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“You’re sure about…this?” Wooyoung asks, fidgeting slightly as he stares down at himself. The shimmery teal satin is one of the softest materials Wooyoung's ever felt, certainly more so than anything he's ever worn out, but the styling of it is a different story. In contrast with the smoothness of the textile, the tunic is littered with incisions that resemble claw marks, jagged edges cut out to display the skin beneath. Most of the cutouts are thin, teasing, but the one across Wooyoung's chest is wide and deep, showing off nearly all of his most prominent scars.
“I designed it. For you, Young-ah. What do you think?” Hongjoong snarks, adjusting the fabric over Wooyoung’s shoulders to ensure it drapes properly.
“I mean, it’s just…it seems like a little much, don’t you think? I don’t exactly look like the rest of you. Everyone will know I don’t fit in and—and stare.”
“Have you considered, little fox,” Hongjoong responds, thumbing at his cheek gently, “that that might be the point?”
A shiver runs down Wooyoung’s spine at that, the pet name still making heat curl within him even now. “Thought you liked being the only one who gets to have me,” he murmurs, his eyelids fluttering shut as he leans into the soft touch.
“I do,” Hongjoong says, pulling his hand away, and Wooyoung’s eyes snap open as he brings his head back to where it was. Hongjoong has a tendency of smacking him when he doesn’t stay in perfect position while Hongjoong’s using him as a mannequin, and Wooyoung doesn’t need to get even more horny right now. Not with his plans for tonight.
(Wooyoung asked Hongjoong once why he didn’t just get a program for Wooyoung’s neural implant to force him to stay still. Hongjoong had all but hissed at the suggestion. “I’m not letting any more augments anywhere near you, Young-ah,” he’d said. “You’re perfect as you are. Besides, it’s no fun if it’s just a program controlling you. I want to train you myself, no matter how long it takes.” )
“But I want them to see exactly what they can’t have,” Hongjoong continues, breaking Wooyoung out of his thoughts. His hands tease at Wooyoung’s waist as he wraps a thin chain of a belt around it, pulling it just tight enough that Wooyoung can feel the pressure of it every time he breathes out. “My gorgeous feral pet, perfectly tamed.”
Wooyoung tries to hold back his snort at that, but evidently not well enough, because Hongjoong gives him a stormy glare. “You’re going to be good for me tonight, little fox. Or do you not want your reward when we get back?”
Wooyoung quickly shakes his head, dipping into an exaggerated bow to cover up his smirk. “Of course not, sir,” he purrs. “I’ll be good.”
Hongjoong grabs his chin to drag him back up. “I don’t make many public appearances, Young-ah. You will not ruin my reputation.”
“No mentioning that the genius Kim Hongjoong likes when his pet gets all feisty, then?” Wooyoung asks, fluttering his lashes innocently.
Hongjoong’s hand shoots out to the table beside them, picking up a metal collar and snapping it around Wooyoung’s neck before he can blink. “Behave,” he says coldly, and Wooyoung shivers both at Hongjoong’s tone and at the cold metal pressing at his throat.
“Whatever you say, hyung,” Wooyoung says, trying to keep his response light and breezy, but all such thoughts flee his mind as Hongjoong yanks on the leash Wooyoung hadn’t even noticed until now, sending him stumbling forward. Shit. It’s not entirely surprising, given just how possessive Hongjoong gets especially when even the idea of other people gets brought up, but even if Wooyoung could predict it, he didn't factor this into his plans. If Hongjoong intends on using it like he tends to, then that’s a major wrench thrown in the works.
“I could always just gag you, you know,” Hongjoong murmurs, pressing his lips to the mole beneath Wooyoung’s eye as his hand finds its way to the back of Wooyoung’s neck, right above the collar. “If you don’t want to act like you know how to be quiet, I’m more than willing to treat you like it, little fox. No one would even bat an eye.”
Wooyoung feels his face grow hot, and he bows his head as Hongjoong pulls away, looking down. His instinct is to deny it, but to keep talking is exactly what Hongjoong wants, so Wooyoung presses his lips together, waiting to be given direction no matter how much energy is coursing through his veins. He just needs to be patient for a little while longer.
“That’s what I thought,” Hongjoong says, smirk evident in his voice as he smooths his hand over Wooyoung’s hair. Then, he turns on his heel, tugging the leash without bothering to see how well Wooyoung follows. “Come,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “We’re going to be fashionably late, not embarrassingly late.”
It’s…odd, being in this elevator again. Wooyoung was once entranced by the view out the tinted glass, taken aback by the beauty of the isolation Hongjoong had managed to surround himself with. But now, he sees the same view every day, and although it’s still probably the most stunning landscape Wooyoung can imagine, it’s nothing new, and instead of staring out the window, Wooyoung finds himself admiring their reflections in the mirrored side of the elevator instead.
At first glance, Hongjoong's outfit might seem oddly simplistic, dressed head to toe in black, but a second look at the layering reveals far more depth, each piece a different textile that still manages to mesh together with the rest. His jacket is the most plain, but the crushed velvet needs no further detailing. In contrast, his shirt is a pitch black that doesn't catch the light, but an intricate embroidery sprawls across it, only visible if caught at the right angle. Wooyoung only knows where to look thanks to watching Hongjoong work on it, but it doesn't make the effect any less mesmerizing when finally seen.
