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It's on a chilly Friday afternoon that Jiseok sees red.
Or rather: not enough of it. A rose bush in his garden has bloomed right at the end of the season, which is always a pleasant, colorful surprise before he has to bid a temporary goodbye over the winter. Jiseok puts all his love and care into his flowers, and he likes to think them blooming bright and pretty is their way of loving him right back.
This time they don't.
This time, their color is all wrong, and their thorns — disappointingly underdeveloped. Jiseok bites into the plush of his lip. Roses are pretty, but contrary to popular belief, they're not weak. He can't think of anything he's done wrong, nor the type of extreme weather it would take to ruin them between the previous bloom and this. To him, this feels like a betrayal, like the garden he's been growing so tenderly has chosen to repay his efforts with a batch of dull, defenseless roses.
And yet, the client that's currently with Jooyeon had complimented them on her arrival, glossy smile curling around a high-pitched they would make a gorgeous bouquet! when she'd seen Jiseok cutting his blooms. He'd smiled back as naturally as he could to conceal the twitch of muscle in his jaw, telling himself that some people simply don't have a discerning eye, but the giggles coming from the second floor certainly suggest otherwise.
Sometimes, Jiseok hates living in a neighborhood where nothing ever happens, where there's no overbearing background noise nor much of anything to do to run from his demons. That's what gardening is for, but flowers, too, are living creatures that don't always bend to his will. Much as Jiseok tries to find something to anchor himself to in the background, a neighbor's lawn mower running in the distance or dogs barking, nothing is enough to drown out the noise starting to echo in Jiseok's head.
The snip snip snip of Jooyeon cutting hair upstairs at the salon. The snap snap snap of himself dethorning his disappointing, traitorous flowers. The affected ha ha ha of a parasite trying to charm its way inside what already belongs to someone else.
Jiseok's finger catches on a thorn and bleeds. The stark contrast of bright red against roses that aren't red enough makes his hands itch with a familiar temptation that burns like poison through his veins.
Just paint them, nobody will know .
But that's where the voice in his head is wrong, they will. Neither he nor Jooyeon would be here if they hadn't learned early on that the trick to gardening is patience. Anyone can have the perfect garden if it's artificial, but Jiseok prides himself on the careful, careful cultivation he's been doing over many years.
So he swallows down the urge and gets to work on turning his sad blooms, so bare and vulnerable without their thorns, into something much more beautiful in death.
Eventually, the snipping and snapping and the laughter all stop and the client, the last one for the day, leaves with a pastel pink bob and a cheerful goodbye.
"You haven't kept me company today," Jooyeon notes, his arms loosely thrown around Jiseok's chest and his chin resting on Jiseok's shoulder. Now that the salon is closed for the day, he's finally home, finally his . "I missed you."
The itch still simmers in his belly, but Jiseok can't deny the warmth that spreads through his chest. He hums. "It's just one of those days." He doesn't have to elaborate, because Jooyeon knows everything about him, and Jiseok knows everything about Jooyeon in turn. Twined around each other's heart like thorny vines in a way that makes till death do us part more than just a pretty promise. Marriage is a privilege they're still not legally allowed, but a piece of paper isn't what makes them two halves of one whole.
Neither does a pair of golden rings, but he likes the way the shiny claim of ownership feels on his finger regardless. It glimmers in the light when he reaches out to toy absentmindedly with the pretty ribbon he'd chosen to tie his bouquet with. Red lace on black wrapping paper.
"Pretty," Jooyeon says. Jiseok tries not to bristle at the fact that not even his own husband can recognize defective roses when he sees them. Or is it just him? "But it's not for sale, is it?"
"No." Jiseok turns around in Jooyeon's arms. He's smiling, and Jiseok rises on his tiptoes to kiss him. "It's for a special occasion."
Jooyeon understands, Jiseok knows he does. He looks past him and Jiseok follows his gaze back to the flowers, counting rose by rose. Exactly twelve of them, with the thirteenth left out on the table and snapped in half.
"Will you bring the vase upstairs, honey?"
Upstairs, for the mise-en-scène.
"Of course, darling."
It's a rare indulgence. Jiseok has been good, he really has. Tried so hard for so long, he thinks he deserves it.
