C5 - [ "The Untamed" ]

A precious little bundle of blue-blooded titles. The living embodiment of your patriotic fcuking duty.”

Fcuk.

“A man!” Jungkook yelled at him. “That’s what you are to me.”

The living embodiment of his deepest desire.

And of course Taehyung kissed him.

There was no tenderness to it, just a bruising invasion that tasted of wine and ale. Jungkook’s scalp hurt where Taehyung gripped his hair.

But then Taehyung grabbed one of Jungkook’s hands and pushed it to Taehyung’s groin, where the hardness of his c0ck was very evident.

“A man like this?” His voice was deep and raspy. “You want a man like this?”

“Yes. Please, yes.”

This time, some of their fine borrowed clothing might have been torn— Jungkook wasn’t sure.

What he did know was that very soon he was naked and bending over the thick mattress with Taehyung pounding into him with all the ferocity of a winter storm. Jungkook was thankful for the friction of the smooth bedcovers against his c0ck, but even more thankful for the heat that filled him.

The massive bed squeaked as they shook it; their skin slapped together and their lungs labored. When Taehyung angled himself just right, setting off colored lights behind Jungkook’s closed eyelids, Jungkook swore in Hangul, Joseon, and a smattering of other tongues as well.

He moaned when Taehyung pulled out of him.

This time at least Taehyung met his gaze. “I’ll go wash up,” said Taehyung. “And then I’ll go to sleep. I have hours of talking to look forward to tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

Jungkook wasn’t really tired. But he went to bed when Taehyung did and lay beside him in the huge bed, listening to him whimper slightly in his sleep.

!!~~~~!!

The next several days dragged by.

Taehyung spent long periods of time in conversation with Yeowang Nabi, returning to his room for meals and brief rests.

He didn’t tell Jungkook much about what went on in those meetings, although he did say he was optimistic about a positive outcome in the end.

But in the meantime he alternated between foul moods and despondent ones, and Jungkook got only brief glimpses of his spirit and humor.

While Taehyung’s physical state gradually improved, Jungkook imagined that underneath the healing skin was a thick layer of jagged glass grating painfully over heart and nerves.

Jungkook spent most of his time caged in their chambers, although one afternoon a smiling guard took him for a long tour of the palace.

She showed him the grand public spaces such as the throne room and ballroom, and she even allowed him to see the more pedestrian areas where the guards trained.

“How does it compare to your home?” she asked.

He’d never really thought of the castle as home— it was just the place where he lived. “The training space isn’t much different.”

“I suppose we all need the same things, more or less.” She cocked her head slightly. “You sound like a Joseon but you’re from Hanguk.”

“Some of my family was from here.”

“Ah. Well, you should consider this your home too, then. You’d be welcome here.”

“Thank you.”

She found cloaks for them both and took him on a tour of the gardens.

When Jungkook and Taehyung were in their room together, they fucked. Three, sometimes four times a day.

Each time, Taehyung took him brutally, so they were both raw when they finished. He saved his gentle touches for the bath and for just before they fell asleep.

Jungkook took whatever Taehyung gave him and was thankful for it, but he gradually realized that it wasn’t enough. Which was stupid.

Less than a month ago he would have been thrilled for any crumbs of Taehyung’s affection. But now he’d become a glutton, always hungry for more than he received.

They had been at the palace for a week— and Jungkook was beginning to go slightly mad from confinement— when Taehyung returned to their chambers looking more relaxed than usual.

“She’s finally agreed,” he said as he unbuckled Jungkook’s sword from his hips. “She’s going to tell Wonzan that unless they cease their hostilities with us, she’ll cut off trade with them. And they can’t afford that because they’re landlocked.”

“So it’s the outcome you hoped for?”

“Yes. Mostly. I had to agree to a few concessions. She wants better prices on some of the goods we send them, and she wants a monopoly as our only supplier of linen and pearls. It’ll drive up the costs on our end and people will grumble, but the people who buy those goods can afford to pay more for them. We’ve made some mutual compacts of defense support, which I think will please my father as much as the queen. And she’s going to come visit us in the spring. It’ll be the first official delegation from North Han since the war. The entire Hangul nobility are going to be thrilled about that.” He gave a wry smile. “Yeowang Nabi has some marriageable nieces and nephews, and she’s not averse to creating some Hangul family ties.”

“That’s wonderful! You’ve saved… gods, you’ve probably saved thousands of lives.”

Taehyung shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t feel very heroic. Although anyone who can survive three days of Joseon equinox ceremonies probably deserves a fucking medal.”

“You’ll have to make sure the king has one struck for you.”

“Yeah,” said Taehyung with a sigh. “Look. She’s going to do some goodbye thing in the morning. She wants you there. And then she’ll be giving us a private carriage and escort all the way to the border. She’s promised me there will be no more problems from the Yakuza.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Yes.” He sat on a chair to take off his boots, then wiggled his toes as if they were cramped. “Now that my presence here is more official, she’s arranged a reception tonight. There will be a lot of Joseon there in their very best clothes, and tons of food.”

He glanced at Jungkook, then away. “And dancing.”

“Oh.” Jungkook had attended similar events at the Hangul castle, but as security rather than a celebrant. Everyone always seemed to drink and gossip too much, but they seemed to enjoy themselves.

“Will you come with me tonight, Jungkook? Please?”

“Of course. It’ll be my privilege to guard you.”

Taehyung made a sour face. “Not to guard me. Come as a guest. Have some fun. Get a chance to chat with more of your— with more Joseon before we leave.”

“I don’t think someone like me is meant—”

“Oh, fcuk that! You’re a hero how many times over? You’re a better man than all the Joseon and Hangul nobility put together. They should be thrilled to have someone of your quality attend.”

Jungkook’s chest warmed with the unexpected praise, and he had to look down at the floor. “I’ll come,” he said.

“Good. Because I’ve already asked them to bring you something to wear.”

!!~~~~!!

If left to his own devices, Jungkook would have stayed close to the walls of the huge room.

Instead, Taehyung had dragged him right into the center and everyone was staring openly at him. He wished he were smaller.

He wished the clothing he’d been given weren’t quite so gaudy. He wished he were back in Hanguk, sweaty and bare-chested, crashing a wooden sword onto someone’s head.

Taehyung presented him formally to Yeowang Nabi. Jungkook attempted to fall to his knee, but Taehyung wouldn’t let him. So Jungkook made an awkward bow instead, which the queen gracefully accepted.

Then they got to sit at a long table with an elaborately inlaid top. Taehyung was seated right next to the queen, and Jungkook beside him.

Although the seating order might or might not have been according to Joseon rules of etiquette, it served the handy function of sandwiching Taehyung between the only two people in the room with whom he shared a language.

And it made Jungkook feel more comfortable, although that had probably not been the intent.

Dozens of people lined their table and several others. Everyone was so brightly dressed and chattering so loudly that they reminded Jungkook of a flock of parrots.

But they were well-fed parrots, with servants bringing them plate after plate of delicacies. Yeowang Nabi must have spoken to someone about Taehyung’s somewhat delicate constitution, because his portions were very small.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was given enough to feed a dragon.

