Chapter Text
Chapter 99
The sun glared off the glass façade of the YANG Tech tower and Hyunjin sat in the leather chair opposite the massive desk, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed in a way that only someone who had successfully disposed of a political liability over the weekend could manage.
The verbal report on Councilwoman Kang was concise and I.N. sat back in his chair, spinning a heavy platinum pen between his slender fingers. He looked every inch the young CEO - impeccable in a three-piece suit, his face a mask of polite interest that barely concealed the sharp intellect beneath.
"Immaculate, as always," I.N. said, finally setting the pen down with a soft click. "However, the narrative in the press has taken a rather... salacious turn. The media is having a field day with the rumors. She was found dead in a penthouse hotel room, the aftermath of an obvious sexual encounter with a mystery lover, and the speculation is rampant." He allowed a thin, cold smile to curl his lips. "Several news outlets have reported that former interns are coming forward with tales of Kang abusing the power of her position to pressure them into sexual affairs. It seems the *tragic loss* angle has been eclipsed by a scandalous exit. No one is looking twice at the heart angle; they are too busy dissecting her sex life."
Hyunjin dipped his head in a shallow bow of acknowledgment. "She won't be blocking the zoning expansion anymore. And the controversy effectively buries her political legacy under a mountain of tabloid fodder."
"Good," I.N. steepled his fingers, his fox-like eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "But I must say, Hyunjin, I am equally impressed with the other operation you executed this weekend. The gallery."
Hyunjin blinked, surprised by the pivot but recovering quickly. He masked his slight confusion with a modest smile. "It went well. Better than expected, perhaps."
“Better than well," I.N. corrected, leaning forward. "I stopped by the gallery myself this morning before you arrived for our meeting. I wanted to see the collection firsthand and it was impressive work." He tapped a manicured fingernail against the glass surface of his desk. "Specifically, the centerpieces.
Hyunjin felt a swell of pride, distinct from the cold satisfaction of the hit. This was his soul on paper. "They were the anchors of the collection. I'm glad they resonated."
"They did more than resonate," I.N. said. His voice dropped, taking on a tone of possessive finality. "I intend to purchase them."
Hyunjin’s eyebrows rose slightly. "I thought the interest from the Busan collector was high."
"He has offered a substantial sum," I.N. waved a hand dismissively. "But I will match any offer on the table. Double it, if necessary. I want them in my private collection."
The offer hung in the air, heavy and significant. For I.N. to want them wasn't just about aesthetic appreciation; it was about ownership. He wanted the visual embodiment of Jisung’s submission and Felix’s defiant darkness hanging on his walls. It was a seal of approval from the man who orchestrated their lives.
Hyunjin felt a rare, genuine warmth spread through his chest. "I... would be honored, Jeonginie," he said softly, using the informal name to underscore the intimacy of the request. "Knowing they are with you... would make me happy. They belong to the family, in a way."
"Exactly," I.N. smiled, a sharp, predatorial flash of teeth. "They are too valuable to be sold to strangers. Draw up the transfer of ownership papers. I’ll have my legal team handle the rest."
"Thank you," Hyunjin said.
"Pleasure is mine," I.N. replied smoothly, picking up a file and effectively ending the meeting. "Now, go. I’m sure there is a certain messy Australian waiting for you at home, and I have a board meeting to prepare for."
***
The precinct break room smelled of stale coffee and floor wax, a stark contrast to the pristine, climate-controlled scent of I.N.’s office. Jisung sat at the table with Lee Soo-min across from him, watching him with amused eyes. She was the interim admin lead, sharp and competent, but unlike the other bureaucratic obstacles he faced daily, she was pleasant to work with. Her parents owned a small gallery and Jisung knew she dabbled in painting herself in her spare time, a fledgling artist trying to find her own voice amidst the administrative chaos.
"I still can't believe you got me that private tour," Soo-min said, wrapping her hands around her own mug. "The curation was... inspiring. Thank you for arranging it." She slid the coffee across the table toward him. "And this. As promised."
Jisung took a sip, the rich espresso and steamed milk grounding him. "It was no trouble. Minho and Hyunjin love showing the work to people who actually appreciate it, not just people trying to flex their wallets."
"That's the thing," Soo-min said, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've been hearing whispers from some of the contacts in the art scene. The new charcoal series Hyunjin debuted. *The Discipline of Stillness*? People are talking about it like it's some kind of mythological event." She looked at Jisung hopefully. "Do you know if he plans to make it available for public viewing?"
Before Jisung could answer, the break room door swung open.
Park Jimin breezed in, his eyes bright and hair perfectly mussed. He beelined for the coffee machine, humming a tune under his breath, but paused when he noticed the hushed tones at the table.
"What is this?" Jimin asked, pouring himself a cup of the sludge that passed for police brew. He turned, leaning his hip against the counter, his eyes dancing with mischief. "A secret meeting? Should I alert the Superintendent?"
Soo-min rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "We're discussing art, Jimin. Something you usually claim causes you physical pain."
Jimin froze, his cup halfway to his lips. He blinked, looking between them, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Ar - Art? Since when do we discuss art in the break room?"
"Hyunjin debuted a new series," Jisung supplied, taking another sip of his latte. "Soo-min was asking if it would be open to the public."
To Jisung's surprise, Jimin didn't make a joke. He took a sip of his coffee, grimaced slightly at the taste and then walked over to pull out a chair, spinning it around to sit backwards. He looked almost serious.
"Since we got that invite to the gallery... I don't know," Jimin admitted, shrugging. "I started looking at some stuff online. Just to see what the big deal was. Turns out, it's not actually boring. I think I kind of get it now." He looked at Jisung with a sheepish smile. "It's weird, right? Me, interested in art?"
"Miracles happen every day," Soo-min teased, though her expression was soft.
"Seriously though," Jimin continued, leaning his arms on the back of the chair. He glanced at Soo-min. "You said a new series? Hyunjin has something new out?"
Soo-min nodded eagerly. "Yes. Charcoal work. Very intense. I'm dying to see it in person."
Jimin’s eyebrows raised, his interest piqued. He looked from Soo-min to Jisung. "Is it... you know, open to random cops? Or is it VIPs only?"
Soo-min looked at Jisung, her interest mirrored in Jimin's face. Jisung pulled his phone out of his pocket, his thumb hovering over the screen.
He thought about the series. If Jimin came, he would be walking in blind. He didn't know it was shibari, he didn't know it was erotic. He just knew he suddenly liked art.
*It might be funny,* Jisung thought, a small smirk tugging at his lip. *To see Jimin's face when he realizes what he's looking at.*
He exhaled slowly, typing out a quick message to Hyunjin.
**Jisung: Soo-min and Jimin are asking about the charcoal series. Soo-min really wants to see it. Are you cool with them stopping by?*
He set the phone down on the table. Both Jimin and Soo-min watched it like a bomb timer.
Less than a minute later, it buzzed.
**Hyunjin: *Tell the fledgling she will like the series, she can come by. And the Mochi can come too, I suppose.
Jisung stifled a laugh at the nicknames Hyunjin had picked up from somewhere, presumably from the way Jimin's cheeks puffed when he smiled.
**Jisung: *What day/time should they come?*
**Hyunjin: *Tell them Saturday morning. Mid-day.*
Jisung looked up, smiling. "You guys are in luck. Hyunjin says you can come by Saturday morning, mid-day." He didn't elaborate on the subject matter of the art. Neither did Soo-min. "He says you will like the series, Soo-min."
Soo-min let out a happy squeal, clapping her hands. "Saturday! Perfect." She looked at Jimin. "Are you in?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Jimin said, finishing his coffee and standing up. "I might even wear something nice. Try to look the part."
"Great," Jisung said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
"We owe you one, Jisung," Soo-min said, standing up to leave. "This coffee was the best investment I've made all year."
"Next lunch is on me," Jimin added, heading for the door. "See you at the desk, Jisung-ah."
Jisung watched them go, the break room door swinging shut behind them. He finished the last of his latte, the warmth settling in his stomach. It felt good, almost normal. Art, coffee, friends making plans for the weekend. And if they saw the truth of him on the wall? Then so be it.
***
The rest of the week blurred into a rhythm of mundane routine interrupted only by Jisung’s self-defense training under Changbin’s watchful eye. The gym started to feel like home, the smell of rubber mats and chalk dust grounding him. He was learning to trust his body’s reactions, finding a confidence in his ability to deflect and block that bled into his daily stance. He wasn't just dodging blows anymore; he was anticipating them.
Felix, meanwhile, continued to dominate the shooting range. Under the watch of the instructor, Felix’s training was no longer about basic marksmanship; Yun-ho was evaluating the quality of center-mass shots Felix delivered consistently with unnerving calm.
Minho in the meantime sequestered himself in the office, wading through the post-gallery logistics. The sales figures were staggering, requiring a level of administrative finesse he usually outsourced. He spent days drafting contractual addendums, specifically stipulating that the handover of the sold artworks - including *Peace found in Surrender* and *The Waiting Game* - would not occur until the exhibition’s official close in one month’s time. It was a necessary delay, allowing the pieces to appreciate in value while the media buzz kept them in the public eye.
The days bled into one another, marked by the setting sun and the hum of the city below, until Saturday morning finally arrived.
The table was set with an array of dishes for breakfast and Jisung found himself kneeling on a plush velvet cushion set beside the large, solid wood dining table. Minho sat at his usual seat at the head of the table, dressed in a loose silk robe, looking more like a relaxed monarch than a killer while Hyunjin sat on the long side of the table. Jisung on his cushion was sandwiched on the floor between them. Minho simply held a piece of savory steamed egg between his fingers and silently offered it to his pet. Jisung leaned in, accepting the bite and chewed slowly, eyes fixed on Minho’s face. Hyunjin followed, wordlessly holding a strip of grilled mackerel near Jisung’s lips and Jisung took it without hesitation, the taste of sesame oil and salt settling on his tongue. Hyunjin watched the way Jisung’s tongue darted out to take the food.
This was Jisung’s weekend ritual now, being handfed like this. Accepting or denying the food provided by his owners, the only decision he had to make for a while was giving him a kind of peace that was entirely his own and helped him to re-charge his batteries.
***
"I understand that today is the day?" Minho said finally, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the room. He picked up a napkin and gently wiped a crumb from the corner of Jisung’s mouth. "Your co-workers are coming to the gallery."
Hyunjin took a sip of his tea, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "The Mochi and the fledgling artist. I believe they are quite excited."
"So am I," Jisung said, leaning slightly into Minho’s touch.
Minho’s hand stopped its gentle stroking. He tilted his head, studying Jisung’s face with an intensity that made Jisung blink up at him in surprise.
"Are you truly, little squirrel?" Minho asked, his tone dropping from casual to serious. "I want you to think about this carefully. Soo-min and Jimin will be walking into that space. They will see the centerpieces.” He paused, his thumb tracing the line of Jisung’s jaw. "There is little chance they will not recognize you immediately.”