What catches attention most easily, though, is the half-skirt that flares out, swaying slightly even now, the gleaming buttons on the side all but begging to be undone, to be torn apart and ravaged until Hongjoong's look resembles Wooyoung's own. But even that isn't what has truly captured Wooyoung's gaze. No, what Wooyoung can't stop flicking his eyes over are the pieces that aren't black. The earrings set in every piercing Wooyoung knows about, the rings covering Hongjoong's fingers—all simple, shining silver, the same silver that makes up the bracelets on Wooyoung's wrists, the belt around his waist, the collar that presses against his neck and the leash that connects them.
And yet, when Wooyoung manages to shift his focus to how he looks, that connection seems flimsy in comparison to how he feels seeing Hongjoong's work cover him like this. He knows Hongjoong's style, of course, is hardly unfamiliar with wearing Hongjoong's pieces, but this is different, wildly so. Hearing that this was designed for him is one thing, but seeing it is something else, and it takes a moment for Wooyoung to remember to breathe as he stares at his reflection, at the way Hongjoong's work accents him so perfectly.
Structurally, the tunic is hopelessly elegant, rigid at the top where it emphasizes Wooyoung's shoulders but loose at the bottom, long and flowing on the side that isn't tucked into his pants—which, themselves, accentuate Wooyoung's legs more than he thought possible, the textured fabric making them look lithe and lean and powerful. And past the shape of his top, the cuts that slice into the satin work much to the same effect, teasing hints at a muscled torso and trained arms. In this light, the scars that mottle his chest don't look like points of failure. They look like reminders of strength, of just how many things have tried to hurt him and failed. Not pretending to be untouchable, like so many corpos attempt, but showcasing his humanity, flaws evident.
It all feels almost impossibly intimate, a display of just how much Hongjoong thinks of him, a claim far more personal than the metal around his neck could ever hope to be. The leash may have its purpose, but outside, the true part it plays is only for the audience. The real mark of possession, Wooyoung knows, lies everywhere else, in the love and adoration he holds for Wooyoung's body, and it makes a warmth rise in his chest at the thought.
It's a testament to Hongjoong's craft that he manages to convey so much with a few simple pieces, and the thought of that makes Wooyoung's mind wander to Hongjoong's signature, the one piece for every collection that's even more blatant than the rest, a piece that he scrawls over, fabric dripping with hastily-written words in barely-legible handwriting. Despite witnessing the vast majority of the fabrication of this particular collection, Wooyoung hasn’t yet seen its signature, and a small part of him is brimming with curiosity to see what it turns out to be. If there’s anything Wooyoung knows for certain, it’s that Hongjoong excels at spectacle. It’s a shame Wooyoung will be long gone before he can catch a glimpse.
There was a period where Wooyoung thought he’d never leave. Where he…accepted that. Where it was just so easy to let Hongjoong’s devotion sweep him up, where all he had to worry about was exploring every corner of their dynamic, where he could discover everything Hongjoong had to offer without ever having to worry about running and hiding and scraping to survive. It was exhilarating at first, feeling so wanted. So safe.
But as the months went on, the warmth in Wooyoung’s chest turned into a tightness. An inescapable suffocation that only got worse with every day, a restless desperation to run free and get away and escape, to feel his heart pound against his chest in a way it never could in the seclusion of Hongjoong’s penthouse. So when Hongjoong said he wanted Wooyoung to come to his next fashion show— “You’re the reason half the pieces in the collection even exist, Young-ah, of course I want you there”— Wooyoung hadn’t hesitated to say yes, the wheels already turning in his mind as he began to plot out exactly what was going to happen.
His plans are hardly as detailed as his heists used to be, but it’s not like having a month of preparation made any difference in the CrystalTech job. Besides, Wooyoung barely even cares what happens once he escapes. All he knows is he needs to get out, a craving that claws at him just beneath his skin, a fiery hunger that burns, the warmth in his chest a blazing furnace.
Wooyoung forces himself to take a deep breath as the elevator doors slide open, calming his nerves with everything he has. Just a little longer, and he’ll be free. He just has to play nice for another hour at most. He’s waited this long. He can manage this.
When they finally reach the venue, though, Wooyoung’s racing thoughts come to an abrupt halt, frozen in place by the sight before him. The space is enclosed, of course, but the ceilings are so expansive it hardly feels like it. And within… Wooyoung’s never seen this much green in his life, and certainly not in these shades—dark and bright and muted and vibrant and everything in between, clashing against each other and melding together perfectly in what can only be described as a forest of greenery.
“Is this…real?” Wooyoung breathes, stunned still as his eyes dart around the room, taking in every detail from the shining leaves to the winding vines to the trees towering over everything. They’re barely a few stories tall, but Wooyoung’s never felt smaller as he stares up at them.
