andddd, they're back *wink*
★
DISCLAIMER:
this is DEFINITELY much more nsfw than my other fics, please read the cw below before actually reading! thank you!
CW: gun play, knife play— they are both ACTUALLY used this time, knife wounds, spanking, hair pulling, sadism/masochism, possessiveness, fear play, consensual non-consent, established relationship; everything is consensual
★
Fear— it's a natural reminder that we are all living. It paints our souls with shades of both resilience and vulnerability, envelops us with a blanket of uncertainty, and encourages us to act to get to safety— to get to comfort. To stay alive.
Jisung could say he doesn't have many fears. He is an avid horror movie fan, and he's always been one to step up to get his voice heard if ever needed. Needless to say, he was quite confident in how he lived his life.
If there was one thing, one factor, though, in his whole life, that has ever contributed to instilling genuine fear in him— it would undoubtedly be the fact that he's casually dating a skilled hitman who is armed every second of the day, which means—
He possesses the ability and power to absolutely murder Jisung and leave not a single trace behind.
It's not like he'd actually do that, though. No, Jisung is his boyfriend— in fact, he'd rather kill for him.
Not actually kill... him.
...
But sometimes, Jisung still likes to ponder on the possibility of Minho forcing him into a great state of panic and terror, so bad that he has to fear for his life.
It's a tame Friday night; they're tangled at the legs as they both focus their attention to whatever was airing on the television this late. It's been raining all day, bringing out that earthy aroma and enhancing it all around. It's pitch black out, only a flickering streetlight pouring out into the loft through a crack in the curtains.
Jisung's bundled up in his coziest pajamas, fluffy penguin socks dressing his feet. He feels completely at ease at the moment, a blanket draped over his lap, a mug of hot cocoa in his hands, and a prominent hand lying securely on his thigh.
He raises the mug to his lips and glances over to his left. He meets eyes with Minho almost instantly.
"What?" Jisung asks as he brings his cup back down. He smiles gently, blinking rather purely as he challenges a stare down with Minho. The latter only continues to look at him, eyes unchanging from where his hair hangs in front of them.
"What?"
"Hey, I asked first," Jisung pouts subtly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
At that, Minho arches a brow and tilts his head, moving slowly, each of his actions seeming thoroughly calculated. "Like what?"
"I don't know," Jisung answers honestly. He leans back against the cushions, registers how he tries to bring his thigh into himself but it stays where it is, pinned down by the weight of Minho's hand. He looks down at his lap, then back at Minho again, a cheeky smile lining his lips again.
He runs his tongue over his lips and tastes sweet chocolate. Minho's eyes observe the action.
"Just looking at you," he answers. His hand comes down to rub at his knee instead. "Can't I just do that?"
"Never said you couldn't," Jisung giggles breathily. He holds out his cup wordlessly, to which Minho takes it and sets it onto the coffee table for him. From there, he could slip his now free hands underneath the blanket so he could trace over the ridges of Minho's knuckles and the callouses on his palm.
"You're just pretty," Minho says casually as he lets his fingers slip into Jisung's. "Can't I look at what's mine?"
Jisung peers at Minho through his lashes. A nice rush of heat settles atop of his cheek and he smiles, pressing Minho's hand against his leg.
"Am I yours?" He drags out, aiming to tease, yet Jisung knows the answer to that question all too well.
"Every part of you," Minho answers without hesitation. "Mine."
Jisung chuckles. He throws his head back up and stares up at the popcorn ceiling. The hand in his separates itself and settles back on his leg.
"Okay, so, why are you looking at me like you have something you want to say then?"
"What makes you think that?"
"I don't know, Min," Jisung cocks a brow at the other and smiles again, a flash of teeth apparently doing it all to attract Minho. Something about the grip on his thigh shifts, fingertips properly digging into the meat of his skin.
Minho narrows his eyes the slightest bit, unimpressed. "I don't know what you're trying to say."
"Oh, don't give me that!" Jisung frowns. He wraps himself around Minho's arm and presses his cheek to his shoulder. "I'm just. Hm. You still amuse me. You're very mysterious, you know."
"Mysterious?"
Jisung barks out a laugh. "Honestly, yes," he hums, and then, he slowly averts his eyes to the coffee table. There's a bunch of snacks, opened and empty, and his lukewarm cocoa still remains where the other had set it down. And closest to Minho, almost at the corner of the table.
A handgun— a sleek black Beretta, casually lies on the table. It's a favorite of Minho's, the handle practically engraved to rest against Minho's fingers just right. He had figured out it's the same with all of his weapons, in fact. It's all because they had become greatly involved with his daily life.
Jisung feels like it's almost a crime to stare at it for over five seconds. At the sight, his chest caves in and his mind goes fuzzy at the edges. Heart rate escalates just as quickly as the thoughts that spill into his mind. He's sure Minho could feel as he tenses the slightest bit.
And what really really does it all to instill that ounce of fear in him, thrill rather—
Is that he is never ever informed of the firearm being loaded or not. Whether its stock is full, ready to be emptied, or if it truly is just there because Minho likes to bring his toys around.
But there isn't a use for any toy if you aren't able to play with it, right?
A heavy hand carding through his hair snaps him out of his trance. He tilts his head up to meet Minho's eyes, letting a sheepish grin line his lips.
"I just... never know what's going on in your head."
"Is that something you're supposed to know?"