Jisung paused. He had thought about it, of course. The fear would have paralyzed him months ago, the idea of his coworkers - his *police* coworkers - seeing him depicted in such a deviant, vulnerable light. But as he knelt there on the velvet cushion, feeling the weight of Minho’s ownership and Hyunjin’s artistic gaze, the fear felt distant. Small.
"Jimin kind of already knows," Jisung said softly.
"Oh?"
"He knows enough," Jisung clarified. He looked up at Minho. "That morning Seo-ah had you falsely arrested? I was in such a rush, I didn't even think about what I was wearing. I was still in my comfortable clothes, not my uniform. My collar was clearly visible," Jisung explained. "Jimin immediately saw it and pulled me aside before anyone else could notice. He didn't ask questions. He just handed me a spare dress shirt from his locker and told me to cover up."
Minho stayed silent, waiting.
"He looked right at it," Jisung continued. "He saw the leather, he saw the buckle. He’s not completely innocent or naive. He’s a seasoned detective - he knows what he saw. And he hasn't said a single word to anyone. Not to Taehyung or Namjoon. He protected me right then and there and he's respected my privacy ever since." He smiled, a small, shy thing. "If he could keep the secret of a leather collar around my neck in the middle of a police precinct, I think he can handle a charcoal drawing of me in ropes."
Hyunjin let out a low hum of appreciation. "A keeper, then. Discretion is a rare virtue."
"And Soo-min?" Minho pressed, his hand sliding to the back of Jisung’s neck, squeezing reassuringly.
"Soo-min sees the art," Jisung answered firmly. “She looks at the canvas, not the subject. Besides..." He ducked his head, feeling a flush rise on his cheeks, but he forced himself to keep going. "I was not kidding when I told you that I was not ashamed of it."
"Look at you," Minho murmured, his thumb brushing over Jisung’s cheekbone. "Six months ago, you would have spiraled into a panic attack just thinking about it. Now, you’re strategizing based on the discretion of your coworkers." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Jisung’s forehead. "I am incredibly proud of the confidence you’ve found, Jisungie."
Jisung smirked, a flash of his sarcasm surfacing. "Maybe it’ll get Jimin to stop making fun of my taste in music."
Hyunjin laughed, bright and delighted. “Ooh you are very optimistic, squirrel..."
The conversation drifted to lighter topics - Hyunjin’s plans for a new sculpture series, the need to restock the wine cellar for an upcoming dinner. When the last of the food had been cleared away and the tea was finished, Minho stood up.
He held a hand down to Jisung.
"Come," Minho said.
Jisung took the hand, letting Minho pull him up from the cushion. His knees protested slightly after kneeling for so long, but Minho steadied him with a firm grip on his waist.
"Hyunjin," Minho said, glancing at the younger man who was lounging back in his chair. "I assume you’re heading straight to the gallery to prep?"
"I am," Hyunjin confirmed. "I want to adjust the lighting on the charcoal pieces. The morning sun does terrible things to graphite"
"Good. We will meet you there," Minho said. He turned his attention back to Jisung, his hand sliding from Jisung’s waist to take his hand, interlacing their fingers. "We have an appointment in the bedroom first. My kitten needs to dress for his public appearance."
Jisung squeezed Minho’s hand, a surge of affection rising in his chest. "Ok, Sir."
***
The room was bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows when the two men entered. Minho turned, his gaze sweeping over Jisung, who stood with hands clasped behind his back, eyes already lowering in anticipation.
"Your confidence is magnificent this morning," Minho said, his voice a low rumble of approval. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Jisung’s jaw.
Jisung leaned into the touch, a flush rising on his cheeks. "Thank you for helping me become confident, Sir."
"You did that all by yourself," Minho murmured, stepping closer, his presence enveloping Jisung like a heavy, warm cloak. "For that, I think you deserve a reward.”
He tapped Jisung’s cheek lightly. "Kneel."
Jisung sank to his knees while Minho walked over to the dresser, the silky fabric of his robe rustling softly. He opened a drawer and retrieved a pair of sleek, black leather wrist cuffs.
He returned to Jisung, standing over him, and knelt down to fasten them on. The buckle clicked with a satisfying snap as he secured the first one around Jisung’s left wrist, then the right. Minho ran his fingers over the leather, checking the fit.
"Beautiful," Minho whispered, lifting Jisung’s hands to press a kiss to each palm and then loosened the tie of his robe, letting it fall open. His cock was already half-hard, thickening as he looked down at his cuffed pet, kneeling so perfectly for him.
"Open," Minho commanded.
Jisung parted his lips immediately, his tongue darting out to wet them, his eyes fixed on Minho’s with raw adoration.
Minho fed his length into Jisung’s mouth. He didn't rush. He slid in deeper, groaning at the wet, familiar heat, letting Jisung adjust to the weight on his tongue. Jisung hummed, closing his eyes, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he relaxed his throat to take all of him.
"Such a good pet," Minho murmured, his hand coming to rest on top of Jisung’s head, fingers carding through the soft hair. "So eager to serve. Your mouth was made for this."
He began to move with slow, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened. He wasn't fucking Jisung’s throat roughly; he was claiming him, possessing him with a deliberate, heavy rhythm. He watched Jisung’s face intently - the flush on his cheekbones, the strain in his neck as he swallowed around him, the sheer bliss in his expression.
"You take me so well, Jisungie," Minho praised softly, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind Jisung’s ear. "My perfect, beautiful squirrel."
Jisung whined around him, the sound vibrating deliciously against Minho’s shaft. His hands, cuffed at the wrists, rested on Minho’s thighs, not to push away, but to steady himself and Minho let the pleasure build, the slick heat of Jisung’s mouth dragging a groan from his chest but he pulled back before he got too close to the edge. He wasn't finished playing with his pet yet.
"On the bed," Minho said, stepping back and slipping the robe off his shoulders completely. "Face up. In the center."
Jisung positioned himself in the middle, looking up at the ceiling, heart hammering in anticipation.
Minho followed, crawling onto the mattress with a predatory grace. He reached up to the headboard and clipped the first shackle to the D-ring on Jisung’s left wrist, then pulled Jisung’s arm taut to clip the other. He didn't spread Jisung wide, just enough to restrain him, to render him helpless.
Mine," Minho whispered, leaning over him.
He lowered his head, capturing Jisung’s lips in a searing kiss, tasting himself in Jisung’s mouth. Then he began his descent.
Minho didn't leave an inch of skin unclaimed. He pressed kisses to the curve of Jisung’s jaw, then tracked his mouth down the column of Jisung’s throat until he met the warm obstacle of the collar. Instead of stopping, he paid homage to the symbol of ownership, his lips brushing the cognac leather, feeling the cool brass D-ring against his chin. He kissed the strip of exposed skin just below the band, marking the territory the leather already claimed, before shifting to the sensitive slope of Jisung’s shoulder. He bit down on the skin where it met the muscle, hard enough to leave a possessive bruise just beyond the edge of the leather, making Jisung gasp. His hands roamed, pinching Jisung’s nipples into hardened peaks, soothing the sting with the flat of his palm, then repeating the cycle. He stroked Jisung’s ribs, his stomach, dipping a finger into Jisung’s navel.
"You are exquisite," Minho murmured against Jisung’s hipbone, his breath hot against the skin. "Every inch of you."
He moved down, bypassing Jisung’s leaking cock to kiss the soft skin of his inner thighs. He nipped at the sensitive flesh there, listening to Jisung’s breath hitch, feeling the muscles twitch under his lips.
When Minho finally took Jisung into his mouth, Jisung arched off the bed, a choked sob escaping his throat.
"Sir - !"
Minho hummed, taking him deep, his tongue working the slit, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. He didn't tease; he went straight for the intensity, knowing exactly what Jisung needed. But his mouth wasn't the only weapon in his arsenal.
He reached to the bedside table,his fingers searching for the slick bottle he kept there and slathered them quickly in lube and pressed two fingers against Jisung’s rim.
"Relax for me," Minho commanded, his mouth releasing Jisung for just a second before diving back down.
He pushed the two fingers in, scissoring them, stretching the tight muscle. Jisung moaned, his head tossing back against the pillows, his hands pulling futilely at the restraints. A third finger was added and Jisung cried out, bucking his hips when Minho started to twist his wrist, to rub against Jisung’s prostrate.
"So tight," Minho praised, pulling off Jisung’s cock to mouth at the heavy, flushed head. "But you can take more, can't you? You want to be full for me and Minho slipped the fourth finger in alongside the others. It was the widest stretch he had given Jisung so far - a sharp, burning edge of pain that bled immediately into blinding fullness. Jisung gasped, his back bowing, his breath catching in his throat as his body fought to accommodate the width.
"I - ooooh, ngggll, Sir!" Jisung cried out, his eyes rolling back.
"Good," Minho growled, his eyes dark with hunger as he watched Jisung fall apart. He took Jisung back into his mouth, sucking hard in sync with the slow, deep pump of his four fingers.
The combination was catastrophic. The intense, overwhelming pressure of the stretch, the burn that pushed Jisung's ever blossoming masochistic button - the one he rarely admitted he had - and the expert suction of Minho’s mouth dragged Jisung kicking and screaming toward the edge.
"Sir, aah! I can't - too much - please, ooww… oooh - " Jisung moaned, hot tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. The pleasure mixed with the pain of the impossibly wide and unfamiliar stretch, a white-hot spike that threatened to shatter him completely.
"Let go, Jisungie," Minho commanded, his voice vibrating around Jisung’s cock while he continued to pump four fingers deep into Jisung with increasingly faster strokes. "Cum for me."
With a broken wail, Jisung shattered hard the moment Minho pushed his fingers with one final and hard pump into the tight hole and increased the stretch by spreading his fingers apart, pressing on the prostate. Jisung’s body seized while he was cumming in long, pulsing spurts down Minho’s throat. His vision swam out of focus and his world narrowed down to the consuming heat and the feeling of being turned inside out.
Minho swallowed every drop, his fingers slowing but staying buried deep until Jisung collapsed, limp and gasping, against the bed. Only then did Minho gently remove his fingers, wipe them on the bedsheet and unclipped Jisung’s wrists. He rubbed the chafed skin where the cuffs had pulled tight, pressing kisses to the red marks.
"You are devastation itself," Minho whispered, climbing back up Jisung’s body to kiss him deeply, letting him taste his own cum. "But I'm not done with you juuust yet."
He rolled onto his back, his own cock still heavy and neglected, weeping against his stomach and pulled Jisung on top of him, guiding the younger man to straddle his hips.
"Ride me," Minho ordered, his hands gripping Jisung’s waist. "Show me how much you want me."
Jisung, still trembling from the aftershocks, reached between them to line Minho up, his body stretched and open from the preparation and sank down effortlessly.
"Move.." Minho murmured.
