Twisted Vows

Fragile Threads

The faint scent of burnt cedarwood lingered in the air, mixing with the saltiness of the sea breeze drifting through the open balcony doors. The Italian night was cool, but the room was stifling—charged with something suffocating, something unspoken.

Joshua sat on the edge of the massive bed, his fingers gripping the silk sheet, still trembling faintly from the brutal kiss Seokmin had stolen from him. His lips were swollen, slightly bruised, and his breath was uneven, but he didn’t let the vulnerability show.

Not now.
Not in front of him.

Seokmin stood by the ornate fireplace, a glass of whiskey loosely dangling in his fingers. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, corded with tension. His dark eyes stared into the flames, but his thoughts were far away—on the boy behind him. On the way Joshua had bitten him, defied him, and then smiled with that cruel, beautiful smirk.

He was losing control. And he hated it.

“Why didn’t you just kill me, huh?” Joshua’s voice was sharp, slicing through the tense silence. His eyes were colder now, but Seokmin could see through the façade. The faint quiver in his voice betrayed him.

Seokmin’s hand stilled, the amber liquid sloshing softly in the crystal glass. Slowly, he turned around, his eyes meeting Joshua’s. There was no anger in his gaze—no fury. Just deadly calm.

He walked over, slow and deliberate, the sound of his shoes against the marble floor tauntingly slow. When he stood before Joshua, he crouched slightly, leaning down until they were eye level.

“Ucciderti?”
(Kill you?)
His voice was a rough whisper, low and lethal. His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Oh no, angelo... killing you would be far too easy.”

His fingers brushed against Joshua’s chin, deceptively gentle, before trailing along his throat. Joshua’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t look away. His glare was sharp, almost daring Seokmin to break him.

“I want to watch you shatter, pezzo di paradiso.”
(Piece of heaven.)
Seokmin’s voice was a low rasp against Joshua’s skin, making him shiver despite himself.

Joshua’s eyes narrowed. His lips curled into a defiant smirk, the corners twitching with mocking sweetness. “You’re a coward, Seokmin,” he spat softly, tilting his chin up in defiance. “All that power, but you’re still terrified of losing me.”

Seokmin’s jaw tightened. His grip on Joshua’s chin hardened, but only slightly—just enough to make Joshua feel the dangerous edge of his restraint. His eyes darkened with a dangerous glimmer, and for a split second, Joshua thought he might snap.

But instead, Seokmin let out a low, cruel chuckle.

“Terrified?” He smirked darkly, his lips brushing the shell of Joshua’s ear. “You have no idea, angelo. I will ruin you so thoroughly... you’ll be begging to be mine.”

Joshua’s heart slammed against his chest, but he didn’t let the shiver show. Instead, he leaned forward—close enough for his breath to graze Seokmin’s lips—and smiled sweetly.

“Keep dreaming, bastardo.”
(Bastard.)

For a moment, they were frozen in that charged space—so close their breaths mingled, the tension sharp enough to cut through the night.

And then, Joshua snapped first.

Before he could think, his hand shot out, grabbing Seokmin’s whiskey glass. In one fluid motion, he raised it to his lips, his eyes locked onto Seokmin’s as he downed the amber liquid in one reckless gulp. The burn scraped down his throat, but he didn’t flinch.

Seokmin’s eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze fell to Joshua’s throat, watching the way it bobbed with the swallow, and something dark and primal flashed in his eyes.

“You little—”

Joshua threw the glass to the floor before Seokmin could finish, the sound of shattering crystal echoing through the room. His chest heaved, his pulse pounding against his skin, but he didn’t back down.

For the first time, Seokmin stilled. His dark eyes flickered to the broken glass, and then slowly, slowly, they dragged back to Joshua’s face.

And then—
He smiled.

But it wasn’t warm. It was cruel. Cold. Wicked.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a small golden dagger. The blade glinted under the candlelight, dangerously sharp. He walked forward, slow and deliberate, watching the flicker of fear flash across Joshua’s eyes—just for a fleeting second.

And God, it made him grin.

“Vuoi giocare sporco, angelo?”
(You want to play dirty, angel?)
His voice was a low growl.

Joshua’s throat tightened. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his ears, but he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Seokmin slowly crouched before him, the dagger pressed lightly against Joshua’s bare collarbone. He leaned in, his breath warm against Joshua’s trembling lips.

“You’re trembling,” Seokmin whispered darkly, the blade trailing dangerously slow down his chest, leaving a faint, cold line in its wake.

Joshua’s fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms. His eyes blazed with defiance, but his breath came out shaky.

Seokmin’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. His voice was low, menacing, but tinged with something softer—something dangerous.

“But I won’t cut you,” he whispered, almost sweetly. “No, angelo... I want to feel you break with my hands.”

And just like that, the blade clattered to the floor.

Seokmin’s hand shot up, gripping Joshua’s throat, but not to hurt him—no, just to feel the wild hammering of his pulse beneath his palm. His thumb pressed lightly against Joshua’s jawline, tilting his face up.

Their eyes locked.
Two storms clashing.
Fire and fragility.

And before Joshua could register what was happening, Seokmin’s mouth crashed onto his—furious, hungry, and raw. It was a punishment and a plea, rough and unforgiving.

But this time—
Joshua kissed him back.