Chapter Text
“Do you believe in God?”
Taehyung glanced up from his novel, to find Namjoon fiddling with his thumbs, hands folded nervously in his lap. Legs crossed and back just slightly hunched, he was a steady vision of apprehensive, just slightly anxious, just slightly frightened. Taehyung pursed his lips in an attempt to suppress the smile threatening to break out because, even though he knew he should have felt sympathetic, Namjoon was just so cute.
(Taehyung’s mother thought Taehyung had a bad habit of loving Namjoon too much, to the point of not being able to recognize when to stop, take a step back, and listen to Namjoon without wanting to pinch his cheeks or coddle him. Taehyung wouldn’t have necessarily call it a bad habit, but it was definitely a habit. One that neither Taehyung nor Namjoon had a serious issue with, even if Namjoon would groan exasperatedly at Taehyung sometimes. If Taehyung knew one thing without doubt, it was that Namjoon loved his attention.)
“God and I, we have a difficult relationship.” Namjoon looked up at that.
“You don’t pray, and I’ve never seen you go to church. But you think he’s real?” Namjoon inquired, not judging, simply curious.
Taehyung had, on many occasions, dealt with Namjoon when he got scared about the world. More than anything, he pitied Namjoon, because it couldn’t have been easy, knowing so much but never knowing enough. It had terrified him the first time he saw Namjoon break down, asking him why he couldn’t be normal, why he had to think so much. Taehyung had consoled him then, holding him close and asking what had scared him so desperately. Namjoon had curled further into himself in Taehyung’s arms, and had refused to speak for an hour, until exhaustion had taken him over, and momentarily cleared his brain. Since then, Taehyung had seen Namjoon ache for exhaustion far too many times. He knew the rest of their friends had laughed on Namjoon’s expense far too many times, poking fun at the way Namjoon spaced out, too caught up in his own head, and while it was, admittedly, amusing, it hurt Taehyung sometimes, when Namjoon would snap out of his daze and shoot a small self-deprecating smile at whoever had pointed him out that time. Namjoon had asked Taehyung to discuss things with him on many occasions but God was a new one. So, he tread carefully.
“I find it consoling to believe there is something more than what’s in front of me, what I can see.” Taehyung paused. “Does that make sense?” Namjoon nodded slowly.
“For me, there’s always been two options. The first, the easiest one, is being able to accept that God exists, even if it means failing to acknowledge how stup-, “ Namjoon shook his head vehemently at his own words, gripping Taehyung’s thigh then, as if the force would allow him to gather his thoughts. The couch bent under the weight of his body moving, gravitating towards Taehyung as if pressing against him would allow Taehyung to read exactly what was in his brain. “Okay, you read 1984, didn’t you? George Orwell?”
“Yes.”
“And you remember it?”
Taehyung pursed his lips again at Namjoon’s desperate tone, smile threatening to push his lips upwards. He knew Namjoon could see Taehyung’s amusement, but he also knew Namjoon would keep talking, desperate to get out what was in his head. “Yes.”
“At the end, Winston, like all the others, had forced himself to believe what he knew wasn’t real. They called it, um- doublethink, where an individual has the ability to know two contradictory statements, and believe both of them. So, like, in this case, believing in God simply for the consolation that I’m not alone would be that, knowing He doesn’t exist, but believing He does for my own contentedness. Does that make sense or am I rambling?” Namjoon’s fingers began pressing into Taehyung’s thighs, scratching and pressing and shifting.
“You’re fine, keep going.”
“Okay, so that’s the first option. Then the second one would be to accept fact as what I know and nothing more. Like, I know that I am human, I know I have two arms and two legs, I know the Earth is round and the universe is vast, if not infinite. Without evidence of God, I can refuse to believe in Him, capital H, because nothing has signalled me otherwise. Right?”
“Right.” Namjoon smiled, pressing just slightly harder into Taehyung’s upper thigh. He was pleased.
“But then, the issue is asking myself whether it’s wise to believe that everything I know is. Like, it seems closeminded to think all there is, is what’s in front of me. My parents, they were really religious, and they would tell me that I was ignorant for thinking I know everything, but how can I put blind faith in something that doesn’t exist?”
