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"What's it like," Jimin asks, "to hold so much power in the palm of your hand?"
It's a lazy Sunday evening, the weekend almost up but neither of them quite willing to acknowledge it. They're sprawled beside each other on the comfy old couch in the living room, feet up on the coffee table, heads slumped back against the backrest. The mute TV is flashing a rerun of a Man United versus Chelsea match in the background, but they aren't really watching—Jimin because he's never cared much for football, Jungkook because he already knows in the next instant Joao Felix is going to burst past two United defenders and fire low and hard into the bottom-left corner, scoring Chelsea a clean goal.
Jimin's fingers are tracing up and down Jungkook's own in slow, continuous movements, Jungkook's hand held in his warm, gentle clasp. "Such incredible power..." he breathes.
The soft, flickering colors of light from the TV illuminate the side of Jimin's face in the dim room. Jimin's cheek is pressed to the back pillow, something close to childlike awe shining in the depths of his warm brown eyes as he gazes up at Jungkook.
It makes Jungkook wheeze out a sluggish laugh that rattles out of his ribcage like a rusty old engine. He's not used to his boyfriend giving him a look that isn't comical disbelief or fond exasperation because Jungkook lost his car in a parking lot (happened twice) or emptied a vacuum cleaner bag into a wire wastebasket (also happened twice, surprisingly), or something equally moronic.
"Where's all this coming from?" he asks offhandedly.
Jimin gives a small shrug of his shoulders. "Was just curious," he answers in a mumble. "Anyone would be."
Jungkook can't argue with that. A part of him is even surprised Jimin waited this long to broach the subject. They've been living together for nearly six months now, and saw each other for about two years before that. But then again, Jimin's almost freaky nonchalance and casual acceptance of things that would shatter the fabric of most people's realities and make their tiny little brains collapse in on themselves was precisely what drew Jungkook to him in the first place. That and the fact that Jimin is an amazing cook. Seriously.
"I mean, I don't really give much thought to it," Jungkook tell him honestly. "I suppose it's a bit like if your dad gifts you a gun—a bolt-action rifle, let's say, maybe he's trying to get you into hunting, and all that manly stuff, yeah? But you're not into that, and you didn't ask for the gun so it's sitting in a safe somewhere collecting dust. Now with a gun, you could go rob a store; heck, you could shoot some dickhead clean between the eyes and blow his brains out, but that's just not gonna occur to you, is it? Even though you have that power."
The analogy isn't exactly accurate, but it's simple enough for Jimin to follow. Or maybe he is just nodding along like Jungkook does whenever Jimin explains to him for the zillionth time why it's important to separate the whites in his laundry from the colors. It's hard to tell.
"It's a little more complicated than that," he amends lamely. "And the 'power' isn't literally in my hand. If anywhere, it's in my voice, I guess." He regrets tacking on the last bit as Jimin promptly drops his hand from his warm, gentle hold.
"Yeah, that makes sense," Jimin says quietly. He doesn't ask any more questions after that, and doesn't look like he's going to either so Jungkook turns to the TV and reaches for the remote sitting on the coffee table to unmute it. Just because he's already seen the game and knows Man U is going to hammer Chelsea 4-1 doesn't mean it's going to make watching the winning moment any less cathartic. He's still pissed about the 5-4 loss in last year's League Cup when Luiz's tackle was clearly a foul. He tends to get vindictive like that.
"Jungkook—"
"Ugh, the net is empty! It's fucking empty, you goddamned idiot!"
"You've seen the game, Kook. You already know who's gonna win." Jimin's dry tone is the verbal equivalent of rolling one's eyes.
" 'Who's gonna win.' You say that like you didn't watch it with me. Why don't you tell me who the 'who' is here, exactly?"
"I will if you tell me what I explained to you about the importance of separating the whites from the colours this morning."
"Okay, fair." Jungkook sighs defeatedly, putting the TV on mute again. He turns back to Jimin. "You were saying?"
Jimin seems hesitant, all of a sudden. He has his lower lip drawn between his teeth, fingers fidgeting restlessly in his lap. "What's it like for the person... in your power—in your control. The—the person you're controlling," he trips over his words as if unable to articulate his thoughts properly. "What do they feel?"
Jungkook fights the shit-eating grin threatening to split over his face. Let's say your dad gifts you a gun. You don't use it to rob a local gaming store with exceptionally poor security that stocks the latest edition of CoD, or hunt down that yeast-infected cumbubble Kim Dae who bullied you in high school and shoot him through the foot. But... you aren't opposed to using it for things that, well, fall in a certain gray area.
Let's say you use the gun to make someone do something they wouldn't normally be inclined to do. But the person can't see the gun, heck, doesn't even realize you have it on you. So it's not coercion, technically. And they convince themselves the whole thing was their idea, so no harm no foul, right? And that 'someone' happens to be your boyfriend and the 'something' happens to be pretty much every chore you're supposed to do but are too lazy to, so you unload it on your boyfriend as often as you can without arousing suspicion.
The gun analogy sucks, actually.
