Chapter Text
It’s strange to return to the open fields of the country after being stuck in the capital’s underbelly for so long. It’s strange and foreign, though Yoongi supposes that it is him who is considered a foreigner here.
Reacquainting himself with the land of his birth will take a long time, and he isn’t looking forward to it. Truth be told, he doesn’t think he ever really knew it in the first place. He spent most of his childhood inside the walls of the family estate, too busy studying or practicing swordsmanship and archery to roam the streets of Daegu or the plains and villages surrounding it.
Now that his father, the lord of Gyeongsang, has passed, however, it is his duty to know the country and its people so he can rule it the way they deserve, but he isn’t certain how he is supposed to do that when he can barely name its three largest towns. Hoseok advised him to simply pretend until he has gathered enough experience because that is what you do in the capital. Yoongi doubts that this will work here.
Jungkook’s idea appears more reasonable. He proposed that Yoongi introduce himself as the new lord of Gyeongsang by inviting the most important families of the province to the estate for a ball.
The ensuing preparations take up the better part of June, and by the end of it he feels so wrung out he is sure he will suffocate if he doesn’t get out of the compound. Night has already fallen when he rides through the gate into the valley. Out here, without the warm shine of torches, he only has the moon and stars to guide him, but he’s been tutored in astronomy for long enough not to worry about that. In fact, he relishes it. In the vast lowlands stretching out before him, there is no protocol or schedule to follow, there is only himself, his horse and the soil under its hooves. He is blissfully alone at last.
That is, he is until he hears voices coming from further down the meadow, where the grassland gradually morphs into a forest. At first, he believes he must be imagining them. Nobody in their right mind would go out this far after sunset except himself (though it stands up for debate whether he even is in his right mind at the moment). But then he spots a small yellow light in the distance, ghosting through the tall grass.
Curiosity takes over him, and he pulls the reigns to steer his horse in its direction. The voices grow silent as he approaches. The light stops moving. A moment later he has caught up to it, and what he finds in its glow absolutely boggles his mind.
Three young men—boys, honestly—are standing there, staring up at him with a mixture of wariness and confusion. They look like the children of farmers, wearing mottled and in parts tattered tunics, but each of their faces is so fair that the state of their clothes seems irrelevant in comparison.
“What are you doing out here so late?” he asks them. He is too baffled not to.
One of them steps forward, bracing his hands on his hips. “We could ask you the same thing!” he exclaims in a surprisingly booming voice that doesn’t quite match his refined features. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“Tae,” the tallest one hisses, jerking him back. “Can’t you see the crest on his arm? He’s one of the lord’s men, so show some respect, will you?”
“We were catching fireflies by the river,” the last one pipes up suddenly, holding out the lantern he is carrying. Indeed, Yoongi can see a handful of fireflies swirling around in it, looking for a way out.
“Catching fireflies,” he repeats to confirm that he’s understood correctly.
The boy nods. “It’s summer after all,” he says as though that explains everything. Although he is much shorter than the other two, he has an air of self-assurance to him that staggers Yoongi. All three of them do. They show no sign of the fear or deference that Yoongi has gotten used to during the past weeks.
“I see,” he replies for lack of anything better to say. None of the lessons or court meetings he attended have prepared him for something like this.
“We’ll be on our way now,” the tallest one announces, glaring at the other two so they won’t say anything else. He gives Yoongi a quick bow, takes his companions by the hands and drags them off into the underbrush. As the light of their lantern fades, Yoongi can hear them giggling—probably at him. He wouldn’t blame them for it. That was definitely not the most confident or masterful performance he could have made as the new governing lord of this province.
In the bustle of the remaining three days before the ball, Yoongi forgets about his odd nightly encounter until the big day itself. The hall fills with one family after the other, all of whom he has to greet, so he doesn’t notice them until they are suddenly right in front of him. He would have mistaken them for different people if it hadn’t been for their striking faces. Clad in festive robes, they look nothing like farmers’ children now. However, the quality of the fabric, albeit remarkable, cannot compare to Yoongi’s own, and the old-fashioned cut of the shoulders suggests that the robes must have been tailored some time ago.
To Yoongi’s right, Hoseok scrunches up his nose as the tallest one comes forward to introduce himself. Without his horse to elevate him, Yoongi realizes just how tall he truly is. He has the build of someone who is accustomed to hard physical labor but the posture of a noble. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord,” he says with an amused glint in his eyes. “I’m Kim Seokjin, heir to Sir Ha Sejung.”
Yoongi forces himself not to scrunch up his nose as well and puts on a well-practiced mask of indifference. He doesn’t understand why Kim Seokjin has a different family name than his father, but this is not the time or the place to ask about it.
Kim Seokjin is followed by his younger brothers, Kim Taehyung—the flippant one with the deep voice—and Park Jimin—the small one.
In the periphery of his vision, Yoongi can see Hoseok’s frown deepen.
Three different family names? Yoongi understands less and less but does his best not to let his bewilderment show.
Just like his brother’s, Park Jimin’s eyes twinkle with amusement, as if he can tell exactly what Yoongi is thinking in spite of his efforts to hide it. At least he isn’t as irritatingly big as Seokjin and Taehyung.
As soon as they have left, Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “So the rumors are true,” he says, watching the three move through the crowd. “The old Ha Sejung never had any offspring of his own. Not that it surprises me, there was always something not quite right about him.”
Behind him Jungkook cocks his head. “What do you mean? They said that they are his sons, didn’t they?”
Yoongi almost smiles at his naivety. “He must have adopted them because he couldn’t have a proper heir,” he explains.
“They’re orphans,” Hoseok adds with another scrunch of his face.
“Oh.” Jungkook seems to consider this. He hasn’t seen enough of the world yet to understand just what that means. After a minute or two, he concludes, “They’re very good looking.”
Shaking his head, Hoseok ruffles his hair. “Didn’t know you were that shallow.”
