Chapter Text
The list has gotten quite long now. My ledger, full of scribbles and cross-outs and bad math in the margins, has a list that grows ever longer.
They all leave their marks, in one way or another.
But how to distinguish? Not every mark is the same size. Not every mark is painful or pleasurable. If it’s good do I write it bigger? If it’s bad do I write it repeatedly for all the days they’ve stolen in remembering their scars? And when I look back on my list, what do I conclude about my life? Is my life written in names, numbers, or a strange algorithm that brings them both together? The only lesson I have managed to string along is that no wisdom is indelible. The footsteps that lead to my destiny are murky and difficult to follow. I have to wonder if this was always the outcome. Maybe if you look how I look, and are born to my parents, and live where I live it would always end up like this.
The first time I noticed the difference, I was 10. All the town boys were starting to get big and boisterous. Before then we were all small, and slight, so I didn’t stand out. But then we all lined up during the town festival and I saw jaws starting to form, shoulders starting to widen, and the potential of a man begin to bloom on all my friends’ faces.
But not on mine.
Maybe I’m just late, I reasoned, and tried not to let it bother me that I could be knocked down and pinned so easily while wrestling. That sports became less fun as a shoulder check from the bigger boys could knock me to the ground. That my best friend Taehyung could wrap an arm around my neck and ruffle my hair with no effort. It was just sad, at first.
Then it got worse.
As 13 and 14 went by and I only got a little bigger, and wider, and sharper—I wasn’t the only one who noticed anymore. Teasing turned to laughing. Playfulness turned to bullying. And defeat morphed into domination. And like that, my friends drifted away. If you couldn’t wrestle, if you couldn’t fight or spar or win at sports, what good were you? So I ran harder. I trained more. If I had to make up the difference by being twice as good—so be it.
Taehyung was the only one who stuck by me. He’d find me after a particularly bad dusting, or a “friendly” scrap that would leave me with a shiner and a split lip. He’d find me and dab at the blood and straighten my clothes and tell me not to hit with my fists—“They’re too small, Jiminnie.” He’d curl his longer, tougher fingers over mine, “They’re for writing and drawing and sculpting—not fighting.” He’d smile his big square smile and close my fist in his, “Use your elbow. Those pricks could use a broken nose or two.”
He didn’t seem to mind that I was better at dancing than fencing. He didn’t seem to mind that we were a friendship of contrasts, from his tawny brown hair to my coal black. From his piercing features to my rounded ones. From his fighting hands to my sketching ones.. He would pose dramatically and ask if he was worthy of being sketched—he liked when I drew him. And even though I was different—even though I was small and petite—Taehyung made those years okay.
Sprawling under the stars on warm summer nights became our go-to way to spend free hours between chores and work.
“What do you want, Tae?” I’d ask him, measuring stars with the palm of my hand, “Like, from your life.”
“Easy. To be a great warrior. Find a beautiful wife. Joust at the palace and unseat the Prince himself.” He grins at me, “Become a knight and rescue damsels. Don’t you want that?”
I shrug, accustomed to thinking smaller, “I dunno. I don’t think I need something that grand.” I close my eyes and block out the moon, “Maybe just a little farm. Some goats. A place that’s warm and dry and all mine.” I swallow, “Someone to come home to, maybe.”
Taehyung faked a snoring sound, “Snrrrrrr—boring! How can you not want the glory of adventure?”
Adventure mostly sounded uncomfortable, to my thinking.
But we always were a little different that way.
15 and 16 brought a different set of challenges. Height was still a problem, but less so. Taehyung could still tuck his chin on my shoulder so he did. I began to realize I would probably never suddenly spring up into a different kind of man. I think my father did too, and the realization thinned his lips and greyed his hair as he had to accept that which all fathers of less than masculine sons must accept. I kept working. Kept swimming and running and climbing—I was strong now.
No one wanted to fight me anymore.
I filled out in muscle, but being smaller, all my clothes started to fit weird so I took to wearing huge, shapeless shirts and pants. Guys more or less ignored me. Girls especially ignored me. Taehyung laughed and laughed, telling me I looked like a leprechaun borrowing human clothes.
