Jimin has never found the term 'punishment' to be appealing. Because any and each time he sees it or hears it, he immediately relates it to Daeshim. And so he finds it odd that as he sits on the same couch he slept on last night, he's enveloped by intrigue.
Jeongguk's words call out to him, endless like a tune being spurred on by a broken record. He can still feel the man's hot breath kiss his cheek and coil within his ear, winding through every part of his brain. The gesture is almost like a leech, feeding off of the curious and apprehensive state of his body. He can't understand why he's so effected by it.
Naughty boys like you who don't listen well get punished.
A chill runs down his spine. The husk is so apparent in his mind, simply driving him into a further position of inappeased chaos. And yet such madness seems to cultivate his uprising. It's inexplicable - the adrenaline he felt while savoring the taste of his own blood. While willingly falling victim to the rippling stream of rush moving beneath his skin. It's a high that no other can truly appreciate until experiencing it on their own.
Jimin lets out a stuttered breath just by recalling the rapture felt. While he smoothes his palm over the sensitive half-ring imprinted into his neck, he stares at the bandaid wrapped around his finger. He tries to remind himself of the possible repercussions by doing it again, however his desires seem to outweigh reason. Daeshim is but a simple echo in the back of his mind. What resides in the forefront is Jeongguk's golden hair. The captivating yet intimidating glint in his brown eyes. His fucking lips and that smirk of his that he constantly seems to brandish. His slim, veiny hands and the way his cigarettes sit so perfectly between his fingers. Addiction.
"No..." Jimin mumbles to himself, lowering his hand out of his peripheral. He shoves it beneath his leg and strains his thigh. This isn't right. If Jeongguk were aware of the fantasies he undergoes, he'd most definitely be creeped out. He gives it his all to be in constant reminder of his morals and yet they're drowned out by Jeongguk's cigarette smoke.
"Shit." Jimin stands from the couch, reaching an irrational decision. He basically stumbles over his own feet while walking into the kitchen and pulls out the utensil drawer, grabbing a small knife in his hand. He takes a seat on one of the stools and places the blade on the countertop while staring at it. Jimin holds his head on either side, breathing heavily.
"No."
Yes.
"I shouldn't."
Do it.
A heavy slot of air falls from Jimin's mouth with petulant undertone. He grabs the knife and heads back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch. His knuckles pale as he grips it to near asphyxiation, holding up the forefinger that hasn't been compromised. His thought process is totally blurred by the color red. All he craves to see is the color red.
Jimin finds partial distraction in the way his teeth sink so hard down into his full bottom lip as he drives the edge of the knife down his finger. He grimaces and a whine sounds from his throat. The action stings more than the aftermath and so as he drops the knife to the floor, he can finally breathe while falling under hypnosis. His small hand shakes while the blood runs down his palm to reach his wrist. He darts his tongue out and catches it before it can get too far, running it all the way up to the tip of his finger. He whines.
It's almost as if an inanimate force propels him backward against the arm of the couch. He lays supine with his finger plugged between his lips like a soother and sucks to the point his head tilts back. Jimin is so impossibly clouded by his given high that as his other hand makes way beneath his pants and boxers, he doesn't register it. At first he palms himself softly and fondles his cock as he grows accustomed to the interwoven gestures of pleasure. Shortly his fingers rest faintly around his length and his thumb presses into the very tip, pushing down in a circular motion.
"F-fuck." Jimin's back arches as he mutters brokenly past his finger. His tongue maps out his hand. Every inch that's been painted with the alluring sight of garnet. It caters specifically to the small incision and moves deftly into the split skin. He garners every dollop of blood and writhes because of it, humming almost as if he's being possessed.
His hand moves swifter in his pants. Rather than teasing himself he curls his fingers around his cock fully and begins to move up and down simultaneously. It's fully hard in his small hand and it strains against his boxers, pushing against the fabric. He's measuring the way he ruts into his hand with the way his finger moves in his mouth to create this undeniable, sin filled symphony.
He whines once more as Jeongguk flits in his mind - unwanted yet welcomed just the same. Not only does his guilt amplify but as does the pleasure. And he unintentionally begins to think about something he didn't prior. This time Jeongguk is the one sucking his finger while moving his digits so perfectly against his shaft, prodding pedanticly along his puckering hole. It's dirty and it's wrong, yet it feels so positively right. Daeshim is no longer on his mind as he moves his hand away from his cock.
With the very minimal amount of power that Jimin has amidst his haze, he adjusts his position and shoves his face into the cushion with his ass hoisted into the air. His hand dips within his pants once more and he kneads his ass softly before massaging his middle finger around his rim. He mewls as he continues to suck the last little bit of blood that he can out of his hand while jutting his digit deep into his hole.
"Ah, fuck." Jimin's moan is swallowed by the couch as his thrusting finger moves in and out of his entrance at the perfect pace. His jaw falls open as it's been worked to it's maximum and drool spills down the corner of his swollen mouth to drench the cushion.