During the meal, the queen engaged Taehyung in small talk about things like roads and crops, and although Jungkook suspected the prince had little interest in these topics, Taehyung managed to be witty and engaging.

Jungkook said very little, although he appreciated Taehyung’s occasional attempts to include him in the conversation.

When the mountains of food were gone, Yeowang Nabi stood. The room went instantly silent. “My dear guests, thank you for joining me tonight. I am delighted to present to you His Highness, Wangja Taehyung of South Han. He is accompanied by Jeon Jungkook, a man whose heroic feats honor his Hangul and Joseon forebears.” She spoke in Joseon, of course, which meant Jungkook leaned close to Taehyung’s ear to translate.

The nearness of the prince’s face was terribly distracting— Jungkook wanted to kiss those cheekbones and smooth his thumb along the dark brows.

Everyone clapped politely after the queen’s introduction, then listened with various degrees of interest as she gave a longish speech about the importance of setting aside past differences and growing peace between the neighboring countries.

She said that, together, Hanguk and North Han would prove a force too powerful for any other nations to challenge. And so forth. Jungkook whispered his translation into Taehyung’s ear, and Taehyung sipped slowly at some very fine wine.

At very long last, the formalities were over. Servants hurried in to take away the tables, while a troupe of musicians filled one end of the room and began to tune their instruments.

Yeowang Nabi smiled at Taehyung. “I am afraid I must only watch. An old injury prevents me from participating. Please, will you choose your partner for the first dance?”

There were many handsome men and beautiful women in the room. Jungkook looked around, wondering which one Taehyung would pick. He was startled when he realized Taehyung stood directly in front of him, hand out. “Dance with me, Jungkook. I’ll let you lead.”

Jungkook felt his face grow red. “I don’t really know…”

“Then I’ll lead instead.” Taehyung grabbed his hand and dragged him to the center of the floor.

Members of the nobility no doubt spent many hours receiving dancing instruction. Jungkook had not. In fact, his only previous experiences consisted of drunken revels at firesides and in taverns, when the steps were more like rhythmic stumbles than anything else.

But Taehyung grinned charmingly, wrapped an arm around Jungkook’s waist, and quietly gave him instructions as they moved.

Probably Jungkook was fooling himself, but he felt so wonderful in this embrace that he imagined he didn’t look too much an idiot.

“Very good,” Taehyung encouraged. “Think of it like fighting. You always know how to move your body so well when you fight. You’re naturally graceful, Jungkook. I don’t know how you manage it when you’re so big. Now, pretend we’re fighting… only slowly, and to a beat.”

Jungkook obeyed. And it turned out Taehyung was right— as long as Jungkook didn’t try to think too hard about what his body was doing, he managed to move with a modicum of grace.

“Wonderful!” said Taehyung. “You’re amazing.”

Jungkook smiled at him. “Some might say it’s the man who teaches an ox to dance who’s more amazing.”

“You’re no ox. You’re a tiger, right?”

Before Jungkook could think of an answer, the music ended. A tiny woman with blonde hair in a gravity-defying arrangement glided up to them. “May I have the next dance, with the Prince of Hanguk?” she asked.

Taehyung apparently didn’t need an interpreter for that. He nodded regally and took her hands.

As Jungkook attempted to make a dignified journey to an unobtrusive corner, his way was blocked by a man who was as tall as he was— maybe even a bit taller— but much more slender.

He was in his mid-thirties and dashingly handsome, with a square jaw, sparkling green eyes, and sand-colored hair. He had a small crescent moon and stars tattooed near one eye. “Will you dance with me, sir?” he asked.

“I’ll probably step on your feet.”

“No, I was watching you with your prince. You were beautiful. Please?”

Jungkook couldn’t refuse without giving offense. He smiled wanly and nodded.

The music started up again, the man grasped Jungkook’s waist, and they began to move together. “My name is Jung Hoseok,” said the man. “Of course, I know your name already.”

“Shouldn’t I call you by a title instead?” Jungkook asked as he looked at the man named Hoseok.

“Oh, I’d rather you wouldn’t. It always makes me think of my father when someone does that. It makes me feel old.” He had a beautiful heart-shaped smile.

“Then Hoseok it is.”

“Excellent! Have you visited North Han before, Jungkook?”

Jungkook winced. “Um, during the war…”

“Oh. Of course. You hardly saw us at our best, then.” He frowned slightly. “I fought as well.”

“And it doesn’t bother you to dance with me?”

“It bothers me…but only in a delicious sort of way.” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows to make his meaning clear.

Allowing himself a small smile, Jungkook said, “I see.”

“Oh, but you could see much more, my dear, if you wanted. Give me a bit of time and I can whisk you away. I know where there are quiet rooms.”

Once upon a time, Jungkook would have been both flattered and aroused. He would have eagerly joined Hoseok in a deserted palace nook, and they would have fucked until neither of them could walk straight.

“Thank you,” said Jungkook. “But I can’t.”

“You don’t fancy men?”

“I do. But…” He didn’t know how to express this. Although he and Taehyung had been having a lot of s3x, they weren’t truly lovers. Taehyung used him to work out his frustrations and anxieties and as a way of reclaiming his body after the mistreatment by the Yakuza.

Jungkook understood that.

And he was happy to provide that service. He was. But by all the demons in the third hell, he was pretty sure he’d allowed himself to fall in love with the prince.

“I’m sorry,” said Jungkook. “But I can’t. I have…obligations.”

His gaze must have momentarily strayed to Taehyung, because Hoseok nodded. “I see. He is more than your dance partner.”

“No. I mean…I’m his guard and…and…” Gods, what had happened to his tongue? “And I can’t,” he finished lamely.

“A pity. But you can dance with me at least, can’t you? Seeing as how your prince is otherwise engaged.”

“Of course. I’d like to.”

So they danced.

Hoseok was very good at it, and he was patient when Jungkook was clumsy. The song ended, Taehyung switched to an older man with a very straight posture, and Jungkook remained with Hoseok.

He remained for the next song as well, and then the next. Nobody else tried to cut in, so either Hoseok was the only one interested in a Hangul guard or he was subtly motioning others away.

Taehyung, on the other hand, had a different partner for every song. He must have danced with nearly everyone there except Hoseok— and except Yeowang Nabi, who watched from a padded chair near the musicians.

The musicians took two breaks, during which people pressed wineglasses into Jungkook’s hand.

Then Hoseok captured him again, and by the end of the evening, Jungkook was doing most of the leading, much to Hoseok’s delight. They spoke of boots and weapons and terrible food— soldiers’ talk— and it didn’t matter that they’d fought for opposite sides.

Hoseok laughed easily, told jokes, shared little anecdotes about various places in North Han. Jungkook felt comfortable in his presence.

But as the hour grew late, Jungkook glanced across the room and saw Taehyung dancing with a pretty young woman. Taehyung smiled at his partner, but Jungkook could see the strain and fatigue in his face. The prince was moving a bit too slowly for the beat, his footsteps slightly unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said, pulling away from Hoseok. “I have to go.”

“You won’t reconsider my offer? I’ve had such a good time with you tonight.”

“I have too. But I can’t.”

Hoseok bent in a courtly bow. “Then thank you for a lovely evening. I hope you return to North Han soon, Jungkook. For pleasure instead of business. And when you do, please come stay with me at my mansion.”

