burns and the way Jeongguk keeps rubbing his body with such heavy hands, trying to warm his blood back up, is making his muscles spasm.
He just can’t get the words out right now, brain stuck in a loop of warmth, warmth, warmth.
Jimin tries smiling to assume Jeongguk he’s listening, but it feels weird, there are black spots dancing in his vision, the world around Jeongguk fading a little—
He’s going to pass out.
In a futile attempt to keep himself standing, Jimin’s hand shoots out in search of something to hold onto.
“I’ve got you.”
Jimin whines brokenly, the safety of Jeongguk’s arms unable to keep his head from rolling back, the sight of Jeongguk’s worried face replaced by the blurry, upside-down view of a fancy shower head surrounded by pristine white tiles.
The world spins again and he’s yanked back upright, his eyes finding Jeongguk again. Even with those wide eyes full of fear he looks so, so beautiful.
So beautiful with his hair soaked, plastered to his face in dark curls, cosy white t-shirt completely see-through now, stuck to his torso in mesmerising swirls. It reminds Jimin of marble sculptures immortalised in art history, like Jeongguk is one of those masterpieces that come to life, cold stone replaced by warm, real flesh.
A scorching hand pulling on his face, tapping his cheek, jostling him is what brings Jimin’s attention to Jeongguk’s mouth. It’s moving, though Jimin has no idea what he’s saying.
“Come on,” a harder, bolder strike urges him back to the surface. “Fuck, there you are.”
Blinking the daze out of his eyes, Jimin brings a trembling hand up to Jeongguk’s cheek. It stands uncannily pale against his lover’s golden skin.
“Hi.”
Jeongguk chokes out an incredulous laugh, taking in all of Jimin. He searches his eyes until he finds whatever he’s looking for, hands sliding up Jimin’s thawing body to cradle his face, thumbs digging painfully into the fat of his cheeks.
“You crazy fuck, thought you were gonna die on me,” Jeongguk snarls angrily, surging forward to capture Jimin’s lips in a bruising, claiming kiss.
In traditional love stories, the world stops the moment they kiss, holding the lovers in a bubble of serenity where nothing can harm them, suspended in a peaceful moment in time. Their story is the opposite.
In the forbiddenness of each other’s arms is where Jimin and Jeongguk find solace. An escape where the world finally stops being peaceful and boring, where there’s no need to keep up pristine facades, where they can feed the flame of darkness that burns deep within, thriving off of chaos.
Their love is the storm that washes over the city—unyielding, volatile. Charged with an electricity that destroys whatever it touches, barreling into whatever comes its way.
And it’s only like this, behind closed doors away from prying eyes, that they can truly be themselves.
That Jimin can shed the lamb skin that weighs over his shoulders, can let out his claws and assume his true colours. A moment where Jeongguk can unleash the psycho hidden behind polite smiles and academic conquests, where he can pretend he’s still the only predator in the room and not a wolf that’s become his lamb’s lamb.
And like a territorial beast in need of claiming his possession, Jeongguk pours it all out in that visceral, breathless kiss. “You’re insane,” he chuckles against Jimin’s mouth, pulling back enough to shed his soaked t-shirt, the garment joining the heap of clothes by their feet.
Jimin grins, fingers crawling up Jeongguk’s neck to his hair, curling into a tight fist that has Jeongguk groaning in no time. “That’s why you love me,” he rasps out, eyes flashing wickedly when Jeongguk hisses, fumbling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants, Jimin helping him push them down his legs.
“Shut up.” It’s dismissive, but Jimin rejoices at those two words. He knows Jeongguk has become as obsessed as he is, knows he’s wormed his way inside his heart and fed his veins the same poison that runs in his own.
They share the same compulsion to own, to possess.
A sick, perverted need for each other they call love. A fucked up love rooted in obsession, but love nonetheless.
“I missed you so fucking much,” Jeongguk grunts, lower lip caught between Jimin’s teeth, hands groping his ass, kneading it like Play-Doh.
Jimin responds beautifully, moaning hotly into his mouth when Jeongguk pulls his cheeks apart, letting the hot water cascade down his crack.
“Fuck,” Jimin shivers, still a bit sensitive from the waxing and vigorously cleaning he did before coming over. “Doesn’t—doesn’t look like you missed me,” he says, running his nails down Jeongguk’s back. “You seemed pretty happy letting your little girlfriend get her hands on y—fuck.”
The sudden impact of his back against the cold tiles pushes all air out of Jimin’s lungs, mouth parting in surprise. Jeongguk has him pressed into a corner, one of his thighs sliding between Jimin’s quivering legs.
“Getting all mouthy on me, huh?” Jeongguk hums, getting all up on his face. “Need a reminder who fucking owns you, Jimin?”
“Certainly not you.”
“The fuck is this, then?” he teases, running his fingers over the thin golden chain around Jimin’s neck, flicking the pendant with the initial letter of his name.
“Jewellery.”
Jeongguk simply scoffs, pushing Jimin further into the corner, crowding him against the wall.
“How can I be yours if you barely touch me,” Jimin whispers against his lips, provoking hands coming up to caress Jeongguk’s forearms where they rest by his head, nails digging into the strong muscles there, coaxing the reverbs of Jeongguk’s pissed off groans. “I don’t even smell like your cum anymore.”
“I should carve my name on your ass,” Jeongguk muses, tilting Jimin’s head up just right so he can lean in and lick a path up his jaw all the way to his lips, “maybe that will feel permanent enough.”
The idea of walking with a bold ‘JK’ scarred on his ass has Jimin convulsing against the wall, scrambling for Jeongguk’s shoulders.
Not tattooed, carved.
He can almost picture it—
Jeongguk taking a knife to his ass, the pinch of blade slicing through his skin, drawing blood.
The healing crust he’ll constantly pick on so they scar, the pink sensitive skin slowly healing into raised white lines.
Jimin groans out loud, now horny as fuck, hips rolling in search of friction, perineum rubbing back and forth on Jeongguk’s thigh.
“Yeah?” Jeongguk asks. “Want that?”
Jimin nods, biting back a whimper. Jeongguk leans in, breathing hot and heavy against his cheek, dragging the tip of his nose along Jimin’s cheek. “Is a necklace not enough of a claim for you?”
“No,” he breathes, stomach quivering in pleasure as their cocks rub together, pressed between their bodies.
“Would you like something… stronger?” Jeongguk’s hands come down to halt his movements, a sly, sadistic smile taking over his face, bunny teeth biting down on his lower lip with the glee of a kid in a toy store.
“Y-Yeah…”
“In that case…” he smirks, adjusting their position a bit, slipping his angry erection under Jimin’s own to sit between Jimin’s legs, cockhead resting just an inch or two below his asshole.
And that’s when Jimin feels it.
Something different.
Warmer.
Something hotter than the shower stream trickles up the soft curve of his ass, hitting him straight in the hole.
He yelps in surprise, wide eyes searching Jeongguk, only to find him already staring at him with that sick, demonic sparkle in the endless depth of his eyes, mouth hanging open as he lets it all out on Jimin.
He bites back a moan, feeling it flow down the curve where his cheeks meet the back of his thighs, following the shape of his muscles as it pours down his leg, rivulets curling over to the front, down his calf.
It’s mesmerising, really. The feel of it seeping in between his toes, pale yellow mixing with the crystal clear water, foaming and pooling by their feet before going down the drain.
“Ngh—fuck,” Jeongguk moans wantonly against his mouth, Jimin whimpering right back into that half kiss when Jeongguk’s blunt nails dig into the meat of his ass, the last droplets of urine trickling down the back of his thigh.
The splattering on the tiles sounds downright pornographic. The pungent smell mixes with the dense cloud of steam, bringing forth Jimin’s worst demons. It’s a nasty, primal sort of claim that has him murmuring a heady, mindless “wish you’d pissed in my mouth instead.”
The words are a molotov thrown into an already raging fire.
Jeongguk takes a half step back, grabbing Jimin by the hair and shoving him down. Jimin cries out in pain and surprise, stunned by the action. He flails, slipping on the tiles, knocking over several toiletries in the process.