Hongjoong laughs, turning to face him and tracing his finger up Wooyoung’s chest, letting it rest at the base of his throat, just beneath his collar. “Take a breath, Young-ah,” he says softly, his lips curling into a sweet smile.
Wooyoung inhales deeply, eyes going wide at the sheer texture to the air. Even the best filters always give off a certain sterilized crispness, while places like Wooyoung’s old apartment have a stale quality that permeates the atmosphere, a constant reminder of just how much worse it is outside—a thick, stinging haze that clings to the lungs and gets caught in one’s throat. Wooyoung is intimately familiar with each. But this is unlike anything else, a subtle, heady, addictive earthen scent that makes itself known just beneath the clear sharpness of the air around them. It burns in his lungs, not like the stinging pain of the outdoors but like a cleansing flame flowing through his chest, ridding him of anything but awestruck wonder.
Hongjoong admires Wooyoung’s expression, his hand crawling up his pet’s neck to thumb at Wooyoung’s cheek delicately. “Everything’s real here,” he murmurs. “There’d be no point, otherwise.”
Wooyoung draws in another breath, his chest shuddering. “It’s beautiful,” he admits, voice shaky.
“I hoped you’d enjoy it,” Hongjoong purrs. “But your face, little fox…I’m beginning to think I might have to put in a room like this at home.”
Wooyoung’s breath hitches. “I’d like that,” he finds himself saying before he can even think about it, the words falling from his lips in a breathy exhale.
Hongjoong raises himself on his tiptoes, rising even higher than his heels bring him, leaning forward to press the faintest of kisses to Wooyoung’s forehead. “Consider it done.”
He pulls away, the fondness in his eyes disappearing in a blink as he turns to face the room at large, striding forward and pulling them into the crowd.
It’s odd, watching Hongjoong move in this environment. Gone is the hunched, focused, fixated designer Wooyoung sees so often in his workspace. Instead, Hongjoong’s energy is magnetic, drawing attention from every angle as he seems to tower over everyone around him despite being even shorter than Wooyoung without his heeled boots. Everywhere he steps, space opens up in his path, onlookers just as intimidated as eager to please.
Even as they step back, though, it's clear to see how much Hongjoong would stand out no matter how close they pressed in on him. Practically everyone Wooyoung sets his eyes on is covered in vibrant, gaudy colors, shades brightened to an unsettling degree in an attempt to draw attention. As such, Hongjoong is a welcome reprieve from the near-nauseating swell of stimulation, a dark spot in a wave of blinding light. Even the jeweled tone of Wooyoung's tunic is far more subtle than any other outfit he sees, and Wooyoung has to admire the way Hongjoong has made it seem like they're the only two who belong in this environment.
Less admirable, however, are the whispers that follow them as they press in deeper, the tittered comments that can only refer to Wooyoung as countless eyes linger on them. It's not like Wooyoung is unfamiliar with being the center of attention in places like this; used to revel in it, in fact—but the way that these people look at him is nothing at all like the hunger he learned to grow comfortable with. It's not the reverence Wooyoung has grown so accustomed to, either, and it's certainly not the fear Wooyoung always craved striking in his most deserving targets.
There's only one person alive who's earned the right to look at him like this, with condescension and disdain and dripping superiority looking down on him from a bloodstained pedestal, and the feeling Wooyoung gets here is nothing like the rush that bursts through him when Hongjoong trains that gaze on him. No, the only thing he feels from this is himself growing more restless with every step he takes, the itch beneath his skin rising once again and burning from within despite the cool air.
But faceless murmurs are one thing. Exponentially worse is when someone brave enough (or, perhaps, simply desperate enough for attention) approaches Hongjoong, engaging him in vapid, simpering conversation, never failing to compliment him on Wooyoung’s presence.
And again, it’s not like Wooyoung doesn’t like being admired—but not like this, like he's just a shiny accessory without a thought in his mind. It's a fantasy for plenty, Wooyoung knows full well, but that doesn't make it one he's ever been able to provide, his tongue too loose and too sharp to play along, determined to cut each source of condescension down to size when even a saccharinely sweet tone is all it takes to catch them off guard. But Hongjoong has told him to be quiet, and though Wooyoung hardly ever follows directions quite so easily, even when given incentives, he needs to keep up appearances until he can put his plans into motion.
So no matter how much Wooyoung wants to hiss in outrage, wants to snap out a biting retort to each and every corpo that comments on him, all he can do is stand there, trying and failing to tune them out. To not let them get to him.
It's infinitely harder than he makes it sound, and Woouyoung finds himself with his nails digging into his wrists on more than one occasion in yet another attempt to keep him distracted enough to keep his mouth shut. But once the parade of corpos coming up to them slows down, once Wooyoung has managed to take more than a few steps back, as far as he can go without the leash in Hongjoong's hand pulling taut, Wooyoung sees the next man to approach, and he has a feeling he won't be able to control himself much longer.
