Chapter 2: Silk and Goodbyes
The hotel suite was a monument to excess. Floor-to-ceiling windows presented a dizzying panorama of the city’s glittering spine, each light a pinprick of distant life. The air smelled of lemongrass and clean linen, a scent so perfectly engineered it felt sterile. Jimin stood in the middle of the vast living room, his small suitcase looking absurdly out of place on the marble floor.
Jungkook was already pouring himself a drink at the minibar, his movements fluid and unthinking. “Better than the last place, huh? That view is fucking insane.”
“It’s beautiful,” Jimin said, his voice soft. His eyes weren’t on the city, but on Jungkook’s back, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders.
Jungkook turned, a smirk playing on his lips. He took a slow sip of amber liquid, his eyes dark and intent over the rim of the glass. “Come here.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a command, one that Jimin’s body obeyed before his mind could form a protest. He crossed the room, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of his footsteps. Jungkook’s hand snaked out, fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss that tasted of expensive whiskey and inevitable heartbreak.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Jungkook murmured against his mouth, his other hand sliding down to palm Jimin’s ass through his jeans. “Since the jet. Since I had you against that window.”
Jimin’s breath hitched. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I want you messy tonight. I want to ruin you.” He said it like a promise, his voice a low growl that went straight to Jimin’s gut. He took Jimin’s hand and led him into the bedroom, a larger, darker space dominated by a massive bed with crisp, white linens.
Jungkook pushed him down onto the mattress. The duvet was cool and smooth. He stood over Jimin, his gaze predatory, and reached into a nightstand drawer, pulling out two long, navy silk ties.
Jimin’s heart began to thump a frantic rhythm against his ribs. “Jungkook…”
“Shhh.” Jungkook climbed onto the bed, knees bracketing Jimin’s hips. He leaned down, his breath warm against Jimin’s ear. “You trust me, don’t you?”
It was the most dangerous question he could ask. Jimin closed his eyes and gave a single, shaky nod.
“Good.” Jungkook’s hands were efficient. He looped one silk tie around Jimin’s left wrist, pulling it taut and tying it securely to the ornate wooden post of the headboard. He did the same with the right, until Jimin was spread-eagled against the white sheets, utterly vulnerable. The silk was soft, but it was unyielding. A beautiful cage.
Jungkook sat back on his heels, admiring his work. “Fuck, you look perfect like this. All laid out just for me.”
He started slow. He peeled Jimin’s clothes off with a torturous lack of urgency, his fingers brushing against sensitized skin. Once Jimin was naked, he just looked at him, his gaze a physical weight. He trailed a single finger down Jimin’s sternum, over the quivering plane of his stomach.
“Please,” Jimin whispered, already aching.
“Please what?” Jungkook’s smile was wicked. He bent his head and took one of Jimin’s nipples into his mouth, his tongue circling, his teeth grazing just enough to make Jimin jolt against his restraints. He lavished attention on one, then the other, until Jimin was writhing, little broken sounds escaping his throat.
Then his mouth moved lower. He kissed a trail down Jimin’s abdomen, his tongue dipping into his navel. Jimin gasped, his back arching off the bed. Jungkook’s hands gripped his hips, holding him down.
“So responsive,” Jungkook murmured, his voice thick with arousal. “Every fucking time.”
He didn’t go where Jimin desperately wanted him to. Instead, he used his hands. He slicked his fingers with lube from the nightstand, the sound obscene in the quiet room. He pressed one finger against Jimin’s entrance, circling slowly, maddeningly.
“Jungkook, god… please.”
“I love it when you beg.” He pushed one finger in, just to the first knuckle, and Jimin cried out, the sensation a sharp, welcome shock. He worked him open with a ruthless, practiced slowness. One finger, then two, scissoring and stretching him, brushing against that spot inside him that made his vision whiten at the edges. Jimin was a mess of sensation, his world reduced to the feeling of Jungkook’s fingers inside him and the tight hold of the silk on his wrists.
Hours. It felt like hours. Teasing, touching, licking, fucking him with his fingers until Jimin was sobbing, his body slick with sweat, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
“Can’t take it,” Jimin choked out. “Jungkook, I can’t—”
“You can.” Jungkook finally stripped off his own clothes, his erection springing free, thick and flushed. He positioned himself between Jimin’s spread legs, the head of his cock pressing against Jimin’s stretched, wet hole. He looked down at Jimin, his eyes black with want. “You’re going to take every inch of me, and you’re going to scream my name. Understand?”
Before Jimin could answer, Jungkook slammed into him in one brutal, perfect thrust.
The air left Jimin’s lungs in a punched-out gasp. It was too much, it was everything. He was so full, stretched to the brink, the initial burn quickly morphing into a deep, consuming pleasure. Jungkook didn’t give him time to adjust. He set a punishing rhythm, each drive of his hips knocking the headboard against the wall.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jungkook grunted, his own composure shattering. “So fucking perfect for my cock.”
He leaned forward, bracing himself on his arms, his face inches from Jimin’s. His thrusts became harder, deeper, hitting Jimin’s prostate with unerring accuracy. Jimin’s moans were ragged, torn from him without consent.
“Yeah, just like that,” Jungkook growled. “Take it. Your fucking body was made for this. Made for me to fuck.”
The filthy words, paired with the raw, physical domination, undid him completely. Jimin’s climax ripped through him, violent and overwhelming. He screamed, a raw, broken sound as his come streaked across his stomach and chest, his body convulsing around Jungkook’s driving cock.
The sensation pushed Jungkook over the edge. With a final, guttural shout of Jimin’s name, he buried himself to the hilt and poured into him, his own release hot and endless.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths. Jungkook collapsed on top of him, his weight a familiar comfort. He nuzzled Jimin’s neck, his lips soft against the sweat-damp skin. “Jesus Christ,” he panted. “You ruin me every time.”
He shifted off, and with tender hands that belied the ferocity of their coupling, he untied the silk ties. He fetched a warm, damp cloth and cleaned Jimin with a surprising gentleness, then pulled the duvet over them both. He drew Jimin into his arms, his body a solid, warm wall against Jimin’s back.
“Stay,” Jimin whispered into the darkness, his voice hoarse.
“I’m right here,” Jungkook mumbled, his breathing already deepening into sleep.
Jimin clung to the words, to the warmth of the body wrapped around him. He let the exhaustion pull him under, foolishly hoping that this time, it might be true.
Dawn light, pale and merciless, filtered through the windows. Jimin woke slowly, his body aching in the best way. He stretched, a smile touching his lips as he reached for the space beside him.
It was empty.
The sheets were cool. He opened his eyes. The indent on the pillow next to him was deep, but the space was vacant. He ran his hand over it. Cold.
He sat up, the duvet pooling around his waist. The suite was silent. On the nightstand, next to the discarded silk ties, was a folded piece of hotel stationery. Jimin picked it up with trembling fingers.
Had an early investor call. Didn’t want to wake you. There’s money for room service on the table. Last night was incredible. - JK
He stared at the note. The script was bold and rushed. Incredible. He looked at the cold, empty space in the bed where Jungkook had promised, with his body, with his heat, that he would stay.
The money for room service was a stack of crisp bills, left on the living room table like payment for services rendered.
Jimin folded the note carefully, his movements precise. He placed it back on the nightstand. Then he lay back down, curling into the cold space, and closed his eyes, trying to capture the fading ghost of a warmth that was already gone.