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a-new-superhero · 2 months

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Fall From The Stars (Straight Into Your Arms) (One-Shot)

Summary: Maybe it should have been obvious to Jimin, after so many years.

Maybe, after so many years, it sometimes was, if he let himself think about it, let himself believe.

Sometimes, Jungkook would look at him in such a way that Jimin would feel himself falling falling falling. In love, in lust, into the galaxies in his eyes.

Pairing: Jungkook x Jimin

Warnings: Canon compliant, coming out, mentions of homophobia, mild self-loathing

Word Count: 4,322

Masterlist || AO3

Author’s Note: Well, hi there! It's been a while (note to self: when all of your author's notes start that way, you definitely spend more time procrastinating than writing...). I have been trying to work on the first proper chapter of Shattered for months now, but writer's block is actually real, I swear, and it's just not coming easy to me right now.

This, however, came out of nowhere. I wrote it in about two hours yesterday evening, and I'm not even sure if I like it or if it's any good, but I have had A Day and so, I figure, fuck it! Let's actually get some work posted. What's the harm?

So, have some unplanned slightly angsty, awkward Jikook circa 2015ish. Enjoy!

P.S. The title is from the song Stars by Simply Red. The song itself isn't at all relevant to this little one-shot really, but the title fit too well to not use it.

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Maybe it should have been obvious to Jimin, after so many years.

Maybe, after so many years, it sometimes was, if he let himself think about it, let himself believe.

Sometimes, Jungkook would look at him in such a way that Jimin would feel himself falling falling falling. In love, in lust, into the galaxies in his eyes. And he'd sometimes think - sometimes wonder - whether Jungkook was perhaps falling too. It made him feel a little better to believe, just for a moment, that he wasn't falling alone without a parachute, without a hand to hold or the promise of a safe landing, lost lost lost in those starry eyes. Maybe he and Jungkook were freefalling together. Maybe they were floating, weightless. Maybe.

But then he'd watch the easy way that the younger would laugh with Jin, the way he'd wrap a nonchalant arm around Taehyung's shoulders or fall asleep curled up to Hobi on the couch, and he'd remember the hesitance that painted the maknae's face the last time he'd made physical contact with Jimin, just a tentative hand at the top of his arm, and he'd convince himself that it was all in his head, those looks, the notion of the two of them riding an air current, defying gravity, reaching reaching - always reaching, for each other or for a future they couldn't help but hope for.

“He's just a kid,” Yoongi would assure him, on the rare occasion when Jimin would whisper his confusion to him in the deep dark of night, two hushed voices frighteningly loud in the sleepy silence of the dorm. “He's awkward. He doesn't know what he's doing yet. It's how it's supposed to be.”

“But he won't even…” Jimin would tail off, searching his drowsy, overworked brain for the right way to explain. “It's like I disgust him. Like he knows what I am, how I am, what I feel, and he hates it. Maybe he hates me.”

“How could anyone?” Yoongi would murmur, so nice, so kind when there was no one else awake to witness it. “Jimin-ah, don't you remember what it was like? How you'd fumble around your crushes when you were still trying to figure shit out?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But?”

“But I was never friends with them. I didn't live with them, work with them, spend every second with them. This is- It's different.”

“Yeah, it's different.” Yoongi would fidget, all sharp angles and long limbs against Jimin's firm muscles and soft curves. “He's having to do all of this with everyone watching, with a camera in his face the whole damn time. Of course he's gonna be self-conscious, second guess himself. It's not like this is the most accepting industry.”

“I know, but…”

“He's scared, Jimin-ah. Give him time.”

And he knows. That’s the thing. Jimin knows Yoongi’s right. Jungkook is scared. They’re all scared: of failure; of success; of being seen; of their secrets being torn from their chests and held bare beneath the spotlight for inspection. He and Yoongi most of all, he thinks. They’re the ones with the most to hide, after all, the ones who know who they are and what they want, but couldn’t ever dare admit it for fear of losing it all, everything they’ve been running towards.

Fame is fickle, but the team is a family, and neither one of them could stand to let their family down.

But Jungkook…

He’s brave, Jimin thinks. So shy, so afraid with his bitten-red lips and bambi eyes, staring staring, always staring, as if he can’t quite believe he’s there, in the midst of the show, in the centre of the stage, on the covers of the magazines. But he’s still there, standing in the middle of their line-up, glaring defiantly at the cameras even as his cheeks flush pink at the attention. He’s still belting out his high notes and hitting every beat as they perform their hearts out, desperate, so desperate to be accepted, to be loved.

He’s brave because he fears but does it anyway, chases his dreams, and so, maybe, if he’s not chasing Jimin, it’s because Jimin isn’t one of them. Maybe Jimin is just another brother to him. Maybe everything else, anything else, only exists in Jimin’s imagination.

Maybe.

***

It’s late. He should really be back at the dorm, Jimin knows, trying to get some rest before another day of schedules - interviews and pre-recordings and practice practice practice. He should be tucked up in his bunk, catching up on the sleep that his body desperately needs, but his mind refuses to switch off, stuck in a loop of Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook and it’s enough to drive anybody mad. But Jimin… Jimin is exhausted. He’s drained physically, emotionally, mentally. And he’s almost certain that his mind’s refusal to stray from the youngest of their team might actually send him spiralling into insanity if he gives himself over to it, and so he’d dragged himself up and out, and now he’s here: in the gym, skin glistening with sweat under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.

He can see himself in the mirror as he runs, feet pounding against the treadmill, eating up the miles as he wrinkles his nose and tries not to hate the way the bright copper of his hair makes him look paler, the way his tiredness paints dark circles beneath his eyes and makes them droop, the way no amount of hard work and no strict a diet seems to lessen the roundness of his cheeks. He never used to judge himself so harshly, he knows, but it’s different now. Everything is different now, with so many eyes watching him, assessing him and finding him wanting, always wanting. He’s not a boy anymore, not a man either. He’s an idol and that means he has to be perfect. There’s so much about himself that he can’t change, but his body, his hair, his features… They’re fair game, so much that can be done with exercise and dyes and wax and make-up. He can at least strive for physical perfection even if he so often falls short.

