C3 - [ "The Untamed" ]

The day crawled by in a haze of sleep and ache, and sometimes Yoongi stopped in to bring fresh water or a little food or to check on his patients’ wounds.

Taehyung had remained unconscious the entire time. But now that night had fallen and the lanterns were lit, Jungkook sat on his pallet with a clay goblet of water in his hands and Taehyung lay awake, staring at him.

“He sent you.” Taehyung’s voice sounded raw and painful. This was the first time he had ever addressed Jungkook directly, but the bitterness of his words hurt worse than any of the Yakuza’s swords.

“Yes, Jusang.”

Taehyung hissed at him. “Don’t call me that!”

He shifted a bit under the blanket, perhaps attempting to sit up, but then moaned and went still. He looked terribly frail, as if he might fall apart at any minute, but his glare was strong.

“Why you? Did you convince him you were capable of taking on countless enemies by yourself?”

“No.” Jungkook decided not to inform Taehyung that Jungkook himself had been fairly convinced his rescue effort would fail. “He said it’s a sensitive situation. The queen wouldn’t permit a…larger effort.”

Taehyung seemed to consider this for a while. “But she did allow…you...which means she didn’t command those b/astards to…to capture me.” His voice wavered a little on the last words.

“Your fath— Jeonha told me these Yakuza were rogues acting without her consent.”

With a deep, shuddering breath, Taehyung seemed to shed some of his pain. “Then she may still listen to me? There’s still hope?”

“I think so.”

Taehyung pulled the blanket away, and this time his intention to sit up was very clear. “We have to go.”

Moving more quickly than was prudent given the state of his body, Jungkook slammed down his cup and scurried to Taehyung’s pallet. He set a restraining hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “Not yet!”

“I’m not a fucking weakling!” said Taehyung, snarling and showing his teeth like a rabid dog.

Suddenly furious, Jungkook snarled right back. “You’re injured! It’s a long walk to P’yongyang and I’m in no condition to fucking carry you there.” He realized, somewhat belatedly, that yelling at a prince was a bad idea and bullying a man who’d recently been tortured was even crueler. He modulated his tone to more reasonable levels. “A few more days won’t matter. Heal a bit first, then we can go.”

“We?”

Jungkook bit back more anger. “I’m sure as all hells not letting you go alone.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes and turned his head away. Staring angrily at the wall, he said, “It was stupid of you to come here alone.”

“It was my duty,” Jungkook responded quietly.

“Your duty almost killed you.”

It was ridiculous.

As angry and hurt as Jungkook felt, he had to fight desperately to stop himself from reaching out to untangle Taehyung’s hair with his fingers.

From stroking his overly gaunt cheeks.

From holding him tightly to assure them both that they were alive and safe. Abruptly aware that he was naked— that they both were— Jungkook hurried back to his pallet, where he pulled the blanket over his lap and picked up his cup of water.

He stared into the clay vessel as if it were fascinating.

Taehyung said nothing more.

Perhaps he had fallen asleep.

!!~~~~!!

The next day, Yoongi brought clothing for them. Both sets of trousers were patched and the shirts were very plain, but everything was clean and fit them well.

Jungkook had to help Taehyung get dressed, which angered Taehyung and made Jungkook blush and stutter like a teenager.

Yoongi wordlessly handed over Jungkook’s sword and knife, as well as the cloak he’d abandoned in the stairway.

Jungkook took the items and just stood there, chewing his lip. “Yoongi, you don’t—”

“I’m an innkeeper. If I’m fortunate, I’ll never have to be a soldier. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a little brave, now and then. And it certainly doesn’t mean I can’t do what’s right.” He sighed. “There were nine of them, Jungkook. You took on nine Yakuza by yourself.”

“Only because they were drugged.”

“But you’d have gone in there anyway, even if they weren’t. Even if there were eighty of them.”

Jungkook only shrugged.

“What are you saying?” Taehyung demanded in Hangul. He was sitting on his pallet. “Who is that Joseon?”

Jungkook scowled. “His name is Min Yoongi, and neither of us would be alive if it weren’t for him. Hate me if you must, but try to at least be civil to him.”

A strange look crossed Taehyung’s face, one Jungkook couldn’t read. Then he looked away.