“Fuck, wait—” Jimin cries, sputtering as the last few drops land on his lips, his cheek, his eyes. He plops down on his ass, eyes screwing shut at the sudden, painful impact.
But Jeongguk doesn’t relent. He tightens his grip on Jimin’s hair, forcing his head up.
“Say it,” he cackles, watching Jimin thrash, knee knocking into the glass, kicking at the mess of clothes strewn all over the cramped stall. “Say you don’t smell like me anymore.”
He leans forward to shield Jimin from the onslaught of the shower, one hand holding Jimin’s head against the wall, the other dragging the length of his cock along Jimin’s cheek, slapping the head against his deliciously plump lips. “Now, be good and suck me off.”
Jimin pushes himself up in a better sitting position, scooting closer until Jeongguk is standing between his legs, and takes Jeongguk in his mouth like a good little cockslut.
“There we go,” Jeongguk praises, letting Jimin take over.
Replacing Jeongguk’s hand with his own, Jimin hollows his cheeks and sucks , eyes rolling to the back of his head at the new, salty taste that mixes with the tangy sweetness of the precum he usually delights in.
The weight of Jeongguk’s cock in his mouth is grounding, erasing the doubts and the anguish of the past weeks.
“A little push and you remember your place, huh?” Jeongguk muses, caressing Jimin’s hair.
The words wash over Jimin like a balm, body taken by shivers—only this time they’re a promise of pleasure, arousal burning bright under his veins. Jimin lets them wash away the persona he’s been wearing for far too long, leaving space for the freedom of being debauched with no repercussions, of being used for Jeongguk’s pleasure and nothing else.
Inhaling harshly through his nose, he relaxes his jaw completely, flattening his tongue and curling the tip to caress the underside of Jeongguk’s cock, feeling it twitch and pulse inside his mouth, a delicious glob of precum sliding along his tongue.
“Now we’re talking,” Jeongguk smirks, one hand on the back of Jimin’s head to keep him there, the other tracing the curve of his jaw to his neck, massaging the obscene bulge of his cock every time it slides all the way in.
Water splashes wildly around them, cascading down Jeongguk’s naked body, washing away the frothing drool that gathers at the base of his cock and around Jimin’s mouth as Jeongguk fucks his face like a fleshlight.
Just how they like it.
“Look at me—f-fuck, baby. Look at me.”
Jimin blinks the tears away, looking up at Jeongguk through wet lashes, his cock-drunk eyes soon brimming with tears all over again. The sinful view has Jeongguk’s hips stuttering, thrusting inside that warm wet mouth until Jimin’s nose is pressing into his lower stomach, held there until he starts to choke.
Someone else would pull back a bit and apologise, but Jeongguk holds on, the thick length making Jimin retch loudly, throat convulsing around him, face flushing a deeper shade of red.
He fucking loves it.
Jeongguk loves seeing Jimin grow dyspneic, face turning purple, loves seeing the veins protrude on his forehead, eyes all red and swollen from tears. He loves the snot bubbling under his nose, the nasty frothing drool that foams around the lips obscenely stretched around the base of his cock.
And Jimin? He loves it, too.
Jimin loves how Jeongguk loses his composure whenever they’re together, how he stands there with drool dribbling down his chin, face scrunched up in ecstasy, abs contracting with each thrust, muscles rippling under that beautiful golden skin. He loves the rush of blood to his ears, the burn of his lungs in desperate need of oxygen, the feeling of being so thoroughly owned by Jeongguk. He loves the wicked taste of victory, knowing he’s got under Jeongguk’s mask, made him a slave even if Jimin is the one who bears the bruises, who carries Jeongguk’s claim on his skin.
“I know you don’t need one,” Jeongguk pulls back a bit, enough to let Jimin catch a lungful of air, “but I’d let you pick a safeword just so I could fucking ignore it.”
Eyes crossing behind fluttering lids, Jimin pulls back just enough to whisper, “Caramel latte.”
“What?”
“My safeword.”
Jeongguk’s laugh is broken but genuine, breaking through the heavy breaths laced with arousal, mixing with the powerful shower rush and heavy steam that clouds the small bathroom.
And just like that, he cradles Jimin’s head with both hands, gripping the wet dark locks of the boy sitting prettily by his feet, and unloads all over his mouth, fucking his cum all the way to the back of Jimin’s throat with sloppy, shallow thrusts.
Jimin takes it like a good boy, hollowing his cheeks, using his tongue to coax it all out, hungrily swallowing every freaking ounce of it. He milks Jeongguk dry, one hand massaging his balls, the other jerking his own painfully hard arousal.
And it’s clicking his tongue to feel the tacky cum sticking to the back of his teeth that Jimin slumps back against the tiles, Jeongguk’s cock sliding out of his mouth when he throws his head back in bliss, writhing and twitching, face crumpling into a sob as he peaks.
Jeongguk plops down between his legs once the orgasm rushes through him, caging him in, his larger hand curling around Jimin’s to help him ride it out. “I missed this,” he whispers in his ear. “How broken you sound when you cum, my pretty little slut.”
Jimin whines at that, muscles seizing up with aftershocks, hot white pleasure burning through his veins. He pushes Jeongguk’s hand away once it becomes too much, staring up at him all dazed and cross-eyed.
Jeongguk’s eyes tell of hunger, gaze unwavering. It’s dark and possessive, gentle but with a touch of desperation. It tells of a thirst that was only lightly quenched, of a hunger that still gnaws at their insides.
The bathroom reeks of sex.
It sticks to the walls, lays over the condensation that gathers over the mirror, seeps into the heap of soaked clothes. But that was simply an appetiser, a small orgasm to take off the edge, to swipe at the dust that gathered under the mask.
Looking into Jeongguk’s eyes, Jimin knows he wants more. He knows the beast that lies within Jeongguk’s heart is as famished as the one he carries within his own, knows he needs more.
Jimin whines, not needing to say it aloud for Jeongguk to know.
Jeongguk just laughs, reaching out a cupped hand under the shower, gathering a bit of water. He gently wipes Jimin’s face, thumb brushing over his swollen bottom lip. “Nuh-uh,” he tuts knowingly, pulling his thumb back before Jimin could wrap his lips around it.
“Asshole.”
Jimin’s eyes glaze over, pin pricks blooming across his left cheek from the harsh slap he gets for being mouthy.
“Wanna repeat that?”
Jimin shakes his head ‘no’, leaning into the warm palm cradling his face.
“Mm, thought so.”
Jimin melts under the affection, reciprocating the gentle kiss Jeongguk steals from him. He brings his hands up, cupping Jeongguk’s cheeks, feeling the soft movement of his jaw as they kiss. It’s brief, Jeongguk keeping it chaste, tamed, denying each and every advance of Jimin’s tongue.
He pecks him once, twice, before pulling away. “Finish your shower,” he says, standing up. “I’ll go put the clothes in the wash.”
Jimin notices Jeongguk still had his socks on when he bends over to take them off, throwing them over the pile of clothes mounting up on the corner of the stall.
“Don’t want them to smell like cum and piss?” Jimin smiles, looking up at the other.
“Nah,” Jeongguk snorts. “I’d rather you do.”
“Don’t I already?” Jimin teases, lips jutted in a little pout.
Jeongguk stops, letting the sweats he’d just picked up fall back on the floor.
“Oh baby,” he smiles. “That wasn’t nearly enough.”
—
Jimin finds himself in a trance, staring at the neverending blur of colours and bubbles through the dark glass of Jeongguk’s fancy washer-dryer.
The epitome of nepotism, Jeongguk lives at the student residency—a fancy name for the couple blocks of dorms with individual housing, usually occupied by the richer kids, nepo babies and athletes. It’s basically a single room with a bathroom but rivals any officetel downtown.
After Jeongguk left him in the shower, Jimin managed to take in the space, finding out that the bathroom isn’t as small as he initially thought. The stall has a gradient tempered glass door that matches the white marble of the sink, a huge mirror with soft lighting and pale grey tiles. Even his towels match.