“Joonie, have you ever looked into the fourth dimension?” Namjoon’s finger halted as he looked up from them to Taehyung’s eyes, which were shining in delight. If there was one thing Taehyung loved more than Namjoon, it was talking to him, discussing with him, exploring the universe in their own little bubble.
“The fourth dimension? No, never.” Taehyung could see the light in Namjoon’s eyes, the slight tilt of his head that signalled he was interested, intrigued.
“So, essentially, the most we can comprehend is three dimensions, right? Length, width, depth? But we see in two dimensions. Like if you see a sphere moving back and forth, we don’t actually see that, we just see a circle getting bigger and smaller with light hitting it in odd ways in order for us to comprehend that it moves through the third dimension, which is depth.” Taehyung paused. “Wait I lost my train of thought, let me start over.” Namjoon, with furrowed eyebrows and both hands on Taehyung’s thigh, nodded and gestured for him to continue.
“Take your time, honey.”
“Okay. So imagine you have a straight line. That’s your first dimension- length. Then, imagine you have a square. That’s your second dimension- width. But if you look at a square, all it is, is an infinite amount of straight lines. So we can say that the second dimension is just an infinite amount of first dimensions. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“So with that in mind, we can look at a cube. That’s the third dimension- depth. Do you understand?”
“Absolutely, Tae, keep going.” Namjoon nodded encouragingly and gripped just a little harder into Taehyung’s thigh before moving to the other leg. He could feel the bruises on his leg already, reappearing from the last time Taehyung had sat down and talked with Namjoon like this, who got too antsy, too excited to stay still. Taehyung loved it. Big hands and dark skin, there was nothing but love from Taehyung for Namjoon.
“So, essentially, if you look at a cube, all it is, is an infinite amount of squares. The third dimension is just an infinite amount of second dimensions. With that in mind, despite our inability as humans to comprehend it, we can assume that there is a fourth dimension, made of in infinite amount of third dimensions, and a fifth dimension, made of an infinite amount of fourth dimensions and so on.”
“Okay,” Namjoon mused, “okay, that’s understandable.”
“My point is that even someone who just looks at facts can know things they don’t understand. If you choose to dismiss the idea of God, you’re still gonna have to accept that there are things you don’t know and things you can’t understand. Like the fourth dimension. Like infinity. Whichever of your two options you choose to live by, there’s always going to be things you can’t understand. That’s okay.” Namjoon nodded slowly. He then smiled, appearing appeased with their conclusion.
“Thank you, Tae.” Taehyung looked at Namjoon’s hands, which were slowly releasing their grip on Taehyung’s thighs. Though it took a few minutes, Namjoon rolling what Taehyung had given him in his head, his grip eventually faltered and his hands retreated back into his own lap, still and calm for now. He put his head on Taehyung’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck before smiling there, thick lips leaving their impressions on Taehyung’s skin. Taehyung’s fingers came up to run themselves through Namjoon’s lightened hair while his other hand reached for his book, which sat still on the side of the couch.
“I love you,” he said softly, sated.
--
“Did you know the greatest sin a human can commit is equating God with a mortal being?”
“Huh?” Taehyung looked up from his phone to find Namjoon standing still in front of the stove, save for one lazed hand languidly shifting vegetables around a frying pan with a spatula. Namjoon had never been exceptionally good at cooking, and had never quite cared enough to learn, but had taken to trying new recipes for Taehyung. He mentioned once in passing that he liked taking care of Taehyung and honestly, who was Taehyung to refuse? Namjoon had began unsteadily, burning food and pans, but he had slowly improved, developing the ability to know when to turn down the heat and what to add where to make the food taste good. Taehyung knew it had started sexually, had seen Namjoon serve him food with his cock half hard, had seen the way Namjoon would settle on his knees afterwards rather than beside him, looking up at Taehyung for approval, but Taehyung had also seen the way Namjoon came to love the food he made, cooking for both himself and Taehyung eventually.
“Like, in a bunch of minor and major monotheistic religions, the greatest sin a human can commit is equating God with a mortal entity. Or being. Like worshipping statues. Or finding God…in a partner.” Taehyung blinked. Namjoon had stilled, but he could see the way he was bent over, refusing to look at Taehyung, voice soft and hesitant. Deciding to humor him, Taehyung hummed non-committedly and glanced back down at his phone so he could turn it off and give his full attention to Namjoon- or rather, his hunched-over frame.