In Jungkook's defense, Jimin is worse than him when he isn't doing something he actually enjoys. And you don't need to take Jungkook's word for it either. There's a nerf blaster Jimin keeps by the bed for the sole purpose of shooting darts at the light switch when he's being too much of a lethargic lump to actually get up and switch the lights off like a normal person. He misses on all ten tries, usually, and falls asleep with the lights on until Jungkook becomes impatient enough to get out of bed and do it for him.
Point is, Jimin knows the answer to his own question better than anyone. But Jungkook isn't about to tell him that. He settles on giving a vague, half-truth kind of answer.
"Well, only the person under my influence can answer that. For me, it's like, I tell someone to do something and they— just do it. But there's also a will in my words; a sort of... mental command that isn't there normally. It's a bit like a switch, I guess. Something I can turn on and off at whim. A casual observer might not even be able to tell I'm doing it—at least, I don't think. Unless it's something insane, like me telling someone to jump off a cliff or something."
"Have you done that," says Jimin. His eyes are wide now—with wonder or something else, Jungkook can't tell. "Told someone to jump off a cliff?"
Jungkook gives a loud snort at that. "That's a good way to end up as a brain in a jar in a lab somewhere. There's a reason I don't go around flaunting this power—or gift, magic, whatever you wanna call it, and being generally obvious about it. People are fucking insane. They were burning regular ass women at the stake for being witches, imagine what they'd to an actual witch. Man-witch. Wizard. Whatever. And that's assuming the government doesn't nab me for some totally humane, unit 731 style experimentation first."
"But would you do it if you knew you could get away with it?" And here's Jimin once again choosing to focus on the wrong detail and completely ignoring everything else Jungkook has just said. "Would you tell, er—command someone to jump off a cliff? If it's someone you really, really hate?"
"I dunno, Jimin, would you?" Jungkook counters. "Would you push someone you hate off a cliff if no one was around to see it?"
"Of course, not," Jimin cries immediately, a faint affront coloring his tone.
"There you have it," says Jungkook. "I wouldn't do it for the same reasons you wouldn't. The fact that I wouldn't need to physically do the act makes no difference." It's getting a little annoying now, honestly. And he realizes he's just missed the winning goal, lost in this pointless talk. "What's with this sudden obsession of pushing people off cliffs anyway? Is this your way of telling me you've actually gone out and done it? Blink twice if it's the little bitch with the bagpipes next door, I won't even be mad."
Jimin doesn't so much as crack a smile at Jungkook's lame attempt at humor which is a bit odd. He's usually more appreciative of it even if only out of pity. Jimin shakes his head softly. "I'm just—"
"Curious," Jungkook finishes for him. "I know."
Truth be told, the real reason he's being short with Jimin now is because he doesn't like talking about it, even if Jimin is one of the only people he can talk to. This thing of his—this power, it's something he himself doesn't understand fully. And no matter how much of a logical and hard-headed big boy you think you are, there's always a part of you that will fear what it doesn't understand.
"I want you to use it on me," Jimin says, perking up suddenly. He springs off the backrest to sit up straight, making Jungkook instinctively follow suit, albeit less jumpily. "Your command voice. I want to know what it feels like to be—to be... puppeteered like that. Tell me to do something. Anything."
Funnily enough, this is something Jungkook is a lot more used to and at ease with. He doesn't have any hang-ups about pulling Jimin's metaphorical strings and making him dance, and less so now that Jimin is an enthusiastic participant. He almost tells Jimin to get him a beer from the fridge out of force of habit, but then thinks better of it. Jimin being concious of the command might trigger memories of the many, many times Jungkook has pulled this exact trick on him without him knowing it in some fucked-up, snowball's-chance-in-hell recall moment. (Yes, Jungkook actually paid attention in the Intro to Psych course in college sometimes).
Instead, he blurts the second thing that comes to mind. "Stick your finger in your nose."
In the next instant, Jimin's staring at him with comically wide eyes and an index finger stuffed up his nostril. He looks like he himself isn't sure of how it ended up there.
"What are you, ten?" he squawks.
"No, but I will be ten. Ten inches deep in yo' butt." Jungkook is very proud of this rejoinder, actually. Jimin is giving him that look of comical disbelief/ fond exasperation again, but honestly if he's trying to be patronizing, he's failing miserably with that finger still up his nose.
"That—that wasn't right." Jimin shakes his head, letting his hand drop in his lap.
The only reason he is able to do that is because Jungkook silently released him of his command. Oh, yeah, that's one thing he neglected to mention. His commands don't necessarily need to be verbalized. He just prefers doing that because it's less jarring to have someone appear to fulfill a request as opposed to obey him like a mindless zombie. For him and the person in question both.
"It didn't feel like you were controlling me at all," Jimin tells him. "Listening to you was instinctive. Like when someone tells you not to turn around so you turn around."
"That's the opposite of listening."
"You get what I mean," Jimin insists. "You don't think and you don't realize what you've done until it's already done."
"So, what d'ya suggest I tell you to do?" Jungkook asks without much interest.