When Jungkook turned back to Yoongi, the innkeeper had a thoughtful expression. “You speak Hangul well, don’t you?”

“At least as well as Joseon.”

“But what are you—Hangul or Joseon?”

“Depends who you ask,” Jungkook answered with a sigh.

“I’m asking you.”

“I… I don’t know.” He looked at Yoongi sadly. “When I was a soldier, I wore a Hangul uniform. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi settled a hand on Jungkook’s uninjured shoulder. “Thank you for being honest. You know what? When I was a boy, after my brother and appa died, I was so angry. I hated Hanguk. But Ammu told me it’s not the color of a person’s uniform that makes him a good man or a bad one. It’s what’s in here.” He patted Jungkook’s chest, right over his heart. Then he smiled and left the house.

Jungkook was still standing there, clutching his things, when Taehyung made a small noise. “You’re fcuking him,” Taehyung said.

“No, I’m not. And it wouldn’t be any of your business if I was, Jusang.”

Let the prince be angry with him. He always was anyway.

That night, Jungkook suggested to Taehyung that they go upstairs, where the bed would be more comfortable than a pallet on the floor.

Taehyung agreed with a grunt. Jungkook had to bear most of Taehyung’s weight as they climbed—and good gods, that small gift of warmth and pressure felt so fucking good!

Taehyung lay down on the mattress with a relieved little moan.

“Where are you going?” he asked when Jungkook started for the door. He sounded slightly panicked.

“I’m fetching my blankets from downstairs.”

“Why? It’s warm enough and there are plenty here.”

“Because I don’t much fancy sleeping on bare boards.” Jungkook stomped his foot for emphasis.

“Oh, for—we can share the fcuking bed. It’s big enough for two and I don’t bite.”

The air was suddenly too thick for breathing. Jungkook wanted to share Taehyung’s bed more than he desired nearly anything else on earth. And he wanted to avoid it as fervently as if he had to face additional hordes of Yakuza.

He couldn’t think of a reasonable way to refuse. After several long moments of ridiculous dithering, he unlaced his boots, crossed the room, and got into bed. He was still fully dressed, and he hugged the edge of the mattress.

Taehyung doused the lantern.

Rain pelted the rooftop and pattered against the windows, but inside the attic room, the men’s breaths were very loud. Jungkook could feel Taehyung’s body heat pooling under the blankets, caressing him, making him hard and a little light-headed. He fisted his hands, squeezed his eyes closed, and prayed for sleep to overcome him.

“What reward did my father offer you?” Taehyung asked in a hoarse whisper.

“He didn’t specify.”

“Something grand?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose.” Taehyung was silent a moment. “Isn’t that why you came here? Why you risked your life?”

Jungkook sighed. “Not really. I don’t…there’s nothing I really want.”

Nothing he could ever have, anyway.

“Then you did it for glory? No. That doesn’t make sense. You’re a hero already.”

Jungkook’s stomach made a strange lurch and he didn’t reply.

“Why did you do it, Jungkook?”

It was the first time Taehyung had ever spoken Jungkook’s name.

Although the room was too dark to see anything— and besides, Jungkook’s eyes were closed— he knew Taehyung had turned toward him. The prince waited for an answer.

Jungkook intended to say something about duty and respect for the crown. Instead, what came out of his mouth was “I didn’t want you to d!e.”

For a long time, Taehyung said nothing, which was a mercy. Jungkook was grateful he couldn’t see the wangja’s face. But he could still feel, and when Taehyung reached over and placed his hand on Jungkook’s bicep, Jungkook very nearly wept.

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

The mattress shook as Taehyung turned to face the other direction.

!!~~~~!!

It was a familiar dream.

Jungkook was deep within the prison run by Yakuza.

He was naked, beaten, and cold, and he was so starved that he couldn’t remember not being hungry. And he was running, his bare feet slipping on wet stone.

He was lost, and he wasn’t sure whether he was running from something or running to it, but either way it didn’t matter because he was terrified. Each breath tore from his lungs painfully and his heart felt ready to burst.

He turned a corner and found a dirty room piled high with corpses. He recognized some of them—his parents, his sisters, the little boy who lived nearby and who’d been murdered in his stead.

Although they were dead, they looked at him, held their hands out toward him.

“Why did you let this happen?” wailed his sisters.