Jisung braced his hands on Minho’s chest. He started slow, rolling his hips but Minho’s grip on his waist tightened, guiding him into a harder, faster rhythm.
"Harder," Minho growled. "Don't hold back. Wreck yourself on me."
Jisung let go. He rode Minho with abandon and threw his head back - Minho couldn’t help but moan at the sight of it and Jisung was reveling in the knowledge that his body was eliciting those sounds of pleasure out of the supremely dangerous and gorgeous man under him.
Minho was mesmerized by Jisung - his shy little pet - was wantonly bouncing on his cock, abs clenching and eyes rolled back in pleasure. He was a masterpiece of devotion and power all at once and Jisung’s next hiproll shoved Minho over the edge.The moment that orgasm hit him, Minho knew without a shadow of doubt that he would burn the world to the ground and crawl through molten glass if he had to for his pet.
Jisung collapsed forward, sprawling across Minho’s chest, burying his face in Minho’s neck. They lay there for a long moment while Minho Held Jisung close to his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I love you, my Jisungie."
"Love you too, Sir," came the muffled reply, soft and drowsy.
Eventually, Minho shifted and carried Jisung into the bathroom and bathed him with meticulous care, using a soft sponge and gentle soap to wash away their sweat and cum. He washed Jisung’s hair, massaging his scalp, his touch tender and reverent. Jisung drifted, half-asleep, letting himself be cared for,.
Once they were clean and dried, Minho carried Jisung back into the bedroom and set him gently on his feet.
"Time to get you dressed," Minho said while he walked to the wardrobe and looked at the selection of garments before he pulled out two outfits and laid them out on the bed for Jisung to look at.
On the left was an outfit of pristine white - impeccable tailored trousers with loose, straight legs and a knit sweater that looked impossibly soft.
On the right was something darker - slate grey slacks paired with a burgundy silk shirt.
"Choose," Minho said, handing Jisung the choice.
Jisung touched the white sweater, his fingers digging into the soft knit. "This one, Sir."
Minho nodded. "Good choice."
Today, he dressed Jisung himself, pulling the sweater over Jisung’s head and smoothing it down, helping him step into underwear and then the trousers. He fastened the buttons, adjusted the collar, his hands lingering on Jisung’s waist, treating him like the most precious doll in the world.
Then, he stepped back and pointed to the floor beside the bed. "Kneel. Stay."
Jisung dropped obediently to his knees and watched as Minho moved around the room, dressing himself in a pair of dark designer boot cut jeans and paired them with a crisp white button-down and a dark blazer. He looked every inch the successful young gallery owner.
Fully dressed, Minho returned to where Jisung knelt. He placed a finger under Jisung’s chin, tilting his head up.
"Close your eyes," Minho whispered.
Jisung obeyed. Minho applied a small smudge of Kohl to his eyelids, darkening them just enough to make his eyes look larger, more mysterious. It was subtle and barely there but the effect was striking.
Then, Minho’s thumb brushed over Jisung’s lips, slick with a tiny amount of tinted gloss. It added a sheer wash of color and moisturizer, giving his full lips a healthy shine.
"Beautiful," Minho murmured, leaning back to admire his handiwork.
He tapped Jisung’s chin lightly. "Up. The gallery awaits."
Jisung opened his eyes, blinking up at Minho with a look of pure adoration. He stood up, adjusted his sweater and was now ready to face the world as both Han Jisung and Lee Minho's pet.
***
Minho drove the Maybach with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Jisung’s thigh, thumb stroking the fabric of the white trousers when they finally headed out towards the Lee Gallery. He parked in his designated spot and they entered through the side entrance and found Hyunjin high up on a ladder adjusting a spotlight in the hall that housed his exhibition.
Hyunjin had changed from his lounging clothes into a pair of loose, flowing black trousers and a fitted black turtleneck that clung to his lean frame. "Perfect," Hyunjin murmured to himself, stepping back down to survey the results. He turned as their footsteps echoed on the polished concrete, a smile lighting up his face. "There you are. Right on time."
"The traffic was kind," Minho said, smoothing the lapel of his blazer. His gaze swept the room, assessing the setup with a professional eye. "The lighting looks excellent, Hyunjin. The shadows add the right depth."
"The mid-morning light needed a little artificial help," Hyunjin said, walking over to join them. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of lint from Jisung’s white sweater, his touch light. "Hello, Jisungie. You look refreshed."
"Minho made sure of it," Jisung grinned, leaning into the touch.
Minho checked his watch, a subtle frown touching his lips. "I shouldn't linger. I have a stack of export documents waiting for me at home that requires my attention." He turned to Jisung cupped his face in both hands, tilting his head up. The kiss was brief but firm, a stamp of ownership in the middle of the public space.
"Be good for Hyunjin," Minho murmured against Jisung’s lips,. "And listen to him."
"Yes, Sir," Jisung whispered, his eyes fluttering open.
Minho squeezed Jisung’s shoulder, then shifted his gaze to Hyunjin. "You. Behave yourself. No corrupting the local police force."
"I make no promises," Hyunjin replied with a smirk and Minho huffed a quiet laugh and turned on his heel and headed back out the side entrance with the silent, predatory grace of a man who had work to do.
"Come on," Hyunjin said, hooking his arm through Jisung’s. "Let's wait in the cattery. It's quiet there and we can see the front doors."
They moved back into the front room where the cat statues were displayed. The lighting here was softer, casting long, elegant shadows across the floor. Hyunjin led them to a low, velvet-upholstered sofa and sank into the cushions with a sigh, patting his thigh.
"Come here, sit."
Jisung sat down beside Hyunjin and lifted his legs, draping them comfortably over Hyunjin’s lap. Hyunjin rested a hand on Jisung’s ankle, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the bone. It was a casual, domestic pose, one they had fallen into easily over the course of the past couple of months.
"Cats," Hyunjin mused, looking up at the bronze. "Minho’s obsession manifested in metal and stone."
"I like this one," Jisung said, nodding toward a sleek, obsidian carving on a pedestal nearby. "It looks like it's judging everyone who walks by."
"That’s a Bastet," Hyunjin said, tilting his head. "Very expensive judgment. Minho bought it at an auction in Cairo a couple of years ago. He said it reminded him of himself."
Jisung giggled. "Of course he did."
Jisung watched Hyunjin’s hand, the way his long, elegant fingers curled around his ankle and reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the leather cuff that was still encircling Hyunjin's wrist. "You’re still wearing them."
Hyunjin looked down at his wrist, then up at Jisung. He didn't pull away. "Of course I am. Minho has not decided to take them off as of yet."
"I was just wondering... what does it feel like? Still wearing them even after everything has been resolved?"
Hyunjin turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with Jisung’s. His expression turned thoughtful, his eyes losing some of their playful sparkle and taking on a richer, deeper hue.
"It feels stable," Hyunjin said softly. "When we didn't know where Felix was... I felt untethered. Like I was being consumed by my darkness." Hyunjin rubbed his thumb over the leather. "Taking them off would mean that I don't need the anchor anymore. But I still do. You know as well as I do that I’m not entirely at peace with Felix’s need for autonomy and alone-time."
Jisung nodded and hesitated for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. "Minho asked me something the other day. He was wondering... if I would want a matching pair of wrist cuffs to compliment my collar.”
Hyunjin’s eyebrows shot up, a delighted grin spreading across his face. "Did he now?"
"Hmm," Jisung confirmed.
"How do you feel about it?"
"I love the thought of wearing them," Jisung said slowly, weighing the words carefully. "You know I love my collar. From the moment Minho gave it to me, I decided I would never take it off unless he removed it himself."
He looked down at his own wrist, tracing the invisible line of a cuff against the white fabric of his sleeve. "But cuffs are different. The collar is easy to hide under a uniform or a high collar. Cuffs... sleeves ride up. Accidents happen. If I wore them to work, I’d risk exposure every time I reached for a file or typed on a keyboard. I couldn't risk that kind of slip at the precinct."
He looked back at Hyunjin, searching his face for validation. "Minho suggested they could be... 'house cuffs'? I put them on when I come home from work and they don't come off until I have to leave the next morning. Like a ritual to transition from Receptionist Han to the pet Jisung."
Jisung bit his lip, his brow furrowing slightly. "Would that feel... less committed? Since I wouldn't be wearing them 24/7 like you do?"
Hyunjin was quiet for a moment, idly stroking the leather band on his own wrist as he considered the question.
"No. It won’t feel less committed, Jisungie," Hyunjin said, shaking his head slowly. "Commitment isn't just about the physical permanence of an item; it's about the intention behind it. The only difference between my display of commitment and yours is that my world is... entirely contained within his. I don't have a divide between who I am here and who I am out there. But you do."
He reached out, brushing Jisung's cheek. "You navigate a space where being visibly owned would be a liability. Choosing to modify when and how to wear a symbol to protect that doesn't devalue its meaning. In fact, a ritualistic switch - creating a deliberate moment where you step out of Clerk Han and step into Minho's pet - can be just as powerful, if not more so. It requires you to actively participate in the headspace every single day, rather than just letting the leather do the work for you."
Hyunjin smiled, his fingers tracing the line of Jisung's jaw. "Think of it this way: your collar is the promise you carry in your heart, hidden but always there. The cuffs are the celebration of that promise when you are home, where it's safe to display the truth." Hyunjin squeezed his hand.
"Thank you" Jisung said, the certainty settling in his chest. "I think I’ll tell him yes tonight."
"Good," Hyunjin said, leaning back against the sofa, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Matching accessories. We’ll be quite the set."
"Speaking of sets," Jisung said, glancing toward the main entrance area of the gallery. "Do you think they'll be shocked? Seeing the charcoal drawings?"
Hyunjin followed his gaze, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "The Mochi might choke on his own spit. But Soo-min..." He paused, considering. "I think she will see the beauty in the surrender. Artists always recognize their own kind."
They sat there for another minute, the silence comfortable, basking in the shared secret. Then, from the main hall, the heavy sound of the gallery doors opening echoed through the space, followed by the murmur of voices.
Hyunjin tilted his head, listening.
"Showtime," he whispered, tapping Jisung’s ankle.
***
Jisung sat up, swung his legs off Hyunjin’s lap and took a deep breath, steeling himself. The main entrance doors stood open, revealing two familiar figures stepping into the stark, modern brightness of the gallery.
"Jimin! Soo-min!" Jisung called out, his voice echoing slightly in the vast hall. He walked toward them, his stride confident, the lingering warmth of Minho’s possessiveness acting as armor against the outside world.
"Jisung!" He looked down at his own outfit - jeans and a t-shirt that looked distinctly 'off-duty' - and grimaced. "Okay, I feel severely underdressed. This place looks like it belongs on a different planet."
"Nonsense," Soo-min said, elbowing him gently in the ribs, though her eyes never left the modernist cat statue looming to their left. "Art doesn't care what you're wearing, Jimin. It cares if you're looking." She stepped up immediately, her eagerness barely contained. "I have been waiting for this viewing since we spoke about it, Jisung. Thank you for arranging it on such short notice."