Unlike the other students living in the dorms down the hill, Jeongguk has his own fridge, an induction cooktop and a washing machine in a sleek kitchenette that takes up most of the entrance hall.
The window is covered by thick black-out curtains that stand out against the off-white that covers the rest of the room—except for the floor, made of polished dark grey wooden boards.
A huge TV sits atop a low dresser, displaying the name of the song currently filling the air with slow beats, several cables and consoles piled up on the sides.
A navy duffle bag from swim practice and the beat up Kånken backpack Jeongguk takes to class sit on the floor next to a large bean bag chair, a couple clothes and other trinkets thrown over it. Yet, everything else pales in comparison to the cloud Jimin is sitting on. Jeongguk’s queen sized bed is an absolute heaven.
The upholstered headboard protrudes off the wall, creating a small shelf where Jeongguk’s phone and other little things are propped up next to a 4-pack of water bottles. Thick, fluffy pillows take over the head of the bed, the cases of a rich white fabric that feels as soft and expensive as the comforter Jimin’s fingers run over mindlessly, flexing to feel the little lumps of the down filling.
“You good?”
Jimin blinks slowly, bringing his eyes back to focus at the sound of Jeongguk’s voice. “Hm?”
“You good?” Jeongguk repeats, walking into the room in fully naked glory. He’s towelling his hair dry, a bit of steam trailing after him. “Need anything?”
Jimin leans back on his hands, the large grey t-shirt he got from Jeongguk falling a bit over his shoulder when he moves, uncrossing his legs and spreading them wide apart, giving Jeongguk a front-row view of what he’s got underneath.
Which is nothing at all.
Jeongguk rolls his eyes with a weirdly fond smile, throwing the damp towel over the counter as he makes his way over to the bed. “Kinda miss the time you weren’t so fucking shameless.”
Jimin smirks devilishly, his lustful expression quickly morphing into one of fear, knees knocking together to hide himself in shame, shoulders hunched over, eyes growing round and teary. “Better?”
“I like both,” Jeongguk promises, propping one knee on the bed, leaning over enough to snatch Jimin’s lips in another I-fucking-missed-you kiss.
Distracted by the heat of his mouth, Jimin doesn’t feel Jeongguk’s hand sneaking up the back of his neck, carefully picking at the clasp of his necklace. It’s only when there’s a little click that he realises what’s happening.
“Wha—” Jimin gasps, hands coming up to try and catch it but Jeongguk is quicker, snatching the thin golden chain. “Why’d you take it off?”
Jeongguk’s eyes burn with excitement, lips curling up in a grin. “I got you something better.”
The bed creaks when Jeongguk stands, Jimin following his every move as he rounds the bed, throwing the necklace on top of the nightstand.
Jeongguk grabs two boxes from one of the drawers. A small, thin velvety box and another slightly larger black one. Using his knee to push the drawer shut, a soft tilt of his head tells Jimin to come closer.
Not needing to be told twice, Jimin turns and crawls to the other side of bed, sitting back on his heels right in front of him. He watches in anticipation, eyes glued to the larger box Jeongguk sets on the nightstand. “What is that?”
Jeongguk waves his hand in dismissal, focusing on the smaller, velvety box in his hands. “This,” he says, “This is a proper collar.”
He flips the lid up, turning the box so Jimin can see. And surely, sitting on a bed of red silk fabric, is a brand new collar.
A thick, elegant collar made of a shiny black leather.
Clearly custom-made, with a rather exquisite double stitching, adorned with silver studs and a delicate leash ring that matches the graceful double buckles on each end.
Jimin can’t help himself. His hand seeks it out, fingers running over the length, admiring the craftsmanship.
It’s so fucking beautiful.
And so fucking expensive.
“Flip it over.”
Eyes flicking up to Jeongguk’s face, Jimin takes one end, the buckles clinkling, and flips the collar over.
He expects an embossed message. ‘Daddy’s little slut’ or something.
Instead, on the left side, the letters of Jeongguk’s full name stand out like a high-relief sculpture.
It’s not embossed on the leather, nor painted on. ‘전정국’ is made out of the same metal that adorns the rest of the collar, each letter sharp and well defined.
Jimin stills for a moment, fingers frozen over the name.
He doesn’t even bother confirming, he knows.
He knows what this means.
Once the collar is strapped around his neck, the letters will dig into his throat, sharp and unforgiving.
He knows, once it’s off, the shape of Jeongguk’s name will be left like a brand on his skin for hours on end.
Pulling the collar out of the box, Jimin looks up, finding Jeongguk’s heated gaze. It’s like looking in a mirror—the same viciousness, the same hunger he feels reflected in Jeongguk’s eyes.
“Put it on me?” Jimin asks, eyes fluttering shut when Jeongguk’s fingertips trace the delicate column of his neck.
With his eyes closed, everything feels more intense;
Jeongguk’s hand curling around his own to take the collar from him.
The gentle caress of Jeongguk’s breath on his face when he leans in.
The brush of his fingers around his neck, followed by the soft touch of the leather.
The icy cold metal of Jeongguk’s name, the letters slowly warming up against his skin.
“You can keep the golden chain,” Jeongguk says over the soft clinking of the buckles being fastened. “But when you’re here, this is what you wear.”
Jimin nods, gripping the hem of the t-shirt he wears to stop himself from pouncing on Jeongguk like a feral beast. He’s trying to be good, but it’s hard to hold himself back, especially when Jeongguk tugs on the buckles to be a tease, fastening them to the tightest setting.
“It looks beautiful on you, baby,” Jeongguk says, playfully flicking the ring on the front.
Jimin’s eyes flutter open to find their noses almost touching. He can’t hold back the little moan the heat of Jeongguk’s gaze coaxes out when he hooks one finger into the collar’s ring, tugging slightly.
“Mm,” Jeongguk grins. “Perfect fit.”
Jimin can’t hold himself back.
He surges forward, rising on his knees to seek Jeongguk’s mouth.
The kiss lasts for a brief second. Jeongguk dodges it with a teasing smirk, the finger hooked onto the collar coming up to boop Jimin on the nose.
Jimin slaps his hand away.
But he should’ve expected it. Truly.
He knows Jeongguk, knows the beast lying in wait beneath that gorgeous face.
Still, Jimin squeals in a panic when the world spins, a sudden cry echoing around the room. Then comes the pain, hot and throbbing, spreading across his face, and Jimin realises it came from him.
He barely has time to feel it, the world spinning again when he’s flipped onto his stomach, face pressed harshly against the bedding, smothered by the soft comforter.
“Can’t believe you slapped me,” Jeongguk cackles hotly against his ear, tonguing the shell, his overpowering weight caging Jimin in. “A month apart and you forget how to behave, Jimin?”
Jimin wails when Jeongguk tugs his head up by the crown, nearly instincts driving him to grab Jeongguk’s fingers to try and pry them off. It feels like he’s tearing his hair by the roots.
Jeongguk curls his other hand into the buckles of the collar and tugs, cutting Jimin’s blood and air flow, making him cough violently. Jimin flails, legs kicking, arms scrambling for Jeongguk’s hands, mouth open in a panicked wheeze. Spit dribbles onto the bed below him, mixing with the tears cascading down his cheeks.
“You think you’re crazy?” Jeongguk goes on, whispering venomously against Jimin’s flushed cheek.
This feels different.
It’s not the playful asphyxiation of a blowjob, when his face turns red and puffy, tears running down his cheeks. It’s not the possessive breathlessness of when Jeongguk wraps his hands around his throat as he fucks him into oblivion on those dirty steps of the emergency stairwell.
“You haven’t seen me at my worst, baby. Don’t fucking try me.”
The more the collar digs into his throat, the more the fight leaves Jimin’s body, skin clammy with cold sweat, legs and arms giving out. Eyes open but not really seeing, he feels his consciousness slip, world fading…
Jimin startles awake.
He’s on his back, head resting on a soft pillow.
Disoriented, he blinks a few times, taking slow, deep breaths.
Click. Clack. Whirr.