“Thank you.” Impulsively, Jungkook gave him a quick hug. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Instead of going to Taehyung, Jungkook hurried across the room to where the queen sat, chatting with an older man and sipping from a goblet. Jungkook dropped to his knee before her.

“Oh, you need not be so formal with me,” said the queen, waving her hand. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

“Yes, Jusang. Thank you. But…I beg your pardon, but Wangja Taehyung has been through…quite a lot lately. I think he needs to rest.” Not wanting anyone else to understand, he spoke in Hangul.

She looked over at Taehyung. He still danced, but he was staring at Jungkook and Yeowang Nabi, his eyes narrowed.

“You are right, of course,” said the queen. “Please forgive me for failing to notice.” She stood and made a motion with her hands, and the musicians stopped at once. She spoke loudly in Joseon. “I am afraid the hour is quite late and I must retire. Thank you all for your attendance.”

It must be nice to be queen, Jungkook thought, as the guests immediately filed toward her to pay their respects.

Taehyung limped over and stood near her, nodding slightly at everyone, while Jungkook took a position directly behind his prince. He wished he could have offered Taehyung his body to lean against.

It took forever for the guests to disperse, and then Taehyung spent a few minutes chatting with the queen about the following morning’s arrangements. But Taehyung said nothing at all to Jungkook as a servant led them back to their quarters.

Even when they were alone again, Taehyung began to undress in silence. His expression was stony.

“Do you need anything?” asked Jungkook. “I can ask a servant for some food. Or maybe you’d like a bath or—”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Alright.” Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed to take off his boots. His feet were a little sore.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Taehyung said quietly.

Jungkook smiled at him. “I learned to dance.”

“That duke or whatever he was seemed appreciative.”

“I suppose so. Is there something wrong with that?”

Taehyung had been in the middle of untying his belt, but he stopped and lifted his chin. “He wanted to fcuk you.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he wanted me to fcuk him. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Joseon custom frowns on s3x in the middle of the dance floor.”

Taehyung stomped over, barefooted, and pointed his finger in Jungkook’s face. “But you wanted to!”

“No. I didn’t,” Jungkook replied honestly. He didn’t understand why Taehyung was so upset, but then there were many things about the prince he failed to understand.

After making a rude sort of noise, Taehyung whirled around and stalked to the washroom. He spent a long time in there, doing gods knew what. Meanwhile, Jungkook stripped off his fancy attire and put on plainer clothes.

He stood staring at the small mountain of clothing and other things he and Taehyung had recently acquired.

Were they supposed to leave the things here, or were they expected to take them back to Hanguk?

If the latter, how in the hell were they supposed to get them there?

Would someone at the palace be giving them luggage?

Jungkook was still puzzling over these matters when Taehyung emerged from the washroom. He was completely naked and he’d combed his wet hair back from his face.

He’d gained back a little weight already, thanks to the palace’s variety of good foods, but he was still far too thin. The scars were evident on his pale skin, and the marks and scabs where his left nipple had been were especially nasty-looking.

“I’m going to bed. If you want to go off in search of your duke, you can. I doubt anyone here will murder me in my sleep.”

“He’s not my duke. And I’ll stay here.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t dare abandon your duty.”

Jungkook wanted to strangle him. “It has nothing to do with my sense of duty.”

“Right.” Taehyung sat heavily on the bed but didn’t cover himself. “Did you know you never call me by name? You say ‘Jusang’ when you’re being sarcastic, but that’s it. Even when we’re fucking you don’t use my name.”

“I’m sorry. Taehyung.”

The prince shook his head irritably. “Is it out of excessive politeness? Because I’d think we’d be past that by now. Or is it out of disgust?”

“Disgust? Why would I be disgusted?”

“You saw them. The Yakuza. You saw me tied up and begging, and you saw them r/ape me.”

Gods.

“And I told you already. I’ve seen them do it to others. They did it to me, again and again.”

“Right. But you didn’t need someone to come running to your rescue, did you? No, you’re a hero. Jungkook the fierce Tiger, who breaks free of the prison. Who k!lls nine enemies single-handed.”

“I’m just a man,” Jungkook said thickly. Before he could add anything he’d regret, he went into the washroom. He took as long as he reasonably could in there, hoping that Taehyung would be asleep when he came back out.

But he wasn’t so lucky. Taehyung sprawled naked atop the bedcovers, looking disturbingly like a sacrifice. His face was turned toward the washroom and he tracked Jungkook with his gaze.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks, unwilling to get closer to the bed and hesitant to remove his baji.

“Do you want to fcuk me?” asked Taehyung.

And before Jungkook could answer, he flipped over, raised himself on all fours, and waggled his a/ss slightly. “Is this what you’ve been wanting?”

Jungkook’s mouth was desert dry. He did want that, but he wouldn’t have it. Taehyung was too damaged right now—psychologically, if not physically.

Angered at Jungkook’s silence, Taehyung got off the bed. He stalked closer. “What’s wrong, Jungkook? A bawdy Joseon duke is good enough for you but I’m not?”

“Are you jealous of him?” Jungkook asked, slightly incredulous.

“You danced with him. All fcuking night.”

“But you were busy. And I never thought…”

“What?”

“I never thought it would matter to you.”

“Matter? We’ve been sleeping with each other every fcuking night. We’ve been…I know every inch of your body, inside and out. I know every one of your scars. I know the way your face goes all soft for a moment and you make a surprised little gasp when you climax. I know the taste of you. How could it not matter?”

Jungkook felt exactly like he’d been whacked in the face by a wooden sword. He blinked quickly and tried to make sense of his thoughts. “I didn’t realize…”

Taehyung’s face hardened. “You thought I was just using you. And you allowed it because it was your damned duty.”

“I told you! This has nothing to do with my fucking duty! It never has.”

“I hurt you. I bent you over and I fcuked you raw. I marked you. And you liked it, didn’t you? The Yakuza twisted and warped you and now you get off on being used.”

Jungkook’s roar was equal parts anger and frustration. He surged forward like a wave, driving Taehyung backward with the force of his body until Taehyung’s legs hit the mattress and he fell back.

 Jungkook landed on top of him and pinned his wrists to the bed. He could k!ll this man so easily. He could snap his neck, bash his face to bl0ody pulp, pummel his chest until his ribs were nothing but splintered bone.

Jungkook kissed him on the forehead instead.

“I let you fcuk me like that because it was all I thought I could have from you,” he said, his voice as raw as his nerves. “And I did get off on it because it was you, and so it was good. It’s the most I’ve ever had, Taehyung.”

He was far too close to crying.

He released Taehyung’s wrists and lifted himself off the limp body. And because he was still caged in their quarters, he walked into the washroom.

He didn’t light a lantern. Moonlight shone softly through the window, making the porcelain and marble glow. He sat on the edge of the tub with his face in his hands.

Soft footsteps padded against the floor, then stopped near the doorway. “You want me?” asked Taehyung.

“Yes.” His answer was slightly muffled by his palms.

“Because I’m a prince?”

Jungkook snorted. “I wouldn’t care if you were the man who mucks out the pigsties. I’d still want you.” A tiny sob tried to escape, but he swallowed it.