So at night, he leaves Jooyeon alone in bed to go out by himself, but he takes Gwanwook to keep him company. Little Gwanwookie, the teddy bear Jooyeon won for him from a claw machine on their very first date all those years ago. She's looking worn and ragged now, patched up and stained so deep it's seeped into her cotton insides, but Jiseok loves her more than any newer toy he could get as a replacement. She's always been a great help during these little trips he takes, and best of all — she knows how to keep a secret.
He holds her close, then walks, and walks, and walks, until he's far enough away from his own neighborhood and the vibe feels right.
Parks at night get overtaken by a sinister vibe. The trees warp into twisted shadows and every bush becomes a potential hiding place. Jiseok thinks it's funny, how during the day these benches are filled by mothers with their children or owners with their dogs, but once darkness falls all the unsavory characters come out to play.
And isn't he the living proof of that right now? Sitting pretty under a dim street light, looking small and soft and innocent with a large plushie in his hands as he looks down at his phone. Such a perfect victim surely is too good to be true, which must be why he's never gotten himself into any real trouble.
But it still works like a charm against your garden variety creature of the night, Jiseok thinks as a man who looks the part passes him by and stops in his tracks upon noticing him, and that's precisely what he's aiming at. One that's not too much of a threat but still unlikely to have anyone who'll miss him much.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here all by yourself this late?" Oh, and he gets straight to the leering. This will do nicely.
"I was waiting for someone," Jiseok smiles wistfully and doesn't forget the troubled angle of the eyebrows to really sell it, "but I think I got stood up." Like a sweet, dumb dog who's been here for hours and has finally accepted it has been abandoned.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," his target says, in a tone that suggests that he's not sorry at all. If anything, he seems just about delighted. "Are you going home now? The streets are dangerous at this time of night, I could keep you company if you'd like."
And to think Jiseok didn't even have to put on the puppy eyes. Haven't these people been taught not to follow strange small men with plushies?
"Are you sure? You must be out this late for a reason…" This part always makes Jiseok feel like he might be overdoing it with the demure act, just a little bit.
Yet clearly, the possibility of him being the danger lurking on the streets hasn't even occurred to this man, because he's already wrapping his arm around Jiseok's shoulder. Must be nice to be so careless. "Nah, it's cool. I have nothing going on, and even if I did, helping a stranger in need should always come first, right?" If a look is worth a thousand words, the one he sends Jiseok is trashy erotica. "Especially one as stunning as you."
Some people are so desperate it's actually disgusting.
Still he leans in close to the stranger's side and acts the fool. "You're so sweet."
The man laughs and lies easily. "Well, I try."
The way home is filled with the man talking about himself and Jiseok nodding along with a smile and promptly forgetting everything he said. When asked something, he expertly sidesteps with well rehearsed non-answers, and the man can't even tell he's being toyed with, too lost in his own delusions of how the night might go once Jiseok takes him to his place.
It makes Jiseok itch beneath his skin. He must've grown out of deriving any enjoyment from being undressed by a stranger's gaze, because the only thing that makes it bearable is the knowledge of what comes after . He clutches Gwanwookie a little tighter on the rest of the way.
Just a little longer.
"And here I thought this time you left for good."
Jooyeon is a liar, but he's also a sight for sore eyes. His black hair is a rat's nest, tousled as if he'd been tossing and turning in his sleep, but his outfit looks as if his work day never finished — neatly pressed white shirt and suspenders hooked to his belt, missing the apron but with the notable addition of glossy leather gloves.
Jiseok knows for a fact he was sleeping in his pink pajamas and a stupid-looking face when he left him alone in bed. Clearly, the message from earlier was received loud and clear, and Jooyeon has cleaned up quite nicely for this elaborate ruse.
Warmth trickles into Jiseok's heart, at the same time as cold satisfaction chills his bones.
No matter how many times he sees it happen, there's no putting a price on how quickly the men he brings home change their tune once they come face to face with the realization that Jiseok does have someone to warm his bed.
As soon as Jiseok's key clicked inside the lock, the man had seemed like he couldn't possibly get them to the bedroom fast enough. Now he just stands there, frozen in the entryway as Jooyeon stares him down. Face half in the shadows, a sneer stretching his lips thin. A looming figure with a twinkle in his eyes that shines through the darkness.
The man takes a step backwards, finally moving again, until his back hits the wall. His eyes go wide — a cornered rabbit. Goodness, Jiseok could swear he can just about hear the man's heartbeat jackhammering in his chest.
