That night he'd cum harder than he ever had before, biting his lips so hard they'd bled, choking back his lewd grunts and moans as his stepbrother slumbered peacefully in the bed across from him.
In the two years that followed, Namjoon's rage had mellowed to a grudging miserable acceptance of his role peppered with occasional spikes of resentment. His relationship with Jungkook, once fraught with raw, unfocused feelings of hatred, envy, desire and reluctant admiration had developed into dark, sexual obsession, rigidly controlled, desperately hidden behind thinly veiled scorn. After numerous attempts to befriend the elder boy, Jungkook had taken to reciprocating in kind. Until the two couldn't be in the same room without snarking at each other.
His feelings for Jungkook had been the first crack in the mould. Over the next few years he'd indulged in more and more frequent acts of secret rebellion, doing his best to escape the suffocating box he'd been forced into if only for a moment. Thought became fantasy became deed. And what had started that night with furtive, shameful touches in the dark had branched out until he was sneaking out of the house in dark, oversized hoodies that hid titanium and ink beneath, to underground raves where he spun his music on turntables for the sweating, writhing masses.
While men and women alike threw themselves at the aloof RM, they invariably left dissatisfied. For none of them could compare to the perfection of Jungkook. No one could stir him, tempt him, as the younger man did. And so, his body remained paradoxically chaste even as his thoughts grew more depraved.
He was in the living room, lounging on the couch, laptop resting on his abdomen, studio quality headphones blasting his latest creation when he thought he saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. He sat up a little straighter, lifting the cushioned earpad away from his head to listen intently. Met with nothing but silence, he shrugged and sank back down into a comfortable slouch, losing himself in the music.
When his back started to ache, Namjoon finally straightened, setting his laptop on the coffee table and stretching, arms over head until he felt the satisfying pop of his vertebrae. Sighing, he shuffled to the fridge. He opened it, peered inside, lazily slid his hand under his faded London Calling t-shirt to scratch his chest, didn't see anything appealing and shut it again. Still bored and a little restless, he made his way upstairs toward the bathroom. He froze and cocked his head when he thought he heard a muffled thump, but a moment later, their black and white cat, Mittens, emerged from the hall and he laughed softly to himself at his jumpiness. He bent down to stroke down her arched back a few times and scratched behind her ears before she meandered away, tail sashaying behind her.
Humming to himself he turned on the shower and stuck a hand beneath the stream, testing the waters. When it reached a satisfactory temperature, he shucked off his clothes and entered the frosted glass stall. He took his time, enjoying the warm spray of water on his cramped muscles. He really had to stop slumping over his computer, it wasn't doing his back any favours. He scolded himself as he soaped up the shower puff and ran it over his body leisurely. He took care not to catch the barbells pushed through his small, dark nipples and curved into his navel in the white netting. Even though the piercings were fully healed, he'd learned just how painful a sudden yank on the metal could be. Although, he mused idly, as he gave the titanium on his left nipple a little flick, sometimes the pain wasn't altogether unwelcome.
He briefly considered indulging in a quick wank in the shower, then decided it would be a waste of an empty house. He so very rarely got to play with his toys.
He finished rinsing quickly, running his hands down his limbs to remove excess water before stepping out onto the mat and roughly drying himself. He wrapped the towel around his hips and stood before the mirror, hand sliding down his jaw as he eyed himself curiously. It was so very rarely he got to actually see himself with his piercings in. The silver hoops in his snakebites glinted in the light as do the small balls on the horseshoe through his septum. He grinned, his dimples flashing. The only time he can truly stand his reflection is when it's augmented with steel. He only wishes his silver, almost purple hair was styled the way he liked it, instead of limp on his forehead. He ran a hand through its shaggy length, almost posing and grinned again. Better. A little eyeliner and a collar and it'd be just right. But they were in the room he still shared with Jungkook.
Cherry Pop - NamKook
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