What’s beneath… He understands by now that there’s no changing that. God knows he’d wasted enough years trying. There’s no make-up that can change how a body yearns, how a heart loves; no exercise that can train his gaze to submit to the teasing swish of a short skirt around full thighs rather than the taut flex of muscle under skin; no dyes that can colour him anything other than what he is. He just has to trust that, if he can work a little harder, if he can get as close to perfect on the outside as possible, that it might be enough of a distraction that nobody will care to look any deeper. Maybe.

The soft sweep of the automatic doors sliding open at the other end of the room tears Jimin from his cutting inspection of his own reflection, and he snaps his head to the left to see who has intruded on his late-night workout, only to find himself gulping nervously when Jungkook shuffles in. He’d been sleeping when Jimin left, he was certain of it, but now he’s here in the gym, soft brunette locks pillow-tousled and broad shoulders looking smaller somehow in his oversized tracksuit, though, of course, he’s bigger than Jimin. Has been for some time.

“What are you doing up?” Jimin asks - hates that his curiosity sounds so accusatory when he didn’t mean anything by it, except perhaps, ‘Why aren’t you sleeping?’ or ‘Are you okay?’; hates that Jungkook’s mouth curves down into a frown.

“I woke up and you were gone,” is his only explanation, as if that’s enough of a reason to be leaning casually against the weights machine at 2am, watching as Jimin slows the treadmill he’s using to a brisk walking pace.

Jimin says nothing. The silence between them feels stilted, awkward, and he hates that too; hates so much about himself and this and the whole situation that he’s scared he might scream it out into the void between them if he dares to open his mouth. So he doesn’t, turning back to the mirror and continuing to march on the spot, letting the whirr of the machine and the steady thump of his pulse drown out the stifled sound of his loathing.

“Why’d you leave, hyung?” Jungkook is moving closer, seemingly unwilling to let himself be deterred by Jimin’s determination to ignore him, and Jimin wishes he wouldn’t because when he’s standing right in front of him he can see the creases in his cheek where it had been squashed against his pillow and those damn galaxies in his eyes, stars on stars on endless stars. He feels winded all of a sudden, as if he can’t draw in a deep enough breath, and he slows the treadmill to a stop, leaning heavily on the handrails as he pants.

Jungkook watches him. Waits. He keeps waiting as Jimin leans down and grabs his water bottle, popping the cap and taking a sip, letting the cool liquid soothe the fire that’s burning in his veins. Finally he shakes his head, raising one hand to wipe away the sweat that’s beading on his brow. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“But you’re exhausted. We all are.”

Jimin nods, waits for Jungkook to say something more, to ask him why or if he can help at all because he’s like that, would do anything for his hyungs, but instead it’s Jungkook’s turn to stay silent and he just watches watches watches as Jimin finds himself falling once more.

“Spot me?” Jimin asks, but it’s not really a question. It’s a demand or perhaps a plea for help, a way to drag himself out of the starry depths he’s losing himself in and ground him. The padding of the bench gives a little beneath the press of his spine when he sits down and lays back, but it’s still firm enough, still solid, still real. He’s not floating. He’s not falling. He’s here, and the cool metal of the barbell is bliss beneath his sweaty palms, the weights either end forcing him down down down towards the earth, exerting his muscles and it feels good. It feels like something other than weightlessness, so he’ll take it, enjoy it while he can.

But perhaps he didn’t think it through all the way because, of course, Jungkook is spotting him, and that means he’s watching Jimin intently, gauging his abilities, his comfort, how much more he can take. His bottom lip has disappeared between his teeth as he watches - he’s always watching, waiting - and Jimin has to close his eyes because he can’t breathe again and how can he work out when he can’t get enough air into his lungs? He can’t. He can’t and now his arms are shaking with the strain, his biceps aching, failing, and he’s sure he’s going to drop the bar, crush his ribs beneath its weight, until he blinks and it’s gone and he’s floating again with nothing to weigh him down. Or perhaps he’s falling. He’s not sure he can even tell anymore when Jungkook hovers over him, concern pinching his brow.

“Hyung, are you okay?” he asks, slightly panicked, his voice an octave higher than usual. “What happened?”

“Must’ve overdone it.” Jimin can hear the words leaving his mouth but he can’t quite remember forming them. Jungkook’s hair is falling into his eyes, starlight shining through leaf-laden boughs and dappling Jimin’s skin, and all he can think is pretty pretty, he’s so damn pretty, and Jimin just… He wants to touch. His arm lifts on its own before his mind catches up with his urges, and his fingertips are almost there, almost close enough to brush against Jungkook’s cheek, trace his scar - pretty, so pretty. He can feel the warmth emanating from the other boy and he wants wants wants.

If he thought falling was painful, lonely and endless, then crash landing, Jimin finds, is excruciating. Jungkook flinches at the close proximity, and just like that he’s plummeting back down to earth and the impact hurts. It’s jarring. He yanks his hand back like he’s been burned and maybe he has because his eyes are burning too, his vision blurring and no… No, he can’t cry, won’t cry, not in front of Jungkook, not like this. He won't cry and he pushes himself up from the bench to hide the telltale puffiness of his lids and reddened face, wiping away the threat of tears as if they were just more beads of perspiration.

There's silence behind him for several long moments, and then movement, footsteps, the brush of fabric and the creak of the bench under new weight.

“Spot me now, hyung.”