"Oh, my apologies," Jooyeon intones, taking a step forward into the light. "Did I startle you? That's no way to thank the person who brought my lost kitten home, now is it?"
Kitten . Jiseok shudders, that's how he knows he's in trouble.
That comes later, though.
"What the fuck is this?" the man spits as soon as he's regained his wits. There's indignation in his eyes when he turns them to Jiseok, as if getting his dick wet is a matter of life and death. "This lying whore brought me here to—"
Jiseok sighs happily. He makes it so easy.
"Now, now," Jooyeon interrupts by putting his hand on the man's shoulder. "Let's not sweat your little misunderstanding. You returned my runaway pet, and now I have to offer a reward like any good owner, right?"
" What ?" It's so hard not to laugh at the man's bewildered tone as he looks between Jiseok and his husband, but Jiseok can sympathize this once. All of this must sound insane.
"I don't have much to offer, but I have it on good authority that I'm pretty good at cutting hair." Jooyeon smiles his gorgeous gummy smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle and exposes six cute front teeth, and Jiseok is in love. "Free of charge, of course."
"I don't need— Are you making fun of me?" The man scoffs and brushes Jooyeon's hand off. "Screw you crazy fuckers, I'm leaving."
But before he can so much as turn around, Jiseok places his palm on the man's back and pushes him directly at Jooyeon. "I wouldn't pass up on that offer if I were you," he leans in close to his ear, as if to tell a secret, "a free haircut from my husband is a deal to die for."
The man recoils as if burned. "Stop wasting my time, you—"
Jooyeon disregards the protests and wraps his arm solidly around the man's shoulder. "Tough customer, aren't you? I promise you'll be satisfied with your new look." Then he leaves him no choice as he starts going up the stairs with the man in tow, forcing him to keep up if he doesn't want to trip and split his head on marble.
Anticipation thrums through Jiseok's body as he follows into the salon, clutching his teddy bear tight against the butterflies fluttering through his abdomen. He wants a front row seat for this next part. Could never possibly get sick of the magic his husband is capable of with a pair of razor-sharp shears.
The man is still making a fuss by the time he's wrangled into the chair, but at this point he seems to be too resigned to resist Jooyeon putting on the stylist cape. Jooyeon stands behind the chair and examines the glowering reflection with all the seriousness he would afford to a real client, then solemnly picks up the scissors lying on the table. Right next to the bouquet of twelve off-red roses that Jiseok asked him to display.
"Now, let me show you my appreciation."
"I'll kill you if you ruin my hair."
"Of course," Jooyeon's reflection smiles. "We offer only the highest quality service at this salon…"
Jiseok straightens in the opposite seat, holding his breath. Jooyeon leans forward and opens the scissors as wide as they'll go—
"...But I'm afraid the only service someone who hasn't been taught not to touch what isn't theirs gets, is death."
—then drags one sharp edge deep across the man's throat.
Yes , Jiseok could never get sick of this moment, of the way it makes the tension leave his body all at once and replace it with liquid heat.
The initial slash is a clean line of red that oozes out glossy and thick as the trachea is severed. The man attempts to scream, yet all that comes out is a gurgle as his throat gets flooded with his own blood.
Out of his control, Jiseok's mouth stretches into a grin, and he tastes blood himself when his teeth split his lower lip. He can't look away. He doesn't want to look away. Why would he, when this is what he'd been itching for all day? No, he'd been itching for it much, much longer, in fact. It's been a long few months since the last time he got to enjoy himself like this. Patience is the key to gardening, and the same goes for not getting caught. Today is just when that patience reached its limit.
But it's all worth it. If he could, he'd sit here as long as it takes for the whole process to play out naturally — until either the lack of oxygen or the blood loss dim the light in this man's eyes for good. But that's where the shock wears off and adrenaline kicks in. People get feisty . His victim turns to him with crazed eyes, comically wide and nearly popping out of his head.
Shame, Jiseok thinks, that tying up a victim would be too much hassle.
It's not for self defense that he grabs a pair of scissors lying nearby, not really. But he's not oblivious to the intent in those eyes. He can almost taste it. Bitter hatred, a desire for vengeance over the cold betrayal. The man attempts to lunge at him, hurt and dying but not quite dead yet, and that is an even bigger mistake than following Jiseok home.