"I don't know—you're the one who's supposed to tell me." Jimin's voice is profuse with frustration this time. Honestly, Jungkook doesn't get what the big deal is. But then again, he's lived with this his entire life. If he were normal—ordinary, he'd probably be going on an involuntary grippy sock vacation not too long after learning his boyfriend could somehow control people with his mind. Jimin has dealt with it astonishingly well, all things considered.
"A'ight, Simon says hop around on one foot."
"Oh, fucking hell, seriously?!"
The stormy expression on Jimin's face usually kind of scares Jungkook. Enough to make him stop fooling around and get his shit together. But right now, it looks absurdly hilarious as Jimin hops around the living room like a pogo stick with commitment issues. Jungkook barks out a laugh. This is turning out to a lot more fun than he expected.
"Now dance like a chicken."
Abruptly, Jimin's arms are flapping like wings, his head bobbing, both feet on the floor now taking small, quick steps in a zigzag pattern. He even makes a little "bawk-bawk" sound, and then seems just as surprised by it as Jungkook is.
"Jungkook, what the fuck?" he says. It sounds more like a petulant whine than any expression of anger.
Jungkook lets out another gleeful chuckle but eventually concedes. "Alright, you can stop now."
The heaving of Jimin's chest is pronounced even underneath the ugly, grey oversized jumper he's got hanging off his shoulders as he slowly, cautiously approaches Jungkook. Like he might trip over his feet and fall if he walks too fast. He looks a little disoriented, eyes slightly hazy and unfocused.
"Well?" Jungkook raises a brow at him. "Did that give you the answer you were so eager for, my little puppet?"
Jimin somehow manages to pull a face at the teasing pet name. "I—dunno," he answers after a pause. His brow is furrowed in concentration like he is thinking hard about something. "It... still didn't feel like you were making me do something I didn't want to; something I'd actually want to resist, you know? I felt like a participant in some stage hypnosis performance. The fucking chicken dance certainly didn't help."
"So, what are you saying?"
Jimin chews on his lower lip for a moment. "You know how they say you can't be hypnotized to do things against your will? Like even when you're in that hypnotic trance and a suggestible state of mind, if the hypnotist tells you to do something you really don't want to do, you snap out of it? Maybe we should try something like that and see if I'm able to. Up the ante a bit."
Jungkook snorts loudly. "Ha, so secretly you were totally cool with the arm-flapping and the 'bawk-bawk'? What the heck was even that? 'Up the ante' he says," Jungkook muttered. "How about you dance like a chicken but naked this time? That scary enough for you, baby?"
He is only taking the piss so his words aren't coloured with command. After his last failed attempt at a joke, he doesn't expect to get any appreciative reactions from Jimin either. But he certainly doesn't expect the reaction that he does get.
Jimin's cheeks are red from his earlier exertion, but it's unmistakable—the deepening flush suddenly creeping over his cheekbones. His gaze drops to the floor, feet shifting as if in nervousness.
Oh.
Oh.
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, baby?" Jungkook lowers his voice into what he hopes sounds closer to a seductive purr than a 70-year-old chain-smoker whispering. "Putting on a proper show for me, hm? Is that what you've been trying to lead up to all along?"
There is a palpable shift in the air between them, a sexually charged energy thrumming in it's subcurrent. For all his shitty imitations of porn talk, Jungkook isn't entirely sure what to make of it to be honest. Sex with Jimin has always been nice— slow, sweet, and vanilla. Nice. He's never commanded Jimin in bed, verbally or otherwise, but then again Jimin has never asked him to. He's told Jungkook to hold his wrists above his head a couple of times, sure, or gag him with his hand when Jimin starts getting too noisy but that's been the extent of it. And out of the two of them, Jimin is definitely the more kinky one.
He sees it now—the way Jimin is staring at him coyly from underneath his lashes, bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout, the little minx doesn't mean one word of it when he huffs: "Pfft, as if. I'm not gonna do that. No matter what you say. I'm definitely not going to take my clothes off. And you can't make me."
Jungkook thinks it's a little too contrived even for roleplay, but decides to play along anyway, being the excellent boyfriend that he is. He arches a brow at Jimin lazily. "Well, we'll see about that, won't we?" Then: "Strip." A stark command.
A visible shudder runs down Jimin's spine. Immediately, his arms are raising to lift his jumper over his head and drop it at his feet. Jungkook stares at the hideous thing, idly debating whether or not to command Jimin to burn it too for good measure. A second later, Jimin's T-shirt joins it on the floor, followed by a pair of faded blue jeans, leaving only a certain pair of boxers yet to be shed. Jungkook tears his eyes away from the rumpled heap of discarded clothes for this part.
The look he catches on Jimin's face makes him let out an airy little laugh. "Are you trying to resist?" he asks.
Jimin's brow, knitted in strain not a moment earlier, lifts in surprise. "You can't tell?"
"Only by the face you're making. You make the same one when you're trying to open the peanut butter jar."
"But you can't feel me resisting?" Jimin presses, as if to confirm. "Like you can't sense me pushing back against your force?"