“Why didn’t you join us?” his mother said.

His father just looked at him and shook his head.

He backed away and ran, but his path d3ad-ended in another room, this one more enormous than the castle training hall. But it too was filled with corpses.

Every Joseon soldier he’d slain, every Hangul soldier who’d d!ed at his side was there. They screamed and moaned and blamed him for their deaths.

He wanted to apologize or explain, but his tongue filled his mouth and he couldn’t find words in either language.

With that strange knowing that comes to one in dreams, he recognized that the ability to speak had been taken from him as punishment and he’d never be able to communicate with anyone again.

Nobody would ever want him, neither Hangul nor Joseon.

The third room held Yakuza.

They drank from ale bottles but weren’t sleepy. They waved their curved swords at him.

“You’re next,” sang one of them with a ghoulish grin.

“See what we’ve planned for you!”

The Yakuza moved to the sides of the room so Jungkook could see what lay in the center. A naked body, hacked to pieces yet still bleeding. The severed head blinked up at him.

“Did you get your reward?” it asked, and of course the body was Taehyung’s.

“Did you get your glory?”

Jungkook began to scream.

“Jungkook! Jungkook! Wake up! Wake up, dammit!”

Someone was shaking him, and after a few moments Jungkook realized he was no longer in his dream. The room was still dark, but Taehyung was next to him, jerking Jungkook’s shoulders.

Jungkook took a steadying breath and willed his heart to slow to a normal tempo. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Taehyung stopped shaking him but didn’t move away. His body remained pressed tight against Jungkook’s, his long hair hanging down to tickle Jungkook’s face. “You sounded like you were dying.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook repeated.

The prince fell to the side, making the mattress shake. “What the fcuk, Jungkook?”

Last time he’d had a nightmare like this, someone had poured cold water on his head to wake him up. But he wasn’t the only one to suffer from bad dreams, so nobody complained. “I…It’s all right. You can go back to sleep now. I never have them twice in one night.”

“But you have them often.”

“Not too often. Usually.”

“What haunts you so badly? What do you dream of?”

“The prison,” Jungkook whispered. He’d never spoken to anyone about this.

“How long were you there?”

Jungkook didn’t really want to answer, but he said, “Nearly a year.”

“A year. And those b/astards— did they treat you like they did me?”

Worse, sometimes. But Jungkook didn’t say so.

“Yes.” Nobody had ever asked him what happened during those long months, and he’d never before mentioned it.

“Fcuk.” A long silence followed, then a tentative question. “How did you survive that, Jungkook?”

Although nothing was funny, Jungkook laughed. “I had no alternatives.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything else.

But he shifted a little closer so his shoulder just barely touched Jungkook’s. And for some reason Jungkook couldn’t discern, that small contact was enough to calm him and send him into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

After a pregnant pause, he turned to Taehyung, “I’m sorry Wangja. I couldn’t find you sooner.”

He heard a strained sigh as Taehyung didn’t move but whispered, “And I’m glad you could find me, at all.”

!!~~~~!!!~~~~!!

For two more days they healed. Taehyung spent a lot of time sleeping, curled up in bed with the blankets pulled nearly over his head, his breathing slow and steady.

On Yoongi’s recommendation, Jungkook made sure Taehyung ate small but frequent meals. When he wasn’t eating or sleeping, Taehyung paced the upper floor cautiously, sometimes holding on to the walls for support.

He spoke very little. But at night he always managed to position himself with some part of his body just barely touching Jungkook: foot against foot, shoulder to shoulder.

Jungkook paced too, although he kept himself outside of Taehyung’s orbit. His wounds were mending well—they itched like mad but no infection had set in, and he was regaining his full range of motion.

Yoongi smiled and told him he’d collected some impressive new scars.

After dinner on the second day, Taehyung set down the bowl of stew he’d been eating. It was a little watery because he couldn’t yet handle rich foods, but it contained good meat and nice chunks of vegetables.

“We have to go,” he said.

Jungkook would have preferred to wait a few more days, but he nodded. “All right. In the morning.”

“I can’t wait—”

“The road is too dark. I don’t want to trip over something and break my neck.”

Didn’t want Taehyung to collapse in the night, far from help.

Taehyung bristled. “Since when do you give me orders?”

