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“My Cheungwoo.” Brandon’s voice rumbled low in his ear, his touch heavy as he pulled Jin back against him, bodies pressed tightly together. The firm leather of the sofa beneath them creaked as their weight shifted.
What happened to Jin…?
Jin cursed the older man in his head for turning him into ‘Cheungwoo’, all whilst his body betrayed him, melting dutifully into Brandon’s hold. His muscles were lax and pliant as the older man pressed into him, the stretch and deep pleasure of being filled overwhelmingly familiar. Yet something about it disgusted him, or maybe it was something about how much he craved it.
Warmth from Brandon’s chest seeped into the skin of Jin’s back, breaths fanning rhythmically over his neck out of time with the slick slap of skin on skin. There was something comforting about the familiarity of the man’s scent, deep oud and tobacco, and the firm touch on Jin’s skin through supple kid leather gloves. Yet the way long fingers pressed deep dimples into his flesh was possessive and territorial; his master’s grip, a statement of ownership.
But he’d walked into this tiger’s den of his own free will.
Jin had barged his way into the man’s organisation, with nothing to lose and everyone to fight against. Driven by the need to impress Brandon in order to rise through the ranks he’d quickly become the man’s loyal guard dog, happy to receive the attention and rewards Brandon lavished on him. He’d even been given a name, one that soon became synonymous with death.
A wretched name that sounded like all his guilt and regret.
He’d rather be just ‘Jin’, only a single syllable but at least it had always been his.
It turned out that Brandon had desired more than just his aggression and loyalty. Through the haze of the drugs Jin had stolen, an attempt to escape the crushing weight of his sins, those gloved hands had moved to break any remaining professional boundaries between them. And Jin had let those walls fall, the man’s raw desire for him almost grounding as the chemicals rushed through his system, something to hold on to in the face of a hurricane.
Was he even worthy of the touch of someone who wasn’t as deep in the mire as him…
Was his true desire to be desired himself? To be seen and coveted while everyone else had thrown him away or been left behind.
The more Jin had given to Brandon the more he’d begun to receive in return, ensnared in the man’s web of violence, lust and those damn pills that at least brought some temporary relief from the gnawing guilt. Brandon had disassembled Jin and built him back up in some warped pastiche of himself, weaving wealth and power into the myth of ‘his’ Cheungwoo. That slippery ladder had become ever easier to climb with a firm helping hand pulling from the top, and Jin didn’t want to go back to having nothing, to being no one.
He’d needed the money and power for… something.
“You definitely earned your reward today Cheungwoo.” Fingertips ghosted over Jin’s parted lips, the soft skin flushed red from where teeth had bitten down. Jin’s body reacted before his mind could chase it down, his hand smoothing over Brandon’s wrist, encouraging the fingers pressing into his mouth as he opened it wide, the flat of his tongue pressing eagerly against them.
Or was it to save someone?
He’d come back to the office this late for Brandon’s attention, despite being sore from fighting, each breath difficult against the constant niggle of cracked ribs. His priority was to return to his master, to let the man lick his wounds and satisfy his cravings, to be praised and rewarded with that sweet chemical interlude to the weight of living.
Who was it? He made a promise… He’d forgotten…
Bitterness spread over his taste buds as the red pill was pressed onto his tongue, the compound already beginning to dissolve and run to the back of his throat. Brandon hummed low in his ear, fingers pushing deeper into the warmth of Jin’s mouth, the noise cut short as Jin bit down on the digits, a warning to back off rather than outward aggression.
What would a demon know about salvation anyway…
The familiar sensation began to wash over him as the drug took effect, Brandon’s spacious office seeming to shrink as his field of vision condensed. He could still pick out their reflection in the floor to ceiling windows, the pale doppelgängers’ looking like grappling spectres against the darkness of the night outside. Brandon’s affection was always poisoned with violence and greed.