"Our doors are always open for you, Soo-min-ssi," Hyunjin said smoothly, stepping up to Jisung’s side - dressed in all black, a striking contrast to Jisung’s pristine white, and he radiated the kind of effortless elegance that made expensive clothes look like lounge wear.
"Welcome back to The Lee Gallery," Hyunjin said with that characteristic undercurrent of playful teasing. "No passport required for friends of Jisung."
A gallery staff member in a sleek black dress approached silently, offering a silver tray. "Sparkling water for our guests?"
"Please, thank you," Soo-min said quickly, reaching for a glass.
"I'll take one," Jimin said, accepting the flute. He took a long sip, clutching the glass. "Okay, hydrated. Ready to be cultured."
Hyunjin watched them with a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I heard a rumor, Jimin-ssi," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that drew Jimin’s immediate attention. "A little bird told me that you have recently developed an interest in the arts."
Jimin choked on his water, coughing slightly. "What? I - well, I mean - not like an expert or anything. Just... looking."
"Don't be modest," Hyunjin pressed, stepping slightly closer. He wasn't looming, exactly but he naturally commanded the space. "It is a rare and delightful thing to find a new connoisseur. I am honored that our gallery sparked that curiosity in you. Truly."
Jimin flushed, the pink rising high on his cheeks. He looked at Jisung for help but Jisung just smiled innocently.
"I didn't say I was a connoisseur," Jimin protested weakly, though he looked secretly pleased by the compliment. "I just said I didn't hate it anymore. That's a low bar."
"In this economy, not hating art is a revolutionary act," Hyunjin quipped, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. He gestured toward the deeper, shadowed corridor that led away from the bright entrance hall. "Shall we? The reason you are here is waiting."
Soo-min took a breath, her expression shifting from tourist to student. "Yes. Please."
"Follow me." He turned and led the way, Jisung falling into step beside him. He could feel his heart rate kick up, a nervous flutter against his ribs. He held his breath unconsciously as they crossed the threshold. This was it. The moment where the two halves of his life - Clerk Han and Minho’s pet - were about to collide in the worst and most truthful way possible.
"This series," Hyunjin began, walking slowly into the room is not merely about aesthetics. It is also a study of trust and an exploration of surrender. In a world that demands constant motion, constant noise, constant performance..." Hyunjin continued, his pace measured as he guided them past the perimeter of sketches, "true peace is often found in the act of stopping. In giving over control to another."
He paused near the center of the room, though he kept a respectful distance from the dais, turning to face Jimin and Soo-min. "Rope, in this context, is not a cage. It is a framework. It holds you together when you feel like falling apart. The discipline required to be still - to be bound, to breathe through the restriction, to accept the tension - is a radical act of self-love."
Hyunjin’s expression was serene, his gaze intense. "These drawings capture the moment the chaos fades. When the mind stops racing and only the sensation remains. There is no judgment in these lines. Only the truth of a body letting go. It is holy, deviant and profound all at once."
He gestured broadly to the room around them. "I invite you to look past the shock of the subject matter. Look at the peace in the arch. Look at the trust in the tension. Ask yourselves not why they are tied but why they chose to hand over control to another and to stay."
Soo-min was the first to move. She drifted toward the perimeter walls where the smaller studies hung, her expression shifting from polite interest to intense, clinical scrutiny. She stopped in front of a sketch of bound hands, her face inches from the glass, tilting her head as if analyzing the grain of the paper itself.
Jimin, conversely, seemed rooted to the spot near the entrance of the exhibit hall. He was staring a little too hard at a graphite study, his cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink. He shifted his weight, his eyes darting from the charcoal lines to his shoes and back again, clearly torn between artistic appreciation and the sudden realization that he was standing in a room full of very expensive, very explicit erotica with his coworker.
Jisung stood near the turned away centerpieces and could feel the blood pounding in his ears, a rhythmic thrum that drowned out the gallery’s ambient music. He clasped his hands behind his back, digging his fingernails into his palms to ground himself. *Don't lock your knees,* Minho’s voice echoed in his memory. *You’ll faint and hurt yourself and I’ll be very cross.*
"You’re vibrating," Hyunjin murmured, stepping close to Jisung’s side, his voice low and amused. "I can feel it from here."
"I'm perfectly still," Jisung hissed through a frozen smile.
Hyunjin chuckled, a dark, rich sound. "You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm, little squirrel. But you look beautiful doing it. Chin up."
Hyunjin extracted himself from Jisung’s side to cross the room to where Jimin was trying to make himself small in front of the large sketch entitled *Elegance*.
"You seem frozen, Jimin-ssi," Hyunjin said, stopping just inside Jimin’s personal space, invading it with a charming, predatory ease startling Jimin. "Oh! I - ah, it’s just... a lot to take in. It’s incredible. I mean, I don’t really know what I’m looking at but I know it's... masterful. The lines are incredible."
Hyunjin smiled, his eyes curving into crescents. "Honesty is refreshing. There really is no shame in admitting the subject matter is a little disorienting." He gestured to the drawing of the bound wrists. "Tell me, what do you see here?"
Jimin looked at the drawing, really looked at it. "I see... tension. But not like... struggling with tension."
"Very good," Hyunjin beamed. "And because you have eyes, I grant you permission to ask questions. Anything."
Jimin hesitated, glancing back at Jisung, who was still standing stiffly by the center dais. "Is that... okay? I don't want to be rude."
"I am an exhibitionist of the soul, Jimin-ssi," Hyunjin said grandly, waving a hand dismissively. "I live for the interrogation. Please. Ask away."
Jimin took a breath, his confidence growing. "Okay. The ropes. Why? I mean, I get that it's... erotic, obviously. But .. - What were you trying to capture?"
Hyunjin’s expression softened, the playfulness turning to something more honest. "The ropes are the least important part of the drawing. They are merely the vehicle. What I was trying to capture was the surrender. The act of stopping." He pointed to the study of the hands. "Look at the way the knuckles compress. That is a human being saying, *I am letting myself fall and believe you will catch me*."
"Okay. That makes sense, I guess. But. The ropes.. they look so tight. Doesn't it... hurt? To be tied up like that?"
A little glint crept into Hyunjin’s eyes when he explained. "It can. The compression constricts the blood flow, the friction burns the skin. But the pain is part of that vehicle."
He gestured for Jisung to join them. Jisung walked over, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs and stood quietly beside Hyunjin.
"Look at this one," Hyunjin said, guiding Jimin’s attention to a smaller sketch of a back and shoulders, the muscles rendered in exquisite detail under the strain of a harness. The figure was male, the skin flawless, the lines long and elegant. "Look at the definition in the deltoids here or the way the trapezius engages there."
Jimin leaned in. "The shading here is insane. Who modeled for this? The anatomy is..."
"I did," Hyunjin said, his voice taking on a mischievous lilt. "That is my gorgeous back you are looking at. And those are my shoulders."
Jimin’s eyes widened, snapping up to Hyunjin’s face. "Wait. You mean you...?"
"I also draw from memory and from photographs taken in the heat of the moment, not only life models," Hyunjin revealed, unbothered and radiating a scandalous charm. "I like to tie people up, Jimin-ssi. But I also enjoy being tied up."
He winked, his rather adorable ferret-like grin fully on display now. "I am a man of many talents. Switching is just one of them."
Jimin blinked, processing this new information, his cheeks flushing darker. "Oh. Wow. Okay. That's... incredibly dedicated."
Hyunjin laughed. "It is a labor of love. Now," he gestured toward the two large canvases in the center of the room, "the drawings you see on the walls are the vocabulary. But the pieces on the dais... they are the full sentences. They are the key to the entire series. If you would please, step around and take a look."
Soo-min tore herself away from the charcoal sketches, joining Jimin and Hyunjin as they moved toward the center of the room. Jisung felt like a man waiting for the guillotine to drop, except he had sharpened the blade himself and now was questioning his life-choices.
They walked around the dais and came to stand in front of the two massive canvases. The collective intake of breath was sharp enough to rustle the papers on the walls.
*or at least that was what it sounded like to Jisung’s ears*
*don’t lock you knees - don’t lock your knees*
The charcoal drawing on the left was undeniably of Jisung. Suspended and arched, his head thrown back in a posture of absolute ecstasy. The ropes cut into the softness of his thighs and chest. The face was partially blurred, the charcoal smudged to soften the specifics, hiding the identity from a stranger - or at least, hiding it enough to offer plausible deniability. But the posture - the line of the throat - was distinct. To anyone who knew him, the slope of his nose, the desperate arch of his neck was unmistakable.
Most striking, however, was the band encircling the neck in the drawing. Rendered in heavy, decisive strokes, the collar was the anchor of the entire composition, the dark center around which the light and shadow revolved.
Jimin’s eyes widened as he traced the line of that charcoal collar. His gaze involuntarily snapped from the drawing to Jisung standing just a few feet away. Jisung shifted his weight, tilting his chin up in that familiar display of pride and the high, soft collar of his white sweater gaped just enough at the neckline. There, nestled against the skin of Jisung's throat, a flash of cognac leather caught the gallery light.
Jimin went very still. He recognized that specific shade of brown; he knew the gleam of that brass D-ring. He had seen it before - stark and impossible to miss in the harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct locker room. Back then, in that chaotic moment, Jimin had made a choice. He had seen the leather, seen the buckle and he had chosen to lock that image away in a box labeled *protect Jisung*. But the body in that drawing was undeniably Han Jisung.
"Wait," Jimin breathed - "Jisung-ah... is that... is that you?"
Jisung forced his lungs to expand and met Jimin’s gaze and refused to look away. "Yes."
Soo-min, however, was captivated by the second drawing where Felix stared back at them, suspended and bound, looking like a porcelain doll with the eyes of a killer. The delicate freckles, the sharp cheekbones, the terrifyingly accurate rendering of his bored, malevolent defiance.
"He looks terrifying," she murmured, tilting her head at the drawing. "Beautiful, but... there’s a violence in his eyes. Did you pose him like that? Or is that just... him?"
"That is all him," Hyunjin said, a dark, complicated smile touching his lips. "I merely traced what was already there."
"This is *Peace found in Surrender*," Hyunjin said, turning their attention back to Jisung’s portrait. When moment chaos is replaced by structure. It is, I believe, the holiest state a human being can achieve."
"And this is *The Waiting Game*," Hyunjin continued, gesturing to the second piece, "it is about the hunger that hides inside. The darkness that waits for the opportunity to devour."
"Did you do this before..." Jimin’s voice dropped, the playful atmosphere suddenly dampened. "...before or after - ?"
Hyunjin looked at Jimin, his expression unreadable for a split second before it settled into somber honesty. "After."