"There is no 'force', Jimin, I already told you," Jungkook explains patiently. "I just will something and it happens. It's not perceptible to me— directly or otherwise." He regards Jimin with a scrutinizing gaze. "What about you? Can you sense a force of some kind compelling you to follow my commands?" He doubts there is considering how Jimin has been unaware of all the other times he's been under Jungkook's influence but asks anyway.
"No..." Jimin answers slowly. He looks uncertain. Muddled. As if someone has strapped him to a merry-go-round and spun him around for hours. "I mean—my mind knows that—that you're the one who's making me do it, but my body doesn't. I—I don't even think I'm resisting, not physically at least. My body's not fighting. It's all in my head..." He trails off in an almost dream-like murmur.
"Huh."
This is new. Jimin has never seemed this out of it before. But then again, Jungkook's hold on him has never been as constant and as intense as it is now. Distantly, it occurs to him dabbling in this kind of play may not be a hundred percent safe. Don't even those leather weirdos with their whips and chains have safe words or something? Jungkook absolutely does not intend to touch that freaky shit with a ten-foot pole, yet what he's doing with Jimin somehow feels even more unsafe.
"Hey, Jimin," he says softly, breaking character. "You'll tell me if you want to stop, right? If it starts getting scary for real?"
Jimin doesn't answer. His eyes are distant and glazed, body not shifting an inch where he's stood. Oh, and he's naked now. Completely and utterly naked. Jungkook sadly missed him taking his boxers off, so lost in his own thoughts. He would've liked to catch the shy pretty-pink blush creep up Jimin's face again, but something tells him Jimin is too far gone for such a thing to have happened anyway.
He shakes his head. "Listen to me, Jimin. If at any point, even the smallest part of your mind starts to panic, you will tell me to stop. Even if you can't remember where you are or who you're with, hell—even if you can't remember how to say your own name, this is something you're not allowed to forget. You will tell me to stop if it gets too much." Every word is a firm, powerful command.
Jimin nods this time, an absent movement of his head. It's something.
"Come to me, baby," Jungkook says then, his worries satisfactorily allayed. Jimin won't be able to disobey any direct commands of his including the previous one. He can trust that at least even if he can't entirely trust Jimin's state of mind at the moment. They're just playing anyways, it's nothing quite so serious.
He reaches an arm around Jimin's slender waist and easily tugs his boyfriend onto his lap, courtesy of his hitting the gym four times a week and also the fact that Jimin weighs approximately as much as a mosquito's conscience.
"Kiss me."
Like a baby that hasn't learned to hold it's head up yet, Jimin lurches forward in a clumsy motion, his mouth falling over Jungkook's. It's wet and sloppy; Jimin is kissing him like a puppy trying to slurp up spilled ice cream.
"Jimin..." Jungkook begins to mumble against his lips, but stops. Unexpectedly—surprisingly—what began as Jimin trying to test and explore the limits of Jungkook's power has rapidly morphed into Jungkook himself doing the aforesaid. He's never ventured to before, partially because he lacks any and all kinds of ambition, but mostly (and if he's being brave enough to at least admit this to himself —entirely) because he's always been more than a little afraid of just what his power is capable of.
It's easy to disregard that now though—just for a little bit— especially when his boyfriend is so willing, so loving, so trusting.
His command is non-verbal this time.
Kiss me properly. Act like you're conscious and in control. Lucid. You're sinking faster and deeper under my influence but your mind doesn't know it now. Everything's normal, you're normal—the same as always.
It's instant, the difference. Jimin's lips move against his own with a willful mastership, sucking and nipping just like he knows Jungkook likes it. Interesting.
He draws back after a bit, breaths coming a little shallower and more rapid than earlier. His bottom lip has puffed up slightly from the kiss, a flush sitting on the crests of his cheekbones Jungkook was hoping to kindle before, yet Jimin's eyes are clear and intent. Averted, albeit; Jimin is staring at the hands fidgeting nervously in his lap.
Oh, he's shy now. In a way he'd never be if he were still in a trance. He wouldn't have had the mental clarity to be.
He's an odd mix of bashful and bold, Jimin. Even his bashfulness verges on coquettish coyness more often than not, but this time—this time it's every bit genuine. Jimin is a twenty-four year old man with a fairly active and an incredibly fulfilling sex life if Jungkook does say so himself. There's no reason he should be getting hard from just kissing like some virgin kid in the throes of puberty. And yet he is. Jimin's cock is pressed up almost insistently against Jungkook's abdomen, beginning to wet at the tip. On second thought, it could also have something to do with the fact Jungkook is still fully clothed while Jimin is straddling his lap naked as the day he was born. Jungkook is surprisingly learning more about his boyfriend's preferences in bed today than he has in two years and five months (Jimin made him wait a month in the beginning of their relationship) of absolutely mindblowing sex.
He's happy to know it's turning Jimin on at least. He half expected Jimin to burst out laughing at his attempt at a dominant persona. At this point, Jungkook is essentially imitating the burly beefcakes he's seen in the kind of videos every horny teen with unrestricted Internet access stumbles on at some point.