He doesn't know this corpo personally. Doesn't know anyone here, apart from Hongjoong, but there are types of corpos he can recognize easily, and Wooyoung knows this kind all too well. The swagger alone is enough to place him, the way he moves like he's the most important person here when his gaudy clothing begs to differ, not to mention his overemphasized jawline or lurid eyes. He's desperate for attention because he thinks he deserves it, and he's just the kind of prick Wooyoung is normally all too happy to punch in the face. Whose sneering, drawling voice Wooyoung now has to endure, no matter how much he wants to shudder in disgust at the sound.
He doesn’t even bother exchanging pleasantries. Just lets his gaze rove over Wooyoung, vapid eyes catching on Wooyoung’s chest for a moment before flicking his attention over to Hongjoong, brows slightly raised as he addresses him.
"What a surprise, Hongjoong-ssi. A plaything satisfactory enough for you to keep, let alone bring here?"
Hongjoong smiles just too widely, teeth bared. "Stunning, isn't he? A substantial time investment, but it's proved more than worthwhile."
The man raises his eyebrows. "Time investment? It looks like it was just pulled off the streets, Hongjoong-ssi. I knew your tastes were unconventional, but I never imagined them tending toward something so cheap."
Perhaps if this corpo's voice weren't so grating, Wooyoung might be able to ignore it. Could fold it away into background noise as he stared at anything else. But as it is, the man's voice resonates against Wooyoung's already-buzzing mind, words lodging themselves beneath his skin like he wasn't suffocating enough already.
Hongjoong's response, meanwhile, is nothing but tilting his head a fraction, grin even sharper. “Then clearly you don’t know me as well as you think.”
“I mean no disrespect, of course," the corpo continues, entirely disrespectful, "but surely a man of your stature would prefer something more…precious? I mean, you couldn’t even be bothered to fix it up properly. Why go through the effort if you’re not going to take care of it?”
“I trained him from something dangerous into something obedient," Hongjooong responds, voice dangerously light, and Wooyoung nearly bites his tongue clean through in an effort to hold his laughter back. Like he's ever even acted obedient before tonight. It must be a convincing performance, though, because Hongjoong keeps talking like he's barely even there. Like he couldn't possibly understand their conversation, even though Hongjoong knows full well just how affected he is by every word that falls from their lips. "He’s mine because I made him be. Can you say the same about any of the dolls you’ve had hanging off your arm?”
The corpo scoffs. “Dangerous? It looks more like it’s eager for a beating with all those marks. I’m not one to buy into rumors, but you’re not helping your case, Hongjoong-ssi—”
Wooyoung all but snarls at the accusation, at the idea that Hongjoong would hurt him so carelessly, would ever be so cold and uncaring as the people Wooyoung made enemies out of, who left him bruised and bleeding and so close to breaking more times than he'd like to admit. Hongjoong, who doesn't inflict pain without a wave of pleasure washing over it. Who treasures Wooyoung's collection of scars eagerly, sometimes suffocatingly, but has never once added to them. Hongjoong is better than anyone in his position—and he is so, so much worse. So much more capable of ruining Wooyoung. And it's not like Wooyoung hasn't been broken down before, but not without a fight. He won't let it happen now, not without wiping that smug look off all their faces.
Hongjoong wants them to see how dangerous Wooyoung is? Fine. Let them watch. Let them witness what happens when a feral pet gets brought into the forest.
Wooyoung's blood might just be boiling in indignation at this point, but he can't be sure, not when a cold detachment has settled over him, instincts already calculating each step he needs to take a running leap and pounce on his target.
His face still a mask of steely calm painted with placid, pliable innocence, Wooyoung shifts slightly, turning to the nearest server and motioning them over with a subtle movement. If this were a more standard high-society event, it would be even simpler, with carefully-programmed bots the only ones attending to the guests, but with Hongjoong's message so clear in every other aspect of this night, it's hardly a surprise that the servants here are humanoid. Even less of a surprise when this one's face contorts for a flicker of a moment at the prospect of approaching the center of attention before schooling their features back into a simpering smile, revealing their living nature.
Wooyoung would offer a sympathetic look, but all empathy he had for anyone here is long gone. The glasses catch the light as the server comes closer, and Wooyoung takes one, admiring the fine engravings etched into the crystal for a brief moment. He flicks his gaze back over to Hongjoong. Neither of them are even looking his way, too engrossed in their dickmeasuring contest.
They won't be for long.
Before they can turn away, Wooyoung smashes his glass into the server's tray with enough force to send it flying, crystal crunching as it collides with the ground. The shards of glass left in his hand slice into his palm, but that only means they're sharp enough, and Wooyoung launches himself forward, leaping on the now-taken-aback corpo and knocking him to the ground.
Now those leering eyes are wide with fear, and Wooyoung's lips stretch into a manic grin as he brings his hand down, glass slashing through porcelain-smooth flesh like water. Shrieks ring out, but Hongjoong is silent when Wooyoung looks back up at him, leash held slack as he stares, stunned, his only visible movement the pulsing of his eyes, dark and heavy with his pupils rapidly dilating.
Wooyoung snatches the thin chain of the leash from the air, smearing blood over the gleaming metal as he rips it out of Hongjoong's grasp, scrambling back. That finally sparks movement, Hongjoong's face twisting into an expression of pure fury. He lunges forward with a snarl, and Wooyoung dashes backwards, turning and beginning to run as fast as his legs allow, snorting at the angry shout from behind him.