Jungkook laughs at that, but the way his gaze drifts back to Kim Seokjin throughout the evening tells Yoongi that there is more to it than he lets on. His suspicions are confirmed a couple of hours later when Jungkook invites him and his brothers to a game of yutnori.
“If my brother and Lord Yoongi join us,” he says with a shy but determined smile, “we have an even number for two teams. What do you say?”
Kim Seokjin gapes at him. It strikes Yoongi that he must be much older than Jungkook’s eighteen years. Playing yutnori is likely not his favorite pastime.
To Yoongi’s astonishment, Kim Seokjin doesn’t decline, though that may have something to do with his brothers, who are nudging him in the sides. He isn’t indulging Jungkook, he is indulging them.
Yoongi doesn’t know how to feel about this. By the looks of it, Hoseok doesn’t, either. Jungkook is young and only has a rudimentary concept of all the kinds of people that inhabit this world. Perhaps, Yoongi muses as Jungkook divides the six of them into two teams, this will be a good opportunity to teach him that Kim Seokjin and his brothers do not belong to the kind of people Jungkook ought to associate with for longer than necessary.
Thanks to Jungkook, Yoongi ends up in the same team as Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, leaving himself with Hoseok and, of course, Kim Seokjin.
Both Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin are excited for the game, though the latter has the decency to hold himself back a little. His brother displays no such restraint, or self-awareness for that matter.
“Are you good at this game?” he asks Yoongi, completely serious.
Park Jimin raises a hand to his face, no doubt to conceal a grin. On the other side of the game board, Jungkook and Kim Seokjin are also trying to muffle their laughter. Only Hoseok is scowling, much like Yoongi himself. These brats have some nerve, openly mocking their lord in his own house.
“No,” he says as icily as he can so Kim Taehyung will understand the mistake he has just made, but the boy remains absolutely unfazed.
“That’s okay,” he says, “I will teach you.”
Anger freezes the rest of Yoongi’s goodwill. “No need. I’m afraid I have to excuse myself.”
Without waiting for a reaction, he whirls around and stalks off into a smaller side room to calm down. He doesn’t notice that somebody has gone after him until the floorboards creak right behind him.
Park Jimin is hovering in the doorframe, appearing tense for the first time since Yoongi has met him. The corners of his small, expressive eyes are pinched together, wrinkling his otherwise smooth skin.
“May I talk to you, my lord?”
“Can it wait?” Yoongi asks even though he knows the answer will be no.
Once again defying all conventions, Park Jimin doesn’t answer him at all. Instead he goes on as if Yoongi hasn’t even spoken, “It’s about my brother and Sir Jeon.”
So Yoongi and Hoseok weren’t the only ones who picked up on Jungkook’s interest. He narrows his eyes at the boy and decides to play the fool for now. “What are you talking about?”
“Pardon me, my lord, but if you don’t know,” Park Jimin says, quirking his brows in an unspoken challenge, “then you are much less observant than I expected of someone in your position.”
His boldness might impress Yoongi if it weren’t so infuriating. Who does this kid think he is? “And your tongue is much sharper than I expected of someone in yours,” he shoots back, no longer bothering to hide any of his hostility. “What is it that you want, boy?”
“Do not call me that,” Park Jimin says, voice quivering as though he can barely hold himself back from raising it. “I may look young, but it is only two years that separate us, my lord.”
Yoongi scrutinizes him more closely. He almost reaches Yoongi’s height, but his frame isn’t nearly as broad. His round cheeks and plump lips soften the angles of his jaw and nose, giving him a boyish, almost innocent appearance rather than a masculine one. Granted, Yoongi is a little taken aback. He guessed Park Jimin to be about Jungkook’s age, maybe even younger, but Yoongi refuses to admit that out loud.
“What is it that you want?”
Park Jimin’s expression hardens into something startlingly cold. “Nothing,” he says, tone just as icy as Yoongi’s was to his brother earlier. “I changed my mind.”
With that he spins on his heel and dives back into the hubbub of the ball.
Yoongi doesn’t understand what is going on inside that boy’s head, seeking Yoongi out only to storm off again, but he doesn’t dwell on it for too long. It would be a waste of time. Park Jimin, who goes out into the fields in the middle of the night hunting for fireflies, is not a person anybody halfway sane could ever understand. There are more pressing matters to take care of in any case—namely Jungkook and his unfortunate infatuation with Kim Seokjin.
The following day Jungkook talks of nothing but the man, whom he is allowed to call by his first name now, as he proudly announces to Yoongi and Hoseok, who exchange a worried glance.
“He’s so handsome,” Jungkook says for what must be the tenth time already, “and so funny. It’s a shame you didn’t play with us, Yoongi.”
“Maybe next time,” Yoongi replies diplomatically, vowing to himself that there won’t be a next time.
But Jungkook latches onto the idea and looks so happy about it that neither Yoongi nor Hoseok can deny him when he asks if they can invite Kim Seokjin to dinner as soon as possible. This is how Yoongi finds himself sat across the man just one week later as the food is served. Jungkook, having claimed the seat to Kim Seokjin’s left, is smiling from ear to ear, listening to a story about how Kim Taehyung once designed a version of yutnori consisting entirely of twigs and leafs. Naturally, Jungkook is impressed beyond belief and wants to try doing that as well right away. It doesn’t occur to him that Kim Taehyung probably had been forced to do that because he hadn’t owned a proper game board or sticks before Ha Sejung took him in. Kim Seokjin doesn’t mention it, either, for obvious reasons.
At this point Hoseok, understandably uncomfortable with the conversation, diverts Jungkook’s attention by bringing up his riding lessons.
“How is it going with the horses? Are you improving?”
“It's going pretty well,” Jungkook gloats, though it is probably meant more for Kim Seokjin than for his brother. “My lessons will be over soon, and then I can ride out as much as I want.”
To Yoongi’s surprise, Kim Seokjin appears genuinely impressed by that. “I envy you! Horses and I do not get along too well.”