Jisung lets out a faltering giggle. "Yeah," he answers rather confidently.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says again. "I need to constantly know what you're thinking about."
"Why is that?"
"Because," Jisung whines softly. "It's just that I never know to what to expect from you and sometimes, you know, I like to be prepared."
The hand in his hair makes itself remembered when Minho's grip tightens the slightest, causing a tension in his scalp. "Prepared for what?"
Minho's looking down at him with some sort of gaze. Something he obviously can't read into, but senses that there's something that's gone unsaid that's residing behind those irises.
At the intensity of gaze, Jisung peels himself off momentarily before barking out a rather flustered laugh. He scratches the back of his head. "See! You're doing it again! Like— you look like you're totally planning to fucking murder me, or some shit. Like— you're gonna put a bullet through me and dispose of my body without a trace. I know you're capable of doing that."
Jisung's laughing until he realizes what he's just said. His blood runs cold. Suddenly, nothing is fucking funny at all. He swallows uncontrollably, feeling as a cold sweat quickly envelops his body. Fuck him and his lack of filter, now Minho is gonna—
"What are you trying to say, Jisungie?"
Minho is smiling at him now— scarily saccharine and very unsettling in a way that sets off somewhat of a sense of exhilaration in his veins. Any glint in his eyes is gone.
"I was... just saying—"
"You think 'cause I'm carrying my gun all day, I'm gonna shoot you dead?" He breaks out into incredulous laughter, his voice sounding deceivingly sweet all around the edges. Jisung knows all too well that his intentions for his laughter aren't very nice.
Jisung frowns, a flush blanketing his cheeks as he tries very hard not to glance at the said weapon once again. He parts his mouth to answer, but a little squeak bubbles out of his throat when the grip on his hair tightens pulls his head back, leaving him no choice but to stare up at the other.
"Min—"
"Are you scared of me?" Minho asks, voice low and much edgier. Jisung gulps.
"N-no! Of course not, I was just—"
"Just asking stupid questions?" Minho cocks a brow. Jisung registers how he collects more of his hair between his fingers, pulling back hard enough that he whimpers faintly.
"T-they weren't stupid..." Jisung is brave enough to murmur, eyes growing glassy through his stare up at Minho.
"Please," Minho barks out another laugh, brooding and everything mocking. "They were, babe. Really fucking stupid."
"Sorry," Jisung gasps out quickly when Minho's free hand slithers up his thigh. His lower region throbs in interest. "Sorry— 'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"I am," he breathes quickly. "I am, I am. I'm sorry."
The other's mouth visibly twitches at that. Perhaps it's the look of worry on Jisung's face, causing his brows to pull down and widen his eyes more than usual. Or how his lip quivers when he tilts his head to observe him.
"You know," Minho murmurs, fingers loosening in his hair to slide and cup his cheek. Jisung shivers. "I wouldn't hurt you," he emphasizes like it's obvious. Then, he pointedly drags his gaze over to his left. Jisung follows it. He lets out an involuntary sigh when his stare lands on the gun, its presence taunting him greatly.
They meet eyes again and Minho looks at him, knowingly. The way his voice sounds next is whispering into his entire being.
"At least, unless you asked me to."
Jisung can't help the whimper that racks the rest of his body. Minho must've noticed how he jolted, a smooth smile lining his perfect mouth.
"Yeah?" He's right by his ear now, breath hot against him. "You want to get hurt, don't you?"
"Please," he bares his neck in somewhat of an offering. "Please— you know I..."
"Don't I already rough you up enough?" Minho's hand shifts down— downwards, towards his jaw, fingers tracing down to his neck. His fingers gracefully find their place, to cup around and hold. Though simply hovering over his skin, he feels as the fading bruises on his neck make themselves prominent again.
"Not enough," Jisung whispers. "You know I've been waiting."
Minho drags out a hum as his lips graze his jaw. Jisung's eyes fluttered shut. Truly, he should be awarded for possessing all the patience he could ever have in the world. He's thought about all the times Minho's taken him already, each time something straight out of pure bliss.
He thinks about one night in particular where Minho had come over, still high off exhilaration after finishing up a job. He had been so rough with Jisung; had him on his back as he bent him in half and railed him right into the mattress, keeping him down with a hand snug on his neck.
It was then that he begged for Minho to do more. He had been patient, silent, so good— he wanted more. Needed more, even. He needed more of Minho on him— whether it'd be more handprints on his ass, fingertip shaped bruises on his hips, bite marks on every square inch of his neck—
Lately, he's been craving for something else. Something far more sinister, to say the least. It's a desire that comes from deep within the Minho-shaped hole in his heart. Not that it was empty. In fact, it was always filled.
He now aches for the sleekness of a blade against his body, the weight featherlight on his skin but enough to draw the faintest of crimson red. He knows for a fact that Minho knows how to control how deep it'll press into his skin; how he could make Jisung beg to make him hurt him in the way he needs.
And he can't forget about Minho's pistol. Or any gun that has come into Minho's hands. Oh God no, he could never. Not when he's spent all those days seeing him at the range, watching him practice and handle the gun with such skills that could go unmatched.
His cock undoubtedly fills with interest in his pants. He mewls gently and presses against Minho's hand, leaning into the hand still curled around his cheek. Minho all but coos, mouth pressing against the corner of his jaw.
"You know I'm the only one who can give you anything you want," Minho says, and his hand creeps into the waistband of his flanneled pajamas. "Only me."