Taehyung moved closer, crouched beside him, balanced himself with his hands on Jungkook’s leg. “Why?”

“I always have,” Jungkook admitted with a heavy sigh. He still hid his face. “From the first time I saw you. You were beautiful and…you had this light to you. It drew me like a moth. I thought, This is a man powerful enough to let me protect him and strong enough to take me. I thought, with you, maybe sometimes I could let my guard down at last. Except you hated me.”

“Gods, Jungkook. I never hated you.”

Jungkook lifted his head and gave Taehyung a very skeptical look. Taehyung barked a short laugh in return. “Yes, I know. I treated you like garbage. Called you names. I was a complete and utter s/hit. Still am.”

“You’re not like that to everyone else.”

Taehyung sighed. “Not generally. Gods, Jungkook. When I saw you for the first time, you were perfect. So handsome, and a true warrior. Brave— everyone says what a hero you are. I wanted to seduce you. But I didn’t know if you were…seduceable. And even if you were, I wouldn’t have had any idea what to do with you. You’re not remotely like the pretty little whores I usually have. So, I asked around about you. Subtly. And I found out you liked to go to the Dark Valley and fuck the effete twits who take it up the a/ss from a hulking brute, then scurry back to their shops to boast how brave they are.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry. Being a b/astard again.”

“You are,” agreed Jungkook, somewhat amused despite everything.

“Yeah. I tend to do that when I feel defensive. My father says my tongue is sharper and faster than my blades have ever been. I’m sure the boys at the Valley are lovely people. It’s only…they aren’t me. They’re nothing like me.”

“That’s true.”

“I assumed they were what you wanted, and therefore you’d never fancy me. So, I tried to tell myself how much I detested you. ‘Filthy Joseon,’ I said. But by all the gods in heaven, I swear I never meant it.”

Jungkook’s hands were clasped in his lap. “Alright,” he rasped. He’d never in his life had a conversation anything like this. He’d possibly have rather gone into battle.

Taehyung chuckled. “For a Joseon, you’re a tight-lipped son of a b/itch.” He suddenly sobered. “But sweet gods, Jungkook— what I’ve been doing to you these last days! Maybe I can be forgiven for speaking harshly, but not for—” His voice broke. He stood, walked to the doorway, and leaned his forehead against the smooth wood of the frame.

After a moment, Jungkook stood and followed him. He pressed close, with one hand on Taehyung’s bare shoulder. “I could easily have stopped you if I wanted to. I didn’t want to. As you pointed out, I got off on it.”

“How?”

Jungkook closed his eyes. He smelled the citrus oil and soap they used in the tub and the slight odor of wine from Taehyung’s breath. It was a heady combination. It made him dizzy.

“After I escaped from the Yakuza prison, for a long time I couldn’t bear for anyone to touch me. I didn’t even want them standing close. It was a lonely way to live. I was still a young man. Eventually I went to taverns or brothels, and I’d choose partners who were very small, and I’d fcuk them hard. But it didn’t…I’d be pounding away at someone, and suddenly I’d picture the Yakuza and…and sometimes I wondered if I was so very different from them.”

“You’re nothing like them!” Taehyung snapped.

“Maybe. But I wasn’t convinced. And more than that. The more often I fcuked these men who’d never fight back, the weaker I felt.”

“I…I understand that.”

Although Taehyung couldn’t see him, Jungkook nodded. Then he nestled his forehead into the crook of Taehyung’s neck. “Eventually I got the courage to ask men to fcuk me. It was very difficult at first. I didn’t even get hard. But gradually…I realized that although I was the passive partner, I was controlling what happened to my body. I was receiving them by choice, not force. That’s when I began to enjoy it. When I felt as if I’d got my own body back.” His smile was a little bitter, but it was real. “I’d lay there and I’d think, Look at me now, Yakuza. You’re d3ad and I’m alive, and this man’s c0ck is inside me because I want it there and it feels so fucking good.”

“S3x as a victory dance.”

“Perhaps.”

Taehyung squirmed around until he faced Jungkook. They wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace. Gods, Taehyung felt so good and right against him!

“I can’t…” Taehyung began. His throat clicked. “I’m not ready for a victory dance, Jungkook.”

“Of course not. It’s been only a few days.”

“I want to give you…what you want. What you deserve. I want to love you.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I want to be your guard, Jungkook.”

Although the room— and the embrace— were quite warm, Jungkook shivered.

But then Taehyung pulled away. “I’m not sure I’d have been capable of that ever, and I’m certainly not now. I can barely keep my own pieces together.”

“I understand.”

“I might…I might never be what you need. And I don’t expect you to wait for me.” He stood straighter, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. “But I’m sure as all hells going to try.”

Jungkook felt a smile spread across his face. He executed a brief but perfectly sincere bow. “Being afraid, being uncertain you’ll succeed, but going ahead anyway— that’s what makes a hero, Taehyung.”

!!~~~~!!

The carriage that Yeowang Nabi lent them was luxurious. The interior was spacious, with clever fold-down tables on which to place food and drinks. The walls were paneled in precious woods in an intricate inlaid pattern.

The seats had good springs, a thick layer of cushioning, and plush velvet upholstery. And they didn’t stop at inns like regular people.

Instead they spent two nights in mansions that may or may not have belonged to the queen, where armies of servants fell over themselves trying to cater to Jungkook and Taehyung’s every need.

Jungkook had never journeyed in such comfort and probably never would again. But he was miserable. He had traveled with a broken body before, but traveling with a broken heart was worse.

There was Taehyung, so close to him for league after league. And at night, beside him in bed, protecting him from nightmares.

But they spoke very little, and Taehyung’s eyes were dark and haunted. Jungkook wanted to hold him tight all the time, to keep him close until all the shattered bits fell back into their proper places.

But he suspected that the more protectively he acted and the more desperately he clutched at Taehyung, the more irreparable the damage might become.

“We wasted all that time,” Taehyung said suddenly as they neared the border. He was staring out the window and his voice sounded far away.

“What time?”

“These past years when I was too stupid to understand what was right in front of me. We could have been fighting together, fcuking…loving.”

Jungkook’s thoughts had been along similar lines. “But suppose you had spoken to me, Taehyung. You’d have had me with no effort at all. One soft look and I’d have fallen at your feet.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at first. But eventually you’d have learned what happened to me when I was a prisoner. I wouldn’t have told you the details and…I doubt you’d have been able to comprehend it all. But you’d have heard my nightmares and you’d have known enough. And then how would you have felt about me?”

“I would have—” Taehyung stopped and covered his mouth with one hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were in pain, and when he opened them again they glistened. “I would never have understood, Jungkook. I might I have tried. But you know me— I’m impatient and stubborn and fcuking spoiled. I would have wrecked us.”

Jungkook nodded. “I need…I’m a guard. I’m strong. I’d protect you to my last breath. But I need someone who…who’s there for me if I start to crumble a little.”

“Even a fierce tiger has his limits,” Taehyung said with the shadow of a smile.

!!~~~~!!

When they reached the border, Taehyung sent a messenger on a fast horse to the castle, letting the king know they were on their way.