“But you’re so tall,” Jungkook says although he isn’t that much shorter than him. “I bet you just need a little more practice.” The familiar glint of determination lights up his eyes. “Or maybe just a better teacher?”
Kim Seokjin’s jaw slackens just a little. Yoongi feels almost sympathetic towards him. Because he acts so shy all the time, many people often misjudge Jungkook and regard him as a diffident child who lacks discipline and willpower. The problem is that Jungkook, regardless of all his ignorance towards the world, has already figured this out years ago and now uses it to get what he wants. Right now, what he wants is Kim Seokjin, who has fallen right into his trap.
“You,” he begins and falters, obviously struggling with the concept of Jungkook as a teacher of anything, “want to help me, Sir Jeon?”
Jungkook flashes him a winning smile. “First, I want you to call me by my given name.”
Hoseok intercepts with a harrumph to remind his brother how inappropriate that would be, but Jungkook pretends not to have heard him. Fortunately, Kim Seokjin has deciphered the message and doesn’t go along with the idea.
“Fine, but then you have to let me teach you how to ride.”
Reluctantly, Kim Seokjin accepts. Yoongi does too because the sun hasn’t set yet, but Hoseok scowls at him like he wishes Yoongi didn’t.
“What are you thinking?” he whispers to Yoongi as they trail behind Jungkook and Kim Seokjin on their way to the paddock. “We cannot allow this to go any further. Have you seen the way Jungkook looks at him?”
Yoongi has, and he doesn’t like it either, but sending Kim Seokjin away just like that is not an option. As Ha Sejung’s heir, he is a significant part of the local community. Yoongi can’t risk offending him in the open. It has to happen discretely, politely, or Jungkook’s reputation will be in trouble as well.
“We need to wait for a better time,” Yoongi answers, watching Jungkook drag Kim Seokjin to one of his favorite horses. One of the stable boys scurries over to them, bringing the tack. “Jungkook will be of age in the fall. We’ll send him to the capital for his studies. That should settle it. We just have to keep an eye on him in the meantime.”
Relief mellows out Hoseok’s posture. “Thank you,” he says, “I don’t know—”
He is cut off by a shrill scream, succeeded by an aggressive neigh and the stomping of hooves in the dust. He and Yoongi whip around to see Jungkook cradle Kim Seokjin’s body in his arms while the stable boy is trying his hardest to keep the horse at bay. It’s kicking and clomping on the ground, which is no longer dusty but covered in blood.
The accident with the horse has left Kim Seokjin unable to return home. He has a nasty wound on his head, and the physician fears some of his ribs may be cracked, so he must not leave bed for a fortnight at the very least. Jungkook, though sick with worry, very obviously enjoys that he gets to be with him every day. Also very obviously, Yoongi and Hoseok do not, but there is nothing they can do about it. Even though Kim Seokjin is likely a fraud, planning to trick Jungkook into marrying him for the sake of his fortune, it wasn’t his fault that he got injured. He deserves proper treatment just like everybody else.
Hoseok, however, isn’t so sure. “He could have done it on purpose,” he says from time to time, staring in the direction of the east wing, where Kim Seokjin’s temporary quarters are.
He could have, or he could not have. Frankly, Yoongi doesn’t care. Even if Kim Seokjin did do it on purpose, they would never be able to prove it, so the result would be the same either way. What Yoongi cares about is Park Jimin, who keeps sending him letters inquiring about his brother’s recovery. Yoongi repeatedly assures him that it is going fine and that he, Jungkook and Hoseok as well as everybody else in the compound are doing their utmost to help him, but that doesn’t placate him.
On the fourth day after the incident, he knocks on the front gate of the estate, demanding to be let in and see his brother. Jungkook welcomes him and personally escorts him to the east wing. Yoongi prefers to stay back in his study with Hoseok, who is going through some reports for him. He has no particular desire to speak with Park Jimin again, and he wants to keep it that way for as long as he can.
To his dismay, that turns out not to be very long at all. Jungkook offers him to stay for the night, and of course Park Jimin has no reason to object.
When he joins them at dinner that evening, he is wearing a light silken hanbok he must have borrowed from Jungkook. The bright fabric makes his tan skin stand out, giving it a glow that Yoongi didn’t notice before, and the way the robes have been tailored accentuate his narrow waist. Jungkook looks smug once he sees Yoongi’s astonishment at the boy’s transformation. Jimin himself acts as if he has never looked any different, but his demeanor is stiffer than Yoongi recalls from their previous encounters.
He and Jungkook carry the bulk of the conversation until he mentions that he likes to dance. Dancing has always been Hoseok’s passion, so he perks up at that immediately. To Yoongi, it has never appealed all that much, though he can’t deny that it can be pleasing to look at, especially when Hoseok is doing it. He has a way of controlling his movements that Yoongi has never seen from anybody before or after.
“Oh, I’m quite fond of dancing myself,” Hoseok chimes in. Yoongi can hear the mixture of mockery and curiosity in his voice. “I would love to see you perform!”
Yoongi expects Park Jimin to decline, but since he always seems to be wrong with his presumptions about this family, Park Jimin merely answers with a confident, “Sure, why not?”
Hoseok sends for the musicians, and ten minutes later they are all putting down their chopsticks and turning to Park Jimin, who has acquired a fan as a prop in the meantime.
The song Park Jimin has chosen doesn’t start out softly like the dancing music Yoongi is used to from courts and banquets. Rather, it’s the kind of tune that is played on street fairs or festivals, a fluttering melody riding on a pulsing rhythm.
And then Park Jimin’s body launches into motion.
Snapping the fan in time with the beat of the drums, he spins around on one foot and maintains perfect balance. He comes to a halt in a crouch, opening the fan and flourishing it, and slowly rolls his body upright again.
Something spasms in Yoongi’s gut.