"Only y—fuck—" Jisung's eyes roll back when Minho wraps a dry hand around his shaft. He strokes him with ease, a tell-tale sign that he was going to take his time with him tonight.
"That's right, sweetheart," Minho murmurs lightly before he holds Jisung by the jaw to slot their lips together. Though Jisung does let himself put up a fight, he only lets himself go when he feels his jaw ache. Minho always lets him do so, because in the end, he reassures Jisung by simply licking into his mouth and biting at his lips.
Minho unsurprisingly takes care of him as always— reminds Jisung that a handjob isn't just a handjob for someone with good hands. He comes apart on his lap, whining as Minho whispers a line of dirty incentives through a mocking smile.
If he is sent to heaven and back with each time Minho, he could only imagine how much intense and phenomenal it would be to implement such riskier elements into their routines.
He had basically gotten the green light after tonight.
To hell and back he goes.
★
Jisung can't really say for himself, but others have told him he's a stubborn person. At least, now he's so sure that what he's heard is most likely highly accurate.
He's straddling a pillow, legs bare and a large shirt draping over his upper half. It's one of Minho's— he wears it because his scent is stained all over and he's addicting. There's a shameless flush blanketing over his neck and cheeks, fingers maintaining their knuckle-white grip on the fabric as he rocks his hips back and forth into the pillow.
He's delirious— high off the fantasies that had been sprouting in his mind. It's cruel, really, that Minho really hasn't done anything yet to him despite throwing the idea out there for them to think about. It's like Jisung's waiting— Minho's making him wait until he breaks. And he knows Minho will carry this out until Jisung eventually gives out, and God he really is going to snap at any moment at this point.
Jisung forces the pillow back onto his crotch. He pants, head hanging back and tongue lolling out as strings of Minho's name fall from his lips. He recites his name like a memorized prayer at this point, any shame that had been residing in him long gone.
Jisung moans high in his throat as his cock ruts into the plushness. He's so wet and hot all over. He sticks his tongue out lewdly to collect some of that drool pooling in his mouth, just so he could snake a hand around over to his hole. He teases his puckered rim with wet fingers, right as his phone vibrates on the bed next to his discarded shorts.
His chest heaves as he peels his eyes open to slowly glare at the device. Irritated by the slight bother in his alone time, he rolls his eyes and wipes his fingers on his thigh. He takes his phone and unlocks it.
Lee Minho
coming
don't bother unlocking the door.
The tension eases from Jisung's shoulders and he finds himself smiling dopily. He is quick to type out a quick reply.
Han Jisung
aw, another one of my locks broken :(
are you paying for all the damages?
Lee Minho
it's never bothered you before.
Han Jisung
you're right!!!!!! (⌒▽⌒)
i'm already coming btw
Lee Minho
you'll never learn, will you?
trust me, sweetheart, it isn't a good quality of yours
Han Jisung
what's there to learn already when there's always gonna be something you can teach me?
love you x
Read 23:49
Jisung lets out a giggle into the darkness of the room and tosses his phone to the side. With newfound fervor, he grips onto the pillow so he can slowly build up a pace again. He moans greedily, chasing the pleasure gradually building up all over.
Through his wet panting, he's able to pick up on where there's a faint but evident thud that sounds somewhere— somewhere around the house, Jisung doesn't know. All he does is roll his hips faster, a thrill settling into his veins just as quickly.
His hands drift over to his thighs, feeling as they ripple and tense up as he humps his pillow; his nails sink into the soft skin and he mewls, easily letting his strength get the best of him until he's scratching down hard enough to leave angry marks.
He does the same trailing up his torso, sliding his hand under his shirt to pinch at his nipples and letting his fingers hold his throat. He whines deliriously, head thrown back as he ruts back and forth until he hears a thump at the door.
His hips slow on instinct. His breathing tames gently. It's dead silent in the house and now, all over the room as well. And truly— truly his nerves should be spiraling at how his senses have heightened at the sudden noise.
But instead, he feels as his lips curl and the pressure in his tummy increases tenfold. A breathy giggle leaves his throat as he turns slowly to glance at the door. Through the crack, he can already feel the heaviness of a stare piercing into him.
His other hand feels around what mess he made on his sheets. He pats around until his fingers curl around the coldness of it, heart rate spiking as he weighs it in his hand and hides it behind his back. He takes his time, crawling to the edge of the bed onto his feet.
There, Jisung stands in front of his door, cracked open the slightest to leave room for him to be curious. Curious, because he was unaware of what was behind the door. And for that same reason, he should truly truly be concerned for his wellbeing.
He should be scared.
Jisung is scared. Just in the way that has his cock twitching unashamedly under his shirt.
"Are you going to kill me, sir?" Jisung calls out into the darkness, a loopy grin on his mouth as he rocks on his bare feet. He tilts his head and keeps his arms crossed loosely around his back.
"Make sure you do it quick," he giggles, taking his lip between his perfect teeth, "I like to have fun beforehand."
A few tense seconds pass before a figure moves behind the crack and the door pushes open slowly. There's only that same darkness in the hallway, but he can easily make out his presence— broad and daunting as he steps into the moon-lit room. Jisung feels his heart jump as he catches Minho's empty eyes, grin widening into a smile he can't contain.
