22
Third Person Pov.
Taehyung smoothed the front of his shirt as he stepped into the living room, fingers fumbling slightly over the buttons. He forced the creases flat, as if neatness could erase the heat still crawling under his skin.
The first thing he saw was Gyubin small, curled against the couch cushions like a wilted flower.
His head lolled slightly, his lashes clumping from tiredness.
Beside him sat Mrs. Kim, Seokjin’s mother, her posture upright and dignified, but her expression openly worried.
She was stroking Gyubin’s soft curls with slow, steady motions.
“Binnie,” Taehyung murmured, voice gentler than he meant it to be.
Gyubin stirred, opening his eyes just enough to recognize him. “Appa…” His voice was faint, and he leaned forward until his forehead pressed into Taehyung’s stomach.
Taehyung instinctively rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What happened?”
“Oh, Taehyung…” Mrs. Kim’s tone was tinged with relief at seeing him, but her brow remained furrowed. “He was perfectly fine earlier, and then all of a sudden he said he didn’t feel well. He looked pale.”
“I feel tired…” Gyubin whispered, the smallness of his voice making Taehyung’s chest tighten.
“Alright,” Taehyung sighed, brushing his fingers over his son’s hair once. He glanced up at Mrs. Kim. “Thank you so much for taking care of him.”
She offered a warm smile, one that crinkled faintly at the corners of her eyes. “Of course. He was… very sweet company.”
Gyubin made a soft hum at that, lifting his head just enough to glance at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. She returned it without hesitation.
Something in Taehyung’s face softened at the exchange.
“I should go now.” Mrs. Kim nodded.
“Who will you go with—?” Taehyung asked.
“Oh, it’s—” she began, but her words cut short as the sound of brisk footsteps entered the room.
Seokjin stepped in, coat draped over his arm. His presence was solid, and the way his eyes locked on Taehyung was unreadable.
“Hello,” Taehyung greeted, polite but a little uncertain. He tugged Gyubin’s hand lightly, guiding him to stand.
Seokjin didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed not entirely on Taehyung, but as though he were studying something beyond the surface.
Before the silence could stretch too long, heavier, sharper footsteps sounded from the hall.
And then Jeon Jungkook appeared.
He was buttoning his shirt as he walked in, sleeves rolled to the forearms, movements unhurried. His expression was blank, but there was an undeniable air of command in the way he carried himself.
Taehyung’s stomach knotted instantly. He dropped his gaze, avoiding the man entirely, focusing instead on adjusting Gyubin’s scarf as if it required his full attention.
Seokjin’s eyes, however, didn’t waver. They tracked Jungkook’s approach, sharp enough to catch the detail others might have missed--the angry red scratch along the side of his neck, half-hidden by the crisp collar of his shirt.
It wasn’t just a mark. It was raw, fresh, and the edges glistened faintly as though it had only just stopped bleeding.
The room felt smaller all of a sudden.
Seokjin’s grip on his coat tightened, the fine wool creasing under his fingers. His gaze shifted to Taehyung, who kept his attention fixed on Gyubin as though the boy’s shirt was the most important thing in the room.
But Taehyung could feel it–eyes on him, steady and questioning. He glanced up instinctively, and their gazes met for the briefest moment. Something unspoken passed between them...fleeting, sharp before Taehyung dropped his eyes again.
“Stay for dinner,” Jungkook’s voice cut in suddenly, directed toward Mrs. Kim.
She smiled politely, shaking her head. “I’d love to, but I have to attend another gathering tonight.”
Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver as he hummed a low, almost distracted sound. He turned, eyes sliding toward Seokjin.
Seokjin was already looking at him, his expression unreadable but his tone carrying the weight of something more than casual conversation.
“You didn’t attend today’s discussion.”
The silence after was brief but noticeable. Jungkook didn’t answer right away he didn’t need to. He took his time, eyes moving past Seokjin to settle on Taehyung.
