Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia.
Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.
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Insanity comes in as many varieties as Devotion does, gradually flowing into existence in the form of odd physical and mental sensations. Some of those are formed by a simple touch, just a little trigger, or a single event with a bigger impact.
Or via confessions.
A single word.
One shouted syllable with the power to topple a carefully preserved world, crumble the truth repeated oft in the privacy of the Self or quiet mumblings. Withal, all the beguiling fantasies loudly rejoice in the fierce statement while Sense despairs in confusion for surely this cannot be.
All there is, is Madness.
Nothing else.
‘Me!’ Breathless as if having run a marathon, the ashen wolf keeps his blazing feverish gaze locked with that of the powerless prey he has cleverly caught by surprise filled with honesty. ‘I am your man! I’ve always been there when you needed a shoulder to cry on in frustration or wanted someone to talk to about a topic you feared nobody would even dare speak of.’
When Consciousness is dazed, it can lead to difficulties and uncalled for, rash actions. And it already begins to show in the slightly snarling speech of the koala with a rarely prominent spine. ‘That means nothing because it’s exactly what a brother is supposed to do for his younger sister.’
The comment, regardless of being nothing but a factual statement, causes the irritated expression of the listener to soften with hurt as well as the tone of speech upon replying. ‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Call you what?’ Though taking note of the change, the heart being torn just enough to be pained at the undeniably honest injustice for the sight of a wronged beloved is one of the hardest things to witness, a mean sour streak begins to colour attitude.
Not because of anger.
But out of fear.
Frightened by the prospect of being shattered into a million unrepairable glass shards, reverted to the fragile anxious girl lacking courage and henceforth turning into stone.
Anything to protect herself from the man that has been wanted the most.
The one that cannot be.
‘Your brother.’ In a flash, the movement unable to be registered and thus avoided before it is too late, the iron grip on the wrist briefly reappears to pull a small figure towards a cunning predator once more before warm trusted hands envelop the cheeks in a paradoxical gentle manner. The sharp albeit familiar comforting scent in the narrow space between synced bodies - amber and musk mixed with espresso - brings back the memories of the normal mornings during which a small bear and her five-years-older protector leaned into each other as awareness of the world gradually seeped in. A simply perfect daily moment before setting off to heed the call of obligation, receiving the last pat on the hair or quick meaningless kiss on the forehead. ‘Don’t tell me I mean nothing. That what just happened didn’t mean shit to you.’
‘You’re mad, raving mad.’ The accusation made to fervent eyes is double-edged for the lunatic judge speaks as if entirely innocent while being guilty all the same. The taking in of the thumb while fantasizing about another part of the body was an accident, Instinct idiotically triggered by the perverse touch and thus forming an aftermath that is now endeavoured to be cloaked by harrowing guarding denial. ‘Besides, what of Heungji, your girlfriend?’
The slightest shift in behaviour is noticeable, but the expression that flashes by is not conveying the emotions it should have concerning the matter words spell out loud for a mislead soul. It retains the sensuality of the remorseless demon risen recently though the genuine nature of the bear shimmers beneath its surface just enough to be remarked upon underneath the darkness, nonchalance tinted with an icy thin layer of a broken man. ‘We broke up yesterday but it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t working out for a while anyway. Maybe because of the distance.’ A head shake accompanied by a cruel shrug infuriates the mirrored wolf to a level that is entirely novel, knees trembling with the urge to surge upwards and kick where it truly hurts despite the fancies about the spot. ‘Maybe it was meant to end this way from the beginning, meaning essentially nothing.’
I don’t know this person. Namjoon, where is the lovely caring man I’ve come to know? Where are you?
‘How can you be so casual about it? You two had a relationship for close on three years! Your Skype calls seemed pleasant enough when I walked by your room, sometimes a bit too amiable...’ Heated crimson immediately paints the canvas of a vehement predator vocally battling another in the religious plaza of separation. Withal, she shies away into retreat as the memory of the first time accidentally hearing the call of what gives a person power over another, though the victim was too far gone already at that point, uttered by a mouth that should never have done so in such a manner.