In the shadows behind him, Jooyeon's expression grows icy and his eyes demonic.
This is it. This is Jiseok's favorite part.
This is why he'd never have to do anything but enjoy the show. In an instant, Jooyeon pulls the man back into the chair with enough force that it swivels and he has to steady it. Jiseok is positively giddy with the knowledge of what's coming next, grin so wide it splits his face in half.
His scissors plunge into his teddy bear's abdomen at the same time as Jooyeon's plunge straight into the man's carotid.
Red splatters everywhere. Across the chair, the mirror, all over Jooyeon. It doesn't matter — the mess is what scratches the itch, Jiseok knows. So Jooyeon does it again, and again, and again , and fills the air with a metallic stench that mixes with the scent of roses.
It only takes the first stab for the man's eyes to roll back in his head, but Jooyeon keeps going until there's nothing left for his artery to give. Jiseok shudders with arousal. Gods, he truly could just admire him forever. The focus on his face, the steady violence of his hands. The way he never leaves a job half-finished.
Jiseok's own hands are shaky as he mirrors him every step of the way, every thrust of his scissors into torn flesh, until Gwanwookie's cotton guts are too spilled all over the floor and stain an even deeper red. Then Jooyeon stops, and the body slips out of the chair with only a thud and the wet squelch of raw meat as it meets the ground.
And that's all it is at this stage, isn't it? Raw, uninteresting, dead meat that will never tell a soul about what happened.
A quiet finale to a spectacle of gore.
It's an age-old question, even if the specifics aren't the same. If a silent murder is committed in a sleepy neighborhood at dead of night, and not one living person was around to see it, did it happen at all?
Well, Jiseok instigated it himself, so of course it did. But the answer might be different depending on who you ask. Come morning, all the blood will be meticulously scrubbed from every surface, and nobody will ever know the evidence of it is what makes his highly praised garden bloom so beautiful and vibrant.
The mingling of rough breath in the aftermath and the fire burning behind his navel are only for Jooyeon and him to know.
There's an unspoken understanding that passes through them when their eyes meet, one that has been hanging between them for years. It doesn't need to be acknowledged, because Jiseok trusts Jooyeon with his life, and he has every intention to stick around forever. There's eroticism to the thought of being on the receiving end of the love of his life's weapon of choice, but he loves him far too much to give him a reason to do that.
And Jooyeon trusts him enough to walk straight into his scissors when Jiseok points them at his throat.
Jiseok would never stab him, of course. But the rush it gives him is undeniable.
"You're hard," Jooyeon declares without ever breaking eye contact to check.
And indeed, Jiseok is. He's been achingly erect since earlier, and the single bead of blood pooling where his scissors dig into Jooyeon's skin certainly doesn't help. But Jiseok doesn't have to check either to know his claim would be correct, too. "So are you."
Thing is, Jiseok has always been like this. The kind of kid that poked at roadkill and had his sexual awakening to splatter movies. He was never all that interested in doing the work it takes to kill a person, though, so he never has.
Then he met Jooyeon. Lovely Jooyeon, fucked up Jooyeon. Isn't it funny how fate works sometimes? As it turns out, Jooyeon isn't just getting his hands dirty for him out of love — he's getting his hands dirty for him because he's always wanted to and Jiseok is all too happy to give him the excuse. It's a perfect symbiosis, really.
Jooyeon chuckles, simply shaking his head. Jiseok follows as the movement cuts a shallow little scratch across his Adam's apple. "So? Are you satisfied now?"
What would satisfy Jiseok the most right now would be to pounce on Jooyeon and lick the blood that drips from the delicate skin on his neck, but Jooyeon is all about control when he gets like this, and Jiseok is already in enough trouble.
"Mostly," he answers truthfully after giving it some thought. The worst of it has settled. "Though if I had it my way it would be that homewrecker from earlier lying in a pool of her own blood with her eyeballs carved out of her pink head hours ago."
Jooyeon snorts at homewrecker . "Too bad doing that would force us to skip town because not returning from her hair appointment would immediately throw suspicion on us, hm?"
Jiseok pouts. "I know that already. Why else do you think I was keeping a safe distance?"
"Ah," Jooyeon says with one eyebrow raised and a knowing smile across his lips. It's unfairly attractive, especially when half of him is painted in red splatter. "But if you'd come up to hang out you would know I told her about my pretty little wife already."