Jungkook cheers and claps while Park Jimin continues, swaying his hips in a way that is much too suggestive for this kind of occasion. Yoongi should be indignant, should be ashamed that he’s allowing something so improper to happen right in front of him, but he’s too mesmerized to do anything but gawk. Part of him even wishes Park Jimin weren’t wearing so many layers so Yoongi could get a better glimpse at all the ways his body manages to bend.
It’s a thought he shouldn’t have about someone like Park Jimin, but Yoongi can’t help himself. When he’s dancing, Park Jimin is so beautiful it’s almost frightening. In contrast to Hoseok’s perfect control, his movements are ruled by pure force, by a raw sort of energy that zips through the room like lightning until it pierces Yoongi right in the chest.
In that precise moment, Park Jimin stops, landing on his knees directly in front of Yoongi, and shuts his fan with a final click. He smirks up at Yoongi like he knows exactly what kind of effect his performance had on him. Yoongi wouldn’t be shocked if he did. Somebody who can dance like that can’t not be aware of what it will do to the audience.
“How was it, my lord?” he asks Yoongi, tone honeyed with faux-innocence.
He’s making fun of Yoongi for everyone in the room to see, and Yoongi cannot do anything to stop it because Park Jimin has every right to do so. Yoongi is acting like an imbecile, like he hasn’t learned anything from the incident with Namjoon.
“Unexpected,” Yoongi settles on answering, making himself seem unbothered to minimize the damage.
Still smirking, he turns to the rest of the table. “What did you think?”
Jungkook explodes into a rant on how extraordinary Park Jimin’s performance was and that he wants Hoseok to teach him moves like that the next time they practice together.
“It was very interesting,” Hoseok says once his brother is done gushing with an unmistakable strain to his voice. He underestimated Park Jimin. Now his pride has to pay the price for that.
To be fair, Yoongi underestimated him as well, but he isn’t bothered by it, unlike Hoseok. Quite the contrary, Yoongi finds himself intrigued by the mischievous, cunning character beneath the sweet exterior, even though he should know better.
After dinner Jungkook and Park Jimin visit Kim Seokjin again, while Yoongi and Hoseok migrate to the tea room, where they recover from their respective shocks.
“I cannot believe he did that,” Hoseok spits, hands balling into fists. “He looked like a—like a whore!”
“If you think so,” Yoongi says drily, “that means you have never witnessed the dance of an actual whore before.”
Hoseok chokes and doesn’t say anything for a while. Although he is a bright, light-hearted person most of the time, he gets very uptight, nearly prudish, when it comes to sex and propriety. Yoongi doesn’t really get it. Then again, it is none of his business what Hoseok thinks or doesn’t think about sex, so it doesn’t matter if he gets it or not.
Still, he can’t stop himself from teasing him a little. “It was your idea to make him dance, my friend, so you’ve got yourself to blame as well, don’t you?”
Too scandalized to recognize Yoongi’s comment as the joke it was meant to be, Hoseok shoots up from his seat and demands, “Are you defending that harlot?”
“That’s enough.” Hoseok’s attitude is starting to get on Yoongi’s nerves. He loves Hoseok dearly, but sometimes Yoongi doesn’t have the patience for his unfortunate tendency to get himself worked up about the most trivial things. “You know I did not mean it like that.”
Hoseok’s eyes bore into him. “Do I?” he says, though he doesn’t wait for a response. Ha barrels out the door, almost colliding with Park Jimin in the process.
He raises his brows at Yoongi as he enters the room. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” Yoongi says quickly, offering Park Jimin to take the seat Hoseok has just abandoned. He doesn’t need any more unnecessary dramatics tonight. “Where is Jungkook?”
Park Jimin sits down and crosses his legs. Yoongi cannot tell whether he is aware of how rude that is or not, but he is too tired to admonish him for it. He doubts the boy would listen to him anyway.
“He stayed with my brother.”
“Of course he did.”
Park Jimin’s expression becomes stony. “Do you believe he shouldn’t, my lord?”
Yoongi snorts, which is about as rude as crossing your legs in front of someone of Yoongi’s rank, but nobody else is here and Park Jimin clearly has no sense for manners. “I do not think it really matters to you what I believe, Park Jimin.”
“It matters to my brother,” he says, not even denying it.
“I’m sure it does.”
Squeezing his eyes into angry slits, Park Jimin leans forward into Yoongi’s space. The collar of his hanbok slips a little, allowing Yoongi a peek at his collar bones. Yoongi wishes he knew if the boy is doing it on purpose. He also wishes the boy weren’t so stupidly attractive.
“I don't care if you look down on me,” he says, voice low, “but do not dare look down on my brother.”
Part of Yoongi is absolutely baffled that Park Jimin has the guts to threaten him. Another, bigger part of him is simply captivated. There is no trace of fear in Park Jimin’s eyes, no hesitancy.
Namjoon had the same look in his eyes before he left.
Yoongi doesn’t answer. He can’t. Park Jimin’s gaze has rendered him mute.
After breakfast the next morning, Park Jimin returns home. Jungkook and even Hoseok come up to the front gate to bid him goodbye. Yoongi does not.
He has locked himself in his office, staring at the stack of letters he needs to answer without really seeing them. For some reason Park Jimin has the uncanny ability to get under his skin—just like Namjoon did.
No, not quite like Namjoon.
Namjoon always made sense to Yoongi. Everything he did followed the same logic. You like playing the zither? Play the zither. You want to write songs? Write songs. You hate martial arts? Stop practicing. From his perspective the world offered an even playing field for everyone.
Park Jimin makes no sense to Yoongi at all. Whatever logic he follows, Yoongi cannot fathom it. At first glance he seems to be the straightforward type like Namjoon, but he can be sneaky when he has to be, making sure never to reveal too much of himself. Namjoon always wore his heart on his sleeve. Yoongi used to envy him for that, once.