It doesn't make sense. That's Jimin's first reaction and his second and his third, because Jungkook just watched his arms almost give out, had to save Jimin from weeks of pain and bruising by plucking the barbell from his grasp just as his strength was about to fail him, so why on earth would he trust Jimin to spot him now? But his fourth reaction is, of course, to do as the other boy asks, because when could he ever say no to Jungkook after all, and he turns and takes up his position at the maknae's head.

He watches, swallowing hard when Jungkook’s hands wrap around the metal where his own had just been, wonders if he can still feel traces of Jimin's body heat beneath his fingers. Jungkook adjusts his position, shifting on the bench, and then he lifts and Jimin can see the tendons in his neck strain as he bears the weight.

“Hyung, can I ask you something?” He's barely done a rep when he starts talking, starry eyes fixed somewhere far above them.

“Just focus on lifting, Kook-ah,” Jimin tells him, but the younger just grits his teeth, lowering the bar almost to his chest before heaving it towards the ceiling once again. He used to be such a scrawny kid, Jimin thinks, cute but lanky, like a string bean. Not anymore. He's growing up, his body changing, broadening, and it suits him. It suits him far too well.

“I wanted to ask…” A pause, another rep, and then, “Jin-hyung said I should just ask. I was talking to him about it but,” - another rep - “well, he couldn't really help me.”

“Help you with what?”

Jungkook looks more at ease now that he's into the rhythm of his lifts, or perhaps he's just too distracted by the conversation to notice the strain anymore. Perhaps he's showing off, just a little, after Jimin's pathetic attempt. “With… Well, the thing is…”

“Spit it out, Jungkook-ah.” Jimin forces back a wince at the bite to his tone, but he’s growing agitated, his mind filled once again with Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook when the whole point of coming here was to drive those thoughts away.

“Hyung…” Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, and Jimin notices a tremble in his hands, so slight he may have missed it had he not been focusing so intently. “Hyung, do you like boys?”

Jimin's first instinct is to laugh. He's not entirely sure why - habit, perhaps, or hysteria. He feels the corners of his mouth twitch, air escaping from his nose in a soft huff of amusement, but then Jungkook's gaze settles on him, seemingly studying him upside down, and Jimin is sure he can see right through him, right down to his heart and soul, so what's the point really? And, more than that, what's the harm? He can trust Jungkook, he's sure of it.

“Why'd you ask?” Jimin hedges, buying himself a little time to think - he just needs to think - and Jungkook is still watching him, his joints locked with his arms extended and the weights raised above him.

“Jin-hyung… He said he thought you might; thought Yoongi-hyung might too. But he wasn't sure. And I just wanted to be sure.”

“But why?” There's that tremor again in Jungkook's hands, and this time Jimin reaches out, takes the barbell from him and sets it back down, anything to distract himself from that look in Jungkook's eyes. He doesn't know that look, can't read it, and it's setting him on edge.

Jungkook sighs, long and heavy, as if, now that Jimin's taken the weight from him, he's left with the weight of the world bearing down on him instead. He looks small in that moment, shoulders hunched, and Jimin's reminded of the boy he used to be, so cute and so so lost. “Because I do,” he says and he's almost whispering but it sounds loud, so loud, in the empty gym. “I think I do and I just need to know I'm not alone.”

Jimin is silent. He's not watching this time though, or waiting. He's reeling. Because he'd thought and he'd hoped, and he'd wondered if maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see, despite Yoongi thinking so too and agreeing and being absolutely certain. And he trusted Yoongi’s judgement above all else, he really did, but he hadn't quite let himself trust his hyung this time because if he'd been wrong… If he'd been wrong…

But he wasn't wrong and now Jungkook is looking at Jimin, galaxies swirling with equal parts hope and terror and Jimin's mouth won't work and so all he can do is sink down beside the younger boy on the bench and hope that their arms pressing together provides some level of comfort.

The silence is suffocating. Jimin wants to break it, wants to reassure Jungkook and confess to him and wrap his larger frame up in his arms and tell him that he's there for him and that it's all going to be okay, but he's worried - that it might be too much all at once and he's not sure he knows how to be anything but too much right now. So, instead, he clears his throat and asks, “Why me?”

“M’sorry?” Jungkook mumbles, shooting Jimin a sideways glance full of confusion.

“Why are you talking to me? Why not Yoongi-hyung?”

Jungkook thinks for a moment, then shrugs, shakes his head, sighs again. “You didn't answer the question,” he points out, a slight challenge to his tone. “Answer my question first, and then maybe I'll answer yours.”

The gym floor is linoleum, yellowing, with small cracks criss-crossing the expanse and faded patches beside each machine where hundreds of feet have worn it away over the years. If Jimin squints, he's sure that he can make out words in some of the marks, just like he would make out shapes in the clouds on a summer's day. His sneaker leaves a black scuff mark behind when he drags it over the aged surface with a high-pitched squeak.

“Yes,” he says, when the moment has dragged on too long and he realises he has no choice but to be honest, because he wants to hear what Jungkook has to say, needs to hear it like he needs oxygen in his lungs. “Yes, I like boys.”

“You never told any of us?”

“Didn't come up,” Jimin explains with a shrug, though he knows there have been ample opportunities should he have wanted to take them. “Yoongi-hyung knows. Only Yoongi-hyung. I'm sure some of the others think… I mean, obviously Jin-hyung does. But I've never actually… I mean, it's hard, y’know? You never know how people are gonna react.”

“Idols can't be gay,” Jungkook states, matter of fact despite the fact that Jimin's sure the conflict is tearing him in two. It certainly had Jimin. He isn't sure he'd have managed to put the pieces back together, make them somehow fit without Yoongi's wisdom. Sometimes he forgets that his hyung is only 2 years older than him because he just deals, he copes and he doesn't falter, and Jimin has needed that more than anything else as he's come to terms with himself and tried to reconcile his heart and his dreams. He hopes that Jin has managed to do that for Jungkook, at least a little, but he's not sure it's possible for anybody who hasn't been through the struggle to really understand.