Jimin nodded slowly, the realization dawning in his eyes as he looked back at the drawing of Felix. He understood then - the tension in the charcoal wasn't just artistic license. It was trauma transmuted into art. It was the survival instinct made visible.
"He's doing okay, though?" Jimin asked. "Felix?"
"He is recovering," Jisung said, his voice steadier than he felt. "He has excellent doctors and he has..." He glanced at Hyunjin. "...people who are very focused on his well-being."
"That is the spirit of the piece," Hyunjin interjected smoothly before the conversation could drift too far into forbidden territory. "Resilience. The capacity to endure and come out the other side sharper. Now," he clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Let us discuss technique, shall we? Soo-min-ssi, I noticed you admired the cross-hatching on the left thigh. That is a particular favorite of mine."
Hyunjin steered Soo-min back toward the periphery, launching into a detailed explanation of charcoal density and paper grain that she lapped up like cream.
Jimin stayed behind, drifting closer to Jisung. He looked at his friend, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He gestured vaguely at Jisung’s neckline, where the collar was hidden beneath the high collar of the white sweater.
"So," Jimin whispered, leaning in. "This isn't just a *my supervisor arrested my boyfriend so I got kinky in the heat of the moment* kind of thing?"
Jisung didn't flinch. He looked Jimin in the eye, his shoulders squaring. "It's who I am, Jimin. It's not a game or a phase. It makes me feel safe."
“Ok. As long as you are happy”, Jimin said simply, bumping his shoulder against Jisung’s. "You know I've got your back. Even if your back is... currently being discussed as a work of art."
Jisung let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for an hour. "Thanks, Hyung."
"Well," Soo-min said, checking her watch and sounding genuinely regretful. "I have imposed on your time long enough. But this has been... truly enlightening."
"Anytime," Hyunjin said, bowing with flourish. "It is a privilege to show my work to someone who appreciates it"
"And thank you, Jisung," Soo-min said warmly, walking over to squeeze Jisung’s hand. "For being brave enough to let us see."
"Thanks for coming," Jisung smiled.
"Ready to go?" Jimin asked, gesturing toward the door. "I think I need some greasy street food to balance out all the... culture we just absorbed." Making Hyunjin laugh out loud.
Jisung walked them to the main hall. At the door, Jimin paused, giving him a final, private look. "See you Monday, Jisung-ah."
"See you Monday."
When the door clicked shut behind them, silence rushed back into the gallery. Jisung let out a long, shaky exhale.
"You did it," Hyunjin said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist, hooking his chin over Jisung’s shoulder. "You didn't crumble. You stood tall."
"I almost threw up when Jimin looked at the drawing," Jisung admitted, leaning back against Hyunjin’s chest.
"But you didn't," Hyunjin murmured, pressing a kiss to Jisung’s temple. "You were perfect."
"Minho will be pleased I didn’t faint," Jisung said, a small smile touching his lips.
"Minho will be insufferable," Hyunjin corrected. "But I suppose that’s part of the charm."
***
Hyunjin navigated the Porsche Cayenne up the winding roads that led away from the urban sprawl and towards their home and parked the car in the circular driveway. They found Minho seated at one of the outdoor tables on the wooden deck, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled up to his elbows. Sitting opposite him was Felix.
Between them lay a sleek, formidable instrument of death - Minho’s DXL Seoul rifle, mounted on the Winchester .308 platform. Felix was leaning forward, his blue eyes wide and captivated, completely absorbed in whatever Minho was explaining. Minho was gesturing to the bolt mechanism, his patient, instructional tone carrying clearly over the faint rustle of wind in the trees.
"...windage and elevation adjustments are subtle at this range because the target acquisition time is reduced," Minho was saying, pointing to the scope. "But you have to anticipate the bullet drop."
Hyunjin and Jisung stopped at the edge of the deck, watching the scene for a moment. It was a stark juxtaposition - the beautiful, fragile-looking Felix and the lethal, dark-eyed Minho, bonding over the mechanics of killing.
Hyunjin cleared his throat, a soft, amused sound. "I see Felix’s home economics curriculum has expanded."
Minho looked up, his face breaking into a rare, genuine smile the moment his eyes landed on Jisung..
"You're back," Minho said. "How was it?"
"Successful," Hyunjin said, walking over to drop into the chair next to Felix. "Jisung was magnificent," Hyunjin continued, picking up one of the delicate tea glasses and eyeing it with mock suspicion before taking a sip. "He didn't so much as tremble when the Mochi realized *Peace found in Surrender* was a portrait." He smirked. "Though I do believe Detective Jimin came very close to hyperventilating. He looked at the drawing, he looked at Jisung and I swear I saw the moment the gears turned in his head."
Minho tilted his head back, looking up at Jisung inverted. "And you didn’t faint, I take it?"
"No," Jisung said softly, his fingers tightening on Minho’s shoulder. "I told him the truth. That this is who I am and that it made me happy."
Pride flooded Minho’s gaze. He squeezed Jisung’s hand. "Good boy."
“Jimin didn't spontaneously combust?" Felix chimed in, finally tearing his gaze away from the rifle to look at Jisung. There was a teasing glint in his eyes, but underneath it was a deep, brotherly affection.
"Not even a little," Jisung smiled. "He mostly just looked shocked. And then... accepting. He said he had my back."
Felix nodded, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Good."
"He also asked about you," Hyunjin added, turning his attention to Felix. "He noticed the intensity in the charcoal drawing, asked if you were okay."
Felix’s expression softened, the playfulness settling into something more vulnerable. He looked down at the table, tracing the grain of the wood. "He did?"
"He did," Hyunjin confirmed. "He seems to genuinely care about your well-being, Lix. Not just as a coworker's friend but as a person."
"That's... nice," Felix murmured. He looked back up at Hyunjin, his blue eyes earnest. "I didn't think he paid that much attention."
Minho cleared his throat. "That concludes the lesson for today." He picked up a cleaning cloth and began to carefully wipe down the rifle's barrel and returned it to its case to store it safely away in the underground room.
Once he was gone, Felix turned his full attention to Jisung, leaning his elbows on the table and grinning wickedly. "So. The whole precinct is going to know you're a rope bunny by Monday. How does it feel to be Seoul's most famous police submissive?"
Jisung rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. He sat down in the chair Minho had vacated, welcoming the shade. "I am not a rope bunny. I am a sophisticated pet. And it's not the whole precinct. Just Jimin. Well, and Soo-min but she only cares about the shading and Hyunjin’s technique."
Felix looked past him, his gaze catching on Hyunjin, who was staring at the way the sunlight hit Felix’s hair with an intensity that was bordering on predatory.
"What?" Felix asked, catching Hyunjin’s stare.
Hyunjin blinked, a slow, delicious smile spreading across his face. "The light. It makes you look like you're glowing from the inside out. But with a shadow." He stood up, holding out a hand. "I need to draw you. Now."
Felix looked at Jisung, then back at Hyunjin, a mischievous shrug lifting his shoulders. "Duty calls?"
"It’s inspiration," Hyunjin corrected, pulling Felix to his feet. "And I want to try something different. Less ethereal prince, more..." He trailed off, his eyes darkening as he traced the line of Felix’s jaw. "...demonic. I want to capture that darkness you showed us. The thing that kept you alive in that cell."
Felix’s breath hitched, his interest piqued. "Demonic? Sounds hot."
"Lead the way," Felix said, shooting a wink over his shoulder at Jisung as he let Hyunjin pull him toward the sliding glass doors.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Jisung called after them.
"That leaves the field wide open!" Hyunjin’s voice drifted back as they stepped back inside the living room and headed down the hallway toward Hyunjin's quarters.
A few minutes later, Minho stepped back out, He walked over to the table, stopping behind Jisung’s chair. He didn't say a word, simply placed his hands on Jisung’s shoulders and began to knead the tension there, his thumbs finding the knots with practiced precision.
"Did they retreat to the studio?" Minho asked.
"Yeah," Jisung sighed, leaning his head back against Minho’s stomach as the strong fingers worked his muscles. "Hyunjin had an inspiration. Something about drawing Felix as a demon."
"Appropriate," Minho murmured, his voice a low rumble against Jisung’s back. They stood there for a while, the sun high overhead, warming the wood of the deck. Jisung closed his eyes, soaking in the silence and the touch, letting his mind drift back to the conversation he’d had with Hyunjin in the gallery cattery.
"Minho?" Jisung said softly.
"Mmm?"
"Hyunjin and I talked... while we were waiting for Jimin and Soo-min." Jisung opened his eyes, staring out at the panoramic view of the city. "About what you asked me. The cuffs."
Minho’s hands stilled on his shoulders, then resumed their motion with a deliberate, slower pressure. "And?"
"I want them," Jisung said, his voice gaining strength. "I want to wear your cuffs, Minho-nim."
He turned around in the chair to look up at Minho, wanting to see his face. "Will you really be ok for them being house cuffs that I take off when going to work?”
Minho looked down at him, the sunlight catching the sharp angles of his face. There was no disappointment in his expression, only a deep, thoughtful consideration. He reached out, brushing his knuckles against Jisung’s cheek.
“I really don’t mind, Jisungie. I’ll contact Takahashi-san and have them commissioned for us." He held out his hand. "Come. Let's go inside. It’s getting warm, plus I want to hold my pet for a bit. I have had a hard day's work so far."
Jisung took his hand, letting Minho pull him up from the chair. He followed Minho into the cool, living room where Minho guided Jisung to the center of the room, to the plush, cream-colored rug. He sat down with a soft exhale, crossing his legs in a comfortable, lotus-style position and tugged Jisung down with him.
"Here," Minho murmured, guiding Jisung to settle back against his chest. "Let me take care of you."
Jisung went willingly, melting back into the solid warmth of his owner’s body. He had shucked off the pristine white sweater the moment they entered, leaving him clad only in the tailored white trousers, his upper body bare and exposed to Minho’s gaze and the ambient air.
Minho wrapped his arms around Jisung’s waist, pulling him flush until Jisung’s back was snug against Minho’s chest. He buried his face in the crook of Jisung’s neck, inhaling deeply, scenting the soap and the natural, warm smell of his skin but his attention was immediately drawn to the leather band.
"You smell like mine," Minho whispered, his lips brushing the strap of the collar itself before pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the leather right over the D-ring.
Jisung hummed, his eyes slipping shut as he let his head fall back onto Minho’s shoulder, tilting his head to give Minho better access. "I am yours, Sir."
Minho began to groom him, his hands moving with a methodical, cat-like possessiveness. His fingers combed through Jisung’s hair, smoothing it away from his forehead, then trailed down the sides of his neck. He paused at the collar, his index finger tracing the boundary where the soft lambskin lining met Jisung’s skin, following the line around to the nape. It was a tactile check-in, a silent reminder of the claim that had held steady through the scrutiny of the gallery.
"It looked so good on you today," Minho murmured, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Jisung’s jaw. "Hidden, but there. A secret between us."