“My job is to get you safely to Yeowang Nabi, Jusang. I will fulfill that duty even if it means tying you up and carrying you over my shoulder.”

After staring incredulously at Jungkook for a moment, Taehyung barked a short laugh. “You’re a stubborn b/astard, aren’t you?”

“If I wasn’t, we’d both be dead.”

They shared the bed in silence that night, Taehyung’s leg touching Jungkook’s.

Yoongi brought them food and waterskins in the morning, but as the three men stood downstairs in his grandparents’ house, he looked worried.

“Are you sure you won’t stay a little longer?”

“He’s restless. He has a mission to fulfill.”

“And so do you.” Yoongi sighed. “Take care, Jungkook.”

“I will. And gods, I don’t have the words to thank you for what you’ve done. You’re a true hero, Yoongi.”

Yoongi blushed and ducked his head, but he was smiling widely, all teeth on display. When he looked up again there was a gleam in his eyes. “Maybe someday you’ll return for a visit. You’re always welcome here.”

Well, that was an odd sort of thing—to know there was a little village in North Han that Jungkook could call home, if he wanted. The knowledge glowed warmly in his chest.

“Thank you.” He reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a heavy purse, which he held to Yoongi.

Yoongi took the purse, weighed it in his hand. “This is far too much.”

“It’s not nearly enough. Besides, he can afford it.” He jerked his head in Taehyung’s direction.

Taehyung glared and mumbled in Hangul. “Stop gossiping with the innkeeper. It’s time to go.”

“What is he saying?” Yoongi asked.

Jungkook allowed a grin to tug at the corners of his mouth as he replied in Joseon. “He’s saying he’s an impatient fool.”

Yoongi laughed as he tucked the purse into his clothing. And then he grabbed Jungkook’s head and tugged him down for a hard and passionate kiss.

Jungkook was taken by surprise.

For a moment or two, he permitted himself to be lost in the delicious sensation of another man’s lips against his, another man’s tongue entering his mouth. When he pulled away, he was slightly breathless and Yoongi’s lips were reddened.

“Safe journeys, Jungkook,” Yoongi said. Then he turned to Taehyung and executed a deep and graceful bow.

Taehyung looked as if he wanted to tear someone’s head off, yet he managed to bow back.

“Thank you,” he said in heavily accented Joseon.

Clouds shrouded the sun as Jungkook and Taehyung began their walk, but the road remained dry.

Jungkook’s sword felt comfortable and comforting around his hips, and the bag containing his and Taehyung’s few possessions hung on his back.

Taehyung carried nothing—he could barely carry himself—but Jungkook had given him the knife, more to stop Taehyung from complaining than from any real hope that the prince could use it effectively.

And in the unforgiving daylight, the sight of Taehyung broke Jungkook’s heart. Where once the prince had been brawny with muscle, now he was little more than a skin-covered skeleton.

Once he’d swaggered; now he stepped slowly, carefully, like an old man on the way to market.

And he stopped often, his expression promising murder to anyone who said anything about it. He’d sit for a few minutes on a large stone or fallen tree before slowly levering himself upright and continuing their march.

Around midday, Taehyung stumbled. He would have fallen if Jungkook hadn’t caught his arm and grimly led him to the grassy roadside, where they both sat down.

“Fcuking weak,” Taehyung mumbled.

Jungkook opened his bag and took out some of the food they’d packed. He handed Taehyung a bread roll stuffed with minced meat and vegetables.

“When I first became a warrior I was still a boy. I was gangly. Scrawny. I could barely hold a sword. My captain told me that the only true weakness is to give up.”

Taehyung snorted, but perhaps the tense lines of his body eased a bit.

!!~~~~!!

Walking at a normal pace, Jungkook would have reached the nearest city before the evening meal. As it was, however, they didn’t get there until very late.

Taehyung had spent the last several miles leaning on Jungkook, no doubt seething silently over the need for support.

Eventually they shuffled into town, and Jungkook steered them to the first inn he saw. The proprietress—a young woman who wasn’t pleased to be roused at such a late hour—gave them a small private room, along with some cold meat and cheese and a couple pints of watery ale.

The room had only one bed, which was fine. There was also a washbasin and a pair of towels.

While Jungkook finished eating, Taehyung wearily stripped off his clothing. Jungkook averted his eyes, which was silly. But he leapt to his feet when Taehyung collapsed onto his knees.