He looks at Jungkook now, huddled in his too-big sweatshirt, wide eyes fixed on his fingers as he twists them together, and his heart bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

“Your turn,” Jimin says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out a little thick, a little too full to the brim with raw emotion. He hopes that Jungkook won't notice.

Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's too caught up in his own thoughts, his own insecurities, to register it. His lips are chapped and red, moving wordlessly as if he's running lines inside his head, and Jimin wants to rub the pad of his thumb over the bottom one, soothe the sting that he knows all too well comes from gnawing on it endlessly. He tucks his hands beneath his thighs in case his urges should take over again, doesn't want to make Jungkook uncomfortable - more uncomfortable.

Jungkook stays silent, his mouth stilling, eyes hazy and unfocused as he continues to gaze down at his hands, and Jimin's about to tell him it doesn't matter, that he doesn't need an answer, even though he does. He needs needs needs so badly, but he also cares, and he doesn't want to pressure Jungkook when this has already been so hard for him, so intense. And then the younger boy speaks, his voice so quiet that Jimin has to strain to hear him.

“I- I wanted to talk to you. I thought about going to Yoongi-hyung, thought he'd be… I don't know… More practical about it. Better at giving advice maybe?” He pauses, shrugs. “But then I realised I don't… I don't really care if Yoongi-hyung’s gay. It doesn't matter to me whether or not he likes boys, or whether he likes girls or both. I don't… I don't think I need to know.”

A lump has formed in Jimin's throat and he can't swallow it down, can't shift it, can't speak. He's not sure he wants to speak, feels like he should, but what if this isn't what he thinks it is, what he hopes it might be? What if he's wrong and he says the wrong thing and it goes wrong wrong wrong? He couldn't stand it, couldn't…

But Jungkook's still talking, still not looking at Jimin and Jimin just needs to see the stars.

“I wanted to talk to you, hyung. I realised that… that it bugs me that I don't know who you like. I don't know why but it does. Jin-hyung said he thought you were, and it put the idea in my head, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I just… I just know that it matters to me if you're gay. I needed to know.”

“And now you do,” Jimin rasps because he's found his voice, finally, but that lump in his throat is still there. “Now you know.”

“Now I know.” Jungkook nods slowly, taking it in, and then he turns to Jimin, meets his gaze and Jimin almost whimpers. Because he can see the stars now, those galaxies that he finds it so easy to get lost in, and they're on fire, blazing bright, endless and beautiful and burning burning burning. Jimin’s cheeks are burning too, set aflame by the intensity in Jungkook's eyes, and he knows he's falling, a meteor hurtling through space, on course for collision and eruption and heat heat heat. “I'm not…” Jungkook starts, stops, tries again. “This is new. I can't… I'm not ready to-”

“It's okay,” Jimin cuts him off, surprised by how steady he sounds, how sure. “You don't have to be. We've got time.”

Jungkook nods again and Jimin swallows hard, finally letting his urges take over again as he frees one of his hands and lets it cover Jungkook's, tangling their fingers together and staring in fascination at how the younger’s fingers seem to dwarf his own.

“I'm scared,” Jungkook whispers.

“You're brave,” Jimin whispers back, and Jungkook squeezes his hand, bringing their palms together. Warm, Jimin thinks. Warm warm warm. Warm hands, warm smile, warm heart. Everything about this boy is warm, but the fire in his eyes is blazing hot.

***

Maybe it should have been obvious to Jimin, after so many years.

Maybe, after so many years, it sometimes was, if he let himself think about it, let himself believe.

Now though, he knows. Jimin is falling, hard and fast and endless, hurtling through space. But he isn't afraid. He is in awe. Because he’s amongst the stars, so high above the ground and surrounded by so much beauty, raw and timeless and hot hot hot. And maybe, just maybe, the stars are falling too - into him, around him, for him, constellations collapsing and being born again, starting anew but always beautiful, always brilliant, shooting across a vast black sky and painting pictures against the mundanity. Jimin thinks, if he squints, he can make out a vision of the future in the patterns they paint, just like he would make out shapes in the clouds on a summer's day. Two figures shifting and dancing and together together, always together. Collapsing and being born again, starting anew but always beautiful, always brilliant.

And he thinks, maybe, that's exactly what the future has in store for him, for Jungkook too, the both of them, together.

It's too early to say, but maybe.

Just maybe.

——————————

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29 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 2 years

Text

Mine

Prince Jungkook sets his sights on his father's new favorite concubine, and Jimin shows his prince pleasure beyond anything he has ever felt before.

🌙 Jungkook x Jimin

🌙 word count: 4.3k

🌙 royalty au, strangers to lovers, smut, slash, nsfw, explicit, 18+

🌙 warnings: top jimin, bottom jungkook, use of the word “whore”, hand restraints, first time anal sex, oral sex, possessive behavior.

🌙 note: jungkook's father is not part of the actual fic lmao.

🌙 written for jikook week! the theme is “royalty” and i guess i didn't get enough of sex worker pjm in Baby, so i'm back for more.

🌙 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🌙 posted sept. 2022 | read on ao3

"Who…is that?" Jeongguk mutters as he sits up straighter in his chair and zeroes in on one of the dancers before him.

A beautiful man with dark brown hair and full, pouty lips catches Jeongguk's eye. He wears silk adorned with gems, which flows from his taut, muscular frame, and he dances by with his mouth pulled into a smirk and his eyes set on Jeongguk's father—the king.

"That," Jeongguk's chamberlain says barely above a whisper, "is your father's new favorite. And he is off limits."

Off limits, Jeongguk thinks as the man twirls and his smile brightens the room. We'll see about that.