Kim Seokjin stays for the rest of the prescribed fortnight, then he returns home as well—against Jungkook’s will. Inwardly, Yoongi commends the man for resisting Jungkook’s puppy dog eyes and incessant pleading, but he is glad that he’s gone. Of course Jungkook spends the following days moping and nagging Yoongi and Hoseok to accompany him to the cottage inhabited by the three brothers.
Astonishingly, it’s Hoseok who gives in eventually. He and Jungkook ride out at noon and come back as the day begins to fade away and the sky takes on the color of a healing bruise. Jungkook’s face is glowing like the setting sun when he goes to bed. Hoseok’s is grim like the approaching darkness of night.
“Bad news?” Yoongi asks.
Hoseok slumps down onto the seat cushion on the other side of Yoongi’s desk. “He wants to propose to Kim,” he bites out, as if he could chew the words into nothing, “as soon as he’s of age.”
That is bad news, indeed. Yoongi didn’t realize Jungkook’s crush had solidified into something so concrete.
“I will write a letter to my aunt and send it to her tomorrow. If she invites him to visit her over the fall, he cannot say no.”
Admittedly, Yoongi doesn’t know his aunt too well. She married a wealthy nobleman in the west when he was six, so he cannot remember much about her, but she always makes sure to send him gifts for Seollal and Chuseok and even began to write to him regularly after his father’s passing. She will help, once Yoongi has told her what Jungkook is about to do to himself and his family.
Hoseok smiles up at him tiredly. “Thank you.”
It may take up to a week until the letter reaches Yoongi’s aunt and another for her response to reach him. Hoseok is growing increasingly restless with each passing day, dreading that Jungkook could find a way to see Kim Seokjin again and make matters even worse. It’s getting on Yoongi’s nerves, so he decides to distract him from the anxiety of waiting by taking him and Jungkook out on a trip through some of the neighboring villages.
A fair in the second town they hit makes them stop and dismount their horses. They pay a couple of children to watch their horses while they’re gone and plunge into the tangle of bodies, voices and music.
Yoongi hasn’t been to a fair since he was seven or eight years old, and the few tatters of memories that remain do not compare to this buzz of sounds and colors. It is disorienting. Everything feels too loud or too bright, but then a familiar drum beat drowns it all out.
As if pulled in by invisible strings, Yoongi follows it, Hoseok and Jungkook all but forgotten, and winds through the masses. It’s like someone has put a spell on him. He comes to a stop at the town square, a broad, round clearing in the middle of the labyrinth of huts and houses, where a flock of people has gathered around a dancer and his two companions, a drummer and a flutist.
Park Jimin, the spell caster, and his brothers.
His moves are even more explicit now than they were when he performed for Yoongi, Hoseok and Jungkook. He is wearing a light cotton hanbok that flows around his body in airy waves, mirroring the fluid rolls of his hips. His eyes skim over the crowd and harden the instant they notice Yoongi, but he keeps smiling coyly, and Yoongi keeps staring at him, more spellbound than ever.
He doesn’t know how much time passes like that, hypnotized by the magic of Park Jimin’s grace, until he snaps out of it again. It’s Jungkook’s voice that hauls him back to reality, calling his name from somewhere to Yoongi’s left. At first he cannot make out what he is saying, head swimming because of all the blood rushing through his ears. His hearing only begins to work again when Jungkook strides across the square to the three brothers, complimenting them on their show and inviting them to the estate for dinner.
Hoseok makes a face as though he has just eaten something rotten. Yoongi’s stomach churns with a feeling he is too scared to name.
Initially, the three brothers seem reluctant, but they are easy victims to Jungkook’s charms and promise to join them in the evening. Jungkook beams at them, and they beam back at him.
Yoongi can’t wait for his aunt’s letter to arrive.
Dinner flies by, almost like a dream. Yoongi is glad when it’s over. He found his gaze drifting to Park Jimin again and again, his magic still in full effect. Reflexively, Yoongi’s mind catalogued every detail of Park Jimin’s face, Park Jimin’s voice, Park Jimin’s mannerisms, until he couldn’t eat anymore because he was already full.
Under the pretext of a headache, Yoongi retires to his private chambers as soon as the servants begin to clear the table. His rooms are in the far back of the compound’s west wing, the same ones his father used to inhabit while he was this country’s ruler. Nobody except him is allowed to set foot in that part of the estate, but that doesn’t stop Park Jimin from trailing after him.
Yoongi isn’t blind, particularly when it comes to this boy—for better or worse. Park Jimin may be sneaky and light-footed, but when he excused himself right after Yoongi had, he betrayed himself, and no amount of stealth will change that now.
Once he has exited the main building and stepped onto the path leading up to his quarters, he stops in his tracks and turns around. Park Jimin doesn’t appear even remotely caught off guard by this, as if he has been expecting Yoongi to do so from the moment he started his pursuit.
“What do you want?” Yoongi asks him, cutting right to the chase. Spending more than three hours in such close proximity to Park Jimin has him on edge, though he cannot quite pinpoint why. It isn’t just the boy’s looks that draw him in. There’s something sharp to his sweetness, something that could easily slice Yoongi open if he isn’t careful.
“What do you want?” Park Jimin shoots back, sauntering over to Yoongi like he already knows the answer.
His casual confidence arouses Yoongi, but he valiantly fights the inevitable and says, “I’m tired of your games.”
Park Jimin halts right in front of him, leaving a hair’s breadth of air between them. He grins at Yoongi. “I haven’t even begun to play yet.” He sinks down onto his knees, looking up at Yoongi demurely as though he cannot tell that it’s all an act. “Are you sure you don’t want to play with me, my lord?”
Something in Yoongi cracks, and then everything happens very quickly.
He yanks Park Jimin back up by his hair and drags him across the courtyard to his rooms. Park Jimin makes no noise of complaint—rather the opposite, he huffs out a satisfied laugh with every tug on his hair, which only serves to rile Yoongi up more.
His cock is throbbing and his fingers itching when he throws Park Jimin onto his futon.