“Get in bed!” Jungkook ordered, attempting to drag Taehyung there.

But Taehyung fought back weakly. “I’m filthy from travel. I hate sleeping in dirtied linens.”

So Jungkook grabbed the towel and gave Taehyung a wipe-down. He wanted to linger over the task, but Taehyung could barely remain upright, and Jungkook didn’t quite trust himself to not get carried away with touching him.

Besides, after what had happened with the Yakuza, surely the last thing Taehyung wanted was another man pawing his body.

Tucked into bed, Taehyung apparently had no compunction about watching Jungkook undress and wash himself.

Jungkook’s skin itched under the close scrutiny. He prayed for his c0ck to stay soft, and he cast about desperately for the most disgusting memories he could dredge up. Still, he was half erect when he doused the lantern and dove beneath the blankets.

“I didn’t realize you were wounded so badly,” said Taehyung, who seemed to find conversation easier in the dark.

“I’ve been hurt worse.”

“Like the injury to your leg. That’s why you limp a bit after you’ve exercised hard.”

“Yes.” Jungkook wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Taehyung had noticed his limp. Prior to their Joseon adventure, he didn’t think the prince had spared him more than a few disdainful glances.

“I don’t understand you. You keep risking your neck for Hanguk, and for what? To prove you’re a true Hangul patriot?”

“That’s not…I fought because Joseon slaughtered my family and I wanted revenge. By the time I realized how foolish I was, we were in the middle of a war, and I’m no deserter. After the war I became a warrior because what else was there for me to do? And I came after you because—” He stopped so suddenly he nearly bit his tongue.

“Because?”

“I told you. I didn’t want you to die.”

“Why not? I’ve always treated you like s/hit. I’d think you’d be thrilled to be rid of me.”

“No,” said Jungkook thickly. “I wouldn’t be.”

Taehyung said nothing else, and Jungkook thought he must have fallen asleep. But then Taehyung shifted position, making sure he lay touching Jungkook.

He sighed loudly. “Good night, Jungkook.”

!!~~~~!!

Over an early breakfast, Jungkook made inquiries about how to find a carriage to P’yongyang. The landlady assured them that carriages were frequent, but they’d have to pass through most of the city to catch one.

So Jungkook pulled his cloak tightly around himself in hope that his sword would be less obvious, and he and Taehyung set out. The prince looked drawn and pale, and the planes of his face were set with pain. But he struggled along and didn’t lean on Jungkook at all.

It was past midday when they reached the street where the coaches were. But the man in charge informed Jungkook that the last one for P’yongyang had already gone.

“I can get you on the first one in the morning, though. Thirty yang each and you’ll be there by lunchtime.”

If Taehyung hadn’t been completely exhausted, he probably would have thrown a tantrum after Jungkook translated.

 Jungkook paid the man sixty yang and received two tokens in exchange.

Taehyung glared bloody murder at everyone until Jungkook dragged him to an inn, this one larger and more crowded than the previous night’s.

“It’s just as well, don’t you think?” said Jungkook as they sat with their tankards of ale. “This way you’ll be fresher when you speak with the queen.”

“Fresher!” Taehyung took a large swallow and slammed his tankard onto the table. “I’m not a fucking flower, Jungkook. I’m a man and a prince and—”

“And you’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Do you realize what’s at stake?”

Jungkook was tired of being angry at this man. “I may not be royalty, but I’m not an idiot. Of course I realize. I just don’t think one more day will make a difference.” He lowered his voice, although he doubted anyone here understood Hangul. “If she knew where you were, she probably has had news that those men are dead.”

Taehyung rubbed his face. “Gods. I should have been there weeks ago. I should have… The interpreter I hired— they killed her. She’s d3ad because of me.”

The statement was true, so Jungkook didn’t argue with it. He’d seen many innocent people die.

Infants.

Old people.

His own family.

“She was a terrible interpreter anyway,” Taehyung said. “She didn’t speak Joseon nearly as well as you do. And she kept flirting with me even though she was old enough to be my mother, and she complained constantly about the journey, and…” His voice broke, and for a shocking moment, Jungkook thought he might cry. But Taehyung just cleared his throat and shook his head. “If I’d fought better when they attacked us, she’d be alive and I wouldn’t…”

“There were nine of them.”