“I would’ve thought it would be something like rape or murder.” This elicited a significant enough reaction for Taehyung to giggle a bit. Namjoon twirled around, wet spatula raised up, almost as if in protest.
“I know right? You would have thought that the narcissistic asshole would ask his followers to not kill each other and to be kind but no! He’s going to get offended when we find things other than him holy!” Namjoon exclaimed angrily, voice shrieking just slightly.
“It’s probably not the most respectful thing in the world to call God a narcissist.”
“Am I wrong?” Namjoon cried out. The tone of his voice must have shocked him, however, because immediately, he looked down, breathing softly, counting each inhale until he looked up at Taehyung. Slowly, he turned back to the pan, and stirred the vegetables once more before turning off the heat. Softer this time, he spoke. “Here’s the thing. We’re asked not to humanize God, because he’s above us. I get it. But he gives all these orders, shows anger, regret, ego, and those are all human traits, right? And he fucking puts a bunch of sentient clay figures onto the Earth and just- leaves them! Alone! And why?! So we can find our way back into the light!” Red broke out on Namjoon’s cheeks as he became increasingly more agitated. “Those of us who worship him will be blessed, and those of us who don’t will be cursed for the rest of eternity. He wants us to worship him! God, if he follows what he’s made of himself, should be up there, fuckin chilling it out, without caring about what the fuck we do ‘cause he’s fucking God, Tae! Am I wrong?”
“Take a breath, Joonie. I understand.” Taehyung considered getting up from the dining table to soothe him, but Namjoon was gripping the counter so tensely, the last thing Taehyung wanted to do was have that force on him instead. So he spoke cautiously. “It’s okay, Joonie, I get it.”
“No! No, you don’t! He puts us down here to worship him and we’re not allowed to assume he’s a narcissist? That’s a narcissistic move if I’ve ever seen one, Tae!” His body was shaking, anger quaking inside him. Taehyung, with all his years of experience with Namjoon, knew exactly what his face looked like in that moment, nose flaring and eyes red, knew his stomach was fluttering, tensing and unclenching like the rest of his body. Taehyung knew there was a muscle above Namjoon’s right kneecap that would flutter independently when Namjoon got scared or unhappy. Taehyung knew exactly what Namjoon was in that moment, even without looking. They’d established one another well enough to know each other’s pain.
But then Namjoon stilled. Unclenched his hands. One finger, then the second, then his entire hand, then both. Released them to his side. Lifted his head. Turned. And all Taehyung could see was peace in the slack of his jaw, the curve of his eye, body steady, face devoid of what Taehyung assumed had been there before. All Taehyung could see was Namjoon, who had never been able to find peace, staring at Taehyung like he was everything in the world.
“Joonie?”
“Tae.” It was defeated, quiet, the sound of a man too weighted down by what could be. It was unfortunate and terrible, so Taehyung rose, safety be damned, and walked the few steps so he could stand in front of Namjoon. Light brown hair mussed, shoulder’s tense, he was a vision if Taehyung had ever seen one, but Taehyung’s heart broke in just the slightest. Such a beautiful thing, so kind to Taehyung and everybody else around him, but unable to find peace. Taehyung wanted, more than anything in the world, to give him that peace. He wanted to exhaust him, force him to rest, wanted to give Namjoon the universe and all the answers that come with it but- he couldn’t. Can’t. Small Taehyung in a big universe couldn’t give his boyfriend much, except a soothing hand and a small smile. So he did.
“Joonie, honey, it’s okay.” In just that moment, Namjoon found Taehyung’s eyes and smiled tranquilly.
“Let’s sin, Tae.”
-
“Tae, I want this.”
“Namjoon, you just told me it’ll get me sent to hell, why the fuck would I do this with you.” Taehyung, fists clenched, paced around the kitchen, mind spinning. It was completely unreasonable, selfish, and terrible, he couldn’t understand how Namjoon could ask him for it.
“Taehyung, please. We do this all the time.”