The way Taehyung avoided him was almost too obvious shoulders set, chin angled down just enough to make it clear he knew Jungkook was looking.
“I was caught up with… other things,” Jungkook said finally, his voice smooth. The pause before ‘other things’ was deliberate, and his gaze stayed locked on Taehyung for just a fraction longer than necessary.
Seokjin’s jaw worked once. “I see.” The words were clipped, final.
He exhaled slowly through his nose before turning sharply, his coat swinging lightly with the movement. His footsteps were steady but firm as he disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind a silence that wasn’t empty....it was taut.
Mrs. Kim stood, brushing a hand gently over Gyubin’s cheek. “Rest well, sweetheart,” she murmured.
Gyubin’s lips curled faintly in a small, tired smile. He leaned into her palm for a second before lifting his tiny hand in a wave. She returned it, her expression warm.
Taehyung’s eyes softened at the exchange, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time since stepping into the room.
“I’ll go now,” Mrs. Kim said with a light bow.
“Thank you for looking after him,” Taehyung replied quietly, meeting her eyes for only a moment before glancing back at Gyubin.
Jungkook stepped slightly aside to let her pass, his posture casual but his eyes never once leaving Taehyung. Even as Mrs. Kim reached the door and slipped out, that stare remained—too steady, too knowing.
The click of the door shutting echoed in the living room, sealing the three of them in together. The air shifted almost imperceptibly.
Taehyung didn’t look at him. He could feel Jungkook’s gaze like the heat from a nearby fire close enough to burn, even if he didn’t touch.
“Let’s go,” Taehyung murmured, his voice low but firm as he smoothed a hand over Gyubin’s hair. The boy nodded, slipping his fingers into Taehyung’s palm.
They moved toward the door, Gyubin’s soft footsteps barely audible against the carpet. Taehyung kept his gaze forward, determined not to let it drift toward the one presence in the room he could still feel like static against his skin.
But as he stepped past, Jungkook’s hand shot out.
His grip closed around Taehyung’s wrist firm, unyielding.
Taehyung’s breath stalled, his eyes snapping wide as he turned to look back. Jungkook stood only inches away, his gaze fixed on him with the same razor-sharp intensity he’d worn in that room earlier the same look that had pinned Taehyung against a table, that had stolen the air from his lungs.
It wasn’t just a stare. It was a reminder.
Taehyung swallowed hard, the sound faint in the silence between them. His pulse beat hot in his wrist where Jungkook’s fingers pressed into the skin, the contact radiating upward like it was seared into him.
With a small twist of his arm, Taehyung wriggled free, his breath shuddering in the release. He didn’t say anything didn’t dare.
Instead, he turned without another glance, guiding Gyubin toward the door. His steps were measured, but the urge to get out away—throbbed like a drumbeat in his chest.
Behind him, Jungkook didn’t move right away. He stood still, eyes tracking every inch of Taehyung’s retreat until the boy and his father disappeared from view.
Only then did he let out a slow, controlled exhale, the kind that carried more heat than calm. Without a word, he turned and ascended the stairs, his movements deliberate, unhurried, disappearing toward the shadowed hall that led to his own room.
.
.
.
Seokjin sat out on the balcony, the city air carrying that faint mix of exhaust and cold night breeze.
His chair was tipped back slightly, the metal creaking under his weight, long legs stretched lazily toward the railing until his feet hooked over it.
Between his fingers, the cigarette burned in a slow, glowing ember, a thin trail of smoke curling upward and vanishing into the dark.
The city stretched out before him a quilt of dim lights and restless streets—but his gaze wasn’t on it. His mind wasn’t here at all.
It was stuck somewhere else.
Taehyung.
The thought of the name alone was enough to make his jaw tighten. He could still see him from earlier disheveled in a way that didn’t fit the Taehyung he was used to seeing.
