PROJECT K001

Untitled Part 59

The art world was not whispering anymore.

It was shouting.

"You've received twenty-four offers from museums," V said as he flipped through one file. "And seven from private clients. All through Niki."

"Some offering millions," Taehyung added. "And yet you still have no idea what your work is worth."

Jungkook gave them both a sheepish pout, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. "Numbers are... boring."

V's brow arched, unimpressed. "Millions are not boring, sweetheart."

"But... I didn't paint for them."

The twins stilled.

Jungkook looked up slowly, his big eyes wide and a little too vulnerable.

"I painted for me. For what I couldn't say. For all the things I wanted to scream but couldn't. And then... you found me. So now I paint for us."

The silence that followed wasn't empty.

It was reverent.

Then Taehyung reached over, took Jungkook's hand, and kissed his knuckles.

"You don't have to give anything to anyone," he said gently. "Not your paintings. Not your name. Not even your story. But if you want to... we'll be beside you. Always."

Jungkook's throat tightened.

He nodded once, a bit too quickly. "I want to share it. But not all at once."

V leaned in then, lips brushing softly against Jungkook's temple. "We'll make them wait. Make them beg."

And Jungkook smiled.

That night, the world still burned with questions.

But in the master bedroom—tucked beneath soft sheets, in a tangle of limbs, warmth, and whispered names—the only answer that mattered was this.

Jungkook lay between them again.

But this time, it was different.

There was no hesitation. No confusion. No fear.

Only the weight of their arms around him. The soft sigh of Taehyung pressing kisses along his jaw. The low hum of V as he whispered secrets in his ear, lips trailing down the curve of his neck.

Jungkook giggled softly, arching into them, eyes bright and mischievous.

"You're both clingy," he teased breathily.

"You made us that way," Taehyung murmured against his throat.

"And you love it," V growled low, fingers slipping beneath the hem of Jungkook's shirt to stroke along the bare skin of his waist.

Jungkook shivered, cheeks pinkening, but he didn't pull away.

Instead, he turned toward V, wrapped his arms around his neck, and whispered into his ear, "Don't stop."

Then to Taehyung, with a giggle that sounded dangerously close to the edge of his little space: "Dada's warm... I want cuddles."

That one word made Taehyung still for a beat. But then his eyes softened—melting into the quiet boyishness he rarely showed—as he pulled Jungkook closer into his arms.

"Anything for my baby," he whispered.

V chuckled darkly, tracing slow lines down Jungkook's thigh. "He knows exactly what he's doing."

"I'm not!" Jungkook giggled, squirming a little—but he didn't deny the flutter of pride in his chest at how fast they melted for him.

The atmosphere shifted—soft, charged, intimate.

Clothes loosened.

Breath quickened.

But even as kisses deepened and hands explored, there was no rush. No urgency.

Just the slow, careful worship of someone treasured. A shared rhythm. A quiet hunger fed by every sigh, every murmur of "mine," every quiet gasp that passed between them.

Jungkook's fingers tangled in V's hair, lips parted under the weight of kisses. Taehyung's hand caressed his back, his mouth murmuring adoring nonsense in his ear, half in Korean, half in moans.

It wasn't about lust.

It was about claiming—together.

Jungkook belonged to both.

And both belonged to him.

No complications.

No jealousy.

Only the kind of bond forged not in public displays or grand declarations—but in the sacred silence of sheets tangled and breath shared.

That night, the mansion didn't feel cold anymore.

It didn't feel like a castle or a fortress.

It felt like home.