"As you should ," Jiseok responds flippantly, but damn it, he has to fiddle with his hair to make sure it covers his reddening ears and gnaws at his lip before his expression softens too much. He loves the sound of those words from Jooyeon's mouth, but that's not what this game is about. "But that doesn't change that she was making eyes at you regardless, does it?"
Jooyeon hums. "And how, pray tell, did you get this man to follow you home if not by 'making eyes at him'?"
This is what it's all about.
"What did he call you again… A lying whore, was it? Care to explain why?"
It's a well-rehearsed song and dance, this display of jealousy, just as real as it is fake. Jiseok loves it. The name has him drawing a shuddery breath, so much different when it comes from his husband compared to the dead thing on the ground.
He hasn't done anything against the rules — a little bit of seduction as a means to lure a victim into their spiderweb has always been allowed. Similarly, Jiseok has no reason to consider any of Jooyeon's touchy, flirty clients as any real threat. But he can only suppress the cravings for so long, and once the simmer finally boils over, the resulting high of violence lingers under Jooyeon's skin.
Jiseok is not one to let a rare delight go to waste. Not when he knows Jooyeon taking it out on him always feels so fucking good.
"I find runaway kitten to be more accurate, myself," he giggles, shaky. "Isn't that what cats do? Bring dead things to their owners?"
Jooyeon's fingers, long and strong, curl into the choker sitting pretty on Jiseok's neck. He wore it just for him, because he knew it wouldn't go unappreciated. "Wasn't very dead when you brought him here. Do you really need your owner to do even the hunting for you?"
"Sorry," Jiseok breathes, swallows against the knuckles pressing loosely into the hollow of his throat, "that's a trick I haven't been taught. If you have a problem with that, take it up with my owner."
A jolt of pure delight travels down his spine when that makes Jooyeon tug . Up, until Jiseok is forced to stand on his tiptoes and has been made just the right type of breathless. The scissors slip out of his grasp to clatter against marble, leaving him defenseless against the sharp smile that Jooyeon has now directed at him. The smile of someone who just killed a man and could easily tear Jiseok apart, too.
"You just like to make me do all the work."
Jiseok would love nothing more. "Who wouldn't, when you look so good doing it?"
"And now you're sweet talking me," Jooyeon grins. "Whatever shall I do with you?"
"I have some ideas," Jiseok rasps, grinning right back. "So long as you don't mind doing some more work for me."
"Only if you ask for it nicely." Jooyeon is a liar and a tease and Jiseok's cock is aching in his patterned pants.
So Jiseok holds Jooyeon's (gorgeous, chiseled, severe, bloodstained) face in his hands, just admiring for a moment before he leans in right against his lips and ignores everything Jooyeon just said about asking nicely. "Fucking destroy me."
One of the best things about having violence to fuck out on each other is that, for once, Jooyeon doesn't need to be told twice to be rough.
He's so good normally; the sweetest, most caring husband who'd always let Jiseok have anything he wants even when he's being a nightmarish brat who absolutely doesn't deserve it. Sometimes, though, what Jiseok wants is to hurt. And Jooyeon, it turns out, is good at hurting him exactly the way he likes once he's in the right headspace for it.
The force with which Jooyeon pins him to the wall makes Jiseok's shoulder blades ache, and there's the taste of blood smearing between their hungry, bruising lips, and it feels fucking perfect . The hold around his choker doesn't relent either, bony knuckles cutting off what little breath Jiseok might normally be able to take when they're too caught up in devouring each other, making him lightheaded and reducing him to something feral and bloodthirsty.
Something that would claw and bite at Jooyeon as soon as he's allowed to breathe, and that's exactly what he does when Jooyeon's hand retreats so that he can remove one leather glove with his teeth. Jiseok lunges at his throat, drawing in a desperate breath before finally lapping at the drying blood that has been driving him insane and sucking a vicious hickey right over the cut that makes it ooze more fresh liquid on his tongue.
He feels Jooyeon's cock twitch against his hip, a hiss of hot breath next to his ear, a strong thigh pressing up harder between both of his own and making Jiseok throw his head back with a dull thud that gets drowned out by his guttural groan. His hands fly out to grip at Jooyeon's back, and it's all he can do to scratch loudly over the fabric of his shirt as he tries to find purchase against the rocking of Jooyeon's thigh into his groin, forced to stand on his tiptoes as he is.