He petted down Jisung’s arms, smoothing over the biceps and forearms, grounding him with firm, repetitive strokes. Then his hands returned to Jisung’s chest, palms flat against the pectoral muscles. He rubbed them in slow circles, his thumbs brushing over Jisung’s nipples, eliciting a soft gasp, before leaning down to press a row of small, wet kisses down the center of Jisung’s chest, over the sternum, down to the stomach.
"My beautiful pet," Minho cooed against the skin of Jisung’s abdomen, his breath hot. "So soft. So perfect."
He continued his ministrations, alternating between firm, grounding touches and delicate, ticklish kisses. He kissed the sensitive skin of Jisung’s inner arms, nipped gently at his collarbone - just below the leather strap - and ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of Jisung’s neck. It was pure, unadulterated adoration, a grooming ritual that stripped away the last of Jisung’s defenses and left him purring in Minho's lap.
They stayed like that for a long time, a tangled knot of limbs and affection on the living room floor, the afternoon light shifting slowly across the walls.
*Thump.*
The sound was muffled but distinct, coming from the direction of Hyunjin’s quarters down the hallway. A heavy impact against the floor or perhaps the wall.
Jisung twitched slightly but didn't pull away.
*Thump. Thump.*
Then came a sound that cut through the quiet - a melodic, high-pitched cackle that was unmistakably Hyunjin’s. It was a sound of pure, unbridled delight, the laugh of a predator toying with its dinner.
Followed immediately by a low, guttural growl that could only be Felix.
"You really think you can take more, demon brat?" Hyunjin’s voice floated down the hallway, breathless and edged with sadistic glee. "Beg for it."
A sharp shriek tore through the air, followed closely by the distinct, cracking *snap* of a wooden paddle striking skin.
*Crack!*
"Oh gaaaaaawd! Yes!" Felix’s voice was ragged, a mix of pain and sheer filth. "Again! Please, Jinniiiiiie!"
Minho paused mid-kiss on Jisung’s shoulder, his lips hovering against the warm skin. The sounds of the other couple’s rough play echoed off the glass walls - moans, the rhythmic thud of the bed frame hitting the wall, Hyunjin’s menacing, breathless laughter and the unmistakable sounds of sex.
Jisung opened his eyes, tilting his head back to look up at Minho. A slow smirk spread across his face, his eyes dancing with amusement. He arched an eyebrow at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of pleasure and violence drifting from the studio.
"It seems," Jisung said, his voice dry and teasing, "that Hyunjin is done drawing his demon."
Minho looked down at him, his own lips curling into a wry smile. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from Jisung’s forehead.
"And now he is either exorcising him," Jisung finished the thought, nodding toward the source of the noise, "or devouring him whole."
Minho let out a deep, rich laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "With those two," he said, pressing a final kiss to Jisung’s forehead, "it is almost certainly both."
Their laughter mingled in the sun-drenched room, a bright, dissonant harmony against the muffled sounds of debauchery drifting down the hall. For a moment, they just held onto each other, chuckling at the sheer absurdity of their lives - murderers, police clerks, artists, and pets, all existing under one roof.
Minho leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at Jisung with a glint of mischievous calculation in his dark eyes. He watched the way Jisung’s chest heaved, the flush on his cheeks, the way his collar sat snug against his throat.
"You know," Minho mused, his fingers twitching where they rested on Jisung’s ribs. "If Hyunjin is exorcising demons over there..." He dug his fingers in suddenly, wiggling them mercilessly against the sensitive skin of Jisung’s lower ribs. "...perhaps my poor squirrel needs an exorcism too?"
"Minho!" Jisung shrieked, his body jerking violently as the sensation overwhelmed him. He flailed, his hands slapping weakly at Minho’s arms, trying to scrabble backward across the rug. "No! Stop! Don't - aaaahhhhhhhahaha!"
Minho didn't stop. He moved with predatory speed, using his weight to flip them. Before Jisung could scramble away, Minho had him pinned, straddling his hips and trapping his wrists effortlessly above his head with one hand.
"I do believe I detected a banshee," Minho declared, his voice solemn but his eyes dancing with glee. "It seems to be residing right... here."
He released Jisung’s wrists only to attack both sides of his waist at once, his fingers dancing over the ticklish flesh with ruthless precision.
Jisung arched off the floor, a loud, uncontrolled cackle tearing from his throat. He kicked his legs, his heels drumming a frantic rhythm against the hardwood floor bordering the rug. "Stoooooooo-opp! Minho, please! I can't breathe!"
"This is for your own good," Minho teased, laughing along with him, completely unbothered by Jisung’s thrashing.
He dodged a knee that came dangerously close to his ribs and shifted higher, using his thighs to clamp down on Jisung’s flailing hips. He redoubled his efforts, his fingers digging into the soft hollows of Jisung’s armpits, then racing back down to his stomach.
Real tears were streaming down Jisung’s face now, tracks of glistening moisture cutting through the flush of exertion and laughter. He was gasping, his lungs burning, his vision swimming. It was too much. He felt like he was going to explode.
"Mercy!! Anything! Aaaah I’ll do anything… ssstoooooop!" Jisung screamed, turning his head to bury his face in his own arm to muffle the sound, his body shaking uncontrollably. "Mercy, Sir! I surrender! Ahahaha!"
Minho paused, his hands hovering over Jisung’s heaving stomach. "Do you?"
"Yes! Yes!" Jisung sobbed, trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving. "I give up!"
Minho leaned down close, his face hovering inches from Jisung’s, a slow, wolfish grin spreading across his lips. "That wasn't the deal, little squirrel. You said you would do *anything* to make me stop." He lowered his voice to a dark, tempting purr. "Did you mean it? Would you do absolutely *anything*?"
Jisung’s laughter bubbled to a halt, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike of anticipation. He stared up at Minho, his pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He knew that tone. He knew exactly what he was agreeing to, or at least, the dangerous category of things he was agreeing to. He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly as the weight of the word 'anything' hung in the air between them.
The silence stretched for two seconds.
"Too slow," Minho whispered.
And then his hands descended again.
"No! Noooooooo, no!" Jisung wailed as the tickling resumed with renewed vigor, attacking the backs of his knees, his neck, his waist. He was lost, drowning in sensation, his body completely out of his control. "Minho! Please! I meant it! I meant it!"
Minho stopped instantly, the silence rushing back in as abruptly as the noise had started.
Jisung lay limp beneath him, panting heavily, sweat glistening on his forehead, his face streaked with tears. He looked up at Minho, eyes wide and wet, chest heaving.
"Say it properly," Minho commanded, his voice dropping an octave, shifting from playful tease to dominant order.
Jisung swallowed thickly, nodding frantically. "I mean it," he breathed out, his voice wrecked. "I would do anything. Anything you want, Sir. Just no more tickling. Please."
Minho stared down at him for a long moment, searching his eyes for even a hint of hesitation. Finding none, he smiled. It wasn't a sweet smile; it was a devious, dark, hungry thing.
"Good."
Minho pushed himself up off the floor and looked down at Jisung, who was still sprawled bonelessly on the rug.
"Hand and knees," Minho ordered.
Jisung groaned, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up onto his elbows, blinking rapidly.
"A pet who promises 'anything' doesn't walk," Minho said, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. "Crawl."
He turned and walked toward the hallway leading to their bedroom, not looking back to see if Jisung obeyed - he knew that he would..
Jisung pushed himself up to his hands and knees. The white trousers were stretched tight over his ass, his bare chest still flushed from the exertion. He felt a heat rising in his gut, a mixture of humiliation and sheer, unadulterated need that made his head spin.
He began to crawl across the living room rug, the textured weave rough against his palms and knees. He moved past the coffee table, past the sleek modern furniture, following in Minho’s wake. The click of the bedroom door handle turning signaled his destination.
Jisung crawled into the room, across the soft expanse of the bedroom rug, and stopped at the foot of the bed. He straightened his back, sitting back on his heels, and lowered his head, waiting.
***
The velvet curtain at the far end of the room twitched, then swept aside as Minho re-emerged. He was dragging the padded spanking bench, the heavy oak frame scraping softly against the hardwood floor. It was a formidable piece of furniture - black leather padding, sturdy iron legs, and heavy attachment points at all the extremities. He positioned it squarely in the center of the room, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, ensuring that the city sprawled out in the distance would be the only witness to what happened next.
"Up," Minho commanded, pointing to the bench.
Jisung climbed onto the padded surface, settling his chest against the leather. It was cool against his heated skin, smelling faintly of leather cleaner and antiseptic. He lowered his upper body, his stomach pressing into the padding, leaving his ass raised in the air, his feet still touching the floor on the other side.
Minho moved around and pulled Jisung’s arms forward, stretching them out until they reached the reinforced cuffs bolted to the front legs of the bench. He clicked the heavy-duty shackles closed around Jisung’s wrists. The metal was cold and unforgiving, the chain links clinking sharply as Jisung tugged experimentally. There was no give.
"Good," Minho hummed.
He moved behind Jisung. His fingers hooked into the waistband of the tailored white trousers. With a rough tug, he yanked them down to Jisung’s thighs, exposing the pale, rounded globes of his ass to the cool air of the room, making him shiver.
Minho stepped away again, disappearing into his walk-in closet. When he returned, he was holding the fuzzy kitten ears headband and tenderly slid the headband onto Jisung’s head, adjusting the fuzzy ears so they sat perfectly.
"There he is," Minho murmured, his voice dropping into that sweet, sticky register he used when Jisung was in pet space. "My pretty kitten."
Something in Jisung’s brain loosened, the words triggering a familiar shift. All his lingering worries - it all faded and got replaced by a simpler, more primal need to please. He twitched his nose, rubbing his cheek against the leather padding of the bench.
Minho reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bottle of lube, setting it on the bench within easy reach. Then, he pulled out something else.
Jisung craned his neck to look. It was a plug, made of deep, matte black silicone, but protruding from the flared base was a long, realistic black cat tail that looked like it would swish with his movement. It was substantial. The silicone flared into a wide bulb near the base that looked significantly larger than the plug Minho had used during the debt payment scene.
Minho held it up, letting the tail drape over Jisung’s exposed back. The fur was soft against Jisung’s skin, a stark contrast to the heavy weight of the silicone.
"Look at that," Minho whispered, running the tail down Jisung’s spine, making him shiver. "A tail for my kitten. So everyone knows exactly what you are."
Jisung stared at it, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm. He wanted it - he *always* wanted what Minho gave him - but the size of that bulb was intimidating. He let out a small, anxious whine.
"Shh, I know," Minho cooed, sensing the tension. He stroked Jisung’s lower back. "It’s a big stretch for a little kitten, isn't it? But you can take it and then you’re going to wear it for me."
He popped the cap on the lube. The sound was loud in the quiet room. He drizzled the cool gel directly over Jisung’s hole, the sensation startling a gasp out of him. Minho’s fingers were there immediately, smoothing the liquid, circling the tight ring of muscle.