Jeongguk sits tall on his father's throne while the rest of the court sleeps. He wears a hooded robe made of deep blue velvet, which hangs over his eyes, and he only lifts his head to the sound of bare footsteps entering the chamber and a deep, pretty voice cutting through the silence.

"You wanted to see me, your majest—"

As Jeongguk's gaze lifts, the man's words die in his throat. He appears startled yet intrigued and does not make a move to leave. A light pink silk robe loosely covers him, falling just above his knees, and Jeongguk cannot help but let his eyes wander.

"What is your name?" Jeongguk asks.

When the man says nothing in response, Jeongguk lowers his hood, lets his dark hair fall over his eyes, and flashes the man a winning smile.

“I am Prince Jeongguk; I mean you no harm. Please, what is your name?"

"J-Jimin," the beautiful man mutters.

Jeongguk grins as he lets "Jimin" drip from his lips like honey—he likes the sound of it on his tongue.

"S-sir—" Jimin begins meekly as his eyes fall to the floor.

"Call me Jeongguk."

Jimin takes a deep breath. "Jeongguk...sir...I am flattered that you have called for me to come see you, but I am afraid the king has instructed me to only come to his calls."

Of course he has, the greedy bastard.

"I'm afraid I don't give a fuck what my father has instructed," Jeongguk bites back.

The pretty man flinches as if Jeongguk's words sting and Jeongguk almost feels bad for snapping. But there is a glimmer of something dark and mischievous in Jimin's gaze that tells Jeongguk that, perhaps, his attraction is not merely one-sided—perhaps he likes Jeongguk's rough demeanor.

With the tips of his pretty, slender fingers, Jimin plays with the hem of his pink silk robe. "But sir—"

"Jeongguk."

"Jeongguk," Jimin corrects himself with a smirk, tilting his head to gaze at Jeongguk through his eyelashes. "I mustn't disobey my king."

A deep, sardonic chuckle rocks through Jeongguk's chest as he stands from his father's throne and steps down to ground level. Jimin's eyes widen as Jeongguk approaches—just tall enough to tower over Jimin.

"Tell me, pretty," Jeongguk groans as he lifts a hand and uses two fingers to tip Jimin’s chin upward, "do you like how the old man touches you?"

Jimin stares up at Jeongguk with his pretty, plump lips parted. Jeongguk flicks his tongue out to lick his bottom lip and watches as Jimin's eyes follow the movement.

"Do you enjoy my father's body?" Jeongguk continues, and he cannot help but laugh as he adds, "Does his cock still work? Or do you whimper haplessly in his arms and pray for it to be over?"

With a smirk, Jimin purrs, "I perform well enough to keep my king satisfied."

"Sounds depressing."

Jimin raises his eyebrows but says nothing in response. His loyalty is admirable, and Jeongguk cannot wait to break him.

"Come with me?" Jeongguk asks, though his gaze is sharp, and he shows no hint of accepting anything but yes for an answer.

"And if I'm punished for disobeying my king?" Jimin asks sweetly.

Jeongguk leans forward and crowds Jimin's space. His fingers slip from Jimin's chin to the nape of his neck, pushing through soft waves of dark hair.

"If he lays a finger on you," Jeongguk mutters a hair's width from Jimin's lips, "I will fucking kill him."

A soft gasp leaves Jimin's lips as Jeongguk pulls his into a smirk. "Come with me."

Jimin nods softly—a faint movement—as he whispers, "Yes."

With a nod of his head, Jeongguk's chamberlain drapes a similar deep blue velvet hooded robe over Jimin's shoulders, and Jeongguk lifts the hood to conceal Jimin's beautiful face before taking cover beneath his own. Jeongguk takes Jimin by the hand without another word and leads him to his bedchamber.

The moment Jeongguk closes the door to his chamber, he shrugs the deep blue robe to the floor. It falls heavily around his feet, and he takes a step forward, toward Jimin, who stands in the center of the room, bathed in blue with wide eyes. Jeongguk is barefoot and wears white silk underclothes, with the neck of the oversized top hanging loose over one shoulder.

"Like what you see?" Jeongguk asks with a smirk.

Jimin smiles, cheeks blush-pink, and he nibbles on his bottom lip, and damn, does Jeongguk want to eat him alive.

"I do," Jimin mutters sweetly.

Jeongguk cocks an eyebrow, standing with his hands on his hips. "So, show me."

"I'll show you," Jimin purrs. "As long as you're good."

Jimin shrugs off the dark blue robe, letting it collapse to the floor. His pink silk covering hangs open, exposing a shoulder and nipple, and Jeongguk fights the urge to rip it off and pull Jimin into his arms. He wants to see what the pretty dancer will do—wants to give Jimin the opportunity to take the lead.

Nobody ever takes control with Jeongguk. Perhaps it is something about the way he carries himself, but people always expect Jeongguk to take the reins and be the one to fuck them. Jeongguk does not want that this time; he wants to feel what it is like to get fucked.

"As long as I'm good?"

A shift in Jimin's body language suggests that Jeongguk may be in luck. Jimin squares his shoulders and stands up tall, and despite being slightly shorter, his aura spreads and makes the room feel much smaller. Jeongguk feels his heart speed up and his breathing slow, and he watches the pretty man's lips tug into a smirk.

"Yes," Jimin says. "Now, be a good boy and strip for me."

Despite wanting to be controlled, Jimin's words take Jeongguk aback, and his mouth falls open. "What did you just call me?"

Jimin cocks an eyebrow. "I don't like to repeat myself."

A scoff rocks through Jeongguk's chest, but he complies and pulls his loose shirt over his head in one swift, quick motion. Jimin's eyes widen at Jeongguk's chest and arms, and Jeongguk feels smug under his wandering gaze—he works hard to keep his body in shape and enjoys the attention.