Jooyeon's eyes are pitch black with carnivorous desire when he looks down on Jiseok, making him feel so small, so defenseless. But he supposes a domesticated kitten never stood a chance against the big bad wolf, did he? Jiseok gasps desperately as the pressure against his cock starts bordering on pain and makes him tear up. He must admit he relishes the feeling of being cornered prey.
Jooyeon, for his part, must relish the opportunity his open mouth provides, because suddenly Jiseok feels the weight of two fingers bearing down on his tongue.
"Suck," he says, and the order comes across loud and clear even through the haze in Jiseok's mind.
So he does. Sloppy and filthy, just the way they both like it. Gags loudly when he deliberately takes Jooyeon's fingertips a bit too deep and makes sure to drool a little extra around the ring, just because he likes how his ownership of Jooyeon tastes in his mouth.
He knows his lips must be shining where they're wrapped around him, smeared messily with blood and saliva as makeshift lip gloss, because Jooyeon can't tear his eyes away even as he somehow manages to tug down Jiseok's pants with one hand. The sensation of freedom on his cock after being confined for so long feels almost agonizingly good, damn near making him bite down, but Jooyeon pulls his fingers out just before Jiseok can imprint a bloody ring on them with his teeth. Shame.
But he thinks he did a pretty good job regardless, because they're dripping with so much viscous drool that it strings and stretches between Jooyeon's hand and his mouth before it finally breaks and adds to the filth on Jiseok's face. He likes it, being dirty. He also likes Jooyeon being impatient like this, so he leans back and lets him slide his pants off his legs completely and enjoys the show once he reaches towards his own belt.
Jooyeon isn't too far behind in looking like a hot mess. His hair is starting to fall over his face in thin curls that stick to sweat and drying blood, and the bruise Jiseok lovingly sucked into his throat is a nasty shade of purple that's taken over his entire Adam's apple. It's not one he can hide with anything short of a scarf or turtleneck, and Jiseok feels proud of his handiwork, knowing that it'll stick for the better part of two weeks.
But he doesn't have much time to be smug before it's replaced by overwhelming need. "Fuck," Jiseok hisses at the sight of Jooyeon's cock, the delicious curve and the angry red flush of the head. He wants so desperately to be broken like the misbehaving toy he is. " Hurry ."
Under normal circumstances, maybe Jooyeon would laugh at him. Say something infuriating like patience, princess just to be annoying even when they both know he'll give Jiseok exactly what he wants.
This Jooyeon has neither the patience nor the composure to be talkative or to tease. He exhales hotly against Jiseok's lips when he closes the distance again, and Jiseok gets no warning before his husband's arm snakes its way around his waist and those same two fingers he slicked with his drool are pushing past his rim.
For one electric moment, Jiseok feels as if time itself has stopped, body frozen stiff as his brain struggles to catch up to the sharp sensation. Ah , is all his thoughts are reduced to once it does, and it comes out as a scream that gets swallowed greedily into Jooyeon's kiss.
And god. It's so fucking hot when he isn't being nice. Tears burn in Jiseok's eyes, and he can't tell if what makes them spill over his cheeks is the pain or the humiliation of how easily his body opens even like this. Jooyeon didn't ask for permission because he doesn't need one, not right now — and clearly Jiseok's body is all too happy to be used and broken as his owner sees fit.
That knowledge makes Jiseok's legs go weak and useless already. He stumbles and Jooyeon hooks his free arm behind his knee, lifting it to wrap his leg around his hip. Their cocks meet in a wet, sticky kiss at the precarious new angle, and Jooyeon's sigh in Jiseok's mouth sets every last nerve in his body aflame.
It's already so much, but trapped between Jooyeon's body and the wall, there's nowhere he can run from it. The way the too-dry slide of long fingers insistently trying to work him open has his hips jolting forward into the sloppy slide of their cocks, the way trying to squirm away from it impales him deeper on the probing fingers. His hands are back on Jooyeon, all over his back, his neck, his shoulders, scrambling to hold on as he feels himself begin to crack already.