He's dressed in all black— a heavy jacket over his torso and a vest over that. Black cargos dress his legs like always, and Jisung just never forgets to admire how they look around his muscled thighs. Black combat boots enhance his height, making him appear much more intimidating than before. An equally dark beanie sits on his head, holding his mused bangs in place.
He'a holding a duffel over his shoulder. Jisung can't peel his eyes off of it— can't stop himself from imagining just what could be inside—
His eyes drift back to Minho's. They're already looking at him with a gaze that has his knees buckling.
Minho tilts his head and blinks twice, slowly. Jisung blinks once back.
At that, Minho straightens up— like he's resetting his composure and letting a certain persona sink into him. His eyes trail down Jisung's figure slowly in one, smooth path.
"Started the fun without me?"
When he speaks, Jisung feels as his cock leaks in interest. His knees join together, something along the lines of a manic giggle bubbling out of his throat.
"I just couldn't wait," Jisung pouts. "You know you should never keep me waiting. I don't do good with patience."
"Clearly," Minho murmurs under his breath. There's a mocking glint in his eye when he meets Jisung's stare again.
"You don't do good with directions, too."
"What directions?"
"Don't act all dumb with me now," Minho says easily. He drops his bag onto the floor. Rolls his sleeves up to reveal his taped up knuckles. He could vividly imagine the fresh bruised that must be sprouting on the beat skin. Perhaps, he's had a long day today going to town on his practice dummy. He should still be buzzing with that energy, though. Jisung wants to help him come down.
"Don't know what you're talking about," Jisung accentuates as his hands twitch behind his back. He feels almost floaty, high off ecstasy so early into it all. His hand curls tighter around it. "Tell me?"
"No," Minho says in a beat. "There's no point in telling you anything if you aren't going to listen, sweetheart," he lets his hands sink into his pockets and steps forward. The floorboards creek under his boots because his house is so old, after all.
"I'm not going to waste my time instilling such things into you if you won't ever follow directions."
Jisung can't help but laugh lightly as Minho looms closer— it's sort of a reflex, because he has to resist closing in on himself as his presence approaches him and makes itself clear.
"Oh, then, I'm being bad is what you're saying," Jisung says, voice softening and dropping at the edges simultaneously. His lips curl up into a smirk. "Boo hoo, Minho, what are you going to do about it?"
Minho doesn't answer him. Instead, he just continues to stare at him, a hint of amusement dimming his irises.
It only works Jisung up further.
"Are you going to punish me?"
"It's not punishment if you're going to consider it fun," Minho hums, because he knows him so well.
"Oh? What do I consider fun?"
The taller man wordlessly leans back to let his gaze dip down Jisung's body again. He feels exposed in the best ways possible, even more so when Minho lifts the hem of his shirt slightly to catch the harsh scratches and fingernail-shaped marks bruising his skin. He lets the shirt fall back down and looks at Jisung again with an unreadable glint in his eye.
"The wrong things, clearly," Minho sticks his hands into his pockets once again, seemingly unimpressed. "You're playing dangerously, darling."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jisung says slyly, free hand coming to rest on Minho's chest. He pets over it with calculated fingers. "When you know you like it very much— love it even," he grins, biting his cheek as he leans in close. He needs to be on his toes to be able to hover over his ear, "You make it real clear when you know you enjoy coming over every night to fuck me."
"Wow," a rather lazy smirk tugs at the corner of Minho's mouth. "That's rather bold of you to assume," his presence easily sizes Jisung up, has his eyes struggling as Minho's gaze flits down his figure once again. A menacing hand comes down to the hem of his shirt to pull it up rapidly, eyeing his drooling cock. He twitches under his stare. "I know I don't enjoy it half as much as you do."
"Liar," he snips "and, so what?" Jisung tilts his head, teeth grinding together into a thin smile. "You know you do me good. You fuck me so hard that I'm bruised and pathetically crippled the next day," he asserts, a toothy grin spreading over his mouth instead.
Minho never falters.
"Yeah, and that's not a good look on you at all," he chuffs, eyes squinting the slightest. "Fucking slut."
"Yours truly," Jisung purrs. "Now that you're here," His eyes scan down Minho's figure, gaze burning holes as they linger down at the other's crotch. So shamelessly, and so so eagerly. "You're going to play with me. Whatever game I want."
Minho's eyebrows quirk up. "Oh?" His smirk hasn't let off, instead, it has only grown mildly in amusement. "That's rich coming from someone who barely moves a muscle when he's getting played with," he chuckles mockingly. "What is it you suggest we do?"
"It's a surprise," Jisung grins cheekily, palm coming up to Minho's chest. His breathing feels a little manic. "You just have to go along with what I do."
Minho is peering closer. "Which is w—"
Jisung's hand, which had been steadily hidden behind his back the entire time, flies up instantaneously and he aims to press the tip against Minho's sturdy chest. His hand is slightly sweaty on the grip, but he has it; has it exactly where he wants it. All with just the slightest bit of a tremble in his hand.
Slowly, Minho's eyes tilt down to what remains between them. Blinks sleepily as his stare fixes on the object pointed to his chest.
Jisung is pointing a gun to his chest. One of Minho's special ones. He had taken drastic measures to retrieve it from him, all so it could play right into this very moment. His index finger stays curled around the trigger as the body of it gleams in the moonlight.
There's a sick smile on his face that never falters when Minho meets his eyes again. His expression is unchanging. Eyes piercing into Jisung's as those irises remain icily still. Jisung's throat bobbles the slightest.