“You managed it.”

“Only because Yoongi and his mother drugged their ale.”

Taehyung’s face twisted. “Yoongi. You kissed him.”

“He kissed me.” Jungkook frowned. “You did know I prefer men, didn’t you?”

“I knew. I’ve heard about you. You prefer those boring twits who frequent the Dark Valley.”

Jungkook blinked at him. Since when had the prince been keeping track of who he fucked?

“They’re willing and convenient. I wouldn’t say that I prefer them.”

Taehyung opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head before downing a good bit of his ale.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “It’s none of my fucking business, is it? Tell me something, Jungkook. Be honest. Forget for now that I’m a damned prince. Do you hate me?”

“I…No. Gods, no.”

“But I’ve treated you so badly. And you saw me…You saw what those fcukers did to me.”

Jungkook decided to ignore the first part of Taehyung’s statement. “I didn’t see anything I haven’t seen before.” He looked the prince carefully in the eyes. “I didn’t see anything I haven’t experienced myself.”

Taehyung’s jaw worked. “Have you—”

But before he could finish his question, a large man with a wild beard parked himself next to their table. He had a soldier’s stance. “What are you doing, talking that Hangul shit here?” he demanded in Joseon. “Who the fcuk are you?”

Narrowing his eyes, Jungkook growled at him. “None of your business.”

“This is my city, my country. That makes it my business.” He took a step closer. “Who are you anyway? Hangul scum?”

Jungkook stood. He allowed his cloak to fall open and he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am Jeon Jungkook, and I am this man’s guard. Stop being an ass and show some courtesy to a weary traveler.”

“Courtesy!” The man drew a knife from his belt. It had an impressively big blade, but it would be no match for a sword. Besides, his eyes were red and he reeked of alcohol. “I’ll show him the courtesy of a quick death,” he snarled.

Taehyung stood too. But although he clutched his borrowed knife, he wouldn’t last a moment in a fight.

He looked as if a strong wind might knock him over. A crowd had formed, the other patrons of the tavern gathering in a rapt circle just out of reach of Jungkook’s sword.

Instead of drawing his sword, Jungkook stepped closer to the bearded man. Fear flashed in the man’s eyes, which was good.

But it would be unwise to back him into a metaphorical corner when he had an audience.

“Friend,” Jungkook said calmly. He shot Taehyung a quick warning look before turning his attention back to the bearded man. “I understand your feelings about Hangul. I fought in that war too.” He didn’t mention for which side. “But the war is over, man. Let us show the Hangul that Joseon can practice peace as well.”

The man wavered visibly, and a few members of the crowd shouted words of agreement.

Jungkook managed a smile. “We were nearly done here anyway. Put your knife away and we’ll leave.”

When the man hesitated, two men and a woman stepped forward to grasp his arms gently. They tugged him backward.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook said to Taehyung in Hangul. For a terrible minute he thought Taehyung was going to refuse, but then the prince growled and resheathed his knife.

An older woman moved to their table. “I’m sorry for this,” she said, giving Jungkook and Taehyung a smile. She dropped a few coins on their table—enough to pay for their ale. “We’re not all rude.”

“Thank you,” said Jungkook. Then, hoping that Taehyung would follow, he walked to the stairs leading to their room.

!!~~~~!!

Taehyung said nothing as they readied themselves for bed, but he was clearly furious. He threw his boots onto the floor, tossed the holstered knife across the room, and stripped off his clothes so viciously that he nearly ripped them.

He leaned against the washstand as he toweled himself off, but the tightness of his wasted muscles was very apparent on his thin body.

Jungkook waited stupidly in the corner until it became clear that Taehyung did not intend to get into bed anytime soon. Jungkook sighed and slowly began to undress.

He was down to nothing but his baggy Joseon trousers when Taehyung whirled around to look at him.

“You just walked away from that b/astard,” Taehyung spat.

“Yes.”

“He threatened us, didn’t he? And I don’t know what he said but I’ve no doubt it was insulting. And you just smiled and walked away.”

“What did you want me to do, Jusang?” Jungkook allowed a mocking tone into his voice. “Kill him for insulting us?”

“Yes!” Taehyung’s hands were fisted at his side.