The crowd parts for Wooyoung this time, faces terrified as they scramble to get out of his way. He may not have known what to expect inside, but Wooyoung knows how to get out, and with the floor plan in his head, he easily tears through the forest, even with vines creeping along every pathway.
Eventually, though, the forest begins to give way to far more familiar surroundings, to concrete ceilings and metal framing and finally, the glass of a door that Wooyoung hurls himself towards, wrenching it open and flying out into the night.
His senses are hyperactive out here, adrenaline pounding through him as energy pools in his limbs like never before, coalescing from deep within. Blood rushes in his ears, heartbeat louder than ever, but he can still pick out every sound along the street, the familiar cacophony like a long-lost symphony. The hum of the streetlights, the whir of cars, the clatter of cheap filters—it's a song that Wooyoung adds to eagerly with heavy breaths and every step that slams against the pavement and the gleeful laughter that bubbles up, ringing out in the chill of the night air.
Even the footsteps behind him can't slow Wooyoung down, can't sour his mood. Finally being free in the city that used to be his playground, no matter how much barbed wire he got tangled up in, is exhilarating, and knowing that Hongjoong is hunting him down only makes him cherish it even more, even as his throat burns from the acidic air quickly filling his lungs.
“You little brat,” Hongjoong hisses in his ear, voice low and angry and dangerous, and fuck, when did he manage to get this close?
Wooyoung’s instincts act before he can even think, and he drops to the ground, swinging his leg out behind him and knocking Hongjoong over, reveling in the furious shriek that results from him crashing to the pavement. Amateur. Despite his experience, though, Wooyoung can feel himself beginning to feel fatigued as he sets off again at full tilt. The raw air of the city makes it far harder to catch his breath, and he hasn’t exactly been practicing his sprints all cooped up in Hongjoong’s penthouse for months, so when Wooyoung spots an open entrance to an abandoned warehouse at the end of the block, he darts inside, vaulting over the upended machinery strewn across the floor and setting his sights on the rickety metal staircase in the center of the room.
He takes the steps three at a time, hoping to outpace Hongjoong enough that he can make it to the top and jump down from a window while leaving Hongjoong stranded on the second floor, but Wooyoung’s luck seems to have run out, because Hongjoong’s shadow crosses the doorway all too soon, his face a frenzied mess of blood as he all but flies across the room in a rage, leaping up and managing to grab hold of Wooyoung’s ankle through the bars of the staircase, dragging him down with all-but- clawed fingers.
Wooyoung lets out a grunt of pain as he slams down onto the metal, his hands the only thing stopping himself from breaking his nose against the stairs. He tries to push himself up, to scramble back to his feet and keep running, but Hongjoong all but teleports behind him, scrambling up the stairs lightning-fast and shoving Wooyoung back down.
“So fucking ungrateful,” Hongjoong snarls, pressing his boot into Wooyoung’s back and pinning him against the metal. "I give you everything you could ever want, and this is how you treat me?"
For once, Wooyoung doesn't immediately respond, too focused on waiting for an angle to strike back, and this must throw Hongjoong off, because he leans back slightly, lessening the weight of his heel for just a moment, and Wooyoung takes full advantage of the opportunity to rear upwards, pushing off with his arms and twisting midair, hand shooting out to seize Hongjoong's wrist and yanking him down.
Hongjoong crashes into the railing, back scraping against the metal, and Wooyoung shoves him the rest of the way, pinning him down with the toe of his boot pressed to Hongjoong's throat. He tilts his head, smirking down at Hongjoong. "Was I not obedient enough for you, Hongjoong-ssi?"
Hongjoong growls, trying to throw Wooyoung off, but he has too much leverage like this to be moved so easily. "Don't tell me you really thought I was—what was it? Perfectly tamed?" He snorts. "Brag about your training all you want, but it doesn't make any real difference. Face it. You don't have it in you."
Wooyoung puts more weight on his foot just so he can see Hongjoong's eyes widen in fear, savoring the expression on his face before abruptly launching himself forward, certain he can catch Hongjoong off guard and be long gone before Hongjoong can even react properly, but before he can even get more than a few steps, the collar around Wooyoung's neck tightens, squeezing all the breath out of him, and he collapses right at the halfway point up the stairs, falling to his knees as he claws at his throat.
Hongjoong gets to his feet slowly, the sound of his boots almost deafening as he stalks towards Wooyoung. "Do I not?" he asks, voice dangerously light.
Wooyoung reaches out blindly, trying to grasp at him, but Hongjoong kicks his hand away before maneuvering him back with just his foot, pressing him down with no regard for how the stairs bite into his back. He nudges Wooyoung's arms up, and with a faint click, the bracelets around his wrists snap out, fastening to the railing and locking him in place.
Only then does the collar loosen, and Wooyoung heaves, desperately gasping for breath, but Hongjoong hardly grants him any reprieve, bringing his foot back down to press the edge of his heel into Wooyoung's near-unbearably hard cock, making Wooyoung writhe beneath him at the painful friction that still feels unbelievably good, incoherent noises spilling from his mouth.