Maybe Hoseok was right. Maybe Park Jimin is a whore after all, but Yoongi cannot procure the effort to care. Park Jimin could be or do anything, and Yoongi would still want him.
The boy stretches out on the sheets as if he owns them, taunting Yoongi with the delicate shape of his wrists and the obscene dips of his collarbones. Yoongi has had enough. He pounces, seizing both of Park Jimin’s tiny wrists with one hand while the other is tugging his hanbok open to reveal the sun-kissed plains of his chest. It is an exhilarating experience when he bends down and licks at the tangy skin of Park Jimin’s neck for the first time. Yoongi can feel the boy’s blood pump beneath his tongue, the heat passing over from him to Yoongi.
“Mark me,” Park Jimin says. He sounds like he’s grinning again. “I know you want to.”
He’s right. As usual, he’s right, and it pisses Yoongi off. How does a country bumpkin brat like that manage to see right through all of the walls Yoongi has spent so many years crafting?
He buries himself deeper into the curve of Park Jimin’s neck, inhaling the faint smell of sweat, and opens his mouth. The boy lets out a satisfying yelp as Yoongi’s teeth dig into his flesh. For a second Yoongi is convinced he’s done it, he’s finally put Park Jimin back into his place, but then his hips buck into Yoongi’s.
He’s hard.
Heat washes through Yoongi. Experimentally, he places another bite on Park Jimin’s neck, right next to the previous one. The boy’s hips kick again, and a moan stutters out of him.
Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to grin. “Should have known you’d like it rough,” he says and sucks on the bite mark he just left. “Little slut.”
“You, ah, say that like you haven’t been wanting to fuck me ever since I danced for you.” Despite the breathiness of his voice, Park Jimin still sounds much too confident for Yoongi’s liking.
It’s been a while since Yoongi last heard and used vulgar language like that. Coming from a sweet-faced creature like Park Jimin, it sounds even filthier than normal. Yoongi’s hard too now. He grinds down to press their erections together and get the boy just as riled up as Yoongi is himself.
Park Jimin gasps and grinds back with abandon.
“Little slut,” Yoongi says again, letting go of the boy’s wrists to pull at his clothes. He doesn’t even really mean it as an insult. Park Jimin’s unabashed lack of shame for his sexuality is refreshing and weirdly cute, what with the way he’s rutting against Yoongi to get off as if he can barely contain himself.
“You’re repeating yourself, my lord,” Park Jimin says and sighs when Yoongi removes his restraining robes from his cock.
Yoongi runs the tip of his right index finger along the length of it. It’s shorter and chubbier than Yoongi’s own, and that, too, is weirdly cute in his eyes. A bead of wetness oozes out of the slit when his finger reaches the head.
“It is true, though, isn’t it? See, you’re getting wet for me already.” He taps the head for emphasis. As if on cue, even more wetness squirts out of the boy’s dick.
Park Jimin’s legs fall open, exposing his balls and the pink pucker of his opening. He asks, “So what if I am a slut?”
Petting his cock one more time, Yoongi answers, “Then I will make sure to treat you the way you deserve.”
Now that he has Park Jimin stripped all the way down in front of him, Yoongi rips off the ribbons that hold his own clothing together and slings them into a knot around the boy's wrists with a swift move he learned from a stablehand once. He doesn't really bother with undressing himself further the way he had done with Park Jimin, just untucks his cock and watches the boy's eyes widen. It's a common reaction. People tend to expect Yoongi's dick to match the rest of his figure, and it never fails to amuse him to watch their expectations collide with reality.
In Park Jimin's case, however, there is more than surprise in his eyes, a glint that Yoongi can only describe as hungry. Never before has Yoongi met someone so unapologetic about their desires—not even Namjoon had been this open. It’s thrilling, so much so that he nearly forgets who Park Jimin really is. Who Min Yoongi really is.
“Thought you were gonna give me what I deserve,” Park Jimin teases, slipping into the local dialect and abandoning all pretense at manners or respect, probably to get a reaction out of Yoongi.
Yoongi will give him one if that’s what he wants. This time he won’t let the brat get the upper hand.
He leans down, arms bracketing Park Jimin’s head, and stops with only a breath of air separating their faces. “What makes you think sluts like you deserve anything, hm?”
“Well,” says Park Jimin, sounding entirely too smug and comfortable for someone in his position, and grinds his hips against Yoongi’s. “Pretty sure this part of you wouldn’t mind giving me what I want.”
Of their own accord, Yoongi’s lips lift up into a grin. He can hardly believe somebody like Park Jimin exists, lying there right in front of him, voicing his wants, shamelessly and unafraid. Yoongi was wrong. Being with him isn’t just thrilling, it’s humbling. For all the power Yoongi pretends to hold, he cannot even do something as simple as outright admitting to what he wants, too daunted by the possible consequences.
“And what is it that you want?”
Park Jimin grins back at him, close-mouthed and with his eyes lidded, suddenly shutting himself off as though he can sense how fascinated Yoongi is by his honesty. He grinds his hips again, and his tongue peeks out between his red lips. He has lured Yoongi in with his openness, and now that he has Yoongi where he wants him he’s keeping him there, not letting Yoongi get him where he wants him.
It’s thrilling and humbling, and although Yoongi doubts he will ever truly get the upper hand with this boy, he refuses to go down without a fight.
Sitting back up again, he surveys the view in front of him as if contemplating how to proceed. As the seconds grow into minutes, Park Jimin’s grin slips off his face. Yoongi isn’t surprised. The boy seems like someone who is used to getting his way, not unlike Jungkook, except he has the experience and perspective that Jungkook lacks, which Yoongi appreciates.
“Didn’t you say you’d give me what I deserve?” he demands, petulant in a way that is confusingly attractive to Yoongi—much like everything else about him.
Above him Yoongi noses along his jaw and down his neck back to the bite marks he left earlier. “I am,” he says, making himself sound bored even though he is anything but. “If you want more, you need to earn it, Jimin.”