He and Jungkook had to give up the queen’s fancy carriage for a much more prosaic one with sagging seats and a pervasive smell of old cheese.

They were trying to travel incognito because that was simpler, but the innkeeper that night must have smelled money in the quantity of their luggage and the cut of their expensive Joseon clothes. Instead of pallets on the floor of a shared room, they were given a small private chamber with a lumpy bed and tin washtub.

“Do you want a bath?” Taehyung asked, eyeing the tub doubtfully. “I’ll pay extra for it.”

“No, thank you. I’ll go to the baths when we’re back home.”

“Home.” Taehyung rubbed his chin. “For a while, I was certain I’d never see it again. I missed it much more than I would have expected. Where did you think about when you were in that prison?”

Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed. His bones were still rattling from the journey, and his head ached. “I didn’t have a home then. So, I thought about the home I’d like to have someday.”

“Not a barracks, I assume.”

“No.”

Taehyung walked to the washbasin, poured some water from a pitcher, and splashed his face. He frowned at himself briefly in the cracked looking glass before turning around and beginning to undress.

“So what did you imagine? A castle? A hut in the wilderness? A Joseon palace where they cover you with gilding if you stand still too long?”

“Doesn’t matter. The… the structure could be anything with a roof. All I dreamt of was a place I could always go back to. Where somebody waited for me.”

“You still don’t have that, do you? Not really.”

“No.” Jungkook shrugged. “Maybe I haven’t made enough effort to find it.”

Taehyung drew his tunic over his head and carelessly tossed it aside. “Let’s sleep. We’ve one more day to go.”

!!~~~~!!

Their messenger must have fulfilled his duty because a royal coach waited at the last carriage stop. Taehyung hurried into the coach with his head down, while Jungkook helped a porter transfer their luggage as curious bystanders stared.

The coach hurried through the city. The capital of Hanguks, Seoul was smaller than P’yongyang and showed little in the way of garish magnificence, but there was also none of the wretched filth and poverty Jungkook had glimpsed in North Han.

The coach sped through the castle gate without pausing, careened around a few corners, and came to a sudden stop near a door close to the royal quarters.

Servants, guards, and various agitated men and women swarmed out to greet them, all of them seeming to chatter at once. Jungkook would have quietly snuck away, but Taehyung clutched his sleeve and dragged him into the castle, down a long hall, and then into a room with high vaulted ceilings.

Someone slammed the door in the faces of the concerned retinue, leaving Taehyung and Jungkook alone with two other men— Jeonha Yongdae and Wonja Namjoon.

As the king and crown prince rushed over, Jungkook tried to drop to his knee, but Taehyung’s grip wouldn’t let him. “Stop doing that,” Taehyung grumbled at him.

And then Yongdae and Namjoon were embracing Taehyung. Jungkook stood back to watch. He saw tears in the men’s eyes.

For a few minutes, they weren’t a king and two princes, but instead a family— father and sons who loved and worried over one another. Jungkook’s heart ached and he had to look away.

Finally, with considerable throat clearing, the embrace ended. But the king kept a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “Are you well, son? You look…”

“I look like I’ve been dragged through the seven hell. Feel like it too.”

“I’ll call for a healer and—”

“I don’t need one.” Taehyung attempted a smile. “Some Joseon friends tended to my physical injuries and I’m healing well. I just need rest now and some time to mend.”

Jeonha Yongdae nodded, but then his expression darkened. “Those Yakuza—”

“Are all d3ad. Jungkook k!lled them.”

Everyone turned to look at Jungkook, which made him acutely uncomfortable. He executed a rather stiff little bow.

And to his complete astonishment, the king bowed back. “For saving our son, we owe you our deepest gratitude.”

“We owe him for more than that,” said Taehyung. “He saved my stupid neck, and because of that, I was able to get to P’yongyang to parley with the queen. She’s agreed to support us, Father. In fact, she’s agreed to better than that. She wants to negotiate an alignment of mutual defense and cooperation.”

Jeonha Yongdae closed his eyes briefly as relief flooded his features, and Wonja Namjoon raised his gaze to the ceiling in silent prayer. “With North Han backing us, Wonzan won’t dare to continue offending us,” said Namjoon.

Taehyung nodded. “I know. Jungkook didn’t just win me my freedom— he’s won peace for us all.”

Jungkook fought the instinct to duck his head when everyone looked at him. He kept his chin up and shoulders straight but couldn’t avoid a slight blush across his cheeks.

Jeonha Yongdae strode closer and clasped his hand in a hearty shake. “Before you left, we promised you our gratitude if you were successful. It appears as if you have more than fulfilled your duty. Name your reward and it is yours.”

“I… Thank you, Jusang. But there’s nothing—”

“We can grant you a title. Land. Enough money to live extravagantly for the rest of your life. Whatever you wish. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook repeated. “I appreciate your generosity. But…please. I’d just like to return to my place as Hwarang. There’s honestly nothing else I want.” Nothing he could have, in any case.

Jeonha Yongdae gave him a very long look before slowly nodding his head. “Very well. But we remain in your debt, Jeon Jungkook. If ever there is something we can grant you, we will.”

Jungkook bowed.

Taehyung had watched the entire interchange solemnly. Now he came over and, like his father, bowed to Jungkook. “I think you know how much I owe you, Jungkook. I hope…I hope someday to see you get what you deserve.” And then he pulled Jungkook into a fraternal embrace that didn’t seem to shock Yongdae or Namjoon.

After Taehyung drew back, the king addressed him. “We’ve much to discuss. But perhaps you’d like to rest first.”

“No. Just give me some food and wine and let me sit, and I’ll be fine.”

“Very well. Jungkook, you’ve certainly earned some rest. If we have any questions for you, we’ll send for you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Jusang.” Jungkook allowed himself one last glance at Taehyung— who was looking at him— before bowing and leaving the room. His narrow cot in the barracks sounded welcoming.

!!~~~~!!

“If you fight that slowly in battle, your opponent will have time to go home, eat dinner, fcuk her husband, and then come back and eviscerate you.”

Jungkook’s opponent scowled and lowered his sword. “I was lining up for a proper angle.”

“And you think the person who’s trying to k!ll you will stand there patiently while you calculate this proper angle?”

“No. But if I don’t get a k!lling blow in, if I only wound her, she’s just going to get angry and—”

“And she was already in such a good mood, seeing as how the two of you were engaged in mortal combat.”

The man hung his head.

No, not a man; although he was nearly as big as Jungkook, he was still a boy. He looked as if he was straight off the farm, although he’d evidently spent a few months as a foot soldier, guarding the Wonzan border.

His captain, Hwarang Hyejin must have decided he had potential, so the boy had been sent to the castle to be a warrior. Perhaps she was correct, but in Jungkook’s opinion, the boy had a long way to go.

“Look,” Jungkook said, trying to suppress a sigh. “It’s true that it’s best if you can k!ll the enemy right away. But that’s not always possible. And it’s far better to only wound her than to be killed yourself. Sometimes even a minor injury can be enough to throw someone off or make them panic, and then it’s much easier to aim for somewhere deadly.”

The boy nodded. “All right. Thank you, sir.”