Jimin follows the noise with his eyes, finding Jeongguk standing exactly where he was a moment ago.
“You passed out,” Jeongguk announces monotonously, attention stolen by the mysterious black box he’s rummaging through.
Oh.
It can’t have been more than a couple minutes, but Jimin feels weird, toes and fingertips tingly.
“T’was just a few seconds, barely enough to put you out for long. You’ll be fine.”
Jimin doesn’t reply. Honestly, he doesn’t really care.
Just the fact he’s here, crossing the boundary Jeongguk was dead set on never letting them cross, is worth a little faint.
So Jimin resorts to watching Jeongguk, taking in the erotic picture he paints.
He’s still fully naked, the sensual dips and shadows of his body more pronounced now that the main lights have been turned off, replaced by the soft, dimmed glow of nightstand lamps.
The sight of his bare body is something Jimin’s heavily acquainted with by now, but Jeongguk will never cease to amaze him.
It’s not just the godlike physique, but the aura he exudes.
Something so eerily powerful but easily concealed behind a sweet smile.
An Olympian from the old days, Jeongguk is built like an artwork, muscles so perfectly defined but not overdone, a symbol of strength and elegance, moulded to the perfect image of youthful beauty.
Strong arms, muscular thighs, broad shoulders. Cupid lips, chiselled jaw, intense eyes. It all adds to the picture of the most beautiful human Jimin has ever seen.
Jeongguk is like an oleander. A flower of unequalled beauty, yet the deadliest of them all.
An omen of death hidden below bonny pink petals who stands there, holding a Polaroid camera Jimin’s quite acquainted with, the little flap on the back popped open.
“We’re taking pics tonight?” Jimin asks, voice so small Jeongguk might not have heard him.
The collar digs into his neck with the smallest of movements, skin sensitive to the pressure the letters create on his throat.
Judging by the slight tightening of his jaw and the tiniest quirk of his brow, it’s clear Jeongguk heard him. Yet, he remains silent, focused on replacing the old Polaroid cartridge with a new one.
Propping himself up on an elbow, Jimin cranes his neck a bit more, taking a peek at what’s inside the box.
It’s filled to the brim with Polaroid pictures.
Their pictures.
The immortalised depictions of Jimin’s face contorted in pleasure, head thrown back against the pillows, his lips stretched around Jeongguk’s cock, his hole dripping with cum, Jeongguk’s hand wrapped tight around his throat—it’s all in there.
A cherished collection he’s finally privy to.
“Are you done being difficult?” Jeongguk breaks the tense silence, giving the camera a quick click to get the cartridge’s protective cover off.
“I just want you,” Jimin replies rather honestly, propping himself against the headboard.
“You have me.”
“Do I?”
Jeongguk inhales sharply, watching him for a moment.
Jimin watches him back, taking note of the most subtle changes, the different emotions flashing behind his eyes; the twitch of his eyelid, the downturn quirk of his mouth, the violent spark in his gaze.
His own face remains open, soul exposed like raw skin.
Ever since that day he spilled coffee on Jeongguk, Jimin has never worn his mask in times like these, never felt the need to wear his sheep’s skin, to keep up the facade.
Not with him. Never with him.
“‘Cause I don’t think I do, Jeongguk.” Jimin says, pointing at a picture that stands out amidst all others.
An image that taints the lewdness of those photographs, a little poisonous weed growing its roots in between them.
A threat Jimin itches to get rid of.
Jeongguk follows his gaze, glancing at the girl in the picture Jimin singled out: Choi Hayoon, Yonsei’s little princess and heiress to one of Korea’s largest financial groups, lying naked on Jeongguk’s bed, spread open and impaled by his cock.
He doesn’t say anything, nor does Jimin. They don’t have to, really.
And it’s in that pocket of silence that Jimin notices the distorted cacophony going on around them.
The soft tumbling of the washing machine.
The sensual music playing on TV.
The incessant splatter of rain against the window.
The thunderous, unforgiving storm raging outside.
The nasty, vengeful whispers of the demons gnawing at his consciousness.
“Why are you surprised? She’s my girlfriend, of course we fuck,” Jeongguk sets the camera down, picking Hayoon’s nude and tucking it into a corner of the box, away from view. “It would be weird if we didn’t—the fuck are you doing?”
“Getting rid of it,” Jimin retorts, clawing at the collar snuggled tight around his neck. “Go stuff her pussy if you wanna get your dick wet. I’m done playing your pup—fuck you, let go of me!”
“You’re done?” Jeongguk cackles, a vicious grip on Jimin’s wrists. “You’re the one who begged for my cock like a little nymphomaniac.”
“Fuck you—”
“You couldn’t keep yourself away from me even if you wanted to, Jimin. You’d come back crawling, begging me to—”
“Try me!”
“I can’t break up with her,” Jeongguk scoffs, exasperated. “Is this what you wanna hear? I can’t do it, not without shitting on my family’s connections. I have an image to keep, Jimin. You know that.”
Jimin fights him off, finally tugging his hands free from Jeongguk’s iron grip. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of your cock smelling like her cunt.”
“I barely fuck her. And when I do, it’s never raw. I would never risk our health—”
“That’s not the fucking point!”
Jimin’s outburst echoes around them like a feedback wave, blending into the rumble of a thunder.
“It’s driving me insane seeing you with her,” Jimin nearly screams, sitting up when Jeongguk turns, shuffling his feet to the other side of the room. “I don’t wanna share anymore.”
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, just crouches close to his backpack and starts rummaging through the outer pocket.
“I do everything you ask,” Jimin presses, breath picking up. “Everything. I deleted the BabyMimi account, even if it was important for me and Tae. I deleted all the stories from the fucking internet because people were picking up KJ was based off of you. I kept my distance and let you bully me over and ov—”
“Oh please, as if you don’t get off on it—”
“I fucking let your friends make fun of me while your cum leaked out of me. I keep my end of the deal, Jeongguk. And what do you do? You go and fuck that bitch—”
“It’s just another fucking mask,” Jeongguk growls under his breath, his back to Jimin. “My friends started to notice, Jimin. I’m doing this to ward off any rumours. You think your parents are homophobic? Try meeting my mother.”
“I’m not telling you to assume—”
“I can’t stand Hayoon,” Jeongguk admits, shutting Jimin right up. “You have no idea how hard it is to keep myself from choking her to death. She’s whiny, spoiled, insufferable. But she’s keeping me from being disowned.”
The bitchy reply is on the tip of Jimin’s tongue, tainted with the poison of jealousy, but it vanishes with the little flash of silver on Jeongguk’s hand.
It’s the ring.
Time slows enough for Jimin to see Jeongguk slide the ring onto his middle finger, standing back up.
“And then, there’s the fact my dad fucked up and made their embellishment scheme blow up. The Chois are breathing down our necks, and me keeping Hayoon happy is helping us stay in their good graces. My mom—”
“Do I ever cross your mind?” Jimin interrupts in a whisper, eyes leaving Jeongguk’s hand to search his eyes.
A second of hesitance is answer enough.
“When you’re kissing her, touching her?” he asks, sitting on his heels on the bed, fingers curling around the hem of his t-shirt. Each flex of his fingers weakens the chain keeping the beasts at bay, each heave of his chest is a pump of opium in his veins.
“Do I ever cross your mind, Jeongguk?”
His voice rings around the room, and Jimin knows he won’t ever regret it.
He won’t feel an ounce of guilt for the evil he’s about to unleash now that he knows the truth, now that he can let himself spiral, let the territorial beast take over his every action.
The coldness of Jeongguk’s ring is sharp against the heat of his cheek.
Under Jeongguk’s scorching touch, the ring feels like a brand, sealing their cursed fate with another deal with the devil.
Jimin closes his eyes in bliss, pliant under Jeongguk’s rough handling, enjoying the bounce of the mattress when Jeongguk pounces, the press of his body, the heavy breathing falling onto his parted lips.
“Does she feel the way I feel under you?”
Staring into his eyes, it’s almost as if Jimin sees himself infecting Jeongguk, the tendrils of Jimin’s presence spreading under his skin like a parasite.