"Are you going to make me dance for you now?" Jimin's voice is soft, hesitant almost. He doesn't meet Jungkook's eye as he says it.
Jungkook grins at him like a Cheshire cat. "I've got a better idea." It's a calculated decision what he says next based on what he knows his boyfriend definitely doesn't like. "Get on your knees."
Jimin slides off his lap and crumples to his knees like a puppet that's been released of it's strings. Before the inevitable annoyance twists his features, there's only surprise on his face. "You...did you do something different this time?" he says a little breathlessly. "Your command—it felt different."
"Different how?" Jungkook asks, deliberately ignoring Jimin's question. For some reason, he's still reluctant to reveal that verbalizing his commands is a choice he makes. Maybe because he worries even someone as unperturbed and laid back as Jimin would flip out if he knew Jungkook can—and has influenced him without him knowing it.
"I...before—your words were making me feel like I was 'zoned in', you know?" Jimin says, gazing up at him with wide eyes. "Like how sometimes you're so focused on a TV show or a good book that you don’t hear people around you talking. It was... nice. Relaxing. But now—I'm aware of everything. Almost too aware. Your commands are just making me feel like I have alien hand syndrome but in my entire body. It's a bit freaky."
Jungkook's heart sinks a little in his chest. "Good freaky or bad freaky?"
"Intense freaky."
"D'you want—erm, want us to stop...?"
And now there's that annoyance screwing up Jimin's pretty face, though it's a bit premature. "God, no, Jungkook," Jimin huffs, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you if I want to stop just like you said. And that was a command, so it's not like I have a choice."
He pointedly looks down at his kneeling form on the floor and then back up at Jungkook. "Dick move, by the way. Some might call this an abuse of power, even."
The casualness yet in his manner mollifies Jungkook enough that he allows himself to find humor in the situation. Jimin loathes giving blowjobs on his knees, though he has no problems demanding them from Jungkook. He complains about the hardness of the floor, Jungkook messing up his hair, and the bitter taste of Jungkook's cum in no particular order. But he'll happily have Jungkook bob on his knob in a public bathroom stall all while ripping half of Jungkook's hair out of his head before shooting his load down Jungkook's throat without so much as a warning. Jungkook will admit he's feeling more than a little vindictive.
"Oh, don't act quite so victimized when Dickie Bird is clearly thrilled at the prospect." He gently nudges Jimin's cock with his big toe for good measure.
Jimin looks appalled, whether at the nickname Jungkook has chosen to give his penis or the fact that Jungkook had touched him there with his foot, Jungkook can't tell. He glares up at Jungkook for a moment but then concedes with a little shrug. "Fair."
Probably too aroused to do anything otherwise. And Jungkook is slowly getting there too. He can feel his own cock growing harder, straining against the constraints of his jeans. He gets to his feet, fingers clumsily working at his belt buckle (that's another thing Jimin complains about—how long it takes for Jungkook to undo his belt), when something gives him pause.
It's the way Jimin is gazing up at him. With eagerness and desire, but there's something else in his face too. Something that is reflected in his posture. The rare few times Jimin has deigned to suck his cock in a position where Jungkook wasn't flat on his back on their bed, he's always done it awkwardly sitting on his haunches, sharp clawlike fingers digging into Jungkook's thighs for "support". Jimin isn't crouched down now. He's kneeling— properly kneeling, hands folded in his lap demurely.
Submission.
It makes Jungkook's head spin in a way he's never experienced before. Not even the time Jimin insisted on riding him blindfolded (and proceeded to lose his balance and tumble to the floor in the middle of an orgasm, very nearly breaking his arm). Jungkook isn't sure if his feeling is a good one, but he does know he's curious to explore it.
A thought pops into his head suddenly, a rather strange one. He regards his boyfriend's kneeling form on the floor—his fussy, high-maintenance boyfriend who eats frozen pizza with a knife and fork and has a vocabulary that features the word "ew" significantly more often than any other. Didn't Jimin say he wanted Jungkook to try and make him do something he really didn't want to? Something he'd actually want to resist?
"Bow, Jimin."
The command leaves his lips just as soon as the thought of it occurs to him. He barely catches the look of startlement—almost alarm—crossing Jimin's face before Jimin's body is bending forward, forehead pressing to the floor before Jungkook's feet, forcing him into prostration.
"What the hell, Kook? How do you expect me to gobble your knob now?"
His words lack the usual bite that would normally accompany them. Jimin actually sounds a little shaken up. And he's literally shaking too; tremulous quivers visibly wrack his nude body, his back muscles and shoulders tightening as if from strain.
Jimin is resisting. No, not just resisting. His body is actively trying to fight now. Struggling.
"Jungkoo—"
"Stop moving."
Instantly, Jimin's body freezes. Held rigid as if turned to stone. Jungkook hasn't silenced him, but it's several moments before Jimin seems to be able to find his voice again.
"Wha—" It comes out soft and breathless, muffled against the floor. "What are you doing?"