Jungkook winced. “I’m not nobility, an officer, or your master, so don’t call me that. My name is Jungkook.”

“I know. I’ve…I’ve heard lots about you.”

Oh, good gods. The boy was blushing.

“Is it true you k!lled an entire company of Yakuza singlehandedly?” asked the boy eagerly.

“There were nine of them, not a company. And I wasn’t acting alone. They were drugged, or I’d never have been able to handle that many. Nobody could.” He pointed his finger at the boy. “Don’t go getting wild ideas about being a hero. You’ll get yourself killed. You do your best to do your duty— that’s all.”

“Words of wisdom by great Jeon Jungkook.” Jungkook spun around at the new voice, although of course he’d recognized it at once.

Taehyung stood very close, grinning. He wore nothing but a pair of the loose trousers the warriors practiced in. In the months since they’d returned from North Han, he’d regained the weight and musculature he’d lost in captivity, and although his chest was now marred with many scars, he was more magnificent than ever.

He’d been sparring with the guards nearly every day for weeks, and every time Jungkook caught a glimpse of him, his breath would catch in his throat.

But a glimpse was nearly all he’d been given, because just as before, Taehyung had practiced with nearly everyone except Jungkook. And these were the first words he’d spoken to Jungkook since they’d returned.

Perhaps the boy wasn’t a lost cause. He certainly wasn’t a complete fool, because he caught on to the charged atmosphere at once. He mumbled something unintelligible and scurried away.

That left Jungkook and Taehyung staring at each other.

“You haven’t lost your sense of duty,” Taehyung said mildly after a long moment.

“No.”

“Good. Because I’ve specifically requested that you lead the ceremonial march to welcome Yeowang Nabi in a couple of weeks.”

“Trotting me out like a pet monkey?” Jungkook growled.

“Oh, good gods. You know that’s not how I think of you.”

“I wasn’t aware you thought of me at all.” Jungkook knew he sounded petulant. But Taehyung’s disregard had hurt.

Taehyung wrapped a hand around Jungkook’s forearm. “We talked about this, Jungkook. I told you…I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. But—”

“But you can’t because you’re healing. I know. I understand. But does that mean you can’t even look at me?” Jungkook wrenched his arm away.

A few people were still in the training room, so he tried to keep his voice quiet. It came out as an angry hiss. “I tried to check on you. Just to make sure you were alright. But your servants wouldn’t let me anywhere near your apartment. For a whole month, I waited and you wouldn’t even see me.”

“I’m sorry, Jungkook, I—”

“And then you started coming here, but you stay at the opposite end of the room, and…I understand that we can’t be lovers. But I’d hoped maybe we could at least be friends. It’s been three months. I—I knew you needed time but...You were civil to everyone but me. You were talking to everyone...but me. Did I not even deserve a hello from you?”

He tried to stalk away, but Taehyung caught his arm again.

“We can’t be. Because—It’s just—”

“—Never mind, Jusang.” This time when Jungkook jerked himself free, it hurt. “You don’t have to be nice to me.”

Taehyung danced around to block his exit. “Jungkook, please...I want to be nice to you.”

“But you don’t— Argh!” Unable to articulate his feelings, Jungkook was left with nothing to do but growl like a beast. Even he wasn’t sure why he was so angry at Taehyung. Or maybe he was mostly angry at himself.

“Do you want to fight?”

“What?”

Taehyung pointed at the wooden sword Jungkook held. “Fight. We never have. Hang on.”

As Jungkook waited dumbly, Taehyung sprinted across the room, grabbed a practice sword from a rack, and ran back. He positioned himself in front of Jungkook with his wooden blade raised.

Maybe he thought Jungkook would refuse, or at least be confused over his offer. But Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He lifted his own sword and swung it straight at Taehyung’s head.

If Taehyung hadn’t jumped back with a startled yelp, he might have ended up with a concussion. But he was quick, and the blunt tip of the wooden blade merely grazed his head. Not only that— he immediately took a good swing of his own, lunging forward at Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook leapt nimbly to the side.

After that, they began to spar in earnest.

Neither of them said anything as they fought, although they grunted loudly and soon their breaths were noisy.

Sometimes Jungkook’s sword smacked against Taehyung, although never in what would have been a mortal blow had they been fighting with steel. And sometimes it was Taehyung’s weapon that hit its target, sending jolts of pain through Jungkook’s body.

It was a good fight.

They were very evenly matched. Jungkook had a somewhat longer reach, but Taehyung was better at controlling his attacks. Both had considerable strength and stamina, so even as their fight grew long and their bodies became soaked with sweat, they didn’t stop.

Their bare feet shuffled on the floorboards, and the swords thud-thwacked against their flesh. They’d both have bruises by morning.

Taehyung spun and clipped his sword against Jungkook’s hip. Jungkook countered with a lunge at Taehyung’s neck, but the prince managed to duck out of the way.

While he was still off-balance, however, Jungkook slammed the flat of the blade against his back hard enough to make Taehyung lose his footing and go sprawling facedown. He rolled over at once, sweeping the sword at Jungkook’s legs.

But this time it was Jungkook who danced up and away. And when he landed— his legs straddling Taehyung’s supine body— he jammed the rounded point of his sword into Taehyung’s chest, right over his heart. Taehyung cried out in pain.

But then the prince caught his breath and said softly, “Go ahead, Jungkook. Punish me for what I’ve done to you.”

Jungkook bellowed and heaved his sword away. Still wearing nothing but his sweat-soaked trousers, he stomped out the nearest door.

The spring sun was already strong, casting sharp shadows onto the courtyard. Yeowang Nabi had sent a gift to Jeonha Yongdae in advance of her visit: an enormous stone fountain.

It had arrived as several wagonloads of pieces and had taken a team of workmen weeks to assemble. Fortunately, it wasn’t nearly as gaudy as the one in her palace, although it did feature multiple cascades of water flowing into a shallow pool.

The guards had taken to using it to cool down after practice, and nobody had objected.

Jungkook headed straight for the fountain. He stepped over the low marble wall, splashed through the pool, and stopped directly underneath the largest water flow.

It was like standing under a waterfall, and although it soaked his body instantly, it did nothing to cool the flames of his emotions. He closed his eyes and imagined giant plumes of steam rising from his head, far above the castle walls and into the flawless blue sky.

“Jungkook.”

Over the roar of the water, Jungkook heard Taehyung call him. He opened his eyes to find Taehyung striding through the pool toward him.

Taehyung’s wet trousers clung to his body, revealing the narrow curve of his hips and the heavy muscles of his thighs. The large scar on his chest looked red and angry. He stopped in front of Jungkook, just out of reach.

“Stop running away,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so hard it ached. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about this for months. I’ve thought of almost nothing else. I’ve thought of you. I wake up in the middle of the night, wondering if you’re having a nightmare and wishing I was there to comfort you. Sometimes— no, often I think about those Yakuza b/astards, the feel of them when they used me, and I chase that away with my memories of feeling you. But then you’re not there and I’m empty, and…” He stopped and tilted his head into the cascade, letting it soak his long hair. He smoothed the strands behind him. Then he looked at Jungkook. “I told you I needed to put my pieces together before I could come to you. That was a fcuking lie, Jungkook. I know that now. The only way I’m ever going to heal is in your arms.”