A hideous triumphant smug smirk shapes itself on plush roseate lips, dark cinnamon irises acquiring a terrible crafty glint which signifies the explanation of past affairs has finally become obvious. ‘Ah, I see. So that’s why you ran away. All this time, playing innocent pretend and making me fall for it, tricking me into thinking I made you embarrassed.’
Close, incredibly close come the despicable bodies of step-siblings treading on holy ground. The caramel hand falls away from the cheek towards the behind, tracing every curve from the neck to its destination and pushing it flush against a tempting yet aggravating stranger. The hold on the lower flesh coaxes out a surprised gasp when it becomes firmer and induces that odd sensation that was also given by means of the possessive text leading up to this situation.
The baritone voice grown husky lowers further to a sonorous whisper containing an intimate tone never even heard during the nights filled with stressed frustrated tears. ‘You should’ve told me, baby. I would’ve fucked you on the counter since you were practically begging me, wearing what I bought you and enjoying the humping. Shit, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Being fucked by only me, have me inside you. Throbbing, bare, filling you up.’ The lips of the devilish wolf brush against those of an astounded conflicted statue, on one hand, wanting to live the realization of the blatant words while also having the pressing desire to put some sense and moral into a beloved who was thought higher of. The barely audible request almost dooms the battle for restraint, ensuring a complete surrender to the corrupted force of a relentless poet. ‘I changed for you, Y/N. I quit smoking for you, have shown you more than once via books and clothes I can provide for you and what is good for you. Let me be your man.’
‘People are staring.’ For a split second, there is a sudden trivial concern about how to come across to the public, wondering if they know what is going on and how the judgement of the display rings. A quick unsure glance sideways tells of the passing eyes throwing looks in random disinterest to what the winter sun is not allowed by Time to shroud in night, obscuring the scene from the distant public.
‘Let them. None of them has a chance with you nor me, so this is all they can do. You’re mine, only mine.’
No resistance meet the lips fully pressing against those of an immoral being rendered speechless by the inability to fight back. Soft musky amber moans answer the breathless whimpers of the uncomprehending mouth unable to stop, goosebumps rising on every surface slender poetic fingers trace, going from the cheek over the chest clad in the loose onyx turtleneck belonging to a two-faced bear and ends at the hip where it mirrors the strength of its twin further below. Every last bit of Reason is destroyed by realized fantasy, the Self melting into the one holding it as close as possible without souls fully merging.
A short repose is taken for praise that makes scarlet spread all over a dazed expression, vision grown hazy and Thought grown intoxicated beyond redemption with the sweet poison of fully being owned by Namjoon. ‘You look so beautiful in my clothes, baby. Smell so nicely of me, showing all men just whose you are.’
What am I doing? This is wrong. I should step away, end this. While it’s still not too late.
Although delayed in arrival by a very long shot into the abyss of Madness, Logic heroically sprints in to make an attempt at preserving the heart from imminent disappointment as it has been doing since separated parents found a peer and an unexpected stepbrother turned the whole world upside down and inside out. Awake hands high on adrenaline make use of the opportunity to push the tall grey-haired man away distracted by the sight of a forbidden idol fashioned to match personal taste, unaware that doing so goes against Nature and the morals the curiously sensually venerated maid inherently stands for: individuality and liberty. In fact, boldness fueled by confused anger results in a firm smack on a tanned cheek that has been kissed quickly, meaninglessly, many times in thanks for a present.
A gift solely meant to buy affection, apparently.
Simple monetary favours functioning as a means to an end.
Probably the Fox’s heart was won the same despicable way, seduced by the very words now turned towards a reawakened fighter with a vision rimmed with scarlet.
The impact of the hit is great enough to make Namjoon face the female monument commemorating the resistance during The Second World War, the sound of skin on skin loud enough to make a few individuals turn around in wonder and find a scene frozen by time.