Like his own custom-crafted disease.
“Can she taste me when you kiss her?”
“As if you don’t know the answer to that,” Jeongguk says with a breathy laugh, pining Jimin’s head against the bed by the throat. “How could I not think of you, when it’s you who worships me.”
Jimin whimpers, the words sinking in, the hold on his throat that tiny bit tighter, collar digging painfully into his neck.
“When it’s your body that serves me,” Jeongguk taunts, his other hand disappearing between Jimin’s legs. “If I say the word, won’t you drop to your knees and start praying?”
A loud thunder crashes through the sky, making the lights flicker.
The window rattles. It’s like the world mirrors the turmoil within Jimin’s body, the boil of his blood, the bloom of his laboured breaths, the overwhelming desire Jeongguk yields to his heart’s content.
Licking along the soft cut of Jimin’s jaw all the way to his ear, fingers teasing Jimin’s hardening cock, Jeongguk says, “You’d never leave me. I’m your God, Jimin.”
This time, when Jimin surges for a kiss, Jeongguk doesn’t stop him.
He kisses him back with the same ferociousness, licking and biting, swallowing all the little moans his tongue coaxes out.
Jeongguk’s lips are as warm as they’re possessive, soft and unforgiving, consuming Jimin whole.
“My heroin,” Jimin breathes heavily into the kiss, nails raking down Jeongguk’s back to latch onto his ass. His nose is pressed against Jeongguk’s cheek, the soft tickle of his breath fanning back onto his face, making his lashes flutter.
His mind slips and the more they kiss, the more the dizzying taste that is so uniquely Jeongguk seeps into his tongue, spreading like venom.
“Heroin, huh? You’re addicted to me?” Jeongguk muses, nibbling Jimin’s pillowy lip, soothing the sting with a brush of his tongue, drawing the devil out of him. “Then take a hit, baby. OD on me.”
Jimin pushes Jeongguk off of him, flipping them around.
Jeongguk allows it, falling back against the pillows. “Enjoying the view?” he teases.
Jimin ignores it, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the supple expanse of skin that is all his, the body that is his to devour.
He drags his fingers down Jeongguk’s abs, teasing the junction where hip meets thigh, drawing closer to Jeongguk’s cock—hard and red, a translucent bead of precum sitting on the head.
Hands resting on Jeongguk’s thighs, Jimin bends over, the cold tip of his nose brushing along the flushed length. “Tonight I don’t wanna be sober,” he says, making Jeongguk shiver, legs jerking slightly.
“You sure?” Jeongguk checks, though his hand is already reaching over his head, blindly searching the little shelf above the headboard.
“I know you like it when we’re high,” Jimin nods, lips leaving a trail of slow, hot kisses along his cock, alternating between open mouthed pecks and kittenish licks.
“Come up here then,” Jeongguk reaches for his arm, helping Jimin sit up between his legs. Jeongguk props himself up against the headboard, handing Jimin a water bottle so he can use both hands to open the inconspicuous, slightly weathered Altoids tin box.
“The ₩10.000.000 candy,” he smiles, popping the lid.
Inside, there are a dozen small purple pills. Expensive and perfectly round, with a slight shimmery quality to it, the pills have the letters Y.K. embossed as the dealer’s logo.
Jimin giggles in anticipation, bringing his fingers to Jeongguk’s hair, leaning in to place little kisses along the column of his throat while Jeongguk plucks two pills from the box.
The wet smacks of his kisses meet the crinkle of plastic when the bottle gets a bit crushed between them, Jimin licking up to Jeongguk’s ear, nibbling on the lobe, tongue playing with the small silver hoops.
“Why’re you so touchy, we haven’t even taken it yet,” Jeongguk teases, prying the bottle from Jimin’s fingers.
Jimin sits back in time to see Jeongguk pop one pill into his mouth, his Adam’s apple moving up and down when he swallows.
After demolishing more than half the bottle, Jeongguk exhales loudly, head falling back against the pillows. He motions Jimin closer, a finger hooking onto the ring of his collar.
“C’mere,” Jeongguk breathes with a smile, Jimin gasping at the rough yank to his neck, hand instinctively wrapping around Jeongguk’s wrist.
Jeongguk pries his mouth open, placing the remaining pill on his tongue, helping him wash it down with a couple refreshing gulps of cold water, finishing the bottle after Jimin has had enough.
As the pill settles on his stomach, Jimin offers Jeongguk a small lopsided smile. “Will it take long?”
Jeongguk shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s waist. “Yoongi hyung ripped me off for this batch but his stuff is pure.”
He pulls Jimin into a lazy kiss, grabbing the hem of his shirt and hiking it up to his waist.
“Sit on me.”
The smack of his hands on Jimin’s ass is loud and lewd, eliciting a throaty moan from his little puppet.
Putty in his hands, Jimin adjusts their positions, straddling Jeongguk’s lap, hips rolling for that little bit of friction.
“Fuck, Jeongguk—just put it in,” he mewls, the fingers digging into the meat of his ass moving to tease his rim. “I cleaned before I came. I stretched— fuck. I stretched myself out in the s-shower, too.”
“Let it settle,” Jeongguk smiles against his cheek, delighted by Jimin’s response to his touch. Left hand sneaking under the t-shirt, he runs his fingers up the dip of Jimin’s spine, taking his nape in a firm grip.
The hold is passionate, possessive.
Jeongguk guides Jimin’s mouth back to his, right hand rubbing up and down Jimin’s crack, two fingers teasing his hole, spreading what little lube survived the shower and rain.
They lose all sense of time, lost in each other, kissing and kissing, enjoying a minute of six hundred seconds.
Jimin throws his head back with a sigh, mouth tingly and swollen, fisting Jeongguk’s hair when that hot mouth he’s obsessed with latches onto the curve of his jaw, hiding a little chuckle on the curve of his throat.
“What’re you laughing at?” he manages to ask.
“Still can’t believe you ran all the way here in the middle of a typhoon.”
To the growing sound of Jimin’s ragged breaths, Jeongguk brings his mouth to the other side of Jimin’s neck, biting and teasing, holding onto the collar and applying a little bit of pressure just to hear Jimin moan.
Jimin brings their foreheads together, Jeongguk’s sweet breath fanning over his face, hands roaming, grabbing, feeling, searching for skin on skin.
It’s here.
The euphoria.
It shows in the quicken of Jimin’s pulse, in the heave of Jeongguk’s chest, in the heat of their bodies, in the sweat beading on their skin.
It shows in the tremble of Jimin’s fingers, in the demonic growls laying in wait in the back of Jeongguk’s throat.
There’s this fervent tension between them, a frayed thread of sanity ready to snap.
And so, sneaking a hand between them, Jimin brushes his thumb over the head of Jeongguk’s cock, teasing him a bit. A dopey giggle escapes him when Jeongguk jolts, holding him even tighter.
He’ll have so many bruises.
When Jimin opens his eyes, it’s to find Jeongguk’s blown pupils staring back at him. “Feeling it?” Jeongguk asks, biting back a grin.
His lips are so pink.
So pink and swollen Jimin wants to eat them.
He nods anyway, unable to hold back the laughter bubbling in his chest. It’s so funny, isn’t it?
Jimin falls into Jeongguk’s chest, hand leaving his cock to hold onto his shoulder, silly giggles morphing into breathy moans when the world finally flips upside down.
Grabbing Jimin by the thighs, Jeongguk manhandles him like a little ragdoll, tossing Jimin onto the bed with little care, parting his legs with a roll of his hips, hands gripping the headboard above Jimin’s head.
“Yeah, you’re feeling it.”
Jimin sighs in bliss, legs spreading wider still, hands going to Jeongguk’s hips, pulling him closer. The pillow beneath his head feels like a cloud, the t-shirt twisted around his torso as tight as the collar pressing into his throat, leather now warm and pliant under the heat of his body.
“Fuck yeah, I’m feeling it,” he agrees easily, relishing the weight of Jeongguk’s body smothering him.
The haze of ecstasy is delicious.