Jimin backs toward Jeongguk's large bed and leans against the edge of the mattress, eyes on Jeongguk, who slips his thumbs below the waistband of his knee-length underpants and pushes them down. As the silk falls in a heap on the floor, leaving Jeongguk completely bare, he begins to approach Jimin. His cock hangs heavy between his legs—not yet hard—and Jimin stares, licking his lips.

"Get on the bed," Jimin instructs.

"Wh—"

"Are you going to be a good boy, or not?"

Jeongguk cannot believe Jimin's audacity, and he tongues the inside of his mouth. It turns him on so much his head spins, and he struggles to handle the way being bossed around by someone below him in status makes him feel. Jeongguk walks past Jimin and climbs onto his bed. Unsure what Jimin wants of him, he sits near his pillows and stretches out his legs.

"I want to fuck you, Jeonggukie," Jimin mutters sweetly as he climbs onto the bed on his hands and knees.

"Good," is all Jeongguk can bring himself to say.

The grin that tugs at Jimin's lips is absolutely sinful, and Jeongguk feels his skin turn red hot—every inch of him yearning to be touched. Jimin sits high on his knees and begins to tug at the silk cord around his waist.

"Lay down," Jimin instructs, pulling the silk cord free. His robe falls open, and Jimin gets back onto his hands and knees—a tease to Jeongguk, who desperately tries to see every inch of exposed skin.

Jeongguk settles against his pillows and lays, keeping his eyes on Jimin. As Jimin begins to crawl toward Jeongguk, straddling his legs and hips, Jeongguk takes in deeper and deeper breaths as if the air around him is beginning to thin. Silk dances over Jeongguk's skin, and he has the perfect view of Jimin's bare chest and legs, and the tip of his hard cock hanging below his tummy.

"Hands above your head," Jimin instructs.

"Why?"

"Good boys do as they're told."

Jeongguk fights the urge to grab onto Jimin and defy his orders. Even the king does not speak to Jeongguk this way. But Jeongguk's eyes fall to one of Jimin's hands, and he notices the silk cord wrapped tightly in Jimin's fist.

"You are not going to use that to tie—"

"I am," Jimin interrupts. "It will be loose; you can break free if needed."

With a heavy sigh, Jeongguk complies, lifting his arms over his head and crossing his wrists over one another. He has to scoot down slightly and wiggles beneath Jimin, who watches with a smirk.

Once Jeongguk is settled, Jimin moves off of him and crawls up the bed. As he gets into position beside Jeongguk to fasten the silk around his wrists, Jeongguk surveys Jimin's body. Curves of muscle grace his frame beautifully, and he is paler than Jeongguk, with a cock that is thick and pretty, standing hard against his tummy. Jeongguk wants to wrap his lips around it and suck the precum that has leaked out from the small slit on his cockhead—wants to bury Jimin's cock deep into his throat until his nose nestles against the dark hairs at its base.

Jimin makes surprisingly quick work of restraining Jeongguk's hands above his head, presumably to one of the bamboo logs that make up his bed frame. Jeongguk gives his hands a tug and is surprised to find that Jimin did not, in fact, make the knot loose.

"I can't make it too loose," Jimin coos as if reading Jeongguk's mind. "What would be the fun in that?"

Anger rises in Jeongguk, and he tugs again at the silk, finding his movements futile. He opens his mouth to complain, but Jimin sits high on his knees and shrugs away his robe, melting away his frustration. Exposed shoulders and an unobstructed view of Jimin's chest and legs have every muscle in Jeongguk's body relaxing.

"You're lucky you're so fucking pretty," Jeongguk groans, sounding angrier than he is.

Jimin hums. "Is that so?"

"Is this what you do to your king, too? Tie him to the bed like some kind of prisoner?"

Slowly, Jimin leans over Jeongguk, so close, Jeongguk could tilt his chin and capture Jimin in a kiss. Jimin takes Jeongguk by the jaw and gives him a gentle squeeze.

"Mention the old man again, and I will leave you tied to your bed with your cock hard, leaking and untouched for your chamberlain to find."

Jeongguk says nothing, can only stare at the pretty lips that taunt him so, and Jimin smirks and places a soft kiss on Jeongguk's jaw, then sits up.

"Have you been fucked before, my pretty prince?" Jimin asks.

It takes just a moment for Jimin's words to fully settle over Jeongguk; being called pretty throws him off.

"No."

"No?"

Jeongguk swallows a lump, suddenly feeling exposed and uncertain. "I've fingered myself before."

"But you have fucked others before?"

With an incredulous huff, Jeongguk grumbles, "Yes, of course I have fucked others before!"

Jimin chuckles and nibbles on his bottom lip. "And you have carrageenan oil?"

Jeongguk nods his head to the side, in the direction of a small bedside table. "In the jar."

Rather than get off the bed, Jimin leans all the way over Jeongguk, giving him a glance at his soft, round ass. Jeongguk wonders if the desire to touch and feel Jimin could drive him absolutely insane as he clenches his fists and strains his neck to see more.

Jimin finds what he needs, and he settles back down beside Jeongguk with a small, decorated jar in his hand. Jimin examines it with a grin, then sets it down on the bed gently, being sure not to let the lid fall off.

"Quite a lot is missing," Jimin muses with a smirk.

"Are you calling me a whore?"

Jimin scoffs, mouth falling agape. "Is there something wrong with being a whore?"

For a split moment, Jeongguk regrets what he has said, worried he may have offended Jimin, whose profession includes many responsibilities, including being a whore. Jimin breaks into laughter, lightening the mood, but Jeongguk still feels awkward.

"Don't worry, my prince," Jimin says sweetly, "once I'm done with you, you'll only have eyes for this whore."