“Namjoon!” Taehyung shrieked, piercing, “I put you on your knees sometimes and push you around, I don’t ever, not ever, let you use me as a catalyst to send yourself to hell, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Namjoon paused then. He lowered himself to the floor, kitchen tiles undoubtedly cold on his skin and looked up, legs criss-crossed. It was pure, the way he looked up at Taehyung, the way a kindergartener would look at Ms. Shelly during story time; It was pure and it melted Taehyung’s heart just a bit, so he lowered himself in front of Namjoon, food on the stove long forgotten. Sitting with his legs also crossed, he looked at Namjoon and grabbed his hands, so he could rest both pairs in his lap.
“Namjoon,” Taehyung says, voice softer now, sweeter. “Namjoon, please.”
“Tae, baby, you’re not going to go to hell. Even if-” He paused. “Even if there is a God, sweetheart, he won’t care about what two men do in their own home. He’s got a billion rapists and murderers to condemn, we’re not doing anything wrong.”
“You told me that it’s the biggest sin, Joonie, what do I do with that?” Taehyung wanted it. It was an undeniable fact that Taehyung always wanted to give Namjoon the salvation he searched relentlessly for, wanted to see Namjoon on his knees, bruised and bloody, wanted to see him beg for Taehyung’s cock but he was scared. Of course he was.
“In some religions, Tae, we don’t follow those. The other ones probably wont like it either,” Namjoon laughed, “But that’s the point, Tae. I want something to show myself that He doesn’t care. Just wants us to be good people. If he exists. If not, then who the fuck cares, right? It’s just a couple of washed-up celebrities being a little kinky. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“Joonie, we aren’t washed up,” Taehyung sighed exasperatedly.
“We have a couple years to go, I guess.”
“That’s fair,” Taehyung mumbled.
Namjoon hummed in response. Taehyung could feel his resolve breaking at the sound. Namjoon, his sweet, sweet boy whose brain worked just a little too fast wanted his help and what was Taehyung if not Namjoon’s entirely?
“We’re going to have to discuss it, Joonie. I know you like it to the point of being half dead, and I can deal with that, I swear to g-” Taehyung paused, a small grin taking over his face. “I can deal with it sometimes, but calling me God, fucking worshipping me, that requires a lot out of both of us, Joon.”
“You’re not gonna go to hell, Tae. It’s not a sin,” Namjoon whispered quietly, eyes cast down.
“I understand, honey, but I don't- I don't know if this is something I'm comfortable with, right?” Namjoon nodded. "You understand why, don't you, babe?" He nodded again. "Hurting you, its hard for me sometimes, but I know you know that." He gripped Namjoon’s hands tighter in his lap before bringing them up and kissing each knuckle at a time, eyes trained on Namjoon.
“Tae, I- I like it when it hurts.”
“I know baby, I like it when you like it, but it takes a lot out of me when we do things that breach comfort. The softer things that we do, the slapping and hitting and name-calling, that's okay with me but, but this stuff, it's really hard." Taehyung pouted a little, before reaching up to kiss Namjoons cheek quickly. " But you know that. I’ll try this for you, but I need you to understand that- it's not easy, babe.” Namjoon nodded.
“I understand, Tae.”
“I’m gonna help you, baby, gonna make you feel so good, gonna put that brain of yours to rest, but you gotta be patient with me. Yeah?” Namjoon nodded again. He glanced up at Taehyung with a universe’s worth of stars in his eyes and smiled at Taehyung, lovely and kind.
“Yeah.”
-
“How are we gonna start this, Joon? Why don’t you tell me what you want?” Namjoon smiled at Taehyung, gripped his fingers just a little tighter, before retreating to his side of the table. It had been three days since they had talked about it last. Taehyung had suffered through it on and off, asking Namjoon repeatedly if he would be sent to hell.
“I wanna sin, Taehyung. Wanna prove to myself that there’s more than this petty fear-God bullshit I’ve been fed my entire life.” Taehyung understood. He wanted to rebel, wanted peace. But Namjoon hadn’t been sated by his own answer. He was antsy, undeniably. His fingers fidgeted with the table, the table cloth, his own shirt. He wasn’t telling Taehyung what he had wanted to say.
“I know, Joonie. I know it’s hard to discuss sex sometimes, but we gotta get further than the philosophy of it.” Taehyung smiled at Namjoon softly, encouragingly. Namjoon took a deep breath and looked down.