Jimin welcomes it, ready to let Jeongguk devour him to feed his own demons, too.
The world around him grows sharper, louder.
But also fuzzy, shapeless.
It feels more.
The tickle of Jeongguk’s hair on his face.
The goosebumps all over his legs.
The sweat of his hands laid flat between Jeongguk’s shoulder blades.
It all feels more.
More. More.
Jimin doesn’t need to ask.
He simply opens his mouth, tongue lolling out.
But Jeongguk doesn’t spit on him like he usually does, doesn’t spray it all over Jimin’s face—no.
He leans in with care, lets it drip out of his mouth slowly, watches it slide down Jimin’s tongue to pool in the back of his throat.
It’s nasty and possessive and Jimin fucking loves it.
He makes a show of it, savouring it, clicking his tongue to make it bubble.
He swirls it around his mouth, swallowing the demeaning effect it has on him.
In the far back of his mind, Jimin thinks he should ask Jeongguk to pass on the praise to Yoongi for the MDMA, giving credit where credit is due.
The psychedelic is intense, stronger than any other Jimin has taken with Jeongguk in the months before.
He feels his body reacting to the stimulant, the build up of an euphoric rush thrumming under his skin, desperate for a way out.
He feels the effect of it starting to alter his perception, feels the drug mingling with his blood, but fuck, it doesn’t compare to the high of feeling Jeongguk spit on him, the demeaning act firing up the most fucked up parts of his psyche.
Jimin’s hands slide down Jeongguk’s arms like ribbons when Jeongguk pushes back and sits on his heels, chest glistening with sweat.
“I finally get to eat my birthday cake,” Jeongguk smirks, hands coming to rest on Jimin’s thighs.
The touch burns.
It’s as if Jimin feels every pore react to the touch, feeling each and every line of Jeongguk’s fingerprints.
“Almost a month later,” Jimin throws back, watching Jeongguk’s hand disappear between his legs. “It’s stale by now.”
“Is it?” Jeongguk drags a finger around his rim, pushing it in slightly. Jimin whimpers, legs covered in goosebumps.
Painfully slow, Jeongguk brings the finger to his mouth, giving it a good suck. “Tastes good to me.”
Jimin nearly rips holes in the bedsheets when Jeongguk grabs him by the ankles, bending his legs up.
“You know what it tastes like?” Jeongguk says into his skin, laying biting kisses down Jimin’s thigh all the way to the curve of his ass.
Jimin shakes his head, the pillow muffling most of his moan when he’s roughly flipped over onto his stomach, shuddering when his neglected cock brushes the sheets beneath him.
“Tastes like my bitch,” Jeongguk says, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt, using it as a harness to pull Jimin’s hips up.
Jimin unravels in a string of curses and moans, pushing his ass out and arching his back enticingly, chest glued to the mattress. Jeongguk’s sweat drips onto his lower back, sliding down the dip of his spine, over the curve of his ass—it’s fucking heaven.
Jeongguk spits on his hole and smears that drool all over his ass, dragging it around, fingers pulling Jimin’s cheeks apart to spread him open. “Your ass tastes like fucking candy,” he breathes hotly against Jimin’s hole, pulling a breathy, drawn out moan off of him.
“Oh God,” Jimin sobs into the pillow, squirming in place, starting to drool all over himself. “F-Fuck, Jeongguk—”
There’s a loud inhale, a smack of lips. And then, Jeongguk’s mouth is on him.
He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t drag it out. Lips pursed tight, Jeongguk eats Jimin out with devout fervour.
Losing himself to the feeling of a wicked tongue and the sound of filthy, slobbery slurps, Jimin lets the wicked smile spread across his face: the mouth that speaks for the entire student body of Yonsei University is the one that’s eating him out.
Jeongguk is desired by many. A role model amidst the students, always flanked by the hottest girls and richest guys.
A typical college fuck boy. One you’d expect to date a cheerleader or something.
But it’s the shy little genius from the Literature Department, Park Jimin, who has Jeon Jeongguk’s strong nose digging into his crack, his tongue licking his insides, his hands keeping him spread open like a common whore.
“Fuck, I missed your ass,” Jeongguk admits breathlessly, breaking off to spit on Jimin’s hole again before latching on it once more, two fingers joining soon after. He moves the digits with precision, knowing how to press each and every one of Jimin’s buttons by now.
Jimin unravels under the touch, the loud slurping noise rewiring his brain to feel it all more intensely, so overwhelmingly aware of his body he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
With Jeongguk’s tongue and fingers deep into his ass, Jimin sneaks a hand under his torso, fist spreading the frothing drool that’s dripped down his taint as he jerks himself off.
He’s barely curled his fingers around his cock when a menacing hand comes crashing onto his ass, hard and unforgiving.
“Didn’t say you could touch yourself.”
Jeongguk hits him again, licking a flat stripe up his ass and pulling back to blow on it, Jimin’s grip faltering long enough for Jeongguk to push his hand away, using a firm grip on the collar of his t-shirt to pull Jimin to his knees.
“Off,” Jeongguk commands, hands sneaking under Jimin’s t-shirt to pull it over his head. He pops at least fifteen stitches, the crisp sound of fabric tearing muffled by their heavy breathing.
Both naked, Jeongguk wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, a hand resting below his navel, the other sliding over the sweat accumulated on his chest.
“You look as wet as when you came here,” he chuckles, pulling his hand back so they can see the sweat on his palm.
“And we barely started,” Jimin smiles, throwing his head back on Jeongguk’s shoulder. The movement makes his head spin, enhancing the effects of the drug.
It’s finally peaking.
Jimin feels it all.
He feels his heart pounding, fingers taken by the same anxious tremble he feels in Jeongguk’s touch. Feels Jeongguk’s cock pressing against his lower back, his own cock bobbing up and down between his legs.
He feels how fucking dry his mouth is, no matter how many times he licks his lips. How his hair is drenched in sweat, sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. How their shadows dance on the wall above the bed, sordid and mesmerising.
Jimin is flung back to reality when his back hits the mattress, Jeongguk leaning over him to reach the headboard.
The room spins, a blur of lights flashing before his eyes, and it takes Jimin a moment to focus on Jeongguk.
In clubs where pills are passed around like water, people usually say there’s no one there when you look them in the eyes but, here, it’s as if the real Jeongguk surfaces.
The ecstasy strips him of all his masks, even the ones he still wears around Jimin.
“It’s so fucking hot in here,” Jeongguk huffs, pushing that mess of hair off his face, a drop of sweat dripping down his elbow with the movement.
He sits between Jimin’s legs for a moment, lips red, face flushed, pupils so inhumanly dilated. And it’s staring into those demonic eyes that Jimin realises that, no matter how much he eats away at Jeongguk’s psyche, he truly is Jeongguk’s lifelong slave.
That all he wants is for Jeongguk to destroy him.
To take and take and take until there’s nothing left.
Like an addiction.
A craving he needs to fulfil in order to feed the demons inside him, to shush the voices that keep on chanting Jeongguk, Jeongguk, Jeongguk.
Because Jeongguk is what Jimin craves.
And the truth is, Jeongguk is worse than an addiction.
Because with him there are no moments of clarity, no wish for withdrawal.
Only the spiral down the path of destruction.
“Gimme another one,” Jimin says when Jeongguk pops another pill, demolishing another water bottle. Some of it trickles down the side of his mouth, along the column of his throat, joining the rivulets of sweat covering his entire torso.
Jeongguk saves him a quarter, reaching over Jimin’s head to pluck another pill from the box.
He misses it completely, upending the entire thing on Jimin, pills flying everywhere.
Some fall on the bed, some roll to the floor, the sound of the little pills hitting the wood oddly loud in the room.
Jeongguk doesn’t care. He simply picks a pill that’s landed on Jimin’s chest and pushes it into his mouth, Jimin yelping a little with the forceful push, Jeongguk helping him drink what little water is left on the bottle.
The water is cool, soothing. Jimin moans in satisfaction, relishing the press of the collar when he swallows it all in huge gulps.