Vaguely, he's aware of the glassy gazes of their unseeing audience in the background, both the dead body and his poor hollow plushie lying limp on the ground. How would it feel to be an unwitting prop in this exhibitionistic display? What does he look like in their eyes? Something so wrong can only feel very, very right, and he's almost jealous of them for getting to watch him as he shatters.
The fingers withdraw from his aching hole with just as little preamble as their intrusion, and then Jooyeon is wrapping Jiseok's other leg around his waist too. Jiseok's fingers tangle tightly in Jooyeon's long hair as he clings for dear life now that Jooyeon's bruising grip on his hips is the only thing holding him upright.
Jooyeon looks into Jiseok's teary eyes, then, and there's that glimpse of his gentle husband checking in with him hidden behind the feral darkness. Jiseok can appreciate that, but he'd appreciate it even more to be made to bleed, so he tugs on Jooyeon's hair and arches his back forward in response.
Jooyeon, thankfully, knows how to take a wordless hint just as well as Jiseok does. The tenderness in his eyes fades back into the background and then he's lining up his cock to Jiseok's entrance, and fuck .
Jiseok's vision goes white around the edges.
He's panting wildly by the time the head manages to squeeze in fully, then sobs unbidden when the rest follows. God, it hurts. It really does, but there must be something wrong with him because the burn of being split open on cock without any proper lube is one of the best things Jiseok has ever felt. He could almost come from this alone.
Maybe it's because it's such a rare delight, a treat reserved for only these moments in which Jooyeon grows violently possessive. Maybe he's just a whore for it. Either way, the pain turns his entire body into an exposed wire, and he has every intention to fully indulge.
There's ragged breath in his ear, and it's a miracle he even feels it with how overwhelmed all of his senses are. It sends a fresh wave of arousal coiling in his guts, the knowledge that Jooyeon must be hurting too, the way every shift of his cock inside Jiseok's clinging body drags out these tortured little noises.
The slide is fucking rough on both of them, but it gets noticeably smoother with how much Jooyeon's cock must be drooling inside him. Jiseok's heels are digging into the small of his back and he's tugging at Jooyeon's hair so hard he must be ripping some strands loose. It doesn't deter Jooyeon from fucking him as hard as he can, and Jiseok knows from previous experience that the slide of his shoulder blades against the hard wall is going to sting almost as bad as his ass later.
That's what he likes, though. The lingering ache serves as a reminder that keeps him in line through any leftover jitters, until he can slip back into a semblance of a normal person; the pleasant gardener who couldn't hurt a fly. So he needs it hard and deep and painful, and he wants his husband every bit as ruined.
It's not a conscious choice, not when Jooyeon's cock fucks all thoughts out of his mind and punches out pathetic whines and whimpers from his lungs each time he nails his prostate, but still he scratches and snaps at any bit of exposed skin he can reach.
Then Jooyeon slows. He drags back languidly, so drawn out that Jiseok can feel every vein along his length as his hole clenches in a desperation to keep the cock in. His rim clings tight, stretched and puffy and twitching but not wrecked enough, not yet, and Jooyeon stops withdrawing when only the head remains inside.
Lightheaded and so extremely cock-drunk, to Jiseok it feels like a mercy. Right now, he can't possibly imagine anything worse than being left empty and craving.
Then he doesn't have to imagine anything at all as Jooyeon fills him all the way in one brutal thrust.
It burns. It feels like he's being torn apart in two. It feels like he's finally, finally being made to shatter in a million pieces.
And it feels so fucking good.
Jiseok's vision bleaches as white as his mind, and his ears feel cotton stuffed, all noise somewhere far, far away. He no longer has any control over his body as it curls around Jooyeon, as his nails dig deep into his shoulder blades, as he bites down violently at the junction of his husband's neck and shoulder. A scream tears out of him muffled as the pleasure-pain boils over and drags him under, under .
The orgasm hits him like a blow to the head, and for a second, he thinks he might have actually passed out.
He's brought back when Jooyeon picks up the pace inside him, ruthless and chasing his own pleasure now. One by one, Jiseok's senses return sharper. The metallic taste of more fresh blood on his tongue. The sight of the mess he made of Jooyeon's body, bleeding bite wound on his collarbone and semen all over his front. The sound of Jooyeon's rough breath and the frantic slap of skin against skin as Jooyeon gets closer and closer and closer.
Above everything else, the pain returns tenfold.