Notwithstanding, when the initial shock of the uncharacteristic action fades and sets the rage free once more, Reality resumes. ‘You fucking bastard! What’s wrong with you?’
Hands fall away from the figure to carefully brush over the irritated bright ruby spot in the form of a small palm, mapping out the damage and smiling curiously satisfied at the discovery it is more severe than expected. Yet, what is more worrisome than the predatory grin, is the calculated tone which is picked up to strike back lexically. ‘What’s wrong with me? I’m in love with you and you are with me. It’s a clear observation from the way you enjoyed that kiss, Y/N. You need me just as I need you.’
‘I’m my own person, Joon. You don’t need nor love me because my affection isn’t for sale.’ A barely visible shake of the head accompanied by a step backwards on the mustard cobblestones, away from the possessive poet, introduce a retreat while not knowing how far feet can run before being halted by the cunning wolf in front of them.
If they shall make it at all to the safety of seclusion, a sanctum of tranquillity in which thoughts can be gathered and a solution to safely get out of the situation can be contemplated. To build up the walls guarding the heart from the rubble caused by Intimacy, aided by the forces of Fantasy and foolish dreams.
Out of respect for Heungji, who is replaced too casually and easily.
To take the sensible righteous path.
Walk away.
Again.
Nonetheless, whereas fleeing to the invisible shadows had been effortless before, the very touch of the jailor captures the renegade anew with a grasp that will bruise the weak wrists giving in immediately for the worst of physical hurt instinctively wants to be evaded. The emotional equivalent is already a burdened cross to bear. ‘Not so fast, we’re not done. You’re not even going to apologize for slapping me?’
‘Apologize?’ Eyes widen in astonishment when turning obediently around in awareness of not being able to get anywhere thanks to a failed plan. ‘You’re fresh out of a breakup with a girl who clearly deserved better than the bloody bastard that left her. And as a reminder,’ with effort, the volume of speech is turned down to keep random ears deaf to the scandalous accusation of which the secret enjoyment shall never be admitted explicitly despite being revealed anyway, ‘you jerked off to your stepsister. It’s sick. Especially because you-’
A sarcastic huff followed by a similar-sounding comment disputes the judgement. ‘Because I am your stepbrother? We’re not related by blood and our parents aren’t married. Baby, listen-’
No, because you’re toying with me.
‘I’m not your baby nor bear. Think for a second, will you? Do you have any fucking idea how much this hurts, seeing this side of you? How can you be so cruel?’ Justice is demanded for two souls miles apart, unconnected in any way other than both being a woman attacked by the charms of a man who is truly an incarnated demon devoid of a sense of respect and honour.
Where are you, Namjoon? Who is this stranger?
‘Me? Cruel? I told you Heungji and I hadn’t been going well for a while, simply stretching time as friends until we both recognized that didn’t work either. We might as well have broken up a year ago. I simply didn’t tell you about it because adding my problems to the heap of your own would have made you break down completely. But I love you, hence is why I kept silent and tried to figure it out on my own, changing because of you. For you.’ It comes out in a waterfall, sentences flowing over a silver tongue that cannot be trusted for, surely, a worthless student could never have been the reason for a powerful composed man to change.
Lies, all of them.
All of this.
Us.
Stop playing with my heart.
Thwarted ears turn deaf to the beautiful imaginary truth, muting Fancy in favour of listening to the sensible being within crying out the advice to not give up since there is no such alternate universe as the one seemingly build in the inner cave wherein the flames reflect it on its walls. ‘No, it wasn’t because of me. You’re just upset and need comfort, which is fine but don’t talk as if I mean anything other to you than a sister or of your ex as if she meant nothing. She’s a person as well. So stop sweet talking because I’ve heard enough bullshit.’