His shirt had been slightly undone, collar hanging open just enough to show the faintest hint of flushed skin. His lips… man, his lips...red, almost raw, like they’d been kissed too hard or bitten. And his eyes… they hadn’t met anyone’s.
Seokjin took a long drag, the bitter smoke filling his lungs until it burned. He held it there, as if he could use the ache to push away the image in his head, before slowly exhaling. The smoke drifted into the night, but the image stayed.
Every time he saw Taehyung, something in him shifted. It was like the rest of the room blurred and only Taehyung stayed sharp, his voice, his movements, the way his gaze could cut and soften in the same second.
And then there were his hands---slender and soft, with a kind of elegance that made Seokjin wonder, against his will, how they’d feel tangled in his own. He imagined holding them, feeling that faint tremor when someone didn’t quite want to admit they were nervous.
And that waist...
Seokjin exhaled hard, dragging on the cigarette again as though nicotine could scorch the thought out of him. It didn’t.
His brow furrowed deeper. Today had been… different. The tension in his chest when Jungkook followed Taehyung into the living room... it hadn’t just been tension. It had been sharp, biting. Anger. And for what?
Taehyung had never been his. He wasn’t entitled to the boy’s gaze, his time, or whatever secrets lay in that downcast look.
But when he saw Jungkook his shirt half-buttoned, a scratch on his neck that he didn’t bother to hide something inside Seokjin burned.
He hated that burn. Hated the way it clawed at his ribs, demanding something from him he couldn’t name.
He leaned back further, letting his head tip against the chair’s backrest, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. His eyes slipped shut. The world went quiet except for the faint hum of traffic far below.
Still, Taehyung stayed with him. The sound of his voice, the soft way he’d spoken to Gyubin, the fleeting glance they’d shared before Taehyung looked away.
Seokjin took another slow drag, this time holding it longer before letting it go. The smoke curled upward, twisting in the cool air, and for a moment he imagined reaching out, catching it in his hand holding something that wasn’t meant to be held.
Just like Taehyung.
The thought made him curse under his breath. He ground the cigarette out in the ashtray with more force than necessary, watching the ember die.
And still, the ache in his chest didn’t.
.
.
.
The late afternoon sun poured through the half-drawn curtains, spilling molten gold across the study room. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, and the scent of freshly brewed tea lingered faintly from the kitchen.
Taehyung sat cross-legged on the soft cream carpet, a pencil twirling idly between his fingers as he leaned toward the boy beside him. Gyubin lay on his stomach, chin propped in his small hands, his math workbook spread open like a battlefield of numbers.
“Alright, genius,” Taehyung said with a faint smile, tapping the page. “You have twelve marbles. You give five to me. How many do you have left?”
Gyubin’s brows knitted together in deep concentration. “Uh…” He began counting on his fingers, mumbling the numbers under his breath. “Seven?”
Taehyung grinned, ruffling the boy’s soft hair. “See? You didn’t even have to think that hard. You’re getting faster.”
The boy beamed, scribbling the answer down with slightly crooked numbers, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth in focus.
Taehyung smiled or at least tried to. His mind was still hazy from last night’s events, a dangerous loop of images he didn’t want to replay but couldn’t stop himself from doing.
The way Jungkook’s hand had tightened around his waist… the heat of his breath against Taehyung’s lips… the faint groan he wasn’t sure Jungkook had even meant to let out.
A moment of weakness. That’s what it was. He told himself that over and over, as if repetition could stop the dull ache.
The quiet rhythm of pencil scratches was broken by the sudden, sharp buzz of Taehyung’s phone vibrating against the table.
The sound sliced through the warmth of the moment.
Without looking, Taehyung reached over to grab it still keeping one eye on Gyubin’s work until his gaze fell on the caller ID.
The name made his stomach sink.
Jungkook had left unusually early that morning, and Taehyung had silently counted it as a blessing a rare day without the man’s cold stares, without the biting tone that always made the air heavier than it needed to be. But fate, as always, had a cruel sense of timing.