Every nerve on Jiseok's body is screaming, oversensitive and raw, but his job isn't done yet. His body goes completely limp in Jooyeon's hold, no strength left in him to do much more than cling to Jooyeon's back as he's manhandled like a ragdoll, but he knows Jooyeon likes it this way. Likes him docile in a way he never gets otherwise.
And, god . Jiseok fucking loves it too. Loves Jooyeon uncaringly using his body like a toy, long deep thrusts that feel like agony and heaven all at once. It's almost twisted how good it feels to be made into a cocksleeve — an unthinking thing with no free will, no voice to say no even if it hurts. Only existing for your master's pleasure, and deriving your own from being useful.
And Jiseok's master is kind enough to use him even when he's a broken filthy mess, smeared with blood and tears and cum and drooling all over himself like a dog in heat.
Maybe one day he'll break so thoroughly there will be no going back from this, because the bruising grip around Jiseok's small waist, the slam of bony hips into his ass, the burning friction in his battered hole — it all feels intoxicatingly like love.
And there's no higher praise than when Jooyeon growls low and animalistic in his ear. It's all the warning Jiseok gets before Jooyeon drives as deep inside as he can go and grinds , making Jiseok feel every throb of his cock as it finally fills him to the brim with all he has to offer. It stings, it pulses, but the satisfaction when they both fall still and sated runs bone deep.
Jiseok doesn't realize he had been screaming all along until he recovers the brain capacity to feel how fucking sore his throat is.
Jooyeon helps carefully unfold Jiseok's limbs from around his body with shaky arms, already halfway back to his normal self. No matter how gently he tries to put him down, though, Jiseok's legs are too jellified to hold him up so he just ends up sliding down the wall. Jooyeon doesn't seem to be faring much better, because he sits down on the ground with all the force of a puppet whose strings have been cut.
Fuck. He's a wreck. Jiseok's lungs ache as he struggles to catch his breath, and he doesn't have to look down to know the puddle forming beneath him is pink. The sting in his ass signals that he definitely bled. He ignores that and crawls forward until he can rest his head in Jooyeon's lap.
It takes a moment, but eventually Jooyeon's large, warm hand starts petting through his hair. "Good boy. You okay?"
Jiseok feels like putty in his hands, peaceful as he'll ever be. "Mm. Perfect." There's one thing that catches his eye, though, a smear of red over Jooyeon's spent cock that confirms what he was thinking. "Got my blood on you."
Jooyeon's laugh comes soft and tired from above. "There's blood all over me, baby."
"Yeah, but it's not mine," he sighs contentedly and nuzzles into the appendage. "Let me."
Jooyeon's hand stills in his hair for a second and he hisses at the oversensitivity of Jiseok's tongue on him. But he doesn't stop him, and neither does he push it into becoming something more than it is. Just resumes running his fingers through sweaty locks as Jiseok lazily mouths him clean.
It's a comfortable silence for a little while after that. But eventually the elephant in the room needs to be addressed.
Jiseok's gaze wanders over to the corpse, and it's with a deep calm that he concludes, not for the first time, that humans look pathetic when you bleed the life out of them. But that's okay. They serve a much greater purpose in the soil. "We'll have to chop this one up. My roses need more fertilizer."
Jooyeon follows his gaze and snorts. "And you couldn't tell me that before I used up all my strength holding you up against a wall?"
Jiseok hums, considering. "It's okay, it's been cold these days. He can wait in the basement until tomorrow."
"Christ, you mauled me," Jooyeon notes when he catches sight of his reflection once they've somehow gotten to their feet. "I'll have to wear a scarf tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, I won't be able to walk tomorrow," Jiseok says while leaning on his husband's back. And it's true — his legs still feel weak and his waist is starting to truly hurt like a bitch. But as far as he's concerned, it's all worth it. The storm has been calmed, the urges have been quelled, and his roses, well…
They're still not naturally good enough, but Jiseok paints them to his satisfaction when he drops the bouquet in the pooled blood on the floor.
Twelve perfectly red, dead flowers.
Odd numbers are for happy occasions, and even numbers are for funerals.
Though this man won't really get one. They'll kick him down into the basement, clean off the blood, then turn him into fertilizer tomorrow night. And maybe next time, Jiseok's roses will be as kind as to bloom red enough that he won't need to turn them into yet another even-numbered bouquet.