‘I’m not making this up, Y/N.’ Instead of incomprehension, full lips that are tempting with the allure of being kissed again retort into a snarl given earlier to Changkyun. Then the aggression was pointed at another target, but now it is at an individual who is supposedly cherished. ‘I do love you. I do want to be your man. I know I can’t buy love with money, but the reason for all those gifts is that it pleases me to do something, anything, for you and show you a bit of myself as well. That’s all there is to it, baby. Just me leaving silent clues of myself behind while trying to make you happy.’
Through the vigorously blazing menace in familiar espresso irises, faintly shines the unmistakable light of honesty and repressed fragility, both dimmed by the desperate attitude with a rigid edge that cut off a former mistress. ‘Yeah, right. I’m pretty damn sure this is how you seduced Heungji as well, playing the role of the handsome and nice dandy sugar daddy while also manipulating her to fit your tastes. Only to push her aside when a better, more nauseating, alternative comes along. Despicable. Good luck finding another unwarned girl because I’m not buying this crap.’
Please just shut up. I don’t want to hear any more sweet nothings nor have this awful lingering wish to be with you.
‘Y/N, I mean it. I don’t want anybody but you. Why is that so hard to understand?’ A vicious tug at the wrist that had almost succeeded in slipping away from its prison immediately pulls back a wise soul about to make a futile attempt at walking away in spite of being unbreakably chained to the lovely hell it has tried so hard to escape.
Glaring to where white knuckles hold on painfully tight, ignoring the unpleasantness to the best ability allows, the words come out almost in a growl with the hint of a pathetic dishonest plead of being set free. ‘Why can’t you just let me go? Stop with the mind games, saying the same empty things over and over again.’
At last eyes finally dare to brave the shaking wolf, have the courage to face the too dearly loved disguise it wears and able to berate it confidently without needing to oppress any disrupting stutters. ‘Stop fucking lying to me!’
‘No, you’re going to listen to me, you brat. Or I’ll have to show you your mistake.’ A curious lust distorts the tornado thought to be solely filled with hateful aggression, composure telling of the fact of being driven to dire straits and thus at the point of picking up weapons formerly unused.
A foolish mocking huff cuts the rope of the unspoken decision about obedience, leading down a road which might end in regret. Just not in the form it was anticipated to be. ‘Oh, you’ll show me? By all means, do your worst, you selfish lying bastard.’
‘Force it is, then.’
The tracks over the irregular mustard and reddish plum tiles leading from the plaza to the university edifice on the pope’s dyke are retraced with impatient haste, but not entirely as a sharp left turn is taken at the ironically placed statue of a medieval French poetic criminal to the tranquility of secluded gardens in a place of spiritual elevation. Golden lights filters in through the gothic intricate decorations of the weathered stone passageway, illuminating the dull tiles alternating between a lighter and darker shade of grey, all of them inherently different from the varying tones of the material used to build the sanctum. Lush green bushes form neat flower beds which also form a path to walk along, functioning as a guide when wandering around the garden.
At the end of the hallway, nearby heavy wooden doors remaining from the oldest days, rapidly striding onyx leather shoes and the Scottish mud-stained boots following them come to a halt behind a pillar at an angle that conceals them from sight. Quite a clever spot to conduct private affairs since not many souls come to the cloister during winter, even when the weather turns into its rare gorgeous shape, and there is no echo unintentionally carrying on a conversation.
Although familiar with the place, it still remains a curious location for the supposed showing of the mistake that has nothing to do with religion. ‘What are we doing here?’
The personified shackle around the wrist loosens a bit to adjust the hold and guide it down to where free fingers skillfully have undone the zipper and button to the black office slacks, forcing it down the fabric of the same-toned cotton of Calvin Klein boxers. A soft whimper rolls out on a breath when the palm makes contact with the same source of heat that was sinfully pressed against the behind this very morning, the hardened skin incredibly warm and seemingly reacting to the touch. ‘Here. Feel how much I want you. No man is good enough for you so you really upset me by trying it with Changkyun, giving him more hope to make you his.’ A low grunt resounds in the silence when hips roll softly into the independent exploring of the nether region, perversely fascinated by this new type of touch. ‘That’s right, baby. I’m what you need. At last, you’re listening.’