"Hey—relax, okay?" Jungkook tell him soothingly. He walks around Jimin to stand behind him, getting a nice, direct eyeful of his boyfriend's fantastic round ass. "I'm just doing what you said, baby. Giving you what you want. Upping the ante, yeah?"
"I didn't mean it like this." He can't see Jimin's face that's still pressed to the floor, only hear his small, petulant voice.
"Well, that's not for you to decide, is it? It had to be something you really wouldn't want to do. You'd hardly be the one suggesting it." It's fine, all good. Jimin can always tell him to stop.
"Yes, but—"
"God, I hate that tattoo."
It's a tattoo of a chinese dragon that Jungkook is referring to, the colorful creature's snakelike body curling at the bottom of Jimin's spine just between his dimples of Venus. He actually doesn't comment on it often—or at all—but something about it being in his direct line of sight triggers the urge now. That and the fact that he can't see Jimin's face or his expression darkening which makes him a lot less afraid to make bitchy remarks. "Ugly," he says.
Against the floor, Jimin huffs a dry laugh. "Do you hate my tattoo or do you hate how I got it?"
Jungkook hates how smug and knowing he sounds. Alright, fine. Objectively, Jungkook can admit it isn't a completely ugly tattoo—it's actually quite well done as far as tattoos you could get piss-drunk at a tattoo shop with a 2.5 star rating on Yelp go. Jungkook kind of dislikes it wasn't him that Jimin was piss-drunk with when he came up with this brilliant idea. But what he absolutely loathes is—
"Or... do you hate who I got it with?" Oh, Jimin's definitely laughing now. More gleeful than he has any business being, pressed to the floor at Jungkook's feet. If Jungkook hadn't willed him still, he's sure Jimin's body would be helplessly shaking again because Jimin is one of the two adult men he knows who laugh with their entire body.
The other would be fucking Taehyung.
"Well," Jimin presses, "am I right?"
"I just think it's unfair and frankly a bit hypocritical that you and Taehyung can be all touchy-feely and do cheesy shit like getting matching tattoos when I can't even have a person of the female variety touching my arm without you blowing a gasket like some French mistress from the 17th century." Jungkook's totally calm as he says it. Rational, reasonable. The words definitely don't come out flying with spittle in a manic frenzy.
"Is this about Micha? Because don't you fucking start about that again." But unlike Jungkook, Jimin is clearly beginning to lose his cool now. "How d—how, just how," he sputters, "do you even begin to compare Taehyung with Micha? Taehyung and I have been friends since we were, like, four. When you've known each other this long, you develop a closeness that might seem a little too intense to others. Plus, he has a girlfriend. Your Micha on the other hand, was openly flirting with you right fucking in front of me. And that was after I introduced myself to her as your boyfriend."
He huffs out an exasperated breath. "It's fucking ridiculous we're even having this conversation when I'm like this. I can't even see your face. Let me up. Fucking killed my boner," Jimin mutters.
Jungkook barely hears him. He's still staring at the dragon sitting above Jimin's ass and the dragon seems to stare right back at him, mocking almost.
"Apologize to me," he says.
"Apologize?" Jimin howls with disbelief. "Whatever the fuck for?
It's childish and petty, what he's doing, Jungkook knows. But there's a part of him that won't allow him to stop. Like—the very first uninhibited command that moved past his lips unlocked something inside him that he didn't even know existed. Something that has tasted the sweet, intoxicating elixir of power and can thirst for nothing else now.
"You stayed out all night and wouldn't answer any of my calls or return my texts. You had me worried fucking sick. And then you get blackout drunk and inked up at some seedy tattoo shop. Do you have any idea how risky that is?"
"So, let me get this clear." Jimin enunciates each word slowly like he's talking to a particularly thick child. "You want me to apologize to you for putting myself in danger? As if getting myself hurt would somehow be an offense against you? Do you realize how unbelievably entitled and self-centered that sounds?" He pauses and it's as if he'd shake his head at this moment if he could. "Just—let me up. I'm so fucking done with this. All of it."
"I could just make you, you know," Jungkook muses, ignoring Jimins ranting, "apologize." Turning a deaf ear to what he's not interested in listening to isn't even a concious thing on his part anymore. It's about the same to him as the buzzing of a mildly annoying bee.
"Those would just be words. It's not an apology if you don't mean it." Jimin's voice comes out strained like he's struggling against something. Good. Now he knows for sure he isn't getting out of this unless Jungkook allows him to. Maybe he'll think twice before acting so goddamned smug next time.
"I could make you mean it."
"It still wouldn't count. Honestly, Kook—" There's a defeated undercurrent to Jimin's tone this time. He's almost whining when he says: "What's gotten into you? Let me up, c'mon!"
Jungkook makes a show of humming thoughtfully. "Fine, I guess you're right," he says with mock resignation. "I can't make you apologize, but I can make sure you don't go around pulling that shit again. I'll tell you—command you to never see Taehyung again since you want to be so goddamned pig-headed. How about that?"