There's a familiar, genuine heat building in Jimin's stomach as he proceeds to finger fuck himself. He's unable to stop himself thinking that Jeongguk is the one behind him, pinching his hips while rutting roughly into his hole with his large cock. He's shameless at this point. He's falling apart on the living room couch as obscene sounds laden the house. His body is spent and sweaty and as he orgasms inside of his boxers, he moans loudly.
Jimin falls to the side and pulls his hand out of his boxers. His black hair is disheveled, slicked against his forehead. His lips are crimson and his shirt is falling over his shoulders. He's totally fucked out, trying desperately to catch his breath and come down from his high. His thoughts begin to catch up with him and surprisingly enough, there's no guilt. There's this burning desire implemented inside of him imploring for more. More blood. Punishment. Jeongguk.
But just maybe he spoke too soon.
Jimin jolts the second the front door is thrown open. Daeshim doesn't realize his presence until he closes the door behind him and kicks his shoes off of his feet. Their eyes meet and the ravenette feels as though he's been caught committing a crime. Although he hadn't been found during the process of it, his state makes it clear as day.
It doesn't help that Daeshim's eyes wander to a knife laying on the carpet, covered in blood. It's the perfect crime scene and yet nobody else is present but Jimin.
"What's going on?" Jimin flinches softly at the man's sharp tone, pushing his body into the corner of the couch. There is no feasible explanation for the situation he's been found in.
"I asked you a question, Jimin. I expect an answer." Jimin whimpers quietly as he's reminded of Jeongguk. There's this glaring contrast within the way the statement is spoken. It sounded so different falling off of the blond's tongue. He feels like he's in danger now. No, he knows he's in danger.
"N-nothing, I - nothing." Jimin curls into himself as he notices that Daeshim is approaching him from the entryway. He's peering up at him through black lashes, biting his tongue.
"All you do is fucking lie, you little whore. I know what you were doing while I was gone." Daeshim runs a finger down Jimin's jaw, gripping it harshly once he reaches his chin. "Why is there a bloody knife on the floor?"
Jimin whimpers, lifted onto his knees as Daeshim pulls him upward by his jaw. He's unable to speak and as a consequence, he's struck along his cheek for his disobedience. He falls into the couch and hides within his arms, desperately seeking haven from the fire in his boyfriend's eyes.
But his hair is gripped and he's thrown off of the couch and straight onto the carpet where he groans. Jimin goes to roll onto his back but he's kicked in the stomach and he's backed up into the base of the couch, whimpering. Each time Daeshim's toes collide with his ribs, that much more air is taken out of him and released as pained gasps.
It feels like an eternity before his world stops spinning. He's kicked, he's slapped, he's punched. The knife sits so close to his face and the temptation to grab it grows with each passing blow. But soon Daeshim is walking away as if nothing has happened. He's heard slipping his shoes back on and leaving the house. The door slams shut and yet his body feels too heavy to jolt. His cheeks are red and drenched with tears. He needs to take a shower but he can't move. Every inch of his body aches. His stomach is screaming at him with each slight movement.
Jimin finds his phone laying on the arm of the couch. He whimpers and while he sits up to reach for it, it feels as though his body is being torn to shreds. His hand tremors but he finally manages to secure it within his grasp. This shouldn't be his first thought but he needs to call in. There's no possible way he'll be able to work tomorrow.
He dials down the salon phone number and waits for the lady at the front desk to answer. Eventually she does and instantly Jimin is put at ease.
"Iseul?"
"Jimin, is that you?"
Jimin leans his head back against the couch and exhales quietly, trying to collect himself. "Yeah. I'm sorry but I don't think I'll be able to come into work tomorrow. Something came up."
There's silence on the other end for a moment.
"...Did Daeshim hurt you, Jimin?"
Jimin shakes his head vigorously but remembers that she can't see him. "No. I'm just not feeling very good and I wanted to let you know now before it's last minute," he says.
Jimin has never openly spoken about his relationship with Daeshim to anyone. But it's safe to say that Iseul has picked up on some of the signs. He just isn't brave enough to admit what goes on at home.
"...Okay. Well let me know if you need anything, and oh. Jimin?"
Jimin simply hums.
"That client with the blond hair that you helped yesterday showed up again. He didn't have an appointment booked or anything. He was asking for you but I told him you weren't working. He wanted to know when your next shift was but I didn't tell him. Just thought I'd let you know."
Everything bad surrounding Jimin seems to ebb away at the mention of Jeongguk. He isn't entirely sure why he came looking for him but he doesn't question it. He sighs quietly with his eyes fallen closed. "Okay, thank you, Iseul. I'll let you know if I need anything."
"Okay, Jimin. Feel better and try to stay out of trouble."
The call ends and Jimin's phone falls from his hand. He slacks against the couch and soon he melts onto the floor where he was minutes ago. He's staring at the knife as a tear rolls down the bridge of his nose to meet a blood splatter on the carpet.
Freedom seems so close and yet at the same time, it's the furthest thing from reach.
(A/N): this book is going to get so mf crazy in every aspect