Invisible marbling veins sketch a mental picture of the landscape that makes thighs clench together in as inconspicuous a manner as is possible under the controlling gaze, a vague satisfied grin appearing on the edge of vision while continuing with making discoveries. Teeth bite down on the bottom lip, happy to please the wolf while also hopefully wondering how it would affect the mind and body further if the gesture goes far beyond the point it is now. A barely audible whine begs for it to happen, failing in properly formulating a coherent wording of the wish. ‘Namjoon, you- it’s-’
‘You want it, don’t you? Have my big cock inside, filling that tight pussy up so nicely as I’m fucking you into the mattress.’ Low dangerous chuckling occurs at the sight of the eager instinctive nodding of a soul pulled further into the tempting Hell that has been tried to get away from many times over. However, this time, it is glad to stay. Craving the rule of its ruthless poet and serving in name of his pleasure, wrong as it is. A delighted gasp escapes at feeling another twitch, a sign of rightfully serving Immorality despite a lack of experience. ‘Here I was, about to go home and breed you until cum is leaking out of you, every thought going immediately to me afterwards and yet needing another good pounding despite not being able to walk.’
Two fingers push the chin upwards, the flash of direct sunlight blinding and thus making eyes tear when gazes compellingly meet. ‘I’d make you scream my name, cry out like a slut craving to be bred over and over again. But since you like it so much to go against me, I’ll first have to teach you how to talk properly.’ The same thoughtful gentle thumb traces over the trembling lower lip of the insensible prey, knowing exactly how to pull its strings, before forcefully grabbing the jaw. ‘Get on your knees, brat.’
Quick and as invisible as the wind blowing through the historic stone framework, two firm caramel amber-scented hands move position to narrow shoulders and push them down with a strength that cannot be resisted, thus having no other choice but to give in. Not that the command would have been disregarded since the surrender is with content till a certain degree, finding mischievous amusement in driving Namjoon to savagery by resisting.
Henceforth, the limits are pushed a little more even though it is hard to persist when seeing the actual manifestation of the physical fantasy constructed by nimble fingertips and the shiny obviously agitated with wanting sensitive skin makes contact with the lips.
‘Open your mouth.’ Calmly, the sonorously spoken mandate comes out as a request instead of the command it truly is, clearly anticipating obedience.
Withal, stubbornly holding on in determination, a challenging glint dares the mighty poet to try the means formerly left untouched, hoping to feel those slender fingers grab the chin again like just a second ago. Be utterly under the influence of an awe-inspiring force once more, listening to the sole love that has been craved all this time and can now finally be had.
It does not matter if there shall only be roughness because Joon ultimately means well, knows what is best for the chaotic English student who has been taken care of all this time without her awareness of it. Henceforth, there is one thing now that cannot be denied any longer, clear as day floating around in the Conscious and endlessly annoying Sense with its charming truth.
I belong to him.
I am his.
The artificial kindness has vanished, baritone voice lowered to as threatening a tone as Gretel took on the moment the creature of the night had to face Beowulf. ‘Open. Your. Mouth.’
At once more blatantly ignoring the order, digits do indeed, precisely as expected, mould around the jawbone in a brutal hurtful grip. The exertion of control brings a perverse devilish grin to a restricted mouth, which is obviously not appreciated as the pain towards the cheeks lightens with the focus of the grip shifting towards the chin. ‘Fine, have it your way.’
With a motion depleted of the characteristic gentleness of the disguise of the wise bear, lips are wrenched apart and wrongly judged - too confident in the personal capabilities of being able to handle it - wanton longing mercilessly shoved in. In an instant the comfortable rhythm of breathing is cut off, lungs fighting for oxygen yet denied it by the pushing hand cloaked in silky dirty blonde locks on the back of the head. A blind panic starts inside, fingers searching for a grip on the onyx trousers to make the distress known but finding no answer when they do.
