Chapter Text
When Hoseok first laid his eyes on him, weighed chains dangled from his cuffs and collar. His bare body was soiled in dirt and dried blood. He looked for life in those eyes.
Months had passed. His calves had gotten rigid and his days more difficult. The old servant had passed away. Usually, they would take apprentices before handing over their duties. Hoseok did not think he would be without one so soon.
“What do you make him do?”
“This one is usually in the workshops, your majesty.”
Hoseok hums, “Is this the one that tried to rebel?”
“Yes, your majesty.” the man hesitated, “He's quite…troublesome. That's why I was intending to keep him away—”
“So this one's the best you have?” Hoseok stepped closer, inspecting the voiceless boy head-to-toe.
The man shrinks, “W-we could look for someone better if—”
“He will be good enough.” Hoseok had already made up his mind. “Clean him up, give him clothes, send him to my room.”
Soon, Hoseok found out more about the boy, but nothing to prove him wrong. Stubborn. Rebellious. Dangerous. And yet no will to fight. He did everything required from him. Nothing more. He barely spoke. Has never uttered a single word in front of Hoseok.
He tidied the sheets every morning and scented the bath. He folded clothes and served food that the cooks had prepared. He poured his tea. He accompanied him wherever. He got rid of any pebble that could hurt Hoseok's delicate feet as he strolled.
Everybody around Hoseok brimmed with the same question—why him? Why not someone who did not rebel? Why not someone with no blood in his hands? Why not someone who was not an imminent danger? But Hoseok picked his servants carefully, as much as it dismayed others.
Hoseok could tell from first sight. This boy, who was once an aspiring warrior for his opponent, did not see any use in getting rid of Hoseok. His home was no more, nor was his blood. If poison was blatantly served to him, this one would sip it before anyone else—not because he had turned loyal, but because he saw no worth in living. When Hoseok conquered the southeastern kingdom, he did not take lives. He took their hope. This servant is a souvenir of his greatest conquest—a signature of his wrath and kindness.
Hoseok accomplished this as the empire’s first queen successor. Yet he was careful to display anything that brings him pride. His citizens admired the humble image he had created of himself. It was how he remained favored by the land to wear the crown. Just as one knows oneself the best, Hoseok knew who he truly was — an epitome of pride and a ravager of hope, unlike what his people praise him for.
But someone like this boy could see right through him. Hoseok could tell from every breath he took around his presence — each full of bitter hate, anger, and disgust so intense. His tight shoulders, stone-cold face, and firm fists revealed how much he longed for revenge, yet he never came up with one perfect enough. If he took the queen’s life, his death would be unjustly painless. His coffin would be bejeweled by the riches stolen from his people. Previously, he thought he could turn the queen's own people against him. Yet the longer he led, the more often he watched those of his own kind betray and leave him behind. He did not understand what he could not do right, until he was brought around the presence of Hoseok.
He would have never guessed anyone other than a middle-aged, scruffy, concubine-surrounded male on the throne. It made sense in his mind for an invader rascal to look like that. Laying his eyes on Hoseok for the first time made his guts shrink and his heart thump out of rage. Was this frail petite and fragile being the one to whom he and his men lost their lives and honor?
He curled his hand into a fist when the queen pointed his finger at him — he looked like he could be knocked by air. He could easily overpower him. Was he taunting him? Was this his way of rubbing his defeat on his face? What was he thinking? How can someone like Hoseok be not threatened by him?
Of course Hoseok is not threatened by him. The ever-so-cunning queen thinks he had already given up. The creeping rage made him question himself and eventually calmed him down when he realized that he, infact, has. Hoseok has stripped him off his identity and humiliated him to no bounds. The aspiring warrior was no more. He was now a servant to the queen — a plain mockery of who he used to be.
Being around Hoseok's presence made him realize that this famed humbleness was rather his blatant pride on display. They called him a freed slave, but what he truly was is a showpiece. It did not matter how he was treated. The queen was kind because the wealth and honor he had stolen allowed him to.
The queen possessed strengths so overwhelming that it was hard to doubt weakness. He thought he would be able to spot one, but as time elongates to eternity, he had started giving up. He did wonder if he was ever close to finding out, since the queen succumbed into drunkedness so often, and people are most honest when intoxicated.
