His lips remain in a thin line as steel hues stare at Jihyun with the intensity and sharpness of hawks’ eyes. Jumin’s tolerance was little to nonexistent when his emotions made him succumb like this. For now, he would evaluate and continue to ascertain Jihyun to see if he was worthy of being redeemed for the treats that Jumin was taunting over his head like a meaty bone to a canine. Although his knees were bent and straddling the slimmer, sleeker lap Jumin was on, the directive made it evident he was in a position of power. Now face-to-face, the Han heir knew that a little teasing hurt no one.
However, his legs remained stoic–solid, even. They would not budge, as if they were made out of stone themselves. Instead, his arms bent back to discard the blazer that he adorned, letting it fold in half before Jumin turned his torso to let the jacket lie there and out of the way. His vest and dress shirt hiding underneath that sleek coat, the CEO lounged a touch longer in the space of V’s lap.Who was he to call of things so preemptively? Certainly not Jumin Han–and truth be told, he’s been yearning for this type of encounter with the photographer for years. There had been some feelings that existed little over a decade that the heir to C&R never got to resolve.
In the present, he’s doing just that. slow motions hint at V to make the same motions; but of course, he would praise the blind man if he is still able to hold in his restraint. Jumin was aware it had more than likely been quite a while since the former fiance had been touched so intimately, let alone have another partner after Rika had passed away. Let alone it be Jumin, of all people. Even now, he was surprised at the events that unfolded, although could never have imagined this in his dreams ( okay, he did, often, during his school years. But never like this. . ).
Hands were gentle then, taking V’s into his when hips rolled forwards slowly. The executive’s own eyes were a bit heavy, although he fought to keep himself awake and not succumb to lust. Instead, he would raise V’s wrists up above his head. Slowly, one hand turned to keep their secure grip on them while another hand hooked at the man’s necktie, unloosening it to use it for another function. Jumin was quick on his feet when it came to thinking on the fly during these scenarios, and his creativity had a way of slipping out every now and again.
Snickers came out as Jumin leaned over, with that mirth tickling against the shell of Jihyun’s ear. He changed, his mind–then deciding to bind the man’s arms behind him while Jumin wore a well-satisfied smirk on his lips.
❛ You can speak now: is that too tight, Jihyun? ❜
THERE REMAINS VERY LITTLE SOUND AFTER HIS NOD. yet this time no anxiety rises, no unease begins to taint this union. trust, he reasons, is so absolute there needs nothing more than there bodies connected in this beginning stage of resolution. it consumes his senses, throws off his idea of being until he feels nonexistent, alive yet floating / drifting / flying ; a contradiction living off the fuel given freely by the other.
though ‘ freely ‘ isn’t the right word for this. conditional is closer, yet there are no stipulations that would result in abandonment / anger / abuse. jumin would never harm him, never raise hand against him in fury nor anguish. jumin would never force him to partake in something he felt uncomfortable in, would never leave him on a whim because he did not do as he asked. jumin, as he always had, understands the heart within that has been left to wilt & wilt & wilt & wilt. he understands when he flinches, understands when a certain word or phrase sends him into a panic, the dead parts of his soul revived only to torture / terrify / test. he understands. ( THAT IS WHY HE FEELS NO FEAR, WHY HE ALLOWS HIMSELF TO BE CONSUMED AS HE IS NOW. )
soft sounds draw his attention, rustling and folding evident. he sucks in a breath, options conjured by mind flashing into creation. many things could be the cause of the sound, one in particular causing a low whine to issue forth. it’s cut off a second later, flush deepening upon cheeks. ( HE SEES AN IMAGINED VISAGE DISSOLVED OF BARRIERS BETWEEN. ) arms almost instinctively reach out to touch, explore, claim. it’s moments like these he wishes eyesight still thrived, wishes the darkness he’s enveloped in would fade into colour / brightness / contrast / sharpness. he has a photographer’s mind, can’t help but imagine the white balance, the saturation, the soft features captured beautifully upon canvas.
he misses him. he misses him more than he thought he would. ( IT’S TOO LATE TO TURN BACK TIME. )
he’s trying to be quiet, trying to force sounds longing to make themselves known back to where they came from. alas, the pressure / heat / friction amounts to something he can only describe as frustration. it sings through body, yet isn’t enough to satisfy. ( YOU CANNOT GIVE A MAN A TASTE OF FREEDOM AND THEN SWIFTLY TAKE IT AWAY. IT WILL ONLY MAKE THE MAN YEARN FOR IT ALL THE HARDER. )
hips move on their own accord, the thought of consequences far from consciousness. God above, he nearly weeps with the feeling. that coil tightens again, relaxes with every pull. it builds upon itself, adding a shiver here, a soft gasp there. he should restrain himself, should follow the other’s orders. ( THE COLLAR THAT SITS AT THROAT REMINDS HIM, AS IT SHOULD, OF HOW THE BALANCE OF POWER WORKS. ) he’s already close, already clouded and ready to find release. it’s been so long, too long. he aches, don’t you see? he wants & wants & wants & cannot be held for long, lest he become desperate / fiery / primal.
he stops himself when hands are taken, chest heaving under the weight of lungs crying, crying, crying, crying ( HIS SOUL IS DOING THE SAME FOR HE IS A SINNER IN THE EYES OF THE ALMIGHTY. )
breath against ear, sending a sharp ‘ ah! ‘ to jump past lips. embarrassment floods him once more, yet he sighs as hands are pushed behind back, bound and tied and ... and ...
he can’t think. he can’t. nothing makes sense except that he’s here, that he bares throat in submission. this is all he wants, this absolution only jumin can offer. ( A GOD IN HIS OWN RIGHT, ONE WHOM HE INTENDS TO WORSHIP. ) wrists tug, move, trying to spear apart the bonds. they hold firm, allowing minimal movement but enough to satisfy the other. ( HE COULD CARE LESS AT THIS POINT. MAKE HIM YOURS, JUMIN. CLAIM HIM AS A MAN YOU INTEND TO KEEP. )
‘ they’re ... ‘ a deep breath, body strung tight. ‘ they’re fine, sir. ‘
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