Jimin gasps. Briefly, Yoongi fears he misstepped—names are nothing to be trifled with after all—but then Jimin whispers, voice startlingly meek, “Say it again.”
“Earn it,” Yoongi murmurs, feeling oddly at ease, and draws his tongue across the red indents on Jimin’s skin. “Jimin.”
Groaning, Jimin tips his head back to show off the long line of his neck—and the traces Yoongi has left on it. “Make me,” he says, no longer meek and back to his bratty self.
Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. He grips Jimin’s chin and forces him to meet his eyes. “This is what you’re going to do: get on your knees, open your mouth and take what I give you.” He loosens his hold for a moment, softening his expression to gauge if Jimin is on board with this.
Immediately, the boy takes advantage of the situation and begins to struggle. “Make me,” he says again, and Yoongi throws caution out of the window.
He slaps Jimin across the cheek, shutting him up, and uses his shock to shove his cock past his lips. “Do not test me,” Yoongi barks, much more affected than he expected. Park Jimin is something else.
The boy’s pupils are blown wide as Yoongi feeds him his dick. Evidently, he is just as affected as Yoongi is, and that is probably the most striking aspect about all of this: Jimin is enjoying this, enjoying himself—together with Yoongi.
He definitely is something else.
Yoongi doesn’t have to slap him a second time. Jimin is following his orders now, sucking Yoongi down until he bumps into the back of his throat. Yoongi lets out a quiet moan. It isn’t merely the physical stimulation that gets to him. More than that, it is the expression on Jimin’s face, his eyes closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, jaw slack.
He looks like he couldn’t be more content. Yoongi has never been with a partner like this before. In more ways than one, Jimin is extraordinary, and Yoongi wants to savor that, wants to savor him the way he deserves.
Slowly, almost gently, he pulls his cock from Jimin’s mouth and traces his swollen lips with the tip. “So good, so pretty for me. That’s where you belong, isn’t it?”
Jimin’s eyes fly open. A whine escapes him, and he flushes instantly.
Yoongi chuckles. Jimin’s responsiveness is both empowering and endearing. “You like that?” He caresses Jimin’s darkening cheeks with his cock. “You like getting praised, little slut?”
Whining again, Jimin tilts his head so he can mouth along Yoongi’s length and get away with not answering verbally, but Yoongi isn’t having it. He shuffles backward to put some distance between his dick and Jimin’s deviant lips.
“Got nothing more to say? Where did all that bravado go, hm? Is my cock so good you’ve forgotten how to talk?”
Jimin tries to stifle another whine and fails. “You wish,” he bites out as if he hasn’t just suckled on Yoongi’s cock like he couldn’t get enough of it.
At this point Yoongi can barely work up any irritation at Jimin’s resurfacing resistance. It’s become glaringly obvious that he wants Yoongi to get mad and be rough with him. For the umpteenth time that night, Yoongi finds himself wondering why he finds that so adorable.
Then again, he has no choice with Jimin laid out in front of him like this, all heated scowls and spread legs, the most enticing contradiction Yoongi has ever encountered. He’s unpredictable in a way that has Yoongi’s blood thundering through his veins in long-forgotten excitement.
As self-contradictory as Jimin seems to be, however, Yoongi has started to suspect that this is not simply a matter of dominance. What else could it be, though?
Trust, Yoongi might say if they knew each other better, but they don’t. They don’t know each other at all. He pushes the thought away before it can linger, fester. Nobody truly knows anybody, he reminds himself.
Because smacking Jimin around any more would be a reward rather than a punishment, Yoongi switches to a new strategy.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, letting go of Jimin entirely.
Jimin stares at him, disbelieving. “You—what are you doing?”
“Stopping,” Yoongi says with feigned ignorance. “I do not want to force you.”
Jimin’s usually tear-shaped eyes grow into a pair of impossibly huge ovals that twinkle like gems in the pale moonlight. He opens his mouth, shuts it again when no words come out. It’s cute. Even better than what Yoongi intended.
Yoongi continues his act and puts on a confused frown. “What is it? Oh, I should untie you, shouldn’t I?” He reaches for Jimin’s bound wrists, but the boy squirms away.
“No,” he says, and then he freezes, realizing where this is going.
“No?” Yoongi echoes. He has to fight the smirk tingling in the corners of his mouth. “You don’t want me to untie you?”
To his surprise, Jimin actually blushes at that. Yoongi has done it. He has Jimin where he wants him at last. What makes this even more satisfying is that they both know the answer to Yoongi’s question. It doesn’t make much of a difference whether Jimin replies or not. The color filling out his cheeks and his lowered gaze have already replied for him.
A rush of power zaps up Yoongi’s spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He hasn’t felt like this since—he cannot even remember since when.
He moves his right leg forward so his knee presses against Jimin’s erection. Jimin flinches, then sighs when Yoongi removes the pressure again. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says gently as he cages Jimin’s body in with his own. “To have someone putting you back into your place?”
Jimin’s eyes continue to avoid him, and his face is redder than ever. One more time Yoongi grinds his knee against Jimin’s crotch. Jimin bucks up into him, back arching.
“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes out, his lips brushing Jimin’s. “Sluts like you need a firm hand to remind them where they belong, hm?”
That pulls Jimin out of his embarrassed stupor. “What firm hand?” he mocks, tilting his head to the side. “You’re all talk.”
At this point Yoongi is no longer surprised by Jimin’s attitude. In fact, he welcomes it. It’s going to make it even more rewarding when Jimin eventually comes apart in his hands.
“My bad,” says Yoongi, feeling a little drunk from the challenge, and yanks Jimin’s head up so he’s on eye level with Yoongi’s cock.