“Just because someone is an ill-mannered oaf doesn’t mean he deserves to d!e.”

Taehyung stomped across the room until they were nearly chest to chest. Jungkook was certain Taehyung was going to hit him, and he prepared himself to restrain the prince without injuring him. Which was why he was taken completely by surprise when Taehyung’s mouth slammed on him.

!!~~~~!!!!~~~~!!

Jungkook was taken completely by surprise when Taehyung’s mouth slammed on him.

It was a fierce kiss.

Taehyung’s lips pressed against Jungkook’s teeth so hard that Jungkook tasted blood, and then Taehyung’s tongue invaded his mouth as ferociously as an army.

At the same time, Taehyung held tightly to handfuls of Jungkook’s hair and pushed their pelvises together.

Jungkook didn’t know what to do with his hands, but they seemed to make a decision on their own, settling on Taehyung’s bare shoulders.

Jungkook hung on as if for dear life.

Oh gods.

He’d never even dared dream of this, and now Taehyung was so real against him, so there. They were grinding their gr0ins together and Jungkook was distantly aware that he was very close to cumming.

But Taehyung pulled himself away, staggering back a half step. His c0ck was fully rampant, the head slick and red. He looked down to where Jungkook’s own erection tented his baji.

Then he growled like an angry dog and surged forward so quickly that he pushed Jungkook backward against the wall.

Jungkook could only tip his head back and squeeze his eyes shut as Taehyung’s mouth roved everywhere— licking and biting at his chin, his jawline, his neck, his collarbones.

Sucking and then nipping his tingling nipples. Somehow Taehyung managed to avoid the healing wounds on Jungkook’s body, but he was surely leaving marks nearly everywhere else.

Some of the bites might have been deep enough to draw blood, but Jungkook was a thousand leagues from minding.

Taehyung’s hands were busy too, tugging at Jungkook’s waist threads until the fabirc fell to his knees and then squirming between Jungkook and the wall and grabbing on to his a/ss. His fingers dug into the crack, burning sweetly, while he urged Jungkook’s hips forward so their c0cks could find better friction.

“Gods,” Jungkook moaned. He was so overcome with pleasure that he felt turned inside out, his nerves singing more loudly with every passing second.

Moving more quickly than Jungkook would have thought possible, Taehyung spun him around to face the wall. The cloth fell to Jungkook’s ankles, hobbling him, but he spread his legs as far as he was able, pressed his palms and forehead against the smooth wood, and canted his a/ss backward.

Rough, spit-slicked fingers entered his body, first two and then three. It hurt.

But the keening noise Jungkook made was due to disappointment that Taehyung wasn’t giving him more. He wanted to be filled so tightly that there was no room left inside him for anything but Taehyung. He wanted hard and fast and merciless.

As if in answer to Jungkook’s unspoken pleas, Taehyung lined up the tip of his c0ck against Jungkook’s twitching hole and then plunged deep inside. They both cried out. Taehyung’s fingers bruised Jungkook’s hips as he fucked Jungkook quickly.

When his furious pumping became uneven jerks and he sank his teeth into the meat of Jungkook’s uninjured shoulder, lightning struck the deepest core of Jungkook’s body. His untouched c0ck spurted a thick stream of cum against the wall.

For just a moment, Taehyung sagged against Jungkook’s sweaty back— contact so sweet that Jungkook very nearly climaxed again.

But then Taehyung withdrew with a ragged cry, making Jungkook feel empty.

Bereft.

Taehyung stumbled a bit, snarling when Jungkook reached out to steady him. Hectic spots of red colored Taehyung’s cheeks, and his eyes were as wide and wild as a terrified animal’s.

He made another sound—a sob?—before staggering to the bed and burrowing under the covers like a frightened child.

Jungkook stood there, panting, feeling warm liquid drip down his inner thighs.

After a while, he pulled his trousers high enough so he could walk to the washstand and give himself a cursory cleaning. He was usually fastidious after he fcuked, but he was sorry to remove Taehyung’s spend from his body. He tied his baji around his waist before dousing the lantern and getting into bed.

Taehyung was still awake; his breathing remained ragged.

But he didn’t say anything, didn’t move over to make contact with Jungkook as had become his custom. They simply lay there on their backs until exhaustion overcame them both.

!!~~~~!!