"What, you think I didn't see your dick getting all excited earlier?" Hongjoong sneers. "I'd lock that useless thing up when I wasn't using it if you wouldn't enjoy it so much."
Wooyoung shudders, grinding against Hongjoong's heel uncontrollably, pleasure rising unbelievably fast, and his breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut—and Hongjoong lifts his foot, taking away his only source of stimulation, making Wooyoung cry out in frustration.
Hongjoong leans forward, taking Wooyoung's leash in his hand and pulling it taut, eyes boring into Wooyoung's. “You think you deserve to come? After what you just did?"
“Please,” Wooyoung whines, arching his back and straining for friction. “Hongjoong—”
“More disrespect?” Hongjoong hisses, pulling away completely. “You think that’s going to get you anything?”
Wooyoung lets out a breathy laugh, smirking up at him. “Got you riled up, didn’t it?”
Hongjoong’s upper lip curls, his gaze hardening. “I think you need another reminder of just who you belong to, little fox. Because clearly—” he yanks on the leash, pulling Wooyoung closer, “this isn’t doing enough.”
Just as abruptly as he'd grabbed it, Hongjoong drops the leash, crouching down and seating himself on Wooyoung's torso. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches for his hip, watching Wooyoung's face as he pulls a knife from a hidden sheath.
Wooyoung knows this knife all too well. The simple blade. The handle molded to his grip. The way it looked slashing through Hongjoong's throat. It's the same weapon he once tried to kill Hongjoong with, and the only reason why Wooyoung's not currently decomposing in a landfill somewhere after having all his valuable pieces cleaved from his flesh.
It's more of a threat than Hongjoong's ever given, and they both know it.
Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. “Ready to behave, are you?”
Wooyoung scoffs. “Do your worst.”
Hongjoong presses the tip of the blade to Wooyoung’s throat, his nostrils flaring as he grits his teeth before exhaling slowly. “I hate having to hurt you, little fox.”
Wooyoung can’t help it. He snorts a laugh, causing the knife to slip and just barely cut into his skin, the flicker of pain sending a shiver through him. They both know that’s a fucking lie. Hongjoong revels in hurting Wooyoung, in giving him just enough pain to let go, to forget everything but the pleasure that comes with it.
Hongjoong's eyes narrow, his voice icy. "I don't have any med bots out here this time," he says, leaning in closer. "So I'd suggest you stay still, little fox."
Wooyoung smirks. "Make me," he breathes, the only warning he gives Hongjoong before planting his feet, bucking his hips up and jolting Hongjoong off of him, the knife slipping from his grasp and clattering against the stairs, nearly falling to the ground before Hongjoong dives for it, just barely managing to snatch it from the air.
As expected, Hongjoong's eyes flare with rage as he turns back to Wooyoung, hand seizing his chin in an angry, bruising grip. Wooyoung refuses to let it deter him.
"What's wrong, Hongjoong-ah?" Wooyoung asks, blinking up at him innocently. "Is your pet not as tame as you—"
Whatever he was going to say next gets cut off as Hongjoong shoves his fingers into Wooyoung's mouth, pressing his tongue down and going so deep that Wooyoung gags.
"Know your place," he hisses, and Wooyoung is all too happy to acquiesce. He'll be a pet if that's what Hongjoong wants. An animal that bites when threatened. He snaps his jaw shut, teeth sinking into the flesh of Hongjoong's fingers, and Hongjoong yanks his hand back with a pained shout, turning away for a moment.
Wooyoung cackles in delight, but his mouth slams shut as Hongjoong turns back, a wide metal ring with straps on either side dangling from his uninjured fingers.
"I warned you," Hongjoong growls. "Open your mouth."
Wooyoung shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. He's never made it easy for Hongjoong to gag him, to deny him his words, his voice, one of his most powerful weapons—and he's not about to start now.
"I wasn't asking," Hongjoong snarls, reaching out and pinching Wooyoung's nostrils shut, grip unrelenting no matter how much Wooyoung tries to shake him off. He holds out for as long as he can, but even he has his limits, and finally, lungs burning, he parts his lips the barest fraction to suck in a breath—and Hongjoong pounces, wrenching his jaw open and shoving the gag behind his teeth. Wooyoung thrashes in his grip, but it's no use, Hongjoong already fastening the straps behind his head.
Hongjoong leans back with a smile. "Much better," he purrs, picking the knife back up. "I should have done that ages ago."
Wooyoung hates how easy it is to snarl back at him, any attempt at speech leaving him once he knows his words will be incoherent. Like all but his simplest thoughts and instincts leave with his ability to speak, like Hongjoong's made him dumb in every sense of the word. Hates how easy it is to let himself be consumed by it, his indignance transforming into him hissing and growling and writhing against his restraints.
Hongjoong presses his palm to Wooyoung's collarbone to hold him down, his other hand tracing out where to begin with the knife. It hardly does much to keep Wooyoung still, but Hongjoong doesn't seem to care.