"Relax for me," Minho crooned, pressing one finger inside. "Let me in."
Jisung forced his muscles to unclench, exhaling a long breath as Minho worked him open. One finger became two, scissoring and stretching, preparing the space. It felt good, friction-heavy pleasure that made Jisung’s toes curl. But he knew what was coming.
When the blunt head of the plug pressed against him, Jisung whimpered. It felt massive.
"Breathe," Minho ordered. "Push back against it."
Jisung did as he was told, bearing down as Minho pushed the plug forward. The stretch was intense, a burning pressure that bordered on pain as the widest part of the bulb breached his rim.
"Ah! Minho... Sir," Jisung cried out, his hands clenching into fists inside the shackles. "It’s too... it’s too big."
"No, it isn't," Minho said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You’re almost there. Good kitten. Just a little more."
With a final, firm push, the widest part slipped past the tight ring of muscle, and the plug settled into place, the muscle snapping shut around the narrow neck. The sudden fullness made Jisung gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily. He felt incredibly full, the heavy weight of the silicone sitting deep inside him.
"Perfect," Minho murmured. He gave the tail a gentle tug, sending a shockwave of sensation through Jisung’s body. "Look at that. A proper kitty."
Minho stepped around to the front of the bench. Jisung turned his head, watching Minho unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. He didn't take them off, merely pulling his already hard cock out.
"Open up, kitten," Minho commanded. "Time for your treat."
Jisung opened his mouth, letting his jaw go slack. Minho didn't wait. He thrust forward, sliding his cock past Jisung’s lips and over his tongue, sinking into the wet heat of his mouth.
"That’s it," Minho groaned, his head falling back as he bottomed out. He held himself there, buried deep, letting Jisung’s throat flutter and spasm around the intrusion. "So warm."
Jisung concentrated on breathing through his nose, his eyes watering as Minho’s scent filled his senses. He ran his tongue along the underside of Minho’s shaft, stroking the vein that pulsed against his palate. He wanted to be good. He wanted to swallow him whole.
Minho began to move. He pulled back until just the head remained between Jisung’s lips, then slammed forward, driving his cock into the back of Jisung's throat. The rhythm was brutal, unrelenting. Jisung gagged, his throat muscles convulsing around the thick intrusion, but Minho didn't stop.
"Greedy kitten," Minho growled, though there was a dark, teasing delight in his voice. “Look at you, trying to swallow me whole. Such an eager kitten."
Drool leaked from the corners of Jisung’s mouth, dripping down his chin and onto the leather padding below. He made wet, guttural sounds as Minho used his mouth. The burning stretch in his ass from the plug was amplified by the rocking motion of his body against the bench.
The restriction of his air, the fullness in his throat, the sheer *use* of him - it was overwhelming. Jisung’s eyes rolled back, his vision blurring. He felt lightheaded, floating in a haze of endorphins where nothing existed but the taste of Minho and the sound of his groans.
"Fuck, your throat is amazing," Minho panted, his hips snapping faster. "Like it was made for my cock."
He grabbed the back of Jisung’s head, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him still as he pistoned his hips. The gagging sounds grew louder, wetter, sending fresh waves of arousal coursing through Minho. He loved the tightness of the spasming throat, the way the muscles fought to reject him only to grip him tighter.
"Going to cum," Minho warned, though his tone suggested he had no intention of pulling out. "Going to fill kittens belly."
He thrust in deep, burying himself to the hilt and ground his hips against Jisung’s face. Jisung’s nose was pressed against the fabric of Minho’s trousers, inhaling the scent of him. He felt the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt down his throat, direct and heavy.
"Fuuuuuuuck," Minho growled, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.
He held himself there, keeping Jisung impaled on his softening cock as the spurts slowed to a trickle. Jisung swallowed frantically, his throat working desperately to accommodate the load but it was too much, too fast and cum started to spill from the corners of his mouth, mingling with the saliva, creating a mess on his face.
Minho pulled out slowly and Jisung gasped for air, his chest heaving, coughing slightly as he fought to clear his throat.
"Good boy," Minho murmured, sounding wrecked and satisfied. He reached down, using his thumb to wipe some of the mess from Jisung’s chin, then pressed the thumb to Jisung’s lips. Jisung sucked it clean instinctively.
Minho moved around the bench, unlocking the shackles from Jisung’s wrists. The metal clicked open, and Jisung’s arms fell to his sides, limp and tingling as blood flow returned.
"Down," Minho ordered. "Crawl."
Jisung slid off the bench and started crawling. The sensation of the plug shifting inside him as he moved drew a sharp whimper from his throat. The tail swayed behind him and the soft fur brushed against the backs of his thighs.
He moved toward the bed and while the soft rug beneath his knees was a mercy, the movement forced him to constantly adjust to the girth of the plug. Every time his knee moved forward, the plug tugged at his rim; every time he sat back on his heels, it drove deeper. He felt used and also slightly humiliated by the swishing tail.
When he reached the edge of the bed, Minho’s voice stopped him.
"Arch your back," Minho commanded from behind him. "Show me your tail. And meow for your owner."
Jisung froze. He was deep in kitten space, his mind soft and pliable but the command to vocalize - to actually *meow* - still struck a chord of residual self-consciousness and embarrassment. He bit his lip, his cheeks flushing hot. The silence stretched, thick and tense.
Minho sighed, a sound of disappointment that cut through the haze of submissive peace. "Aah. What do we have here? A disobedient kitten? You are hesitating, pet.”
Jisung’s stomach dropped. He shook his head slightly, a small whine escaping him.
"Do not move," Minho ordered, his voice dropping an octave, the playful edge sharpening. "Stay exactly where you are."
Jisung froze. He listened to Minho’s receding footsteps walking across the hardwood floor toward the back of the room. The velvet curtain swished as Minho disappeared into the dungeon space. The wait was agonizing. Jisung stared at the rug fibers with a hammering heart, his body trembling and stunned by his own disobedience.
Minho returned a moment later. He was moving slowly, deliberately, drawing out the anticipation. In his hand, he held a thin, whippy rattan cane. He tapped it lightly against his own palm as he approached, the sound a sharp, rhythmic *tick-tick-tick*.
He stopped in front of Jisung, crouching down so they were eye level. Minho’s expression was unreadable, but his gaze was heavy and proprietary.
"You know why I have this," Minho said softly. "That wasn't very obedient, was it? You are receiving a caning, little kitten. One strike to remind you who owns this purr. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," Jisung whispered, his eyes wide and wet.
"Arch your back," Minho commanded, standing up and moving behind him.
Jisung didn't hesitate this time. He pressed his chest toward the floor, arched his spine as deeply as he could, pushing his ass up high. The tail lifted with him, swishing slightly with his trembling.
"Good boy” he praised while he moved the tail out of the way.
The air whistled.
*CRACK.*
The line of fire ignited across the center of Jisung’s ass cheeks. It wasn't just a sting; it was a deep, biting throb that seemed to vibrate through his entire body. He yelped, his hips jerking forward, his hands scrabbling against the rug, but he didn't move his feet knees. He held the arch.
The pain shocked him, clearing the last of the hesitation from his mind. He wanted to be good. He needed to be good.
"Meow!" The sound was tentative and colored by tears. "Meow, Sir!"
Silence followed the sound of his cry.
Jisung waited, trembling, bracing for a second strike. It didn't come.
"Color," Minho said, his voice calm and measured.
"Green," Jisung gasped out instantly. "Green, Sir."
"Good," Minho said. The cane tapped lightly against Jisung’s flank, not a strike, but a caress of the implement. "You found your voice."
Minho tossed the cane onto the bed and knelt behind Jisung, running his hands over the stinging welt, his touch cool and soothing. "You take your corrections so beautifully, kitten. My good boy."
"Up," Minho commanded, helping Jisung scramble up onto the bed. "Kneel. Chest to the mattress, ass high."
Jisung moved clumsily, the plug shifting with every motion, scraping against his sensitive insides. He positioned himself on the edge of the bed as instructed, his knees on the mattress, his torso pressed flat against the duvet and he could feel the tip of the tail brush against the back of his knee.
"Good," Minho murmured. He stood behind Jisung, admiring the view. The curve of Jisung’s back, the fresh red line rising on his ass cheeks, the black base of the plug nestled between them.
He raised his hand and brought it down hard on Jisung’s right cheek.
*Smack!*
The impact drove the plug deeper, the sudden pressure against Jisung’s prostate drawing a ragged groan from his throat. The burning on the surface mingled with the deep, stretched fullness inside him.
"You look so full like this," Minho growled, spanking the other cheek. "Like a toy meant to be played with."
*Smack!*
"Sir!" Jisung cried out, his hands fisting in the duvet.
"Time to take this out," Minho said, gripping the base of the plug firmly. "Breathe out."
Jisung exhaled, and Minho pulled. The wide bulb stretched Jisung’s rim on the way out, eliciting a high pitched whimper from Jisung as his breath left his lungs.
Before Jisung’s body had time to re-adjust, Minho’s fingers curled possessively around the collar, using it like a handle to arch Jisung’s neck. He pressed Jisung’s chest harder into the mattress, forcing his spine to curve into a deep, slutty arch.
"Look at you," Minho growled, undoing his trousers with his free hand, letting them drop to the floor. "Wiggling that tail at me. Presenting yourself like a needy little kitten waiting for your tomcat to come play."
He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against Jisung entrance - already stretched and opened by the plug.
Minho buried himself to the hilt and set a punishing rhythm from the get go, pulling out almost entirely and slamming back in, his hips slapping loudly against Jisung’s ass. The grip on Jisung’s collar tightened, holding him pinned, forcing him to take every inch.
"Ah!" Jisung moaned, his body bowing, his toes curling. It
You know... I think we were right," Minho panted, his voice a rough scrape of sound against Jisung's ear. He slowed his pace to deep, grinding rolls of his hips, forcing Jisung to feel every inch. "About the exorcism."
Jisung let out a confused, breathless whine, his brain too fogged with pleasure to track the conversation. "Sir?"
"Hyunjin may think he's the exorcist," Minho continued, a dark, amused curl to his tone. "But look at you. Trembling. Full." He thrust hard, drawing a sharp cry from Jisung's throat. "I think I'm the one driving the demons out, Jisungie. Fucking them right out of your system, my pretty little pet."
He punctuated the words with a particularly deep snap of his hips that made Jisung’s vision blur. "Is it working? Am I casting out the impure thoughts?"
Jisung sobbed into the duvet, a broken, delirious laugh mixing with the moans. "Yes! Yes, Sir... you're... you're exorcising me... oh god, please..."
"Good," Minho growled, his grip on Jisung's hips tightening bruisingly. "Then take your communion, kitten. Let me fill you up until there's no room left for anything but me."