“Want you to own me, Tae. Wanna worship you, be a dumb and mindless follower.” Taehyung felt something deep and disgusting curl in the bottom of his stomach. Morally, he knew, it was wrong. Human beings were fragile things. Power was a dangerous thing. Having too much over another person, it was wrong. People deserved their freedom. Morally, Taehyung knew it was wrong. But that shame mixed itself in with the curl in his stomach, the arousal of having a man on his knees, powerless, worshipping him. Even if it was just sweet Namjoon, with a brain too big and a heart too soft.
“More, Joonie. That’s not enough for me to know what you want.”
“Want you to hit me because you’re in the mood. Want you to chain me down for days and fuck me whenever your cock gets hard. Want you to-” He took a deep breath. “Want you to-to piss on me and make me feel disgusting, Tae. And I want- I want to thank you for it. Because, because I owe you my life and I-you own me. God, I want you to play God, Tae.” And then Namjoon was crying.
Sobs wracked through his body and he fell from his chair, crumpling into himself. Eyes wide, Taehyung stood and took two large steps towards Namjoon, who had curled into himself and shook with loud, anguished heaves of tears and sobs escaping his throat like it had been there for days. Unsure of what to do, Taehyung just sat there with him, let Namjoon lay his head on Taehyung’s lap and cry.
“I’m sorry, Tae, I’m so, so sorry,” he managed, before dissolving again in shuddering cries.
Taehyung was, quite frankly, disgusted. More so with himself than Namjoon. Because, somehow, he had let some sort of twisted fantasy build itself up into Namjoon’s brain, and it had stuck there like a parasite, eating into his thoughts. Namjoon was disgusted with himself too, he could see. Because it was clear he wanted to be treated like-like a slave and it was morally reprehensible. Morally, they were both disgusted with themselves because they both wanted it. Taehyung, because the promise of power was addicting and-and Namjoon, because he wanted, wanted, wanted peace, with both God and himself. With tears slipping down his bare thighs, his mind set in stone, shame and arousal burning angrily in his stomach, Taehyung resolved to speak.
It took a while, long enough for Taehyung to lose track of time, but eventually, Namjoon stilled, pliant and silent in Taehyung’s lap. Then he spoke, voice hard.
“I’m going to do this for you, Joon. We’re going to get through this together but once it’s done, its not going to happen again.” Namjoon nodded shakily before responding quietly.
“Okay.”
--
“Get on your knees.” They were in the living room, all the furniture pushed to the side so there was just an expanse of space, maybe 2 meters in length and width, free. They had even moved the carpet, leaving a single couch against the front wall and a large space of tiled floor, which they knew, from experience, could be cleaned easily. Namjoon sat where Taehyung had been sitting just ten minutes ago, as Taehyung had stood in the washroom, fingers tightly gripping the counter, telling himself over and over that it was okay. He could hurt Namjoon and Namjoon would get over it because that was who Namjoon was. He would take the abuse and tell Taehyung that he was okay, that Taehyung would be okay, that it was okay for Namjoon to want this, and for Taehyung to want to please him. Then he had walked out, grabbed the glass of whiskey he had set on the counter, gripped Namjoon’s hair, pulled him off the couch and sat down. All in ten minutes.
Namjoon fell to his knees rather ungracefully, and ducked his head down as he shuffled towards Taehyung. Taehyung, left hand holding his glass lackadaisically, threaded his right hand through Namjoon’s hair softly at first before gripping it roughly and pulling his head back, so his wide eyes could gaze hazily at him.
“I don’t ever, ever, want to see you looking back at me. You’re going to kneel at my feet and thank me for it.” Taking a sip, he let go of Namjoon’s hair and fell back into the couch. “Its time you dirty bitches learn your place.” With that, he kicked out his leg, hitting directly on Namjoon’s chest, and watched him fall back onto both his hands. A wide-eyed Namjoon was staring back at him, the bottom of his eyes showing Taehyung’s reflection to him. He looked powerful.
With Namjoon scrawled across the floor beneath him, balancing on his palms and the soles of his feet, waiting for Taehyung to allow him to kneel once more, Taehyung looked powerful. He felt powerful. And even if it was just Namjoon who would spend a weekend catering to Taehyung like a mindless creature (“want you to call me a slut, Tae, a service slut for you to use”), it was still a human being, one that would worship Taehyung like he was-
Like he was God.