What formerly seemed a sensually amusing idea has now turned into a grave mistake.
Instead of paying attention to the desperate ministrations on the expensive fabric below, the harsh oppression turns in a deceivingly sweet version of itself as Namjoon holds the face against the soft warm surface of the stomach, the scent of amber musk both a comforting intoxication while also a means of suffocation. Even the coarse baritone timbre in speech transforms, gaining an absurdly cordial tone while cooing praises that do nothing in the way of affecting the regret about not having thought of an escape instead of following a pied piper up to this point. ‘That’s a good girl. Fuck, look at you, all tearful and my throbbing cock in your mouth. So beautiful.’
The head is kept in place after slightly moving it away from the heat radiating underneath the crimson shirt, thus establishing enough distance to be able to look each other in the eye, the puppet master in full control of the ragdoll’s strings. A sharp snap of the hips forwards triggers a strong gag reflex, distressed whimpers begging for mercy. Unfortunately, like the former signs of discomfort, they are brushed off in favour of pleasure in control. ‘I don’t care if I’m too rough. You upset me, baby, and you know very well why. So quit whining because this is nothing but your own doing.’ A trail of saliva already dribbles down the side of the face, the see-through liquid glistening in the bright rays of light intricately filtered by the historical setting as it also slightly drips onto the ink-black turtleneck from the chin. Namjoon picks up on it, a sliver of a smug grin distorting the ugly snarl formed by gritted teeth. ‘Drooling, are we? Do you want more, Y/N?’
Rendered utterly helpless with the ability to speak impaired, high pitched squeaks directed upwards resembling the statement “please, stop” vaguely reply to the wrong assumption. Undeniably, there is Love for this man accompanied by the desire to be owned by the two-faced bear, continuously be in the dark poet’s company whenever possible. Yet, the realization of what effects poor judgement might have on estimation comes too late because this is what Sense has been internally rampaging about.
The type of treatment is as wrong as the formerly present willingness, the lingering craving to be with a stepbrother.
More than that even.
It is sickening.
This is rape. But, what if this is the only way, in this animalistic manner, that he can show he loves me? What if I’m indeed mistaken?
The thought goes paired with the nagging reminder that the current situation is precisely what has been wanted, been dreamt about so many times. Furthermore, the meaningful gifts containing tiny hints of Personality and care taken of an unaware girl in the relationship all this time are forms which signify knowledge about holding an individual dear.
Taking the evidence into account alongside the lonesome past, the countless travels during which it had been solely Joon that could have filled up the desperately ignored gap, I know nothing.
But what forms not yet a part of Wisdom can be learned by books.
Or a teacher.
With tears streaming down the cheeks and after trying to swallow, to no avail, a weak nod agrees to the presumption earlier thought of as incorrect.
As if having read the underlying motive for the change in attitude, the asked question is truly a confirmation in nature. ‘You’re gonna stop struggling?’
Inducing self-made blindness to focus on making the ruthless lover proud by obeying substitutes as a sufficient answer. Though not able to see it, the overtaking satisfied attitude must undoubtedly be visible in expression which, in turn, lifts the spirits of the newly discovered persona on the cold stone floor a wee bit upwards into a better atmosphere. Especially at hearing the secretly coveted compliment that indicates behaving in a manner which is liked, the sickest part within willing to dance to the puppet master’s strings. Anything to not lose him and have a chance at exploring a novel sort of bond. ‘Good girl.’
There is no chance to exert any type of independent movement nor power while serving in a manner that goes against every moral the Self stood for, the sole ones being leaning into the firm hurtful grip on ashen locks while trying not to suffocate or give into the gagging likely to end in actually throwing up. The discomfort is lessened a bit by the commendations uttered under delighted muffled grunts and insults which strangely cause a pleasurable tightening knot in the stomach, the affirmations of doing it right.
Be the privileged venerated maid adapted to personal taste who makes the grey-haired wolf proud.
Be his.
Only his.