“Do you talk?” Hoseok chuckles, sprawled on his bed while he sipped wine from his chalice. He has his back turned against the queen, tidying the mess he had left to clean. He simply nods. He cannot believe how long Hoseok has rendered him speechless. He does not even know if servants should ever speak in this strange land.
“Why don't you talk to me then?” Hoseok grunts, wobbling out of his bed, “Don't you see how I am? Are you that cruel?”. The queen is saying whatever blurry things came to his head.
Hoseok sniffs himself, groaning in disgust, “Ew, I can't stay in these heavy robes anymore. I'm sweating.” He turns around and nods again, getting off his knees to call in other servants. But before his soles even lay on the ground, Hoseok stops him. He stares, confused as the other hands him the ribbon that holds his garments together. Hoseok takes one step away and off falls the robe from his shoulders and slender figure, leaving him bare for the other's eyes as the garment pools on the floor.
His breath hitches. His eyes trace the blush spreading down his nape, the collarbones glistening with the heat of alcohol, mounds that are perked like hills and dusky on the peaks. The small of his waist and the width of his hips stream like the river of his hometown. And right between the plush thighs blooms petals of a shy flower, dew of its seductive nectar drooling down his lower lips. He feels like he has been struck by beauty for the first time.
Hoseok cups his chin, dazed eyes studying his lips. Could Hoseok tell that his heart is pounding?
He quickly thinks of what they will be after this drunken encounter. “I-I'm Jimin.” he stutters, aware that the heat of his gaze had left sparks on the queen's body.
Hoseok chuckles, “I know.” and he leans onto Jimin's shoulder.
The next day, he is lost in figuring bits and pieces of last night as he waits for the cooks to prepare his majesty's meal. Jimin had immediately scurried for a nightwear to send the unconscious queen to bed in. He managed to tie a loose gown he had found on him, although the sight that lay in front was so achingly tempting.
His cheeks were ruby red. His lips were parted. The weight of his breasts were spilling to his sides. His womb rose and sank slowly with every breath. And the most beautiful thing he has ever seen — Jimin could not help it, but hesitated as soon as it twitched to life under his fingertips. He looks at his own, the one his men jokingly called his second sword. It was hard, flushed red on its tip, veins pulsating around its girth. His looked so dangerous whilst Hoseok's looked so graceful. Ache grew as he ignored it. Jimin could not help but wonder what this pussy would feel like. How would it wrap around him?
Last night, Jimin went to slumber with thoughts and a fist wrapped around his length.
Hoseok wakes up with a numb pain on the back of his head. He finds himself barely clothed as he reaches for the jug of water. Nearly panicking, he forces himself to recall everything that had happened last night, worsening his hangover instead.
Jimin
He remembers that boy. He remembers words coming out of him for the first time. It shocked him too much to forget. He had almost believed that the boy took a vow to never speak again. A part of Hoseok felt relieved for reasons he could not confirm. Which causes him to figure that Jimin was probably the one who tended to his drunk chaos.
Jimin is granted entrance and following him is a tray of breakfast. “Your majesty.” he bows. Hoseok still found it hard to believe his ears.
He shifts underneath his covers, fastening his robe properly. As he ties, he wonders why he was so poorly dressed for bed. One glance at Jimin suddenly reminds him why. His stomach coils.
“You have a sweet voice,” he tries.
Jimin flinches, nodding awkwardly, “I am honored, your majesty.”
Right at this moment, Hoseok could tell that their relationship will change forever. Jimin's eyes may be cold as stone but his palms visibly itch for something Hoseok is yet to find out. He loosens his robe, letting some of the skin on his chest expose as he bends down for tea. His skin burns from the boy's piercing gaze, although he never catches him. It arouses him. His gaze lingers on Hoseok's body even when his eyes shift in panic. His body is being lathered in lust, the kind that makes him squirm. Hoseok has never been touched before and Jimin finds it out for the first time.
“Why did you not talk before?”
“I was not aware, your majesty.” Jimin tries explaining, breathlessly, “Back in my kingdom—”
“Stop there.” he goes all of a sudden, halting the servant's words, “I am aware of your former king's customs. I don't want to hear it.”