"You—you can't do that. Wha—"
"Better yet, I'll tell Taehyung you don't want to see him anymore," Jungkook continues airily. "You know I'll make him believe it too. Or—" He gives a dramatic pause, a sly smile curling at his lips though Jimin can't see it. "Or, I'll make you call him and tell him that yourself."
"Jungkook, no—please...why are you doing this?" It sounds anguished now. Desperate. "Please, let me u—" Jimin's voice breaks. "God, why won't you let me up?"
"—tell him he's intrusive and interfering and has no respect for your relationship. That he crosses boundaries and is a little too handsy with you for a guy who claims to love pussy as loudly as he does—"
"Jungkook—please. Please."
"No, Jimin, do you realize how fucking good I am to you?!" Jungkook roars, letting his airy facade drop. It's not even about the mother fucking tattoo, specifically, and that happened three months ago anyway. It's every ounce of frustration he feels and has felt at Jimin doing as he pleases without so much as giving a thought to how Jungkook would feel about it. It's how Jungkook has to be sneaky and roundabout to get what he needs because he's too hesitant, too afraid to confront Jimin about it head-on, but Jimin is always blunt with him to the point of callousness because he doesn't give a shit about hurting Jungkook's feelings.
But standing here, now, with Jimin naked, prostrated before him, Jungkook feels—
He feels like a god.
"I could've done this at any time I wanted. All the times you decided to ditch me for a night out with your college friends so you could get fucked up in a club and then stumble home dead drunk, needing me to roll you over so you don't choke to death on your own puke—I could've done this." He can feel power surging through his body like liquid lightning, little sparks of electricity as if crackling at his fingertip. "I could've commanded you to stay at home and behave yourself. All the times I wanted to go see the game but you wanted to go to a concert, I could've easily gotten my way. You wouldn't have even known it. I'd have made it so you'd be happy about it; believe the whole thing to be your idea. Do you see how helpless you'd be if I willed it? You'd have no choice but to be completely, entirely mine."
"...stop. P-please. I'm be—begging you. Jung—Kook. Stop..."
It reaches him like a bucket of ice cold water dousing him, extinguishing every last bit of fiery heat inside him. Jimin is crying. Oh, god, he's crying. Panicking. Jungkook can hear his choked, breathless sobs. His hold on Jimin snaps instantly like a worn-out, frayed piece of rope.
"Hey, sweetheart, it's okay," Jungkook's voice comes out so soft and fragile, he almost doesn't recognize it. "It's okay, I promise. You can get up now." A shaky laugh escapes him though there's nothing he finds funny about the situation. It's as if an expression of the beginnings of the panic tightening in his own chest. "I guess I got a little carried away, huh? I'm not very good at this stuff..."
God, what the fuck is he saying? His own words sound distant and faraway like they're coming from someone else. Jimin is still on the floor, sobbing wetly. He hasn't moved an inch from the position Jungkook held him in.
"Baby..."
Jungkook crouches down, reaching a hand toward Jimin's shoulder. No sooner do his fingertips brush against Jimin's skin that Jimin finches. Violently. He leaps backward and scrambles wildly into a seated position, still on the floor.
Jungkook can only watch helplessly as Jimin desperately drags himself backward, feet kicking the floor agitatedly until his back hits the wall. Jimin's cheeks are wet with tears, eyes wild, face white with pure, unadulterated fear. He looks like an abused, cornered dog, huddled against the wall, his arms coming to wrap around his body as he curls into himself
"Please d-don't touch..." he whispers. Jungkook wouldn't have been able to hear him if it weren't so deathly quiet. The TV is still on mute, it's pale flickering the only light in the living room. When did it get so dark?
Despite being all the way across the room from him, Jimin finches again just as violently as before, pressing himself closer to the wall when Jungkook moves to pick himself up. Jungkook doesn't mean to approach him, though. He feels strangely shaken too, unable to fully come back to himself. He's not sure he can offer Jimin much comfort as he is. His presence here is probably only causing Jimin more distress.
He walks toward their bedroom in a daze, sinks down on the bed and stays there, staring at the nighttime skyline out the window.
The blaring of traffic slowly quietens, the twinkling city lights begin to go out one by one. Jungkook heaves a deep sigh, smoothing a hand over his face. His head is spinning, but at least he's regained enough awareness to be able to feel it. He gets up then to fetch their fluffiest, warmest blanket from the closet before making his way to the living room again.
The slight, curled-up figure on the floor in the corner is easy to spot. Jimin has fallen asleep, his nude body shivering from the cold ever so slightly, Jungkook sees when he's close enough. His heart clenches awfully at the sight.
Gently, carefully, he bends down to wrap Jimin in the blanket like he's swaddling a newborn. Then wraps his own arms around Jimin's waist and underneath his knees, lifting him off the cold floor. Jimin is so small, so fragile in his hold. Like he'd shatter as though glass if Jungkook didn't handle him with the utmost care. His nose and cheeks have turned slightly pink, dried tear tracks streaked down his pale face.
"Oh, sweetheart..." Jungkook murmurs sadly.