“Get up, whore.” Taehyung smiled softly, happiness leaping inside his rib cage, as Namjoon made to shuffle forwards and sit back on his knees. Taehyung couldn’t have imagined the sensation to be pleasant, the feeling of a majority of Namjoon’s weight resting solely on the bones in his knees, but he supposed that that had been the point: hurting Namjoon and letting him worship Taehyung in return.
Worship.
Taehyung took another sip of the whiskey.
The word had spun around his head often when he was thirteen and sitting in church pews. He couldn’t imagine complete submission to a higher being, even the sheer idea of it had felt murky in his stomach. Eventually, when Taehyung was sixteen and getting sucked off in the church attic, the realization occurred, that if God asked him, came down and asked him, to push the girl on her knees away from him, he would have done it, no matter how good her mouth felt on him, how pretty the sounds of her choking on his cock were. He would have pushed her away if He had asked. Submission, he eventually understood. But worship, worship required reverence, adoration, for God, but he couldn’t imagine adoring God in any circumstance. Namjoon had been entirely right- God had left them on Earth, let disease and hate overcome them, and if he was there, if he existed, he didn’t appear to care much about humans, let alone Taehyung himself. How could Taehyung be expected to love God?
Taehyung glanced at Namjoon, pretty and pouting, before uninterestedly settling his gaze on the drink inside his glass.
“Do you love me, whore?” Taehyung smiled again into his drink letting his hands card through Namjoon’s hair leisurely. Namjoon keened, just ever so slightly, and nuzzled as best as he could into Taehyung’s hand. It was pathetic, so desperately pathetic and pitiful, and Taehyung loved it.
“More than anything, my lord.” The title should have been odd, should have been a little frightening, but Taehyung knew it was what Namjoon wanted. Which meant it what Taehyung wanted and fuck, he could feel the want in his bones, could feel the, shaking of excitement at the submission, at Namjoon’s love.
Test it, a voice whispered at the back of Taehyung’s head. So he did.
Quickly, without letting Namjoon ponder much, Taehyung rose his hand and backhanded him. The slap on his cheek reverberated around the room, the impact of Taehyung’s knuckle on Namjoon’s cheek bone too sweet to miss. Namjoon’s face had spun to the side, hand flying up to cup his cheek. Taehyung could see tears springing into his eyes, could see them falling onto his fingers with labored breaths and quivering fingers.
Taehyung grabbed his hand then, pulled it off his face and bent his fingers so far back, Namjoon’s entire body moved to ease the tension Taehyung had put. He cried out, attempting to yank his hand back, but Taehyung refused to relent. With his cheek uncovered, Taehyung could see the strip of blood that ran diagonally across Namjoon’s face, and it took Taehyung a second to realize the ring on his middle finger was the culprit.
It was beautiful.
“What about now?” Taehyung asked, bored tone just slightly jilted by his excitement as he bent Namjoon’s fingers further back. The blood was running down Namjoon’s cheek now, and though the flow was not heavy by any means, it was apparent. That Namjoon had been hit. That Taehyung had hit Namjoon.
“Yes! Yes, please, more than anything,” Namjoon cried, voice high and pleading.
“Are you sure,” Taehyung teased, applying just the slightest bit more pressure. Namjoon’s fingers cracked, a series of two, maybe three pop pop pop’s, the air from between his joints being released by the obviously uncomfortable pressure. It pleased Taehyung to see Namjoon tilt, his back arch and his elbow go lax in an attempt to free himself.
“I’m yours, yours, yours, all yours,” Namjoon chanted. It was sweet, to watch him cry as Taehyung released him, to watch him cradle his injured hand to his chest, as if his own body could provide him protection against Taehyung. It was even sweeter to watch Namjoon repeat ‘yours’ as he screwed his eyes shut and tilted his head towards the floor. “Always yours, master.”
Taehyung lifted his foot to press against Namjoon’s lap. Jolting, Namjoon glanced up from his hand, panicked at the sensation of the rough leather and patterned rubber of his sole moving against him. It trailed down his chest, smearing bits of dirt onto his white shirt, before moving down to his clothed groin and pressing hard. Namjoon shuddered, but remained otherwise stoic, eyes trained to where Taehyung was tapping his rings onto his glass. The blood remained bright against his cheek, small trails stopping at the curve of his jaw.