The swirling thoughts in Jin’s head began to dim, draining away like sand through his fingers until only searing lust and the wild beat of his heart remained. It hammered against his sternum, almost like it was trying to break its way out, each beat circulating the drug through his system, setting his nerves ablaze.
That almost painful press of fingertips into his waist started to seem almost tender, caring even. Each movement Brandon made moulded him into a suitable form, angling his hips back until each thrust was a blissfully tortuous drag over his prostate, pulling back at his shoulders until their upper bodies were pressed tightly together. The moans that fell from his lips seemed distant to his own ears, drowned out by the rush of blood.
Eagerly he rocked back against Brandon, searching, surrendering, asking for more. The man spoke low into his ear, words of affection that Jin didn’t fully hear, snatched as they were between panted breaths and open-mouthed kisses on the supple skin of his neck.
Whether the man truly cared for him or not didn’t matter to Jin at that moment, or at all really, as he eagerly pressed back against each of Brandon’s thrusts to seek more pleasure. Even the guilt, stagnant and bitumen-thick, in the pit of his stomach seemed distant and unimportant as the dream pill worked through his system, putting his normal rational state into a box and locking it away.
Maybe he wanted to forget.
A gloved hand pressed against his back, planted firmly between his shoulder blades, pushing him to lean downwards onto the plush seat. He settled down on the leather, almost shockingly cold against the flushed heat of his skin as his chest and the side of his face was pressed down against it. The hand remained in place, pushing him further into the upholstery as Brandon fucked into him, setting a pace that was almost punishing. The low moans rolling from Jin’s throat were felt through his chest more than heard, the drugs coursing through his veins amplifying the pleasure he felt.
“B-boss.” He choked the word out into the dark leather, feeling the grip on his hip tighten at the denotation of power.
Arguably Brandon’s biggest turn on, and something he’d stoop to any low to abuse. Normally Jin would care, his stomach would turn at that sly grin which tugged at the older man’s lips before he asked for yet another sin, yet another piece of his soul, yet another thing to forget. But for now he didn’t care, willing to do anything if it meant Brandon would lavish more attention on him, would fuck into him that little bit harder, if he would hit that spot inside him again. He felt almost crazed by it, wanton and pliant. Weak.
He’d care about that when the drugs wore off.
Maybe, in some way Jin liked that power being lorded over him, being able to surrender to this man, be told what to do, how to dress, how to bend, how not to break. But the chains Brandon had forged for him would only get tighter, the puppet strings ensnaring him like a spider’s web. Would he one day look in the mirror and see Brandon looking back at him? That wild, ambitious young man from the orphanage long dead and gone, replaced by a man that Brandon had built from his ashes.
But he’d forged that first link himself, from the blood of a priest.
“Look at me Cheungwoo.” Brandon withdrew the hand between Jin’s shoulders, sliding it down to join the other on his hips, his grip like iron as he continued to pull Jin roughly back against him.
Jin obeyed, ever the dutiful subordinate, turning his head and shoulders to look back at the man, gaze intense under brows pulled taut with pleasure. Their eyes met briefly, gold boring into blue, before Brandon’s eyes dipped first to Jin’s lips, parted as he moaned into the heated air between them, before they fell to where their bodies were connected. Gloved hands moved from Jin’s hips to spread him wider, fingers gliding over pale skin slickened by lube and sweat, his attention laser focused.
As the drug packed the last of his rationality into a box he let the haze swallow him, bracing back against the man behind him, the slick slap of skin against his only fuelling the fire within him. He moaned, swore, and pleaded, all between snatched breaths as his nails clawed for purchase against overpriced hide.
Fuck...
Faster.
Harder.
“Cheungwoo.” Barely audible as Brandon exhaled, chased closely by a taut moan, tiger’s eyes finding Jin’s once more.
He felt held by them, the fog in his brain only getting thicker as pleasure began to peak inside him.
“Harder. Please…” Jin’s words dissolved into a moan as Brandon responded, pushing him forwards over the leather with each harsh thrust.
At least Cheungwoo belonged, as long as he complied.