‘You- You don’t have su- such a big mouth now, do you? Shit,’ for the duration of a few fast advances there is no continuation of the sentence, merely teeth worrying a macaroon-toned full bottom lip, ‘I bet your pussy feels even better. Warm, slick, tight, so fu- fucking tight. Needing cum, wanting me to- to put my child inside you.’ Like before, the face is pulled into the velvet material of the scarlet shirt, resting against the cushiony part of the stomach, as the speeds accelerates to an almost inhuman pace while thrusts grow shorter and more erratic. ‘Have your belly swell up, tits full and round just like when you’re on your period. Fuck, they look so good then. Probably so sensitive. I jerked off so many times to you when you look like that, wanting to fuck you right as it’s over, making you pregnant.’
A strong pull on blonde-silver hair compels a locking of gazes, allowing to see the fever burning bright above labouring crimson. A mirror of the roiling heat currently discombobulating every thought with the notion of being wanted to a degree which exceeds the expectation, serving the will to endure the roughhousing. ‘Wou- Would you like that, me breeding you? Shit, I won’t even give you a choice. No condom- yeah, that’s it, brat, keep sucking- no birth control.’ The last thing before being reintroduced to the former scarlet forced resting place, is the smile imagined to be unerasable when indeed becoming a father. However, the chosen partner, in spite of the mutual affection, is not ready to partake in that altering of independent life, too young to have considered it let alone prepared to leave behind the perks of being unbound. Moreover, it is a foreign future existing in a dream.
Not for us to reach towards.
There is a prospect which is likelier to be achieved if parents cut the knot and tie it again with rings.
Separation.
Until then, there is merely kalopsia.
Our opium.
‘No lube- ngh, keep licking the tip. Yeah, that’s a good slut. Oh God, you’d love being bred like that. Fucked open by this thi- thick bare cock from behind, small fragile form shivering. Maybe even wear a- a cute tail plug. Oh, fuck, yes, you’d look perfect.’ Fingers cloaked in ash tangibly cramp up, breaths sharper now that Sanity literally hangs on by a thread. A second one grown corrupted due to its influence joins it, trembling with the vivid images painted by blunt words, wishing it could be real - aside from the risk of accidentally giving life to a bairn - and expressing this through approving sounds. ‘Yeah, you want that? Want me to pump my kids in- into you- like... that!’
Sticky saltiness covers the roof of the mouth, flowing partially down the throat while some of it is drifting off on strings of saliva when the physical binding in made almost entirely undone and completely so after the last spurt.
Namjoon is the first to return fully to Reality, regaining the grave seriousness after restoring composure during a brief repose to come down from floating in a realm somewhere between worlds as the other party is mostly recovering from the lack of air. ‘Show me you can talk properly now.’
All of the sinful fluid is collected in a small pool in the front of the oral cavity to display it to the breathless yet demanding poet, happy to see a proud grin appear at the sight of the evidence of stormy pleasure, tongue running suggestively in an imprecise promise of sensuality in the nearby future if this attitude is kept up. It makes the effect of the unplanned, or mayhaps planned, punishment of being left undone not minded as much as it should have. Regardless, it remains a fair repayment for the opposing behaviour displayed earlier.
Low chuckling, genuinely entertained in a sort of innocent fashion, resonates in the empty hallway at pulling a sour face when swallowing the incredibly briny liquid. The pleasant sound - that is heard almost on a daily basis yet shall never be boring - is quick to fade when lips meet to taste the aftermath of the desecration of the holy grounds of the sanctum, mine making sure the traces are noticeable to an even bigger delight of the man reverted to the bear who has been come to know the past two years, the heartless demon inside retreating for the moment.
A chaste kiss on the forehead and a loveable radiant white smile puts an end to the committing of sins, preceding the proposal stolen from another whose name has been temporarily forgotten, but which has turned into a reward for a splendid deed instead of a careless mistake. ‘You did well, baby. I’ll treat you to coffee.’