For a moment, he just stared, debating whether to answer his thumb hovering before finally swiping up.
He shot a quick glance at Gyubin, who was too absorbed in erasing a stray mark to notice, and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello...”
“Bring me the file on the study desk to my office.” Jungkook’s voice came, deep and clipped, every syllable a command rather than a request. No explanation. No space for a reply.
The line went dead.
Taehyung stared at the phone for a moment, the quiet click of the call ending still echoing in his ears. He let out a long, slow breath through his nose.
Jungkook had an entire staff for things like this, yet somehow it was always him. Always.
“This man…” he muttered under his breath, placing the phone back on the table.
He turned to Gyubin with a softer expression. “Binnie, I have to take something to Mr. Jeon. Just stay here for a bit, alright? I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.”
Gyubin’s head snapped up immediately, his lips pressing into a stubborn line. “I wanna come.” His tone was firm...polite, but unyielding in the way only a determined child could manage.
Taehyung hesitated. The Jeon Corporation building wasn’t exactly a playground, and Jungkook’s presence alone made the air tense. “it’s just a quick trip—”
“I won’t touch anything,” Gyubin interrupted, his eyes wide but resolute. “Promise.”
Taehyung’s shoulders slumped with a sigh. He could already see that he wouldn’t win this argument. “Alright. But you stay right next to me. No wandering.”
A small smile tugged at Gyubin’s lips as he nodded and slipped his small hand into Taehyung’s. The warmth of the boy’s grip grounded him, if only a little.
They walked down the hall toward Jungkook’s private study, their footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. Taehyung pushed open the heavy door, greeted by the familiar scent of polished wood and faint cologne.
The room was pristine books lined in perfect symmetry, a single pen aligned exactly with the edge of the desk.
His eyes landed on the object in question: a sleek black file resting in the exact center of the desk, as if it had been placed there deliberately for him to find.
“This must be it,” he murmured, reaching out. The cool leather under his fingertips felt heavier than it should, like it carried more than just papers.
Gyubin peered curiously at the desk, but Taehyung gently guided him back. “Come on,” he said quietly, clutching the file a little tighter.
They stepped outside, the late sunlight spilling over the driveway where the waiting car idled. The driver straightened and opened the rear door without a word. Taehyung helped Gyubin climb in first, then slid in beside him, the file still resting firmly in his lap.
As the car pulled away toward the Jeon Corporation building, Taehyung’s gaze drifted to the skyline. The golden haze of the afternoon couldn’t quite warm the knot in his chest.
They arrived at the Jeon Corporation headquarters.... a towering skyscraper of glass and steel that seemed to pierce the clouds. Its mirrored surface caught the fading sunlight, reflecting the city in fractured gold.
From the curb, Taehyung tilted his head up, the familiar building stretching endlessly above him. A slow, deep breath left his lungs. Time had a cruel way of twisting everything.
Not so long ago, he had been inside these walls in a janitor’s uniform, pushing carts of cleaning supplies down the endless hallways. Now, the man whose name crowned this empire the CEO himself—was his husband.
A husband who had turned his life into something unrecognizable.
He pushed the thought away before it could drag him under, tightening his grip on the sleek black file in one hand and Gyubin’s small, warm fingers in the other.
As they approached the glass doors, a uniformed security guard straightened and bowed slightly. It was the same man who had once bickered with him at the employee entrance over his late clock-ins... those mornings when Taehyung had been caught between work and making breakfast for his son.
Now, the man’s tone was polite, almost deferential, but it only made Taehyung’s chest tighten. The past felt like it was brushing right against his present, and not in a way that brought comfort.
He gave the guard a brief nod and walked on without a word, his grip on Gyubin’s hand instinctively tightening. The boy glanced up at him, sensing the change in his mood, but said nothing.