Jimin bites his tongue mute for a while. “Last night, you requested that I speak…”
Hoseok puts his cup of tea aside after a sip, “You know, I don't always remember what I do when I am drunk,” he smirks, “...doesn't mean that I always forget either…”
Jimin can not figure what to say, but his best guess is none. The queen seems to know what he had done. Will he order his head on a platter for it? Will he spill blood like his old masters?
“How well can you work those hands?”
Jimin throws him a confused look.
He smiles in an intriguing manner, biting the nail on his index, “I heard you worked with the blacksmiths.”
“My old master insisted that I do. Your majesty.” Jimin still could not tell where this was heading.
“Then your hands must be strong…” his remarks continue, “although they are so… adorable.”
Jimin curses under his breath. There was no way Hoseok had felt his touches in his dreams. Did he know what Jimin did? How longingly he watched it? How delicately he traced his fingertips on it? Anger nearly seeps through him when Hoseok comments on them. What did the size of his hands have to do with anything? Was this another way of demeaning him?
“You should be able to give me a massage with them.”
Jimin buries in his self-pity all over again, realizing that his mind had endlessly ridden elsewhere. “Whatever you ask for, I shall be at your service, your majesty.” he bows, displaying gratitude. “However, I have never —”
“You will learn.” Hoseok takes a small nibble from his meal and stands up, “My last servant was no masseur. But he eventually got better. So good until he touched me in places he wasn't supposed to.”
Hoseok, grunting, gives him a side glance and Jimin nearly throws up.
“That's why we're leaving for an island tonight… just you and me,” his voice flows out of his lips like a charming spell as he stops at the bedroom door, “I look forward to a lovely time.”
Waves of anxiety sailed along with him to a place which boiled his skin alive. The queen invites him under a shade. There is no roof that towers over them, no walls that protect them from sight. It is just the two of them alone, at night, on a hot island with sparkling shores.
Jimin faces the draped curtains, illuminated by the dim fire of oil lamps. He can hear shuffling, probably Hoseok tidying his things aside, and his heart thumps faster with every sound in the most tranquil place he has ever been to.
“Come in.” a voice lures him from behind the curtains.
The queen laid on his place, on his stomach, his dignity draped behind a velvety shawl. He is being merciless.
A single nod from him makes Jimin warm-up his palms, nervously cracking knuckles before the tips of his fingers tease the soft arches of his back. He presses his thumb on the tail of his spine and draws circles, while the rest of his fingers flutter on the skin of his stomach.
A short gasp is muffled by the bed sheets. Jimin can feel the rigid bones relaxing under his touch. The larger circles he draws, the more this delicate silk shawl fights to stay in place. The silk shows off, taunting him with the outline of Hoseok's ass that it also hid so well. Jimin wonders what happens if this silk shawl loses. His palms would grope the supple flesh — it would fit perfectly in his hands. He would make circles too, pushing those beautiful cheeks together and spreading them apart — engulfed by the sight of an entrance that seems too small to let anything fit in it, but then, it twitches to life under his thrusting stare. The circle of dusk widens only slightly, flushed pink on its edge, showing off an endless end.
“D-don't stop.” the queen orders, slurring. Fuck. He thought, hoping that Hoseok hadn't noticed his audacious manhood. He stares, and stares, watching the rim glisten slightly. He puts his thumbs to work again, firmly tracing the pinkness. He watches it become wider and wider, throbbing more and more, till he can feel Hoseok pulsing under his touch.
“Your majesty?”
“I told you not to stop!” the queen rages over her sheets, although his body is composed.
“I have a method I'd learned from my companions. It involves the…mouth…” Hoseok lifts his head, eyes drooped as if they were intoxicated, lips parted and letting out soft gasps.
“P-please…”
And so Jimin relishes, using the tip of his tongue to study every fold and detail. He penetrates his tongue in, lets it bathe in the warmness. Hoseok thrashes, but is held by the servant's firm palms on his ass. His gasps turn into songs of pleasure, gripping the sheets as the cold wet tongue floods his warm entrance. Jimin allows his lips to graze. It twitches. It exposes itself more and more. It breathes. Jimin detaches, strings of saliva pouring down his tongue. He watches it wink. It gapes, and then it shrinks again. It's alive. Bright red handprints are imprinted on the queen's mounds.