Taehyung stepped forward and then fell to his knees in front of Jungkook. He leaned his cheek against Jungkook’s torso. “Please,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the fountain.

“People are watching us.”

“I don’t fcuking care if the entire kingdom watches. This is where I need to be. Please, Jungkook. I need you. I’ll always need you. Protect me. Protect me here.” He pressed his palm against Jungkook’s heart. “Keep me safe in here, Jungkook, and I swear I’ll keep you safe as well.”

Jungkook looked down at the powerful man who knelt before him, who leaned against him. And something as ferocious as a dragon grew inside him. It wasn’t a desire for vengeance, and it wasn’t a sense of duty.

It was love— a love that meant not only would he give his life for Taehyung, but also that he’d trust Taehyung with his.

He leaned forward slightly and gathered Taehyung’s hair tenderly at the nape of his neck. It was a gesture a parent might make to comfort a child— or a lover to comfort his beloved.

“I’ll protect you always, Taehyung.” He said it first in Hangul, and then in Joseon. “And please… please protect me back.”

!!~~~~!!

Jungkook trailed his fingertips along a familiar stretch of wall and didn’t startle when boot steps clomped behind him.

“Don’t tell me you’re missing the barracks. Surely your current quarters are much nicer.”

He turned to smile at Hwarang Hyejin. “They are.”

“And if you left something of yours behind, I’m sure the other soldiers took it weeks ago.”

“If I did leave anything, they’re welcome to it.”

“Well, is there something I can do for you, Count Jungkook?”

He winced. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“You prefer the title the Joseon queen gave you instead? Let’s see…Noble, wasn’t it?” Hwarang Hyejin’s mouth quirked into a crooked smile.

Jungkook hadn’t asked for any titles. But during one of the countless—and endless—ceremonies they’d attended during Yeowang Nabi’s visit, Taehyung had unexpectedly dragged him to the center of the stage.

Jungkook had blushed and glared at his smug lover, while Jeonha Yongdae had made a speech and then granted Jungkook a fancy title— and, Jungkook learned later, some very nice farmlands to the south.

Apparently not to be outdone, the following day Yeowang Nabi made a speech of her own, and before Jungkook realized what was happening, he was somehow also Joseon nobility. His Joseon title came with an entire village.

Taehyung had later calmed Jungkook by pointing out that the dual titles helped to reinforce the new alliance between Hanguk and North Han.

“And,” he’d added with a grin, “it wouldn’t do for the wangja’s betrothed to have anything but a long string of impressive designations after his name.”

So Jungkook couldn’t exactly complain. But ownership of property in two countries had got him thinking about home. His heart felt so much stronger and his soul so much lighter now that he had places to call his own.

The best of those places was here in the castle, in a quiet corner of the royal apartments, where he and Taehyung shared a room, a bed, a life.

And because Taehyung was gone all this afternoon on some business related to the queen’s imminent departure, leaving Jungkook feeling a bit at loose ends, Jungkook had wandered to the barracks to meditate a bit.

Hwarang Hyejin walked closer. As always, her back was very straight, but now there was a softness to her expression that Jungkook had never seen from her before. “I’ve been hearing some stories about your father from our Joseon guests,” she said.

He automatically tensed. “You knew my father was Joseon. I’ve never tried to hide that.” Not even when his life might have been easier had he changed his name to a Hangul one. He wouldn’t dishonor his father’s memory that way.\

“No, you never have. But now I’ve learned that Jeon Jaewon risked everything he had in an attempt to keep peace between North Han and Hanguk. And even when his efforts failed and he was forced to flee over the border— to a country where he knew he’d face prejudice— he kept trying.”

“It cost him his life. Cost my entire family their lives.”

“I know. But consider what he was trying to do, Jungkook. Even if he wasn’t successful, even if it led to tragedy— do you think he did the right thing?”

Jungkook considered this question for a moment, but deep inside he knew the answer. “He did,” he said quietly.

The Hwarang nodded. “He would be so proud of you, Jungkook.” She turned around and marched out of the barracks.

!!~~~~!!

Jungkook paced the spacious room he now called home. He had put on the ridiculously extravagant clothes he was expected to wear to formal ceremonies: shiny tanned boots; soft trousers so tight as to leave little to anyone’s imagination, the outer legs marked with a stripe of elaborately embroidered red ribbon; a shirt in a matching shade of silk; and a black velvet vest, pinned with various gold and silver insignias of rank and the buttons capped with rubies.

His familiar old sword was strapped around his waist in a new bronze-and-steel scabbard, and he wore a cloak— midnight-black on the outside, red silk on the inside, and trimmed with soft black fur.

A heavy gold chain hung around his neck, suspending a gold and ruby pendant at his chest. That was the only bit of finery he treasured, because it had been a gift from Taehyung to signify their union.

Jungkook had given Taehyung a finely made sword with a jeweled hilt— by far the most expensive item Jungkook had ever purchased— and Taehyung wore it every day.

But right now Taehyung was missing and Jungkook paced. Taehyung had said he’d return to their quarters to change after his afternoon duties were over and before the queen’s farewell dinner began. The dinner would start very soon, and there was no sign of him.

When a knock sounded on the door, Jungkook rushed to answer it. A maidservant bowed at him. “Wangja Taehyung awaits you in the Grand Hall, my lord.”

Grumbling to himself, Jungkook followed her down the hall.

Every Hangul citizen with a drop of noble blood had turned out to say goodbye to Yeowang Nabi, and she’d brought a large retinue of Joseon with her. As a result, the hall was packed and the noise level was high enough to give Jungkook a headache.

Still, he found Taehyung right away— the prince was even more breathtaking than usual in his royal finery, and he smiled at Jungkook from across the vast room.

Getting to Taehyung was like fighting a battle, only instead of swordplay there were handshakes and bursts of greetings in two languages, and enough glittering jewelry and shining silk to make Jungkook’s head spin.

But Taehyung fought to get to him from the other direction and they met halfway. They embraced, but Taehyung quickly made a startled grunt and drew back.

“Is something wrong?” Jungkook asked.

“No. And I’m sorry for the delay. My…errand took longer than I expected.”

“But your clothes…”

“I had a servant fetch them when I started to realize things were dragging on...” For no reason Jungkook could discern, Taehyung snickered. “...dragging on. Anyway, the servant told me you weren’t in our chamber.”

“I went for a walk.”

“Good. Now come eat.” Taehyung took his hand and led him through the throngs to the dais at the end of the room.

A long table had been arranged on the platform with ornate chairs for Jeonha Yongdae and Yeowang Nabi, who sat side by side. Still not quite out of the habit of kneeling before royalty, Jungkook executed an awkward bow.

They both smiled and nodded back.

Although Jungkook had been seated at the royal table for the past several weeks, he still felt as though someone had made a mistake, putting him there among men and women who ruled nations.

Not that the others seemed to mind.

Taehyung had a private conversation with his father very soon after he and Jungkook had pledged to one another, and Jeonha Yongdae had welcomed Jungkook with open arms. Sometimes, when it was just the king, the princes, and Jungkook in the room, Jeonha Yongdae called Jungkook ‘my son.’