The marble floors gleamed under the warm lobby lights, every surface so polished it seemed untouched by time or human imperfection. Employees in tailored suits passed by in brisk strides, their eyes flickering toward him before quickly looking away half-curious, half-guarded.
Taehyung kept his gaze ahead. Whatever this building held now, it wasn’t the same place he once knew.
Taehyung slowed his pace as they entered the quieter executive wing, the distant echo of lobby chatter fading into the hush of thick carpeting and closed office doors. Outside one of the glass-walled cabins sat a small seating area with deep, plush chairs.
He stopped and turned to Gyubin, leaning down so they were eye to eye. “Binnie,” he said in a low, careful tone, “I need you to wait here for a bit. You remember what I told you? Mr. Jeon doesn’t like having kids in his office.”
Gyubin’s wide, bambi-like eyes lifted to his, curious but calm. “Why though?” he asked, the straightforward honesty of a child his age cutting through the moment.
Taehyung gave him a small smile and brushed a curl back from his forehead. “Because he’s… not very good at sharing his space,” he said simply. “I’ll be back soon, promise.”
The boy exhaled, clearly not thrilled but accepting it with a little nod. “Okay Appa. But don’t take too long.”
Taehyung chuckled quietly and ruffled his hair. “Deal.”
Gyubin settled into one of the chairs, sitting upright but swinging his legs slowly just enough to show he was restless.
Turning to a neatly dressed worker stationed outside the nearest cabin, Taehyung spoke in a polite but firm voice. “Please keep an eye on him while I’m gone.”
The man gave a short, respectful nod. “Of course, sir.”
Taehyung’s gaze lingered on Gyubin for a moment longer, silently telling him to behave, before walking toward the sleek elevator at the end of the hall. His reflection in the polished chrome doors looked composed, but his chest felt tight.
He pressed the button for the 50th floor. The soft chime echoed in the quiet corridor, and as the doors slid shut, he braced himself for whatever mood awaited him at the top.
The elevator glided to a stop with a soft chime, the polished chrome doors parting to reveal a quiet, dimly lit hallway. At the far end stood a pair of grand double doors black with gold trim, imposing in their stillness.
Taehyung’s steps felt heavier as he approached. The plush carpet muted the sound of his shoes, but his pulse was loud in his own ears. He paused before the doors, lifting his hand to knock.
A low, steady voice came from within. “Come in.”
He drew in a slow breath, trying to smooth out the tightness in his chest. He didn’t want to see him not now, not ever, if he could help it. Because the moment his eyes landed on Jungkook, he knew the memory would hit like a blow:
The night.
That kiss.
His first kiss, stolen in the heat of something neither of them had named. The press of Jungkook’s mouth against his, cold yet burning.
Taehyung’s fingers tightened around the file until the leather edges dug into his palm. He forced the image back into the locked corner of his mind, lifting his chin.
With one final inhale, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
As soon as Taehyung stepped inside, the familiar scent of leather and expensive cologne wrapped around him. The vast office was awash in the soft glow of late-afternoon light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the man behind the desk seemed carved out of shadow.
Jungkook sat with his head bent, pen gliding across a folder with steady, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic scratch of ink against paper filled the silence.
Taehyung’s steps were slow, measured, almost reluctant as he crossed the room. When he reached the side of the desk, he stopped, his presence barely acknowledged.
Without looking up, Jungkook extended his hand... palm open, fingers waiting.
Taehyung placed the file in it carefully, their fingertips brushing for the briefest moment.
Jungkook flipped it open in one smooth motion, eyes scanning the contents.
He reached for the heavy silver stamp on his desk, pressing it down with quiet finality before sliding the file aside and signing with his bold, unmistakable signature.
Taehyung shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the silence stretching too long. His throat felt tight, but he managed to speak, voice soft, careful—like walking on thin ice.
“Uh… shall I go now?”
The words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if even the smallest wrong note could set off something he didn’t want to face.