"One," he opts to continue instead, ignoring the rush that sets his nerves off. "You'll listen to everything I say without a doubt. Nod if you understand."
Minho stays silent at that, mouth slowly twitching the slightest bit. Jisung barely catches that, eyes trained on Minho's as he's afraid he'll overlook— overanalyze and get easily overthrown. He can't— can't let it happen yet. He needs to have fun.
Nonetheless, Minho nods fairly easily. Mouth still sealed shut and void of any counters. Jisung's head tilts the slightest, blinking quickly.
"Good," he manages to say. His smile returns once again, fingers adjusting his grip on the firearm to keep it tight. "Second, you won't have it your way tonight. You're just going to watch me play by myself."
"Can I ask a question?" Minho blurts, slightly startling Jisung. He observes him skeptically, before ultimately nodding.
"Why do I deserve this?"
"For making me wait," Jisung answers instantly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I've been so patient and good but you've done nothing but drag it out. So, we're going to start playing like that today," he has the gut to attempt and size Minho up, leaning towards him with the gun. "I'm not as fragile as you fucking think."
He expects Minho to say something; to say anything, to laugh out of mirth and shut Jisung down right then and there. But he doesn't. Just silently stares down at Jisung, mouth unmoving. Instead, when it does, it curls up into an innocent smile. He shudders.
"Okay."
Jisung doesn't really like this. Doesn't like how unsettled he feels all of a sudden, feeling how he almost cowers at the sight of Minho's toothy smile. He straightens up, jaw tilting upwards as he maintains eye contact.
"Go sit on the bed. Against the headboard."
"Question," Minho starts again, something brewing in his voice along the edges. His eyes burn holes into the hand curled around the gun. "Do you know how to use that thing, sweetheart?"
Jisung clenches his jaw. "I could do whatever I want with it," he grits, nudging the end of the gun into Minho's chest. He barely flinches. "Now, stop talking and just go do as I say."
"Just saying," Minho continues to talk over his orders, easily overpowering Jisung's voice. He stares down at him, because no matter what, he's always so small. "You might be thinking too highly of yourself that it may be too much to handle."
Jisung's eyebrow twitches. And slowly, he speaks with irritation. "Shut up."
"These aren't toys, Jisung-ah," he continues to say, setting Jisung off in every way possible. Shutting him down— down where he belonged.
"Don't think you've got it all when you haven't even played."
Out of spite, Jisung's free hand curls around Minho's collar, tightening the fabric on his airways with the intent to choke; all while at the speed of light, Minho is grabbing a hold of the arm with the gun, aiming it away from him and pushing Jisung's body backwards—
Backwards, backwards, backwards— until he's ultimately where he wants him. Jisung is being turned around and slammed face first against his dresser; a pained wail is ripped from his throat at the force, cheek, jaw, and nose throbbing in pain. Minho's grip around his wrist is tight, squeezing with the intent to ache— and so, Jisung's fingers loosen after half a minute of struggle.
Tears bunch up at his eyes as he feels his wrist begin to numb. He's held down onto the surface by one of Minho's hands, while the other easily retrieves the firearm from his hold.
"See, darling, the problem with you is that you never let down without a fight," Minho says from behind him, a jeering laugh sounding right afterwards. He throbs at the sound. "And that's too bad for you," his voice drops significantly in volume, "because it's never been a problem for me."
And then his legs are kicked unfashionably apart, before he feels it all at once; as what seems like two fingers slam right into his wet and sloppy hole to pick up a brutal pace instantly. He keens, nails clawing at the surface of the wood.
"You're all loose and filthy, slut," Minho scoffs dryly. He fingers him relentlessly. "You can't go a single hour without making some poor attempt to make yourself come, can you?"
"I— y-yes I ca—ah!" Jisung cries out when his prostate is rubbed over meanly. His cock twitches, threatening to spurt out at any second; Minho, already aware of just how he functions, pulls his fingers right out, leaving Jisung to let out a frustrated whine and for his fists to ball up intensely.
"Fuck you," he grits under his breath, almost immediately regretting it when a harsh grip on his hair makes itself known, pulling so roughly while keeping his face properly squished against the surface. Jisung whimpers at his helplessness.
"Say that to my fucking face, sweetheart," Minho chuffs in amusement. He keeps Jisung's legs apart with a heavy thigh, boot nudging against his bare calf. "You didn't think it'd be easy, did you? Trust me, we're going to play your game," he says, and he's shoving Jisung's shirt up his back. "Just not your way."
"Wh—..." Jisung is too occupied in his unsubtle excitement to even process anything else. All he registers is the pain in his skull, the pain in his jaw, the pain in his aching cock— the painpainpainpain— everywhere.
He hears Minho shuffling around him, ears picking up on the sound of the zipper. Not Minho's specifically, but the duffel's. Jisung shivers when he listens in tense silence, trying his hardest to decipher what the other may be doing behind him. The thought of not knowing at all sends him into a deep frenzy.
"Your ass is surprisingly too bare. Plain," Minho comments nonchalantly. He grabs onto a handful of Jisung's asscheek, squeezing and ensuring his nails dig into the fat so cruelly, that it has Jisung mewling for more. "That's unacceptable, isn't it?"