Every time he did so, Jungkook felt warmed from head to toe, and Taehyung smiled so widely his cheeks must have ached.

So now Jungkook took his seat beside Taehyung, servants filled their glasses with wine, and the speeches began.

Everything took twice as long because it had to be translated, and the more wine the speakers drank, the longer and more flowery their addresses became.

Jungkook might have been more bothered, but Taehyung was leaning against him, holding his hand, and exchanging funny little comments about the speeches in half-choked whispers.

Halfway through Yeowang Nabi’s gushing praise over her new Hangul friends, Jungkook had a very strange moment.

He looked out over the sea of richly dressed people— people from both his mother’s country and his father’s— and then he turned his head to look at the handsome man seated beside him.

Taehyung squeezed his hand.

And briefly, everything seemed so wonderful, so too-good-to-be-true, that Jungkook was convinced he’d blink his eyes and wake up on a lonely barracks cot. Or naked and broken in a prison cell. But after he blinked his eyes, he was still on the dais with his belly full of good food and his beloved at his side.

An ancient shard of ice deep in his soul softened at that moment and began to melt.

“Hey,” Taehyung whispered, giving him a nudge. “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook smiled at him. “Nothing. Nothing at all, actually. I’m just… happy.”

Taehyung’s eyes glittered and he swallowed twice. “Me too,” he finally rasped.

!!~~~~!!

After the dinner of the Grand Hall, Jungkook welcomed the hush of their room.

A servant had set a fire against the evening’s chill and placed some fruit and bread on the table for the unlikely chance that Jungkook and Taehyung might still be hungry after the dinner.

“Would you like me to call for the bath to be filled?” asked Jungkook as he untied his cloak.

“No, not tonight. In the morning. Or…better yet, we’ll spar and have a nice run, and then we’ll bathe.”

“Fine. But if you think you’re going to win, you’re mistaken.”

“What if I choose to practice wrestling instead of sword fighting? Then I’ll win no matter what.” Taehyung waggled his eyebrows.

Jungkook hung his cloak on a hook, shrugged off the vest, and pulled the shirt over his head. “I don’t know that we need to practice that sort of thing. We’re already pretty good at it.”

“Ah. But one must always strive for perfection.” Taehyung strode closer and caught him around the waist, pulling him close. He nuzzled under Jungkook’s ear. “In fact, I think we should practice tonight too.”

Jungkook would travel through the third hell a thousand times over just for the touch of this man’s hands on his skin. He growled deeply and grabbed Taehyung’s muscular ass with both hands.

But Taehyung abruptly drew away and took a few steps backward. “I have a surprise for you.”

Jungkook liked Taehyung’s surprises. “Oh?”

“Finish undressing first. Then kneel on the bed.”

Over the past few weeks, they had discovered they both enjoyed it when Jungkook bossed Taehyung around in the bedroom.

But tonight, it seemed, Taehyung was in charge— and Jungkook liked that even better. He quickly stripped out of his boots, trousers, and stockings.

By the time he was on his knees on the mattress, with the necklace warm around his neck and his hands resting on his spread thighs, his c0ck was already bobbing eagerly.

Taehyung spent a long moment staring at him, licking his lips hungrily. But then he shook himself slightly and bent to remove his boots and stockings.

His trousers came off next and then his vest, until finally he wore only his blue silk shirt. He walked slowly to the bed. Then in a movement as graceful as any dancer’s, he drew the shirt over his head and tossed it away.

Jungkook gasped.

A tiger stared at him on the large scar on Taehyung’s chest. Although the tiger looks calm, the fierceness of its gaze left no question that it would protect what it held dear.

Its eyes were executed with fine detail in orange, gold, and black. Around his ribs was written – as fierce as him.

Jungkook reached forward to touch, but then drew his hand away. The skin under and around the tattoo was still a bit red and inflamed. “Hangul don’t tattoo themselves,” he said stupidly.

“No. But Joseon do. And as it happens, one of the members of Yeowang Nabi’s retinue is also one of her country’s most skilled tattoo artists. Do you like it?”

“It’s… it’s beautiful.”

“I wanted… It’s guarding me, Jungkook. It’s not that I need a reminder of what you are to me. It’s only that you’re so important to me, so deeply imbedded in my skin, that I wanted to mark that. It’s like when my ancestors won a battle and put up some sort of gaudy monument. I won…I won so much more.”

“We both did.” And Jungkook couldn’t follow orders any longer.

He launched himself forward, nearly knocking Taehyung off his feet, and then allowed his mouth to speak his love without words. Soon Taehyung lay beneath him on the mattress, splayed like an offering, whimpering as Jungkook licked and nibbled at his remaining nipple.

When Jungkook moved down to Taehyung’s lightly furred belly and then his heavy balls, the whimpers turned to loud moans.

And here was a thing they had both learned lately.

S3x didn’t have to be a hard, quick fuck— although that was fun too, sometimes. It could be slow and sweet, and they could torment each other with tender torture until nothing was left of them but raw nerves and straining flesh.

It didn’t really matter whether they gave or received, because either way the pleasure was equal, each of them delighting in the other’s bliss as much as his own.

Jungkook slid the heavy, salty head of Taehyung’s cock between his lips and teased a moistened finger into Taehyung’s body, making his lover writhe and thrust, and pull at Jungkook’s hair.

“Jungkoooook,” Taehyung croaked after a few minutes. “I order you to— Oh gods!— f-fuck me. Now. P-p-please.”

Laughing, Jungkook released Taehyung’s cock and wriggled up his torso. “Of course, Jusang. I am yours to command.”

Taehyung squirmed beneath him, bending his knees, folding himself, spreading himself for Jungkook’s entry. Precum was plenty to smooth Jungkook’s way in, and they both shuddered as their bodies fully connected.

“Hard,” Taehyung ordered.

Jungkook obeyed— pistoning his hips and driving deeply inside— because their bodies were strong and they could take it. But he also bent down and licked at Taehyung’s tattoo and mouthed gently at his neck, because both men needed soft as well.

Taehyung’s c0ck was trapped between them, and that must have given him enough friction, because when Jungkook captured his mouth in a kiss, Taehyung’s cry slipped right down Jungkook’s throat. Clenching muscles were enough for Jungkook too— he buried himself to the root and jerked helplessly.

Afterward they lay with legs entangled, Jungkook’s head on Taehyung’s shoulder while Taehyung slowly stroked his hair. The room was dark and smelled intoxicatingly of sex; sweat still cooled their skin.

Jungkook was safe. Needed. Wanted.

“I love you,” Taehyung murmured sleepily.

“I love you too. But I’ll still beat you when we fight tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t depend on it, Count Jungkook. I’ve been practicing my swordplay lately.”

“Ah, but so have I.” Jungkook reached down and began to stroke his lover’s soft, damp c0ck.

Taehyung reacted by quickly flipping them over, straddling Jungkook, and rubbing their groins together. Jungkook countered with a hard swat to Taehyung’s a/ss followed by a shimmying twist of his hips.

What followed then was somewhere between wrestling and lovemaking. But as they moved together, perhaps the best part was their laughter.

It rang out freely, loudly.

!!~~~~~The End~~~~~!!