Jeongguk, for once, has no quippy comeback, and he watches with bated breath as Jimin takes the jar of lubricant oil and walks on his knees down the bed. Instinctively, Jeongguk spreads his legs, giving Jimin space to get between them, and even attempts to angle his hips upward. He wonders if he should have laid on his stomach.

Jimin sets down the small jar and reaches beside Jeongguk for a pillow, and at Jimin's simple instruction to "lift," Jeongguk raises his hips, allowing Jimin to slide the pillow beneath him. Jeongguk feels a bit silly with his body exposed at such an angle, but he keeps his knees bent and legs spread, and focuses on the beauty before him as he tries not to let himself spiral.

"Such a nice, thick cock," Jimin mutters sweetly as he adjusts Jeongguk's hips the way he wants him. "Next time, I want you to fuck me with it."

Next time. Jeongguk likes the idea of a next time with the pretty man—likes the thought of holding him down and burying his length deep while Jimin moans and cries.

A slick finger touches Jeongguk's hole, and he flinches, clenching his muscles. Jimin giggles sweetly and leans his head against one of Jeongguk's thighs, and Jeongguk does his best to relax, letting out a deep breath.

"S-sorry," Jeongguk grumbles. "You surprised me."

Jimin touches him again, and although his entire body responds, it's with a wave of pleasure that settles over Jeongguk like a warm embrace. Jimin inserts his finger, which is smaller than Jeongguk's but it penetrates at a much more precise angle, and Jeongguk's eyes squeeze closed at the stretch.

Although Jimin is slow and careful as he eases into Jeongguk's tight rim, the feeling is overwhelming, and Jeongguk trembles and gasps for air. Everything feels so tight, like all of Jeongguk's skin is being flayed and stretched, and he moans and whimpers involuntarily as Jimin works him open with one finger, and then two.

By the time Jimin is easing the third finger in, Jeongguk's gasps become silent huffs of air, and the pain of the stretch mixed with the pleasure of Jimin stroking his tight walls, has Jeongguk dizzy and desperate for more.

"Such a good, good boy," Jimin purrs as he sucks on the sensitive skin on Jeongguk's inner thigh.

Jeongguk moans softly and stares at the ceiling as a shiver quakes through him. "Please," he rasps, ready for the pretty man to fuck him.

"Begging already?" Jimin teases.

Jeongguk lifts his head, blinks his heavy eyelids and nods. "Please, Jimin"

Jimin is devastatingly pretty as he smiles back and nips at Jeongguk's skin with his teeth. Jeongguk wants to taste his lips—wants to taste all of him. Next time, he thinks.

The high Jeongguk feels from Jimin's fingers is intoxicating. He likens it to having too much rice wine, feeling as if he's somewhat dissociated from his body and floating just outside of himself while somehow remaining acutely aware of everything.

"Please," Jeongguk whimpers again and again.

Jimin gets onto his knees between Jeongguk's legs and rubs his hands over Jeongguk's knees and down his thighs. Jeongguk's legs remain bent, feet planted firmly on the mattress, but Jimin spreading them further turns him into rubber, and they fall to the sides.

A cute, melodic giggle shakes through Jimin, and Jeongguk gazes at him, feeling absolutely powerless to him. He has all but forgotten that his wrists are tied above his head and does not fight to have them released.

"Gonna fuck you now, my pretty prince," Jimin sing-songs, and Jeongguk opens his mouth to say, "Yes, please," but the sound dies in his throat at the feeling of Jimin's cock dragging across his stretched hole.

"You look so good tied up and spread for me," Jimin says as he gently presses the tip of his cock against Jeongguk's entrance. Jeongguk gasps and moans from the stretch that Jimin's fingers could not have possibly prepared him for, feeling his body tremble from his fingertips to his toes. "Ooh, and you sound so pretty, too."

"Please," Jeongguk whimpers, unsure what he is asking for, this time; he feels embarrassed to be spoken to like an object, but there is a part of him that wants more.

Jimin starts slow. So slow that every slight curve and ridge of his cock can be felt dragging against Jeongguk's walls, carving out a place inside of him. It feels as intoxicating as it does maddening, and Jeongguk pants and sobs from the pain.

By the time Jimin is fully inside Jeongguk, hips pressed against Jungkook's ass, a sheen of sweat covers his skin, and he concludes that, indeed, he might actually be driven insane from lust. Nothing has ever felt quite like this before.

"Big," Jeongguk whimpers, and Jimin giggles.

"My prince is so tight," Jimin teases with a smirk. "How did I get so lucky to fuck your pretty, virgin hole?"

"S-s," Jeongguk tries, finding it difficult to think, much less speak, and he swallows a lump in his throat and tries again. "S-stop teasing m-me."

Jimin pulls his hips back slowly, and Jeongguk loses all sense of time and space. Never has he felt so overwhelmingly full, and the slide of Jimin's cock has him drooling and shaking.

"Ready?" Jimin asks, and although Jeongguk is certain he could never possibly be ready, he nods and says, "Yes."

Jimin snaps his hips forward and punches the air from Jeongguk's lungs with a loud moan. Jimin's head lolls side to side, and a pretty deep blush covers his chest and neck. Jeongguk pants, desperate to catch his breath. It takes everything in Jeongguk's power not to let his eyelids flutter closed, and he watches intently as Jimin's lips tremble and he lets out a soft moan of his own.

"So fucking tight," Jimin groans as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, causing Jeongguk to almost scream. "You feel amazing, my prince."

In a brief moment of clarity, Jeongguk nearly responds to tell Jimin to call him by his name, but Jimin begins to fuck him at a steady pace, sending pleasure surging through him at breakneck speeds, and all words are lost on Jeongguk's tongue, replaced only by whimpers and moans.

Jimin wraps his arms around Jeongguk's thighs and hikes his legs up, giving Jimin more room to fuck him deeper, and Jeongguk's cock slaps uselessly against his tummy, dribbling a sticky line of precum from the tip. Jeongguk wants to touch himself and absentmindedly tugs on his restraints before succumbing to the reminder that he cannot move his arms.