Jisung reels with the expectation of a punishment. He can't help the grin that lines his raw lips, legs shaking giddily in excitement. "Yes," he responds in a beat. "Yes, give me what I deserve—"
A faint yet prominent click sounds through the room, stunning Jisung into silence. The echo rings in his ears, spikes his heartbeat up in a flash. His eyes wander, body stilling under Minho's hold. He feels tense all of a sudden. And then, slowly, oh so slowly— there's something hard pressing into the back of his skull.
Gun.
Gun.
Gungungungun—
His eyes shift around, all so they could land on the shadows their bodies cast onto the nearest wall. Through fuzzy vision, he fixes right onto it; their blurred limbs and distinguished figures. How Jisung's so clearly bent over and Minho hovers over him. How there's an obvious arm outstretched over his back, and at the end, there's the weapon; pressed right against the back of his head.
He whimpers in realization, breathing staggering just the slightest. His eyes falter, and Minho's free hand squeezes his ass again.
"Ten times," Minho punctuates with a murmur. "And you'll do it all without making a single noise. Not even a fucking whimper, I don't want to hear anything."
Jisung grows lightheaded, unable to tear his eyes off of their shadows. He swallows the lump in his throat, lip quivering the slightest. "What if I don't keep quiet?"
Minho looms over him, clothed crotch pressing over his bare skin uncomfortably. "Oh," he chuckles lowly, voice seemingly closer. Growing dangerous by the second. "You want to find that out yourself, darling?"
Jisung opens his mouth to speak, but pauses; remembers the presence at the back of his head. His lips snap shut, as he's saved himself from any potential risks. Minho clicks his tongue behind him.
"So, you do listen after all," the other hums. "Is this all it takes? To put a gun to your head and have your life at my hands?"
"I bet it's not even—" Jisung is cut off with a harsh moan from his own throat when Minho lands an aggressive spank against his ass, rough enough that he jolts and the surface under him creaks. Quickly, fingers are pressing into his jaw and slipping into his mouth, leaving him to loll around them.
"That's two extra," Minho tuts slowly, fingers pressing at the inside of his mouth as his hands scramble weakly, ass burning at the hit. "Don't make me gag you. I know you're capable of staying quiet yourself."
And just because Jisung knows Minho is so mean, he makes sure the tip of the gun digs right into his head, keeping him down against the dresser. He splutters around Minho's fingers when they pull out, the other carelessly rubbing the wetness on his cheek.
"I know you can take it," Minho then coos lowly. "You always do. Without a single complaint. Maybe, this'll be enough to work that pleasure of a punishment after you."
Jisung is struck again, with the same force from before that he has to suppress his whimper by biting his lips. Even though he tears up at the ache, his cock throbs in interest on his own, leaking pathetically onto the ground below.
Minho hits him again, ruthlessly, on his other cheek. Again, and again, and again— all without soothing the rawness blooming across his skin. And usually, he'd be moaning freely, to get his obvious enjoyment across; he'd be arching his back for more, and it'd usually do the trick for Minho to then fuck him stupid. But even if he could, he wouldn't this time.
Not when the gun serves as a reminder each time his body jolts, head brushing against the tip of the gun and worsening the pit in his tummy. One that had started to grow as time went on. He lifts his head slightly, out of curiosity, to press himself back against the gun.
"Mm," Minho hums, pausing for a second to observe. "What? Just now realizing it's been behind you the whole time?"
Meekly, Jisung shakes his head. He presses himself back down against the wood.
"What is it, darling?" Minho continues to ask. Jisung needs him to stop talking before he goes insane. "Aren't you curious about something? I know you are," he purrs, and his hand makes its weight known by trailing up Jisung's back, to send shivers down his spine.
"Aren't you wondering if it's loaded or not?"
Jisung trembles, and he can't help the smallest whimper that bubbles out of his throat. Thankfully, Minho doesn't seem to care too much about it. He seems to notice his tense body instead, and opts to take a jab at it and worsen his state.
A hand curls in Jisung's hair again. He flinches, wincing as the tightness increases and soon, Minho's face is coming into view, dark eyes staring down at his squished face. His hair is tussled; he looks a little flushed, but his expression remains all the same. Unchanging. Completely unreadable.
"You know I don't like useless toys," a corner of his mouth lifts when Jisung's eyes grow glassy. "You're the best example of such."
At the corner of his eye, the gun slides right into his vision. So casually. So freely, as if Minho isn't pointing it right at him still. It's flat on the surface of the dresser, Minho's fingers still loosely curled around it. And it's obvious it's there to taunt him ruthlessly.
"I know you can take more," Minho says softly, words contrasting the tone in his voice, "Can't you?"
Before Jisung knows it, Minho is spanking him again. He squeezes his eyes shut as a wail almost sounds throughout the room. But then, he's hitting right over his puckered hole; over and over, until he can't keep it in anymore and a sob is racking his chest.
"H-hurts!" He croaks out, fists balling up by his head. The sight of the gun wants to make him curl up and hide, especially when Minho hooks his finger around the trigger.
"Oh, sweetheart. But I thought you liked when it hurt?"
"It's— it's too mu— hnhgh— ah!" Jisung gasps wetly when Minho's nails dig into his raw cheeks, purposely aiming for his sorest parts. He cries, squirming around but only getting stopped when he is struck again.
"Jisung," Minho speaks in a low warning. "What'd I say earlier?"
Jisung jolts as he is spanked again, Minho's palm colliding onto him with strength that definitely goes unmatched. He's definitely bruising, now, and he is definitely going to feel it for the next week or so.