Jungkook finally lifted his head.
Those eyes dark, cold as polished obsidian met Taehyung’s. They didn’t soften. They didn’t even flicker. It was the kind of gaze that stripped a person bare without a single word, and Taehyung felt the weight of it sink into his chest.
“You’re in a hurry to leave?” His voice was low but edged like a blade.
“Stand there."
The words were delivered without a flicker of emotion, but they landed heavy command, insult, and reminder of control all at once.
Taehyung froze, the air seeming to thin around him. His fists tightened at his sides, nails biting into his skin, but he didn’t move.
So he stood there, silent, his gaze locked on Jungkook like a slow-burning flame. The only sound in the vast office was the scratch of pen against paper, each stroke deliberate, unhurried as if Jungkook had all the time in the world and Taehyung’s presence was nothing more than background noise.
Minutes stretched.
Without looking up, Jungkook’s voice cut through the quiet. “Stop staring at me like that. Your gaze is so dull it’s putting me to sleep.”
The words hit Taehyung like ice water, cold and cruel. A flicker of fire igniting behind his eyes.
His mind screamed with fury, the urge to grab Jungkook by the collar and slam his head against the desk... not once, but twice. Maybe more. The thought pulsed like a wildfire beneath his skin.
But Taehyung was composed. Always had been. Unlike this man, who wielded cruelty like a weapon, treating everyone especially him with ruthless disregard.
So he swallowed the rage, tightened his jaw, and kept his hands at his sides, fists clenched but still steady. Because no matter how much he wanted to explode, he refused to give Jungkook the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.
Taehyung sighed deeply, the weight of the day settling heavy on his shoulders. His gaze flicked toward Jungkook, voice soft but steady.
“Gyubin’s waiting downstairs.”
Jungkook’s pen froze mid-stroke. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in his sleek leather chair, folding one arm across his chest as his eyes locked onto Taehyung with a predator’s focus.
“Did I ask you to bring him here?” His tone was calm but cutting icy enough to freeze the air between them.
Taehyung swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He shook his head, the barest hint of a nod barely perceptible.
“No.”
A tense pause hung in the air like a storm before Jungkook’s lips curled.
“Then what do you want me to do about it?” His voice was low, dripping with disdain and mockery.
He felt the walls closing in, the room shrinking around him. Quietly, almost to himself, he muttered,
“You never said I'd have to wait here either.”
His words barely escaped, soft as a whisper, but Jungkook’s ears caught every syllable.
Without warning, the chair scraped sharply against the floor as Jungkook rose, his towering presence suddenly looming over Taehyung.
Taehyung’s eyes widened, his body instinctively stepping back, heart pounding loud in his chest.
“I didn’t mean—” he began, voice trembling as he tried to steady himself.
But Jungkook didn’t move. He simply stood there, rigid and imposing, his gaze cold and unyielding as stone.
The silence stretched unbearably.
Taehyung swallowed hard, eyes darting to the faint scratch on Jungkook’s neck—last night’s mark, his cheeks burning with shame. He looked away, trying to hide the heat in his face.
Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, smooth but edged with challenge.
“When are you going to stop replaying last night in your head?”
Taehyung’s breath hitched. His stomach twisted painfully. How did this man know? “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
Jungkook didn't reply, stepping in close until his presence was almost overwhelming. His arm slid around Taehyung’s waist in one fluid motion, fingers curling possessively.
“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice low and mocking “You expect me to believe that?”
Taehyung’s hands clenched instinctively, shoving at Jungkook’s arm... but Jungkook tightened his grip, pulling him closer, heat radiating between them.
"I wasn't–" Taehyung tried pushing himself back.
“Make me.” Jungkook said, voice dark and demanding.
Taehyung blinked, caught off guard, confused yet stirred by the intensity.
Taehyung’s mind spun, struggling to understand. “I think I don’t need to make you believe anything,” Taehyung murmured, voice dropping as he tried to step back but there was nowhere to go.