Jimin opens his mouth, no doubt ready to rile Yoongi up even more with another one of his taunts, but Yoongi cuts him off before he can even begin. With a single well-aimed jerk of his hips, he thrusts his cock directly into Jimin’s mouth. Jimin gags around him, and Yoongi keeps himself still for a moment to check if he has gone too far. Jimin merely glares up at him, defiantly, as if to ask, “Is that all you’ve got?”
Yoongi stops holding back. He grips the back of Jimin’s head with both hands and starts fucking into Jimin’s mouth. Jimin puts up no further resistance, opening up easily for Yoongi while gurgling out a moan every time Yoongi hits the back of his throat.
“That firm enough for you?” Yoongi asks, voice dropping low, although he doesn’t plan on letting Jimin respond—not that he could in his current state.
Spit has bubbled up in Jimin’s mouth, dribbling down his lips. His glare has transformed into an unfocused stare. He looks beautiful in a twisted, perverted kind of way.
Something sharp spikes through all of Yoongi’s nerve endings. He did that to Jimin. No, even better, Jimin wanted him to do it.
“You look so pretty like this,” he tells Jimin, not only because it’s true but also because he hasn’t forgotten how Jimin reacted to compliments earlier.
As expected, Jimin whines in response, sounding overwhelmed but not displeased. More drool escapes his mouth, and his eyes flutter shut again.
Yoongi stops moving his hips, cock forming an obscene bulge in Jimin’s cheeks. “So pretty,” he can’t help saying again. “Makes me want to wreck you.”
Tears catch in the lashes of Jimin’s still-closed eyes. He doesn’t open them, doesn’t do anything to prevent Yoongi from fulfilling his desire, though Yoongi didn’t think he would. They’re past that stage now.
With a loud squelch, Yoongi slips out of Jimin’s mouth and takes himself in hand, preparing for the finale. Underneath him Jimin’s body shivers in anticipation. He’s become so obedient, keeping his jaw dropped slack with his tongue hanging out, waiting for whatever Yoongi is willing to give him.
Yoongi is willing to give him his all.
It only takes a few strokes for him to find release and paint Jimin’s face with it. The view, combined with the orgasm itself, is intense. His come splatters across Jimin’s cheeks, nose and lips in thick globs of milky white, but Jimin barely even winces when it hits him. Instead he relaxes, going completely pliant in front of Yoongi so he can cover him in his seed.
For the third time that night, Yoongi says, “so pretty,” and Jimin answers by wagging his tongue at him. This causes some of Yoongi’s come to spill onto his lips and his already-soiled chin. Yoongi swipes his thumb through the mess. His other hand grasps Jimin’s tongue and holds it. Finally, Jimin’s eyes open. He frowns up at Yoongi, clearly not comprehending what’s going on.
Yoongi smiles at him. “So pretty and yet so dirty.” He uses Jimin’s tongue to wipe his thumb clean. It trembles in his fingers. “Swallow.”
When Jimin doesn’t do as he is told, too dazed to follow Yoongi’s order instantly, Yoongi lets go of his tongue and pushes at his jaw to close his mouth. Jimin’s eyes clear a little. Yoongi braces himself for more resistance, but Jimin stays where he is, gulping down all of Yoongi’s seed, and even opens his mouth once he’s done to prove that he followed Yoongi’s order.
If Yoongi hadn’t had an orgasm mere moments before, he might have gotten hard again. “That’s it,” he says instead, smoothing a hand over the back of Jimin’s head. “Good boy.”
Jimin shudders. “Wanna—wanna come.”
Yoongi’s gaze drops to Jimin’s crotch, where his dick is leaking against the juncture of his hip. “Cute,” he comments, and it’s true. That Jimin has gotten this worked up just by sucking Yoongi off while tied up is probably the cutest thing that has happened to Yoongi all year. Still, that doesn’t mean he will give Jimin what he wants just like that. “Beg for it.”
Jimin’s whole body freezes. He peers up at Yoongi, trying to spot a sign of weakness or hesitation, something that will help him to turn things back around, but Yoongi knows how to uphold a cold front. He’s had years of practice.
“Come on, you’ve been such a good slut so far. Don’t ruin it and beg for me.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jimin protests, though it’s much more feeble than it was only a short while ago.
Yoongi sneers at him. “But you like it, don’t you? Look at how wet you are.”
Mortification scrunches up Jimin’s face, and that’s cute as well. Yoongi feels something melt inside of him. He brushes the knuckles of his right hand along Jimin’s length.
“It’s easy. Just say it, hm?”
Jimin screws his eyes shut, gulps thickly, and Yoongi knows he’s won.
“Please, let me come.”
Tremors of something big and heavy shake Yoongi from head to toe. Something infused with power and adoration, something that Yoongi doesn’t dare name. He hopes Jimin is too out of it to notice how unsteady his hand is when he wraps it around the boy’s cock.
Jimin doesn’t last long. It only takes about half a dozen strokes for him to unravel underneath Yoongi. He gasps and writhes in his hold as he covers himself with his own come.
Yoongi cannot remember the last time he felt so content after sex. The feeling is especially astonishing considering it was sex with someone he barely knows. Someone like Jimin, the embodiment of everything Yoongi promised himself to abstain from.
Pushing that thought away for now, Yoongi focuses on cleaning up the mess they made and freeing Jimin from the binds around his wrists. Jimn watches him silently as he does so. His gaze is measuring, as though he is trying to assess Yoongi by his appearance alone. Yoongi can tell because he does the same thing every day. As the lord of this land, it’s his job to judge people by sizing them up without knowing anything about them. It doesn’t matter what they have to say. Words are shallow. A person’s actions, on the other hand, have substance. Meaning.
Yoongi is glad that Jimin seems to understand this. They have a lot more in common than he thought.
Once the evidence of their tryst is erased, Yoongi offers Jimin some spare clothes from his extensive wardrobe so he doesn’t have to walk back to his quarters in dirty robes. Jimin tilts his head at that. His eyes are still mustering Yoongi.
“You are nothing like Namjoon described you.”