To his surprise, Jimin's eyes flutter open, widening as they gaze up at him. For a frightening moment, he expects Jimin to begin thrashing around, trying to break free from his hold—maybe even physically attack Jungkook in his panic. But he does neither of those things. He simply gazes at Jungkook, hurt and betrayal swimming in the depths of his wet brown eyes.
"You didn't stop," he says. His voice is choked like his throat is full of thorns. "I kept telling you to s-stop but you wouldn't."
Jungkook feels his brow knitting in a frown. "I did, Jimin," he says earnestly. "I promise. I stopped the minute you said the word."
Jimin shakes his head. "No, before that. I was begging you, Jungkook. Crying. But it was like—like you couldn't even hear me. I was so s-scared."
Guilt hits him then, but it surprises even Jungkook himself that it's not his first emotion. Or his second or his third. He feels anger. Indignance. Did this experience not give Jimin a newfound appreciation for Jungkook? For how fucking powerful he is and always has been, yet how he chooses not to do the awful things he could very easily do with his power?
"I would never hurt you, Jimin," he says, offense coloring his tone. "C'mon, you know me. I would never, ever do anything to cause you pain."
Jimin stares at him sadly. "I thought I knew you, but I don't Jungkook. I never have. Tonight made me realize this. And I—I'm not sure if even you know yourself. What you're capable of."
Jungkook finds himself stunned into silence. Jimin looks away from him then, signaling the end of their conversation, but doesn't protest as Jungkook carries him over to the couch and lays him down on it. He's too overwhelmed, too exhausted. Too defeated.
He's blinking sleepily at the TV. One of those annoyingly peppy late-night talk shows is on, so it must be after 11 at least. Jungkook sinks down on the couch next to Jimin's feet, watching the TV absently as well. Every now and then, he steals a glance at Jimin, eventually finding the other fast asleep once more.
Jungkook should be feeling heavy-eyed too; Jimin's snoring chose this very morning—a Sunday morning, no less—to make a rare appearance, forcing Jungkook out of bed extra early today.
And yet he doesn't feel sleepy, not in the slightest. He physically can't sleep. Jimin's words echo in his mind—over and over until his head is dizzy with it.
I'm not sure if even you know yourself. What you're capable of.
It's true. God, it's fucking true, isn't it? Jungkook can control people's minds, bend them to his will, make them dance like puppets to his song until they're no more than empty husks of once living, breathing creatures. And what does he choose to do with this extraordinary ability? Make his boyfriend do the dishes in his stead and fetch him cold beers when he's too lazy to get off his ass and do it himself? It nearly makes him bark out a maniacal laugh. What a fucking waste.
Too complacent. Lacks ambition. Non-fucking-serious. Terms that have exclusively been used to describe him at various points in his life—by his parents, his teachers, and most recently his asshole boss. But not one of them has been accurate in their assessment of him, not even close.
A goddamned pussy is what he is.
His fingers pick at the cover of the couch cushion he's seated on. It's old and threadbare as shit, and there's a hole they hide with slipcovers and throw pillows because Jungkook's shitty job at the shitty marketing agency (that he's supposed to be up for in a few hours) and Jimin's slightly less shitty job as a public school teacher just barely cover the bills, rent, and groceries.
He could've gotten a new couch if he wanted to, and he wouldn't even have had to pay for it. Heck, he could've gotten a job he actually liked and that paid well, and he wouldn't have even needed it. And yet, he's let opportunity after opportunity slip through his fingers simply because he's been too afraid.
Of fucking what? That he'd slip up and get caught? Go too far and wouldn't know how to stop, so lost in the intoxication of unchecked power? Jungkook has gotten a morsel—just a tiny morsel—of the latter tonight, and it was fucking delicious. His power—it's not something he needs to fear; he's the one who should be feared. His power entitles him so.
No reasonable person would be able to blame him for the thoughts racing through his head—not if they experienced a fraction, just a fraction of what Jungkook has tonight. How can he return to ignorance; to being a mere man when he now knows what it is to be a god?
Guilt is an emotion that's simply purposeless now. It's for lowly, ordinary, helpless men who can only self-flagellate to pay for their trivial little mistakes. Not gods like Jungkook whose actions cease to be mistakes the moment they will it.
So, when he hears Jimin beginning to sob softly in his sleep, his body twitching like it does when he's having a nightmare, Jungkook feels not a smidge of remorse. "Jungkook," Jimin is crying. "Please" and "Stop." Over and over.
Jungkook leans forward over him, soothingly brushing Jimin's matted hair off his forehead with his fingers. He doesn't need to say it, but he prefers to anyway. Ah, well, somethings never change.
"Relax, sweetheart. You're safe with me, always. No matter what happens, no matter what I do, you won't want to leave me. I'll take care of you; you'll never be able to believe anything otherwise."
The agitated furrow in Jimin's brow eases instantly like a storm passing over calm waters. There's a small smile curling at the corner of Jimin's mouth now. He's sleeping like a little baby who knows nothing of the dark world outside, so warm and safe clasped to its mother's bosom.
And equally serene and tranquil is the smile spreading over Jungkook's face. He leans back again and closes his eyes.