“It was a one-time thing,” Taehyung stammered, voice shaky but honest. “It won’t happen again.”
He pushed against Jungkook’s chest, but the hold only grew firmer, fingers digging lightly into his side.
“Leave me.” Taehyung wriggled fiercely in Jungkook’s hold, his voice low but urgent. “And I-I told you not to bring up that topic.”
He twisted like a fierce kitten caught in a trap, his every movement sharp and desperate as he tried to break free.
But Jungkook’s arms were steel—unyielding and sure locking him in place with a possessive strength that made Taehyung’s struggle harder.
“I don’t need to bring it up,” Jungkook’s voice came close, dripping with mocking amusement. “Feels like you’re nowhere near ready to forget what I did to you."
Taehyung’s brows furrowed, anger flaring in his eyes like a wildfire ready to consume.
And then with desperate attempt to free himself, He dug his nails into Jungkook’s wrist, sharp and unrelenting, desperate to make him feel something anything.
Jungkook didn’t blink. Instead, he pressed his own fingers deeper into Taehyung’s waist, a slow, cruel counterattack. His eyes bore into Taehyung’s with a dangerous curiosity, like he was testing how far the other could push before breaking.
“Leave.” Taehyung repeated, pressing harder against Jungkook’s wrist, voice cracking with desperation. His chest rose and fell fast, heart hammering wildly, nerves screaming.
Jungkook tilted his head, eyes dark and unwavering as they locked onto Taehyung’s struggling form. The air thickened with electric tension, every second stretched slow and heavy.
His voice dropped low, velvety but edged with steel.
“You’re not going anywhere. Not until I say so.”
His fingers tightened possessively at the small of Taehyung’s back, pulling him impossibly close. The heat pouring off Jungkook was intoxicating raw, dangerous, addictive.
Then, with deliberate slowness, Jungkook slid his free hand up Taehyung’s side, fingers grazing over skin before curling around his neck.
His grip was firm but controlled, thumbs brushing lightly beneath Taehyung’s jaw as his fingers tightened just enough to press into the soft flesh.
The subtle pressure sent a shock through Taehyung sharp, thrilling, borderline painful and yet it tethered him to Jungkook like a magnet.
“Stop resisting, will you?” Jungkook whispered, his voice rough and low.
Taehyung’s breath hitched. His body stiffened, but the hold was too good, too commanding to resist. Jungkook’s eyes burned into his, dark and possessive, daring him to give in.
With his other hand still holding tight at Taehyung’s back, Jungkook’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on his neck, just enough to make Taehyung’s pulse race beneath the skin. It was a warning, a claim... an intimate threat that spoke of ownership and control.
"W-what are you–" Taehyung’s lips parted, breath shaky. He fought the swirl of heat rising from his chest, but the choking grip coupled with Jungkook’s unrelenting gaze broke down his defenses piece by piece.
The hold around his neck tightened once more, slow and deliberate, each second a torment and a thrill. Jungkook’s thumb traced a slow line along Taehyung’s jaw, a cruel contrast to the firm pressure of his fingers.
Then, just as suddenly, Jungkook released the pressure, letting his hand slide back down to rest possessively on Taehyung’s shoulder.
Taehyung stumbled slightly, heart pounding like a drum in his ears.
His eyes flicked down to Jungkook’s wrist blood bloomed where his nails had dug in, breaking the skin.
A rush of guilt and something softer flickered inside him, but there was no time to dwell. Jungkook glanced at his wrist and then at Taheyung.
His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper, edged with a challenge that made Taehyung’s breath catch. “Next time, be careful. If I decide to give you pain, you’ll be begging me to stop before I’m even done.”
Taehyung swallowed hard, the moment heavy and fragile between them.
One last glance at the man... magnetic and lethal Taehyung turned and walked away, the door clicking shut behind him like a vow left unspoken.