He had asked for it, though.
"No," he sniffles wetly, lip wobbling as his vision goes blurry. "N-no, I— I don't wan— it hurts—"
"You want it to hurt." Minho asserts sharply. "So stop whining and take it like you know you can."
Jisung's sobbing only persists, and he's clawing at the surface of the dresser, squirming all around as his hips rut forward to try and alleviate the pressure in his cock. He wails like a nuisance, as if that would voice out his wants and get him out of the situation. The situation he secretly does not want to get out of.
He misses when the gun disappears from his line of sight.
"You need to shut the fuck up and listen," Minho grits, and a hand is forcing his upper body down onto the dresser again, cheek squishing brutally with a mess of tears and drool. "Before I make you."
"It hurts and you won't make it better," Jisung whines out as best as he could, growing frustrated. Growing impatient. He's so fucking hard and on the verge of coming but Minho hasn't fucked him yet.
"You asked for it, stupid bitch," Minho practically growls, pushing Jisung into the dresser. His cock is painfully squished between himself and the wood and he keens out in pain, legs attempting to kick around but failing to do so when he realizes Minho has them trapped.
"Don't think I can't fucking make you."
"Oh," Jisung has the audacity to let out a wet laugh, a borderline manic smile lining his lips. "I'm— I-I'm so sure you have something soo fucking better than just merely hitting me—"
A deafening bang sounds through the room instantaneously and Jisung's entire being jolts harshly, eyes growing wide at the sudden sound. He blinks rapidly, eyelashes wet against his flushed cheeks. His ears are ringing, head spinning as he slowly comes back down from the temporary trance.
His heart plummets down to his stomach when he finds a hole in the dresser, inches away from his face. A hole in the shape of a bullet.
Minho just shot the gun. Right next to his head.
If Jisung were to have scrambled around just the slightest— he's so sure his head would have been in that exact position.
His blood turns icy. He's breathing way too quickly than his body could handle before he knows it, an uncomfortable sweat coating his forehead as his mind races. His pulse is skyrocketing, all as he begins to feel the panic consume him.
A terrified whimper leaves Jisung's throat as a tear slips out of his widened eyes. And then he's trying to stand up. Stand up and get the fuck out of here because— because Minho—
Minho could have actually shot him.
And would have. If he had actually chosen to do so.
Jisung lets out a genuine cry when Minho pins him back down, so so easily, and he starts to sob again.
This time, out of pure terror as his hands are gathered and pinned to his lower back.
"No," he wails, shaking helplessly as Minho continues to work silently. "No— p-please, stop, I'm—"
He trembles as Minho rustles behind him— and he's terrified, because there's the anticipation that the gun will go off again.
And— and he'd hear that same bang and it'll echo in his ears and he may feel it; feel as he bleeds out of the hole Minho puts through him—
He had played himself into this. Terribly so.
"Oh, darling," Minho practically coos from behind him, voice sounding deceivingly soft. Contrasting his actions. His intentions. "What's wrong? I thought you wanted to play?"
"N-nhh—"
"Use your words," he all but snips. Then, there's a hand at his hip holding him with a bruising grip. He speaks around a smug scoff. "I don't remember fucking you into incoherency just yet."
"P-please don't hurt me."
Minho laughs loudly over him, even doubling over as his laughter echoes through the room. Dread fills Jisung's veins just as quickly as he eases into silence once again.
"Jisungie," he purrs, hand squeezing his waist roughly. "That's real fucking rich coming from a pain slut like you." And then Jisung feels when something so insanely thick and hot and blunt is pushing into him— Minho's cock.
He does not wait a single second before he's beginning to pound him into the dresser, hips slapping against his ass with so much force it's brutal against his bruising cheeks.
"Hnhghh— f-fu—" Jisung mewls high in his throat, mouth falling open as Minho fucks him with so much aggression it's insane. He maintains such a relentless pace, grip tight around the Jisung's wrist. His tip abuses his prostate repeatedly and his eyes roll back; he's practically going to collapse if he doesn't come now.
But Minho is never going to let him go that easily.
Minho groans breathily, yet Jisung still makes out another menacing chuckle as he continues to thrust into him. "I fucking love that your slutty hole sucks me in every time," he grits, slowing down to thrust pointedly hard. Jisung wails pathetically, clenching around him at the statement.
"It just makes me want to fuck you up. Forever."
Jisung is on the verge of losing his mindset, mind growing fuzzy at the edges and tongue lolling out until something clatters onto the dresser next to him. It takes him a while for his eyes to fix on it, and when they do—
It's all repeated again; his breathing halts momentarily. Heart drops. Blood runs cold. Eyes widen.
That's a knife sheath.
Jisung parts his mouth as a scared cry is ripped from his throat, and again, he's squirming around in Minho's hold as if it'd do anything to free him. Minho has stopped thrusting, grip on him tightening as a tell-tale sign for what's
coming.
Jisung realizes it's too late when a sharp pain makes itself known on his lower back, right below his wrists. It hurts like a fucking bitch.
"AH, fuck!" He practically screams— it's blood-curdling and raw, all as Minho continues to press the tip of the blade over his pure skin. Almost endlessly.
"No, no nono— please, stop—" Jisung sobs until he's hyperventilating, having given up on trying to resist as it was useless from the start. He's aching all over— almost fucking numb. The pain has bloomed out and all over, and he feels as something warm gradually drips down his skin.