"I won't last long," Jimin whines through moans, and Jeongguk feels grateful, desperate to feel a release of the pleasure that feels like it might never stop building.

"T-touch me," Jeongguk begs.

Jimin licks his lips, shakes his head, and says, "Try not to cum. I want you to spill in my mouth. Want to swallow every drop."

The thought of Jimin's pretty, plump lips stretching over his cock has Jeongguk more eager to cum, and he squeezes his eyes closed for a moment in hopes of thinking about anything else.

"S-stop talking like that, or I will definitely cum," Jeongguk whines.

Jimin giggles and picks up his pace, fucking Jeongguk so hard and fast, only choked sobs fall from Jeongguk's lips while Jimin moans deep, needy sounds. He feels the pleasure build to unimaginable heights, somehow tensing and relaxing every muscle in his body simultaneously, and although he never wants this feeling to end, he needs it to.

The rhythm of Jimin's hips becomes unsteady while his moans grow deeper and more desperate. Jimin's face scrunches and relaxes, and Jeongguk cannot take his eyes off the sight of him lost in pleasure.

"Gonna cum," Jimin whines.

Jimin leans forward, spearing his cock impossibly deeper, and Jeongguk squeezes his fists shut and tries with all his might not to orgasm by tensing every muscle he can, despite being unsure whether that will even work.

"Fuck," Jimin groans as his head falls forward. "You're squeezing me so tight, Ggukie."

The nickname accompanied by the deep slide of Jimin's length is nearly enough to send Jeongguk hurtling toward the edge of orgasm despite his cock being left untouched. Thankfully, Jimin's hips tremble and thrust deep before stopping, and Jeongguk feels his cum spurt into him, hot and wet.

Jimin's cock throbs as he empties himself inside Jeongguk's ass, and Jeongguk is shocked by every slight movement that he can feel. He wonders if Jimin's cum is dribbling out of him or if it's sweat that he feels dripping down the cleft of his ass. Perhaps it is both.

Jeongguk, son of the king who is used to being in charge and in control, feels perfectly used—like nothing but a toy for Jimin to fuck—helpless to do anything but lay and let Jimin do as he wishes. He loves it—loves the release of letting go and not having to worry about anything but his pleasure and the pleasure that Jimin chases.

The realization that they have not so much as kissed or explored one another before Jimin tied Jeongguk up and fucked him mercilessly sinks into Jeongguk, settling bone-deep. It feels freeing, in a way, though Jeongguk would like to kiss and nibble those pretty lips the first chance he gets.

Jimin pulls his cock out of Jeongguk in one swift movement, and Jeongguk is ripped from his thoughts, back to reality, as a moan shakes from his chest. He whimpers from the loss of being so incredibly full, but before he has a chance to let it weigh him down with disappointment, Jimin sinks down between Jeongguk's legs and takes Jeongguk's cock in his hands and mouth.

Never has anyone swallowed Jeongguk's length so deep all at once, and Jeongguk's back arches as he moans, lost once again to pleasure. All the world could crumble away, and Jeongguk would never know—would only perceive the feeling of Jimin's lips, tongue and fingers sending him hurtling towards orgasm.

Jimin swirls his tongue and sucks in his cheeks eagerly, bobbing his head while his hand twists up and down Jeongguk's length, overstimulating him in the best way. Jeongguk looks down to find Jimin staring up at him through his eyelashes while tears pool and spill onto his pretty cheeks, and that is all it takes to push Jeongguk to the edge.

"F-fuck, gonna c-cum!" Jeongguk sobs as his pleasure builds to a breaking point, and he spills into Jimin's mouth.

Jimin hums as he eagerly sucks and swallows, and Jeongguk pulls at his restraints. He could swear that body has been set alight from pleasure and left to burn brightly before crumbling to a pile of ash. Jimin does good on his promise to swallow every last drop and sucks until Jeongguk is overstimulated and begging him to stop.

"Please, please," Jeongguk whines as his body convulses from Jimin's eager mouth.

Jimin releases Jeongguk's spent cock and sits up slowly, stretching his neck from side to side. Jeongguk watches, stunned momentarily by the sight of Jimin's spit-slick lips and tear-streaked cheeks, until the urge to kiss the pretty man becomes so overwhelming he petulantly tugs at the silk around his wrists.

"Please," Jeongguk groans, and Jimin returns with a giggle before climbing up Jeongguk's sweaty body and settling on his chest to undo his hands.

Jimin's soft cock is so close to Jeongguk's mouth, he laments not having his face fucked while he lay restrained and helpless. As his hands are released, Jeongguk feels the urge to jerk Jimin's cock back to fullness so he can have his mouth used just as his body was, but Jimin slides away from Jeongguk's chest, and he cuddles up to his side, wrapping an arm and leg over Jeongguk's torso.

Soft, warm lips touch Jeongguk's neck, and Jeongguk turns his body, groaning from how stiff his arms and legs feel. He takes Jimin gently by the chin and slots their lips together, and Jimin moans against Jeongguk's mouth, gasping as Jeongguk flits his tongue out to taste his own salty release on Jimin's lips.

"You're mine now," Jeongguk groans against Jimin's mouth, watching as Jimin smiles.

"But the king—"

Jeongguk shuts Jimin up by licking into his mouth and deepening their kiss, and Jimin shifts his body closer and holds Jeongguk tighter, whimpering with each pass and tangle of their tongues.

With Jimin pliant in Jeongguk's arms, his mind floods with visions of patricide and treason. Jeongguk is tired of his father's rule, anyway—he is ready to take over the throne.

"I'm your king," Jeongguk groans while his hands explore every curve they can reach and pull Jimin impossibly closer. "And you are mine."

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