Hoseok dazes down at him, breathless. Seeing the mess of drool that is Jimin's face, he reminded Hoseok of an overeager lap-puppy.
“Your majesty?” He breathes loudly. “I know something else.”
Hoseok smirks, slightly droused, “You aren't inexperienced at all.”
“Please. Your majesty, please sit on my face.”
( Yes. He said that. Thank you. )
Hoseok sits up while Jimin admires. Those long slender arms. Strands of blonde curtaining his bright eyes. The curve of his waist. The folds of his stomach. Wetness slathered where his thighs meet.
“W-what do you mean?” Jimin's request even baffles someone like the queen. This is the first time he has ever heard him stumble upon his words. “S-sit on your face? How?”
“I-I will lie on the floor and you may sit. I won't taint your bedsheets, your majesty.”
Hoseok hesitates, before smirking again, “You might be better than my last servant, Jimin-ah.”
Jimin settles on the floor, facing the night sky while Hoseok walks over, “What if I crushed you?” he teases not so teasingly, “I wouldn't want to ruin such a pretty face like yours.”
Jimin fights the urge to roll his eyes and pull the queen by those frail legs of his. Hoseok is too brave, even for a conqueror. When thighs shut his ears from the sound of waves washing the shore, he fastens his arms around them. Hoseok still resisted to rely his entire weight on the servant's face. Jimin wonders briefly; that why a queen who had slashed throats was too afraid to suffocate a showpiece of his greatest victory.
Jimin leaves a wet stripe, making Hoseok almost writhe off his balance. And his tongue dances in, lathering the folds that had been etched to his dreams ever since that night.
There is a proud bud peeking out of the folds, blushing on its tip. Lapping his tongue on it, he feels the queen's heartbeats. It frots against the tip of his nose as he guides those hips to grind on his face. Jimin is bathing in pride. It's like nectar. It's royal, sacred, and priceless. Some of Hoseok's release has even dampened his hair. He loses his breath, and is revived again by something throbbing deep inside him, on the tip of his tongue. Jimin wiggles his tongue, stroking this mysterious swell that almost tries to push his starving mouth away. But he can not lose again.
His mouth is as if flooded by the sweetest honey. Hoseok's back arches till his headful of hair sweeps the dust off the ground. His clothed possession stanced furiously, upset by the lack of attention. Yet still, a blissful sigh falls from Jimin's mouth as the queen lifts himself, met with every inch of the servant's face soaked in so much of his that it illusioned a wedding veil.
Hoseok breathes heavily, waves as harsh as the seas traveling up his spine. A tall and hard thing catches his attention as his eyes fall to Jimin's crotch. It looks like a scabbard. Ofcourse, with just the two of them, Hoseok was more than an easy target. But his heart does not drop out of suspicion. This scabbard did not hold a dagger. It threatened Hoseok, which he found arousal in—and his servant feels it through the thin fabric on his chest.
“I-Is this pee? D-Did I pee on you?” Hoseok can not say why, but he asks with a hint of nervousness as soon as he comes back to senses. He did not want to commit any gruesome act like that on his servant.
Not yet.
Jimin wipes himself with his forearm, “It's what happens when you're pleasured. You did not urinate on me, your majesty.” he explains, now shifting his grip on the queen's calves. “You said your calves hurt to move, don't they, your majesty?”
They never make it back to bed.
None of them can tell what was going on. Jimin sat on the dirt dipping the tip of his fingers into Hoseok's calves. He thinks of the last time he's felt this full of pride. Hoseok sat on his lap in his naked glory and legs apart, knowing exactly what goes through this boy's wicked mind
The thing that looked like a dagger, it is cushioned between his ass, clothed. It itched. His insides — shaped like Jimin's tongue. It was empty. Infuriating. He reminds himself to be patient. Afterall, good things come to those who wait.
Or so he wants to believe. Because he expected more. He thought he'd finally see a man under the sheep's clothing, doing all what he's heard to rile up the other. He wanted to see how Jimin will take him — how he will use the body that bathed in the blood of his men. He wanted to know all the things a man can think of doing to a queen fallen under his mercy.
As the sky lightens to dawn, Hoseok comes to accept that he has yet to conquer so much more.