He opens his eyes, making sure Jeongguk is looking when he wraps his lips around the bottle’s mouth, filthily tonguing the opening once it’s empty.
Jeongguk responds beautifully to the bait.
“You make me feel like an animal,” he grunts, low and rough, drooling all over himself.
“Then fuck me like one,” Jimin gurgles, water dribbling down the sides of his chin when Jeongguk yanks him halfway off the bed by the hook of his collar, smashing their lips together.
Cocooned by a dance of sounds and lights, the world spinning around them, Jimin lets Jeongguk tangle him in his web, consume him whole, destroying the last traces of light to bring out the darkest parts of his soul.
By the time Jeongguk pushes him back onto the pillows Jimin is a gasping mess, barely kissing him back, biting and scratching Jeongguk like a feral kitten, blunt nails digging into his arms, his back—everywhere, anywhere.
“Mount me,” he half sobs, feeling so fucking empty. “P-Please—ngh—please, p-please.”
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, but Jimin feels him smile against his lips before he breaks the kiss.
Jimin fucking loves it. He loves the attention, the way the storm outside is no match to the one raging in Jeongguk’s eyes.
The rain taps incessantly against the window, but Jimin is deaf to it now. He can barely hear the music either.
There’s only Jeongguk, and Jimin feels himself grow more and more breathless under the weight of his stare, of all the words left unsaid but that are very much swirling in those blown pupils.
They take a breath, chest heaving in unison, the fire dwindling enough for Jimin to hear it—the whispery, wicked voice awakened by the moment, fuelled by the psychedelic that sheds him of the social righteousness that keeps evil at bay.
And so Jimin tangles his fingers in Jeongguk’s hair and pulls him into a kiss. When Jeongguk’s hands tighten around his neck, Jimin pulls back slightly, just enough to speak.
“Let me kill them,” he breathes against Jeongguk’s lips.
Jeongguk’s grip on him tightens.
“Let me free you of it all.”
“Shut up,” Jeongguk growls into his mouth, forcing a gasp out of Jimin with the force of his hold.
Shut up, he says.
Do it, is what Jimin hears.
“Let me fucking gut that bitch for touching what’s mine,” Jimin begs in that kiss, biting down until he draws blood. The low, pained whimper from Jeongguk is a clear crack on his mask, the sound alone feeding the urge to act on his most psychopathic nature.
Snatching back the upper hand, Jeongguk manhandles Jimin onto his stomach in a way his arms are trapped under his chest, using his knees to spread Jimin’s legs further apart.
He grabs Jimin by the hair, shoving his face into the pillow. “I told you to shut the fuck up.”
The roughness reignites the fire burning within, but the damage is done.
The demons are out to play, and Jimin hands over his mind to that all consuming need to possess each other.
Pinned to the mattress, he arches his back, bringing both hands back to pull his ass cheeks apart, grip slipping with how much of Jeongguk’s sweat is dripping down on him.
Jimin pushes back the moment he feels the blunt head of Jeongguk’s cock breaching him, taking the full length of that deliciously thick cock in a single thrust.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Jeongguk moans, free hand slipping on the sweat of Jimin’s back, landing by his head.
And on that hand right in front of Jimin’s face, is his silver ring.
After that, Jimin is fucking gone.
He hands himself over to Jeongguk, relishing the fullness of his cock, the blissful sensation of his own cock brushing the sheets beneath, the loud moans tore from his throat encouraging Jeongguk more and more.
“Pl–please, please, please. Jeongguk d-don’t—don’t stop, don’t stop,” Jimin sobs, stuttering on each of Jeongguk’s violent thrusts, loving the helplessness, the high of being thoroughly owned.
Jeongguk mounts him like an animal, drilling his cock into Jimin over and over again, holding onto a fistful of his hair, nails scratching his scalp, overcome by this primitive energy that has him growling and grunting like an ape.
Eyes glazing out, Jimin lets his hands fall to the bed, lost to the euphoria of sex and the distorted reality of the drug spreading throughout his body.
The haze in his mind grows the more Jeongguk stretches him open on his cock, claimed like a bitch in heat.
Jeongguk nails Jimin’s prostate with each thrust, slamming into the spot that’s sure to make him cockdumb.
“I’m gonna fuck you so full of my cum you’ll leak for days,” he breathes into his neck, the force of his hips punching little puffs of air from Jimin’s lungs. “You’ll feel me inside you, feel me poisoning you from the inside out.”
Jimin can’t find the breath to even answer that.
He doesn’t know up from down, left from right.
He can only feel the mind-numbing pleasure of having Jeongguk inside him, can only feel the bed creaking, dragging against the floor, his own body rocking up and down as Jeongguk fucks his brains out on those filthy sheets.
“You bring out the worst in me, Jimin,” Jeongguk pants heavily, the words as volatile as the sweat running down their bodies, as the wet smack of skin on skin.
Jimin chases that feeling, clenching even tighter around Jeongguk’s cock, hands scrambling back to find Jeongguk’s ass, sinking his nails into it and urging him deeper, harder. “F-Fuck me, fuck me. J-Jeongguk, please, please—oh God—”
Jeongguk acquiesces, breathing down on Jimin like a rabid beast, drooling all over him. “I’m gonna fuck you until you prolapse,” he groans, pulling all the way out until the head catches on Jimin’s fucked out rim. “I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t take cock anymore, all used and loose like a cheap whore.”
“Yes—y-yes, yes. Oh God—yes, please. Please,” Jimin whimpers, loving the way Jeongguk uses him for his pleasure, picking up the pace, taking and taking and taking—
“You’re just a cocksleeve,” Jeongguk growls, a hand sneaking up to hook onto the ring of Jimin’s collar, “a set of warm holes for me to fuck.”
His thrusts turn frantic. Sloppy.
“So why,” Jeongguk hisses, tugging on the collar, pulling hard enough to see the deep red lines of his name already embed on Jimin’s skin. “Why am I so fucking obsessed with you?”
He’s choking, the world is spinning, his ears are ringing, but Jimin hears Jeongguk loud and clear.
Obsessed with you.
Obsessed with you.
Obsessed with you.
It’s with this secret seeping like a whisper in his bones that Jimin succumbs to the most carnal of pleasures, crying and screaming while Jeongguk chases after his own.
Floating in and out of consciousness, disconnected from his body and hyper aware at the same time, Jimin is a raw nerve. He writhes and whines under Jeongguk, overstimulated and smothered, drooling all over himself.
He feels it all.
Feels his cock leaking cum like a faucet, the burning hot body on top of him, the soaking wet strands tickling his nape, the press of the collar branding him like cattle.
He feels Jeongguk’s face squished against his shoulder blades, feels Jeongguk’s nails sinking into his hips, feels that cock fucking him into oblivion.
He feels when Jeongguk finally tenses, mumbling his name over and over again.
He feels that deliciously hot cum, the heavy spurts coating his insides, feels Jeongguk panting and moaning against his ear, consumed by blinding pleasure.
It’s all too much.
Floating but heavy as lead, Jimin forgets himself completely, forgets where he is, what he is.
There’s only the white hot electricity running through his veins, the clench of his muscles milking the life out of Jeongguk, the wetness of all that cum filling him up, the throb of the cock still fucking into him.
Time loses significance.
Here, but not.
Present, but away.
Jimin feels himself black out for a while, coming to only when he’s flipped onto his back, Jeongguk’s cock slipping out of him with a loud schlop.
God, he feels so fucking empty.
Still, Jimin doesn’t move.
He just lies there and watches the colours swirl across the ceiling, their path interrupted by Jeongguk’s shadow when he stands.
He just lies and listens to the sound of the fridge’s door being yanked open, the violent clink of bottles, the plasticky crack of a water bottle’s cap.
The washing machine is still going.
The storm rages on.
The music keeps on playing.
Sensing his approach more than noticing his shadow, Jimin tilts his head to the side to openly stare at Jeongguk.
Hair plastered to his forehead, flushed all the way down to his chest, Jeongguk looks fucking gorgeous. The colours bounce off his skin, his entire body haloed by the glow of the TV, reeking of power and lust.