Jisung couldn't form words. He could only moan into the duvet, his mind buffering. The feeling was exquisite - Minho’s cock dragging against his prostate, the friction burning so good it made his eyes roll back. The kitten ears slipped askew, but he didn't care. He was a creature of sensation, reduced to nerve endings and need.
"Meow for me, kitten," Minho demanded.
This time there was no embarrassment any longer. "Meow! Yes, Sir! Meow!" The words fell from Jisung’s lips without hesitation or misguided shame. He only felt the overwhelming fullness and pleasure that rapidly started to built into a tight, hot coil in his gut. Every thrust pushed him closer to the edge. He was untouched, his cock trapped between his stomach and the duvet, leaking copiously onto the expensive bedding.
"Ppppplease," Jisung gasped, his vision whitening out. "Can I... Sir, can I...?"
"Cum," Minho commanded harshly. "Go on, make a mess for me. Cum on my cock, you spoiled little kitten."
Jisung cried out, his body seizing up as his orgasm tore through him. He spasmed violently, his hole clamping down tight around Minho’s shaft, milking him as he spilled onto the sheets beneath him. It was intense and blinding - ripping a high-pitched whine from his throat that sounded suspiciously like a kitten's cry.
Minho groaned, feeling the rhythmic squeezing of Jisung’s walls, the wet heat pulsing around him. But he didn't stop. He fucked Jisung through his orgasm, through the overstimulation, turning the pleasure into a swirling vortex of too-much, hovering on the precipice of pleasure and pain.
He leaned down, covering Jisung’s back with his chest, stilling for just a moment to whisper in his ear. "I'm not done with you yet, Jisungie. I’m going to fill you up until you're dripping with me."
Then he started moving again. The pace was slower now, deeper, grinding into Jisung’s sensitive prostate with ruthless precision. Jisung sobbed into the mattress, his hands clawing helplessly at the fabric, his body twitching with every drag of Minho’s cock. He was floating, untethered, lost in the rhythm of being owned.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, wet and obscene, mingling with Jisung’s broken whimpers. Minho chased his own high, his control fraying at the edges. He tightened his grip on Jisung’s hips, his fingers digging into the flesh, bruisingly possessive.
"Mine," Minho grunted, his hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself deep. "My kitten."
He came a second time with a guttural groan, pulsing hot and deep inside Jisung’s channel.
They stayed like that for a long moment, a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing, the room smelling of sweat and sex and leather. Slowly, the fog in Jisung’s mind began to clear, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion and a profound sense of safety.
Minho pressed a kiss to the back of Jisung’s neck, right above the collar. "Good boy," he whispered. "So good for me."
He pulled out gently, a wet sound that made Jisung shiver. Minho stood up, tucking himself back into his trousers before reaching down to pull Jisung into his arms.
Jisung didn't have the strength to move. He let Minho manhandle him, lifting him from the bed and carrying him to the bathroom. He felt wrecked, used, covered in fluids and sweat, but he also felt cherished.
Minho set him down gently on the edge of the bathtub and turned on the water, checking the temperature before plugging the drain. As the tub filled, he dampened a soft washcloth with warm water and returned to Jisung.
"Let me get you clean, pet," Minho said softly.
He started with Jisung’s face, wiping away the dried tears and the sticky residue of saliva and cum that had stained his cheeks. The cloth was warm and soothing against Jisung’s irritated skin.
"You took your correction so well," Minho murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "And you looked so beautiful arching for me. Such a good, brave kitten."
He wiped down Jisung’s chest, cleaning the sweat from his skin, then moved lower. He cleaned Jisung’s stomach, where his cum had cooled and dried, his strokes methodical and tender. As he cleaned between Jisung’s legs, Jisung hissed slightly at the sensitivity, but Minho only offered more soft coos of praise, continuing with gentle pressure until Jisung was clean.
Minho reached back to adjust the kitten ears, ensuring they were sitting straight one last time before removing them and setting them on the counter with a reverence that made Jisung’s heart flutter.
Jisung leaned his head against Minho’s shoulder as he was lifted again and lowered into the warm, soapy water of the tub. The heat enveloped him, soothing his aching muscles and stinging slightly at the welt on his thighs ass.
Minho knelt by the tub, rolling up his sleeves, and used a cup to pour water over Jisung’s shoulders, washing away the last of the day.
"You are such a good pet, Jisungie," Minho whispered, brushing wet hair away from Jisung’s forehead. "My perfect kitten."
Jisung blinked his eyes open, looking up at Minho. The possessiveness was still there in Minho’s eyes, but it was tempered now with a soft, overwhelming affection. Jisung smiled, feeling warm, safe, and entirely owned.
***
Once the water began to cool, Minho reached for a thick, oversized towel from the heated rack.
"Come, pet," Minho said softly, holding the towel open.
Jisung rose slowly and stepped out into the cooler air, Minho immediately wrapping him in the fluffy cotton. Minho rubbed him down with firm, efficient strokes, drying his hair, his back, his limbs, treating him with the same reverence one might show a precious, fragile artifact.
Jisung leaned into him, eyes half-closed, his body humming with that specific, heavy exhaustion that followed an intense scene. The soreness was settling into his muscles - a low-grade ache in his thighs, a tender sting on his ass from the cane, and the deep, lingering stretch of where he’d been so thoroughly used.
Minho dressed him in simple, soft things. He pulled a pair of loose, heather-grey sweatpants over Jisung’s hips, the fleece lining warm against his skin and he paired them with an oversized black sweater that slipped off one shoulder, the fabric smelled of Minho’s cedarwood detergent.
Then Minho turned to himself. He donned a pair of dark, loose-fitting linen trousers and a simple, cream-colored crewneck shirt. He looked domestic, approachable - the terrifying killer from moments ago tucked safely away behind soft fabrics and gentle hands.
"Ready?" Minho asked, stroking a thumb over Jisung’s cheekbone.
Jisung nodded. "Yeah. Just... stiff."
They walked out of the bedroom suite and down the hallway. Jisung moved with the slight, rolling shuffle of someone who had been thoroughly fucked and used to the limit.
As they neared the open living area and the kitchen, the raw scent of sex was replaced by something infinitely warmer: sesame oil, vinegar and steamed rice.
Hyunjin and Felix were in the kitchen where large island was covered in a chaotic spread of ingredients - bamboo mats, bowls of seasoned rice, piles of spinach, crab meat, slabs of tamago and strips of beef and pickled radish.
Hyunjin was rolling a kimbap with surgical precision, his long fingers pressing the rice down firmly and evenly. He was wearing a loose silk robe patterned with cranes, his hair pulled back in a messy bun.
Felix stood opposite him, tasked with cutting the rolls. He was dressed similarly to Jisung in oversized pajamas - soft blue pants and a white t-shirt.
As Jisung and Minho approached, Felix looked up. His eyes swept over Jisung - taking in the flushed cheeks, the messy damp hair and the distinct, careful stiffness in Jisung’s walk.
A wicked grin spread across Felix’s face. He set the knife down with a deliberate *clack* and leaned his hip against the counter.
"Well, well, well," Felix teased, his voice deep and melodic. "Look who decided to join the land of the living. Though..." He dragged his eyes down to Jisung’s legs, then back up to his face. "...by the looks of it, you might’ve forgotten how to use your legs, Ji."
Jisung’s face heated up with a fresh wave of blush. He straightened his spine defiantly, ignoring the twinge in his lower back and stuck his tongue out at Felix.
"Better than having a mouth that runs faster than your brain," Jisung shot back, though there was no malice in it, only the comfortable bicker between brothers.
Felix gasped in mock offense. "I am injured by your accusations!" He laughed, picking up a slice of kimbap to brandish it like a weapon. "I’m just saying, you’re walking like you rode a horse for three days straight. Admit it, you got wrecked."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jisung sniffed, moving toward the chair Minho was pulling out for him.
He lowered himself into the seat, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth as his weight settled onto his tender ass. He shifted slightly, finding a comfortable angle, and tried to look nonchalant.
Hyunjin paused in his rolling, looking up through his lashes, his gaze resting on Minho. He raised a single, elegantly arched eyebrow - a silent question that asked *exactly how thorough the afternoon had been.*
Minho continued, his eyes twinkling with dark humor as he looked between Hyunjin and Felix. "To be honest, Hyunjin, when Jisung and I were in the living room earlier, the sounds drifting from your quarters were quite... spirited. It sounded like you were performing an exorcism."
He glanced at Felix, who was busy studiously arranging cucumber slices, a flush creeping up his neck.
"But as it turned out," Minho drawled, looking back at Hyunjin, "it was my feral kitten who needed the intervention more." Minho said, his voice smooth and unbothered. "Possessed by demons. I had to perform an emergency expulsion."
Hyunjin snorted, a soft burst of laughter, and shook his head, returning to his rice rolling. "Violent exorcisms are usually the most effective."
"Feral?" Felix repeated, squinting at Jisung with renewed interest. "You?"
"He turns into a tiger when properly motivated," Minho deadpanned, guiding Jisung toward the dining table. "A very loud, needy tiger."
"Graw," Jisung muttered under his breath, burying his face in Minho’s shoulder for a second to hide his mortified grin.
"I heard that!" Felix called out, sliding the freshly cut rolls onto a large platter. "And I’m cataloguing it for future blackmail."
Minho let the statement hang in the air for a beat, his gaze shifting back to Felix with a dry, affectionate grin. "Though I suspect trying to exorcise the demon out of that one is a pointless endeavor. You’d have better luck draining the ocean with a spoon, dear Hyunjin."
Felix finally looked up, grinning unrepentantly, his dark eyes flashing with challenge. "Demons keep life interesting, Minho. You wouldn't want me boring, would you?"
"I wouldn't dare," Minho replied dryly, taking his seat at the head of the table.
Hyunjin and Felix brought the food over, setting the platters down in the center of the table. It was a feast. The kimbap rolls were sliced perfectly, each one a colorful mosaic of ingredients. There were rolls wrapped in traditional seaweed, and others wrapped in thin sheets of savory egg.
Jisung reached out and plucked a piece of the classic beef and spinach kimbap. He took a bite, the flavors bursting on his tongue - It was exactly what he needed. Warm, grounding, real.
"It’s delicious, Hyunjin," Jisung said, his voice sincere around the food. "Thank you."
"You need to keep your strength up," Hyunjin replied, pouring tea into four small ceramic cups. "Exorcisms are taxing work."
Felix choked on his rice, coughing slightly as he dissolved into laughter. He reached across the table to grab his tea, shooting Jisung a look that said *can you believe him?*
Jisung just smiled, picking up another piece of kimbap. He looked around the table - at Minho, who was watching him with a soft, possessive warmth; at Felix, who was vibrant and alive despite everything; at Hyunjin, who was artistically arranging the remaining cucumber slices.
The soreness in his body was a dull echo now, distant and unimportant. Here, in the golden light of the kitchen, with the smell of sesame oil in the air and the laughter of his strange, wonderful family in his ears, Jisung felt entirely, peacefully at home.