"You're not even quieter like this," he says, a laugh in his voice, "but I don't mind, little fox. You make the most beautiful sounds."
That's all the warning Wooyoung gets before the blade sinks into his flesh, a wordless scream falling from his lips as he thrashes against Hongjoong's hold, trying ten times harder to pull free and still failing, the lines Hongjoong cuts into him almost insultingly clean despite Wooyoung's movement.
It's not as painful as Wooyoung imagines a brand would be, doesn't quite reach the level of searing-hot agony he experienced once thanks to a brush with acid, but the repetition, the careful incisions, the intimacy as Hongjoong leans over him, lips twisted into a cruel smirk—there is far more to torture than physical discomfort. But pain is the least of Wooyoung's thoughts as he sinks into a haze, his limbs growing heavy as the fight drains out of him, the slice of the blade almost meditative with every mark it carves into his chest.
Finally, Hongjoong pulls the knife away, brushing his hand over the new wounds he's made. Wooyoung can feel the blood smearing everywhere, but Hongjoong isn't fazed, happily admiring the marks he's left behind. The unmistakable show of ownership, of possession, of the hands that Wooyoung has fallen into all too easily. Kim Hongjoong has carved his name into his skin, and Wooyoung can't bring himself to care, not when Hongjoong's husky voice is washing over him, a contented purr at seeing Wooyoung beneath him like this.
“You're so pretty like this, Young-ah," he muses. "You try to seem complicated, don't you? Try to hide that deep down, you're laughably simple. That all you want is to be put in your place. To be shown that no matter how far you run, no matter how well you try to hide, no matter how much you try to ruin my reputation—and good luck with that, little fox, you should know how hard that is by now—I’ll always find you. You’re always going to end up back where you belong. With me. And I’m never letting you go.”
It's nothing short of unfair, how Hongjoong knows exactly what effect his words have on Wooyoung. How easily his hand shoves Wooyoung's clothing down to palm his bare cock, which all but jumps at the direct contact after so much time spent aroused and neglected. How distracting even a single ghosting touch running up his length is, enough for Wooyoung to lose track of time for so long that it seems like he only blinks before Hongjoong is sinking down onto him.
Instead of impossibly tight and near-painful like it should be, though, Hongjoong feels slick around him, loose and wet, and Wooyoung nearly loses control of himself at the mere thought, at the image of Hongjoong spreading himself wide just before they left with none the wiser to how empty he must have felt. If he hasn't already reached madness, Hongjoong is going to drive him there soon enough, and Wooyoung can feel himself getting ever closer with every torturously slow rock of Hongjoong's hips against him.
Hongjoong wraps his hand around his own cock, the slick, dripping blood smearing together with precome as he strokes himself, rising up before sinking back down onto Wooyoung's dick, movements getting more and more frantic as he rides Wooyoung harder, and fuck, he's so fucking close—
A loud moan tears itself from Hongjoong's throat as he comes, spilling into his fist and throwing his head back, spine arching perfectly as he rides out his high, lips parted in ecstasy. His orgasm has him clenching even harder around Wooyoung, who bucks his hips up in an attempt to finally chase his own release, but as soon as he moves, Hongjoong's other hand snakes down, fingers encircling the base of his length and squeezing cruelly, stopping him from coming once again.
Wooyoung lets out a broken whine, desperate, but Hongjoong doesn't relent, instead digging his nails into Wooyoung's tender flesh as he leers over him, smirking softly.
"Not so fast, little fox," he murmurs. "You haven't earned it yet. Be good for me, and we'll see."
Wooyoung whines again, a growl building in the back of his throat, but Hongjoong cuts him off, shushing him as he leans forward.
"Shh, pet." He reaches out as if to caress Wooyoung's face with his sticky, bloodied hand, but instead of tracing his cheek, Hongjoong presses his fingers into Wooyoung's mouth, albeit far more gently than before. "Clean me up."
With his lips stretched as wide as they are, he can't close his mouth, can't suck on anything Hongjoong puts in his mouth even with three fingers pressing against his tongue. All Wooyoung can do is use his tongue, licking and laving at Hongjoong's fingers like he really is nothing more than a loyal pet, and the feeling only gets stronger as he swallows down the fluids covering Hongjoong's hand, the metallic tang of his own blood mixing with the saltiness of Hongjoong's release to create an almost acrid taste, yet one that Wooyoung still laps up eagerly, obediently, the bitterness the least of his thoughts in the wake of the haze of pain and arousal and desperation that swirls through him, anything to please Hongjoong, an aching need overwhelming his senses.
He's so focused on the task that he hardly notices Hongjoong pulling off him until a hand nests itself in his hair, stroking gently as a soft voice resonates in his ears.
"Look at you," Hongjoong coos, shifting his hand so Wooyoung can lick the last of the mess off his palm. "You're not so hard to tame, little fox, are you? Just need to let you run wild once in a while."
Wooyoung tilts his head, leaning further into Hongjoong's caress, and blinks up at him, taking in every ounce of warmth coming from Hongjoong's fond eyes looking down on him and letting it wash over him. Feels Hongjoong's unabashed adoration sink deep into him, seeping into his veins, lets his body go limp beneath its weight. Wooyoung's body aches in a multitude of ways, but for as long as Hongjoong keeps that gaze on him, Wooyoung would be willing to stay pinned under it.