He’s quite literally dripping sweat, replacing the lost water by chugging more than half the bottle in just a couple swallows. “You good?” he asks, the satisfied smile on his lips proof enough of the pleasure still coursing through his veins.
Jimin nods, squirming on the sheets, a bit of cum trickling out with the movement.
He can’t hold back a wince when Jeongguk helps him sit up, pressing the bottle to his lips. The fresh, icy cold water highlights how parched his throat really is, absolutely busted by now. He can barely swallow.
But Jimin drinks it all, lying back down with a loud, satisfied sigh.
It’s perfect.
The soiled bed sheets, the sweat cooling on his skin, the sensual music, the cum leaking out of him—it’s all fucking perfect.
“Strawberry or cherry?” he hears Jeongguk ask.
“Cherry,” Jimin replies, not sure of what he’s choosing. It hurts so much to talk.
There’s the crinkly sound of a plastic wrap and the very distinct sound of hard candy hitting teeth.
Soon, one of Jeongguk’s hands is on Jimin, caressing his ankle, drawing lazy circles up his leg, calling on the goosebumps that promptly appear on his skin.
Jimin finds his other hand, intertwining their fingers as he spreads his legs, pulling until Jeongguk finds his way back in between them.
Jeongguk reeks of sex.
His hair is a mess. His pupils, so incredibly dilated it should be worrying. His cock still hard, coated in drying cum, bobbing between his legs.
And yet, Jeongguk looks so ridiculously cute with his right cheek all round and puff from the lollipop he swirls in his mouth.
Jimin can’t help but giggle at the view, exploding in a little bubble of raspy laughter when Jeongguk tickles his lower belly.
Why are they laughing? Jimin doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know why he can’t stop smiling either.
He just knows his body is lighter, floating above Jeongguk’s bed, and that he’s about to get fucked again.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Jeongguk says, the light playfulness vanishing in a breathy second.
There’s a sweet scent of cherry in his breath, too subtle to fight the heavy smell of sex. The sweaty, stuffy air is a stronger aphrodisiac.
Jimin’s gaze never strays.
He watches Jeongguk run his hands over his stomach, smearing whatever filth is gathered there, cupping the underside of Jimin’s knees and pushing them up. Jimin replaces Jeongguk’s hands with his own, holding his legs open for him.
The lollipop clunks loudly against Jeongguk’s teeth when he says, “You know what to do.”
Whining low in his throat, Jimin clenches around nothing, muscles contracting and spasming as he forces out whatever cum left inside him, pushing it out in those gassy bursts Jeongguk loves.
“Yeah, yeah. Let me see,” he pants, breath picking up, lollie leaving his mouth with a lewd pop. “Come on, baby.”
Jimin cries out, more cum trickling out of him.
“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Jeongguk groans, grabbing his cock for some relief, tugging lazily as he watches all that pearly white slide down Jimin’s crack, pooling under him.
Jimin gasps loudly, eyes wide, when he feels something cold and sticky against his hole, looking down in time to see the small red ball disappear inside him. “Fuck,” he sobs, throwing his head back, eyes fluttering shut at the odd sensation.
“You can’t even wrap around it, gaping as you are,” Jeongguk slurs in awe, dragging the lollipop across Jimin’s hole, gathering the mess of cum all over his ass. “Look at me.”
The world stops when Jimin sees Jeongguk pull back, holding up the lollie covered in cum.
It trickles down the stick, onto his fingers, over his ring.
A filthy glaze mixing with the melting cherry flavour.
It’s gross and vulgar and so fucking hot, but it’s the absolute fascination in Jeongguk’s eyes that has Jimin wanting to burst out of his skin, wanting that still raging fire to consume him whole.
Noticing he has Jimin’s attention, Jeongguk looks him in the eye, tongue lolling out as he slowly pops the candy back in his mouth.
His swollen lips wrap around the stick as he gives it a good suck, swirling his tongue around it as if to make sure the taste covers all his taste buds, a mix of drool and cum bubbling on the corner of his lips.
“Oh God, J-Jeongguk—”
Jeongguk smirks, giving the lollie another good, slobbery suck.
“Round two,” he announces around a wet gurgle, pulling back enough to pucker his lips and spit down on his cock, drool tinted a light pink.
Fucked up truly is their new sober.
And it’s with lust and a good dose of ecstasy taking over his brain that Jeongguk pops the lollie back in his mouth, takes Jimin’s legs and hugs them to his chest, Jimin’s ankles crossing behind his head the moment he shoves his cock back in, that frothy drool stringing between them.
The assault of pleasure is so sudden, so intense, Jimin feels himself succumbing to uncharted territory, reduced to a mess of moans and cries, fisting the sheets to keep himself grounded.
It’s difficult to remain sane when Jeongguk knows how to unravel his entire being, how to fuck him into a puddle of tears and cum, how to love him how he wants to be loved.
Like a monster.
This time, Jeongguk is rougher. He strikes him across the face, hard enough to make Jimin’s cheek burn with pinpricks, to make his eyes cross.
He hits Jimin hard and fast, making sure the red print of his hand blooms on his skin soon after, making sure he’ll have a matching welt on his ass, too.
Because Jeongguk knows Jimin will love to look in the mirror later and see those tiny blood freckles pop around the red, swollen marks on his skin.
He knows Jimin will love it when they take pictures after, knows he’ll love the sting of soap when they shower, relishing the pain of miniscule cuts on his skin.
So when Jimin asks him to hit harder, Jeongguk just laughs, says “I’m afraid you’ll pass out again.”
So Jimin asks him to fuck him harder. And Jeongguk does.
He yanks the pillow from under Jimin, tossing it away, leans over him and fucks him harder.
He makes sure the collar digs into Jimin’s throat every time he pulls on it, jostling Jimin back and forth on his cock, forcing his mouth open to pass on the lollipop to him.
He lets Jimin taste them, lets him suck on the sweet wild cherry, smearing the sticky drool glossing over his lips all over his face. He does it because he knows how much Jimin loves smelling dirty and used, knowing he did a good job to please.
And Jimin? He takes it all with a loopy, pleased smile.
Jeon Jeongguk is his.
And like the typhoon taking over the city, muffling their sins to the ears of the outside world, Jimin will wreck everything in his path to make sure it stays that way.
—
After an exhausting search party, the Choi and Jeon families have finally been found.
The bodies of Choi (57), his wife (43) and daughter (24), along with Jeon (53), his wife (48) and youngest daughter (20) have been found in the chairman of Choi Financial Corporation’s abandoned yacht thirteen miles off the coast of Busan a week after searches began.
Choi and others were last seen at the Golden Yacht Club in Haeundae on the morning of July 13th, when they boarded the yacht ‘Muse’ for a Saturday summer outing.
Coast Guard was called when the family did not return by the end of the second day, and no further contact was established with the vessel. Unable to get in touch with his family and in-laws, Jeon Jeongguk (24) was the one to contact authorities and report his missing relatives.
In a press conference held this morning by the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, it was shared that the national athlete was initially meant to join his family on the trip but stayed back due to an academic assignment.
Member of the Student Council, Jeongguk attended a conference held to discuss matters regarding the upcoming academic year, also covering for one of the representatives of the Literature Department who found himself ill at the time of meeting.
In a post on social media, Jeongguk confirmed the passing of his girlfriend and her parents, as well as his own father, mother and sister. Overcome by grief, the student says he finds himself at a loss, unable to understand the sudden passing of his loved ones.
The odd scene found by coastal officers prompted a police investigation for premeditated murder, as the yacht had no signs of scuffle or wreckage, leading investigators to the most likely possibility of a seventh person aboard.
Forensic tests on site identified an abnormal pattern of decay, and a detailed autopsy confirmed all victims died from consumption of lethal amounts of arsenic, lead and belladonna (ingredients found in the poisonous mixture known as Aqua Tofana). The colourless, tasteless concoction is easily concealed in liquids, and traces of the poison were found all over the vessel, corroborating the investigation for murder.
At the time of writing, no further evidence has been found.