“You’re going to serve me, won’t you, sweet thing?” Taehyung watched as the words hit Namjoon, as the sudden realization of where they were, what they were going to do hit him. For the time being, Namjoon suddenly understood, he was nothing but Taehyung’s. To play with, to fuck, to come on, to ignore. Namjoon was as good as a rag, to be used, thrown away, washed and used again. “Strip, bitch. Wanna see that little cunt of yours, see if it can please me well enough.”
“I don’t-“ Namjoon looked down, voice wavering. “I don’t want to, Lord.” Namjoon’s throat bobbed once, twice, before Taehyung watched little trails of hesitant tears fall down Namjoon’s cheeks, smearing the blood ever so slightly. A sick grin twisted itself around Taehyung’s lips.
“You don’t want to?” Taehyung cooed. Namjoon shook his head, stuttering over the motions just enough that Taehyung could sense fright. He was afraid of Taehyung. “Poor little bitch thinks he deserves an opinion, hm?” Namjoon nodded. “Get up, Namjoon. Slowly.” Namjoon rose shakily, legs obviously weak. He stumbled before coming to a still, eyes trained at his feet the way Taehyung imagined a toddler would after being scolded. “You’re going to get a knife from the kitchen, and a belt from my closet. Do you understand?”
Namjoon shuddered and shook his head desperately, turning to look up at Taehyung with wide eyes.
“No? You don’t understand?” Taehyung laughed, before setting his glass to the side. “It’s not gonna be as fun for me if I have to train you to be a bitch, Namjoon. Go get the knife and the belt. Now.” It took a moment, but Taehyung could see as the fear began creeping into Namjoon. It wasn’t the panic he saw earlier, but rather raw fear that was blowing his eyes wide and stumbling his feet as they rubbed nervously on the floor. His gray sweats shuddered as well, and through the process of movement, Taehyung could swear he saw that muscle above Namjoon’s kneecap fluttering. Grinning, he lifted his foot just slightly to shove at Namjoon’s ankle.
“Are you scared of me or the knife, whore?” he asked, lips stretched into a mocking affirmation of his position.
“Y-you,” Namjoon stuttered out, still nervously shifting on both feet. Taehyung sighed unhappily before rising to his feet. He grabbed Namjoon by the hair, bringing him close so they stood, faces only inches apart.
“You’ve made it a lot harder for yourself, whore, you know that don’t you?” Pushing his face forward, Taehyung let his teeth grab Namjoon’s thick bottom lip before pressing down on it softly, then roughly at once. Namjoon cried out as his lip split under the pressure, a small lick of blood staining the bottom of Taehyung’s tooth. Smirking, he pulled back. “You’re bleeding on me now too?”
Namjoon shook his head desperately, eyes blown still.
“I’m sorry, Lord, I didn’t mean to, please don’t hurt me, I-”
“The belt and the knife, sweetheart, don’t make me ask again.” With that, Namjoon scurried off to the direction of the bedroom and Taehyung sat back down, flopping his arms as he got comfortable.
Within less than a minute, Namjoon was back, breathing slightly labored from what Taehyung assumed to be his quick pace. He had a large butcher knife in one hand and Taehyung’s favorite black belt in the other. Holding out both arms, he offered them to Taehyung.
“You know, I’ve always liked hurting boys like you,” Taehyung mused as he watched Namjoon settle on his knees once more. “With your big eyes and hard cocks, you’d think I’d feel bad, wouldn’t you?” Namjoon nodded slowly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever liked anything more than the sight of a whore who hates the pain but loves to please me. You don’t want me to cut you, do you?”
“No, Lord.”
“Would you rather I torture you, whore? Put a rag on your face and just piss there when I get bored? Hm? Or maybe we can put you in the shower, freezing cold water then burning hot, then freezing cold, then burning hot. But I doubt you’d last through that, huh? My boy can’t take much.” Taehyung grinned as Namjoon’s fat lips fell open, a small, dry sob escaping him.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Regret becoming my whore already?”
“N-no. I’m yours, Lord.” Taehyung sighed. He supposed it would take a lot more than just fear to break Namjoon.