Hongjoong pushes Wooyoung's sweaty hair back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "So good for me," he breathes, and Wooyoung feels the straps of the gag come loose right before Hongjoong slips it from his mouth, the metal still dripping with saliva. "How do you want it, Wooyoung-ah?" he murmurs.
Wooyoung's silent for a moment, swallowing and slowly working out his jaw before trying to respond. "You," he finally breathes, looking Hongjoong in the eyes and staring him down. "Want your mouth." It's a challenge, and Hongjoong barely hesitates before bending to it, eyes glinting with anticipation.
"Of course," Hongjoong responds, his smile far from the possessive grin he displayed earlier, instead nothing but a soft, tender expression. "Anything you want."
He draws back, nudging Wooyoung's legs apart so he can kneel between them before leaning forward once again, his hands roaming over Wooyoung's torso. He spreads his hands out before bringing his fingers together, metal of his rings clicking as they touch, and finally, Wooyoung can pull his hands free of their restraints, silver around his wrists morphing back into innocent, elegant bracelets.
For a moment, Wooyoung does nothing but watch, a flame of desire rising to the surface as he admires the way Hongjoong prostrates his body over Wooyoung so easily. He's gorgeous like this, impossibly captivating with his form devoted to Wooyoung, ignoring everything else that exists. He’s trembling slightly, Wooyoung realizes, already eager for him, and the thought only makes him seem even more exquisite, a fragile, beautiful, delicate thing for Wooyoung to use.
Wooyoung can’t wait to break him.
He reaches out, leaning forward as he hooks his fingers beneath Hongjoong’s chin. His eyes flick up to meet Wooyoung’s, and Wooyoung hums softly, tilting his head as his lips form a smirk. “Ah, jagiya,” he purrs, reveling in the way Hongjoong’s lips part slightly, his whole body shuddering beneath Wooyoung’s touch at his words, “anything?”
Hongjoong seems to get lost in Wooyoung's eyes for a minute, the hazy look on his face indicating he's all but forgotten to respond until Wooyoung digs a nail into his skin, startling him from his gaze with a jolt. "If it's for you," he says, words stumbling over one another in his rush to get them out, "always."
Wooyoung smiles. "Then," he says, hand crawling up the back of Hongjoong's neck, fisting in his hair and wrenching his head back, "why are you still talking?"
Hongjoong looks away, face heating up, and the last of Wooyoung's composure evaporates, his body moving on its own as he drags Hongjoong down. "Get on with it," he hears himself rasp, and Hongjoong's all too eager to obey, drooling over Wooyoung's cock and running his tongue down its length, drawing a groan from Wooyoung's lips.
There's a reason he craved Hongjoong's mouth, but at this rate, with how long he's been worked up for, Wooyoung's not going to last longer than a few minutes, especially as Hongjoong takes the tip in his mouth and laves his tongue over it expertly, the rising pleasure like static electricity coursing through him. So as soon as Hongjoong's lips stretch wider, Wooyoung shoves his head down, forcing him to take Wooyoung deep into him, holding him there even as Hongjoong gags, throat convulsing around him.
Wooyoung doesn't let go until tears bead in Hongjoong's eyes, only then letting him pull off for a brief moment to heave a gasping breath before fucking back into his mouth, relentlessly hitting the back of his throat, obscene sounds coming from both of their mouths.
He doesn't know how long it is before Hongjoong's face is streaming with tears, but he does know that in this moment, he's never seen anything more stunning. Wooyoung pulls back, resting just the head of his cock on Hongjoong's tongue, and despite how desperate he must be for air, Hongjoong hollows his cheeks and sucks, and Wooyoung's orgasm comes crashing over him, spilling down Hongjoong's throat before cradling Hongjoong's head in his hands, touch loosening to nothing but the gentlest of caresses.
Hongjoong pulls off of him only to collapse, boneless, next to Wooyoung, a mirror image of how he feels. "Fuck," Wooyoung breathes, a laugh escaping him, and Hongjoong responds in kind, a raspy giggle falling from his lips.
For a minute, all that can be heard is their breathing, deep inhales and heavy exhales that finally relax into a slow, measured pace. Wooyoung turns to face Hongjoong, who smiles softly, and Wooyoung cups his cheek, brushing one last shining tear away before leaning in to mouth at his lips, kissing him with an almost-fierce tenderness. Hongjoong's eyes flutter shut as he melts into it, a breathy sigh leaving him once they pull apart.
"Thank you," Wooyoung whispers, and Hongjoong just smiles in return as he gets to his feet, holding out a hand to Wooyoung, who raises his eyebrows.
"Come on," Hongjoong says, a gleam in his eyes. "Don't you want them to see my signature piece?"
Wooyoung pauses for a moment, then nods, reaching out and taking Hongjoong's hand, allowing him to pull Wooyoung to his feet. "Okay, jagi," he murmurs, lips curling into a smile. "Only for you."