Behind him, he hears Minho let out a deep sigh. The searing pain has lifted, and all that's left is stinging. Jisung trembles weakly, whimpers small in his throat and unmoving in his place, afraid he'll mess things up for him further. He's high off adrenaline— off of that fear that Minho had so easily instilled into him.
"Darling," Minho speaks, and his voice sounds almost strained. Like he's suffocating in his own lust. "You look so fucking gorgeous." He breathes out, and Jisung flinches when a hand comes to his hip and frees his hands. But they still stay still nonetheless.
"Red is such a good look on you," Minho says with a sinister grin in his voice, and then, he's beginning to fuck into Jisung again, letting out his own little moans between them.
Then, Jisung is yelping when a hand grabs his hair instead to hold him up. And something cold and hard presses against his throat. It doesn't take much to realize what it is, and he's borderline panicking once again.
"Come before me and I'll slit your throat open," Minho grunts into his ear, breath hot against his skin. He full on shudders. "Yeah?"
Jisung nods instantaneously, so so rapidly that he grows dizzy. He's absolutely gone. "Y-yes!" He gasps. "Yesyesyes—"
Minho laughs before he's continuing again, setting up a pace for the both of them that it has them breathing harshly in the room.
Jisung can't even talk— can't even think as all he does is whimper and cry occasionally when he is reminded of the pain—
The pain that had spread everywhere. The pain that he had let himself be bathed in to the point where it had started to seep deep into veins. To ruin him forever.
Minho groans behind him, hips twitching as they slap wetly against his ass. Jisung lets himself be used, body numb and practically lifeless as he merely registers the feeling of Minho spilling right into his ass.
Without sparing a second, Jisung comes all over himself with a cry as Minho begins fucking him into oversensitivity, until he could practically feel nothing at all.
The last thing he hears is the knife clattering to the side. Minho's ragged breathing and the blurred lines of praises that begin to follow right afterwards. He's lifted gently and turned around, all so he could meet Minho's eyes in a haze.
He eyes the smudged blood on Minho's cheek and his gaze flickers up to him. Sees sheer bliss in his irises. At the realization, Minho breaks out into an endearing smile and cups his face, leaning into kiss him on the mouth and inhale the desperate exhale he lets out.
He's ruined him for anyone else.
Minho has a lap full of Jisung, arms wrapped securely around him as they pointedly avoid the bandaged area at his lower back. Minho had been quick to clean up and get him as comfortable as possible, coaxing him gently as Jisung had grown wordless for a while.
And now they're doing what they usually do after sex; cuddling in each other's warmth as they sit in a comfortable silence. Except, Minho had been still for a little longer than usual. Jisung pokes the top of his head, hair still damp from a shower.
"So what did you carve into me anyway?"
"I told you," Minho starts, muffled into Jisung's shirt. "It's a surprise. You can see later."
Jisung lets out a weak whine. "But it is later! I swear, you probably drew a penis aiming right at my hole— I have a really weird feeling you did."
Minho lets out an uncontrollable chuckle.
"You asshole!" Jisung gasps.
"It wasn't that, don't worry," he clicks his tongue, and he slowly rubs his face all over Jisung's chest. Huh.
"So what, then? Actually, there is no point in asking anymore," Jisung scoffs gently and cards his fingers through Minho's hair. "How deep did it go?"
"Deep enough to penetrate," Minho answers in what sounds like a deep breath. "But... hopefully. Not enough to scar."
Jisung raises an eyebrow and looks down skeptically at Minho. He keeps his face hidden, pressed into his tummy. He seems to have felt Jisung's staring and tenses altogether.
"Really now?" He asks incredulously.
"Yes," Minho whispers. "Really."
"Oh, so when I look at it tomorrow and see that it's—"
"Okay, fine, I did go a little too deep than intended," Minho admits. There's a bit of lingering shame in his voice that Jisung can't help but awe at. "I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself."
"Baby," Jisung coos and cups his hands around Minho's jaw so he could pry his face out. He smiles lightly at him when he meets his tired eyes. "You know I told you I wanted this, right? And I'd be completely content with it either outcome."
"It's on you. Forever." Minho blinks at him. His eyes cast away again just as Jisung hushes him, leaning forward to kiss his lips.
"Yeah," he laughs softly. "That's what I intended. For you to have your mark on me permanently— I'm yours forever, no?"
Minho's eyes trail over to his again, and it seems he can't take it when Jisung's lips curl up into a smirk. He rolls his eyes and buries his face in Jisung's chest again, sending Jisung into a fit of laughter.
"You like that so much, don't you?"
"I hate it," Minho answers so blandly, it makes Jisung giggle. "And shut up. I'm still recovering."
"Will do," Jisung whispers cheekily and hugs his boyfriend again, chin hooking at the top of his head as something along the lines of a muffled I love you is heard throughout the room.
—
basically minho carved his initials into jisung's back ^_^
SO IVE NEVER DONE A REAL PART TWO FOR ANY OF MY ONESHOTS, but this one really left everyone wanting more at the last part LMDAOOAO SO I HOPE THIS WAS GOOD ENOUGH AND LIVED UP TO UR EXPECTATIONS...
ive been procrastinating on this sm but wanted to get it done bc my friends were ALLLLL WAITING AND YK I DONT LET THEM DOWN. (i hope you guys enjoyed 😕)
thank you guys for reading <3 happy new year!!!
x jaya