“Yeah? Come here.” Namjoon once again shuffled towards Taehyung on his knees, this time clearly wincing as the pain of staying in that position for some long swept over him. He eventually settled between Taehyung’s spread legs, sitting back on his heels, hands coming to rest on his thighs. Taehyung pushed up from his lounging position, so he could grab Namjoon’s face in his hands, entire body leaning towards him.
“My boy, hm? My sweet little boy, what’s got you so scared?” Taehyung asked mockingly. Without letting him answer, Taehyung shoved Namjoon down, pinning him to the floor with one foot. Namjoon, of course, didn’t resist. Instead, he jerked, cried out and shook in his spot. Taehyung pressed his foot against Namjoon’s white shirt, letting it push into his rib cage. Hearing a convincing gasp, he moved higher until he was at his neck. Once more, he pressed down, smiling at the way Namjoon’s face instantly reddened from the shock and pressure.
“T-T-Taehyung,” he gasped out, fingers trembling as they attempted to find purchase in the flat floor. “T-Tae, wh-what-“ At that, Taehyung stepped harder. The image of Namjoon, red and desperate boiled deep in his stomach. Arousal burnt and he felt his cock twitch in his pants. He struggled for about a minute, wheezing in breaths, and scratching against the hard floor. His body twitched, shook, trembled, but Namjoon had never been able to hold his breath for too long, and quickly began to die out. Once Namjoon’s eyes began to shut just slightly, desperate fingers beginning to lax, Taehyung moved his foot.
Namjoon rolled to the side as his breath returned, the pressure on his trachea easing. He coughed and spluttered, drool spilling onto the floor and breathing audible as the oxygen returned to his body.
“Did you like that, darling?” Taehyung cooed, a smile stretching across his face. “Did my pretty bitch like getting stepped on?” Namjoon shook his head vehemently, still gasping with his cheek pressed to the floor. Taehyung watched as Namjoon curled into himself, tucking his legs into his chest and keeping his arms trapped behind them, breathing heavily.
“No?” Taehyung asked. “Maybe we can try suffocating you differently, hm? I quite liked the pissing idea, baby, think you would love the taste of my piss when its all you can feel, don’t you think?” When Namjoon didn’t answer, too terrified to say the wrong thing, Taehyung pushed his foot out, gently nudging Namjoon’s lower back.
“Joonie, baby, can you turn to face me?”
Namjoon didn’t move.
Taehyung supposed that more than any headspace, more than any fucked up desire to hurt the ones you love, or to be hurt by the ones you love, the little games that they liked to play stood on a grounding of trust. More than anything, for just the slightest second, Taehyung though he had lost it.
“I-I’m green, Tae, keep going,” Namjoon said quietly. Taehyung sighed, hating the way his heart jumped at Namjoon’s scratchy voice. Looking at the strip of exposed skin where a slip of tan skin contrasted heavily against the white of his t-shirt, Taehyung felt a little bit of the world crash down.
“Strawberries, Joonie, I’m red. Please get up,” Taehyung said quietly.
Taehyung hated safe-wording Namjoon. Especially when Namjoon was so far into himself that he could barely follow orders, he hated snapping Namjoon out of it but-
But Taehyung could only hurt Namjoon so much before it started to hurt him too. It was this complex thing that circled around him constantly when they fucked around like this, where every time Namjoon would scream, Taehyung would feel a thrill, this rush of power strong enough to get high on, strong enough for him to do things he would never do in any other circumstance, but too weak to separate Namjoon from the person who loved to be hurt and the person who once kissed Taehyung’s tummy for almost twenty minutes, reverently telling him how much he loved his bellybutton.
And more than any weak creature who could fear Taehyung while craving him simultaneously, more than a boy with eyes that would blur with tears when Taehyung would ask him to do his bidding, Namjoon was a man who loved Taehyung. So, rubbing his forehead softly against the ground to clear his mind, rolling his shoulders once, then twice, to restore his strength, Namjoon slowly got up and sat beside Taehyung on the couch, laying his head against Taehyung’s chest.
“I’m sorry, Tae,” Namjoon murmured against the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt.
“I-it’s okay, Joonie, just. Just let me take care of you for a bit?” Namjoon nodded, feeling his hair tug ever so slightly as the friction made it cling to the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt.
"Okay."