Winter of 16 saw my baby fat melt away, saw proportions even out and find a shape—maybe not a manly shape, but not a child’s shape either. That summer Taehyung and I skinny dipped in the lake and suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore.
I can still remember shucking off my tunic and pants—he made this noise. Kind of like a huff crossed with getting hit in the stomach. I dove into the water and turned back to him, laughing. He was frozen on the shore.
“Taetae? You coming? Water’s pretty warm!”
He flushed and ran back the way we had come.
I saw Taehyung less and less and never figured out what I did.
Without Taehyung 17 was lonely. I began to look forward more and more to reaching majority and getting a real job to help my father and sisters. The inn my father owned was struggling financially (no one really visited our little town to stay for very long) and I knew it was time to make myself useful. I took on most of the chores, and the hunting. That’s when I got cornered for the first time.
I had been tracking a wild pig for hours now. Realistically, I knew I wouldn’t be the only son out hunting today. I just assumed everyone had kind of forgotten about me. No one had made the effort to bully me in years. The air was crisp and fresh and heralding the advent of summer, with blooming flowers and the sound of wildlife stirring from every direction. The three boys caught up to me in a small clearing, traveling the opposite direction. They were the sort of big boisterous guys who had transitioned from teasing to bullying and then disinterest over the years. But my neck prickled when I stumbled across them. These gazes could not be called disinterested.
The weather was one of those days where you wake up freezing and nearly pass out from heat by the afternoon. As a result my normal oversized pants were rolled to my knees, waist was rolled down and cinched. My shirt was off and knotted around my hips. I had planned to just walk right by the boys—clearly they were tracking different game than I.
Very different, as it turned out.
A low whistle followed me as I strolled past them, “Is that Park? Jimin—is that you?”
I’m not sure why he was pretending not to recognize me—“We’ve known each other since we were three, Shim.” I turned to continue into the trees,
“His ass didn’t look like that when he was three, I bet.” One of the other boys mutter, clearly trying to be quiet enough that I don’t hear.
“What’s your rush, Minnie?”
My jaw clenches at the familiar nickname. “Tracking a pig,” I say as breezily as I can manage, “Been at it for a while so if you’ll excuse me.”
“We were after a buck” Shim says, ignoring me, “But it got away. Can we tag along? Maybe there will be others.”
“Pig was alone.” I grit, “Plus I hunt better by myself. Sorry, guys.”
“Yeah we heard you and Tae weren’t hanging out much. Weird to see you without your bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard? Tae’s my friend.”
“Then where is he?” Shim says, closing in on me. He and the other boys are backing me towards a rock wall. I’ve seen this little dance before—but this is an odd inversion. Usually punches are being thrown, kicks being aimed. These boys are just…walking.
I shrug, trying to affect nonchalance while looking for an escape route, “Dunno. I’m not his keeper. You gonna let me by? Or do we need to see if you can still kick my ass?” Being bold and direct has helped me before. But Shim’s eyebrows hit his hairline,
“Kick your ass? We don’t want to fight, Minnie.”
“Then what do you want.” I ask flatly “I’m busy.” My back hits the rock.
Shim reaches out and toys with the sleeves of my tunic, knotted in front of my groin. “Just wanted to catch up with an old friend. Is that a crime?”
I snort, “Alone, out here in the woods?”
“Nice and private, don’t you think?” Shim murmurs.
I lunge to go past him and he catches my arm, squeezing around my wrist, “You look pretty different, Minnie.”
“Let me go Shim. You’re just confusing me. If you don’t want to fight—let me go.”
“What if I want something else?” He breathes, leaning in close and pulling my arm at an awkward angle.
I am certain I don’t want to know what else he wants.
“Jimin? Shim? What the fuck are you guys doing?” Taehyung is on the edge of the clearing. He’s obviously out hunting too from the knife at his belt and the traps hanging from his back.
Shim releases me and steps back at Taehyung’s voice. As soon as I’m free, I dart through the boys and away from the rock wall. They all disperse, muttering something about the buck they’re tracking and fading away into the woods.
Taehyung and I are just staring. It’s been a while since we’ve been anywhere near each other—Tae is pretty good at avoiding me, it turns out.
“Jimin? Are you okay?”
I’m unsettled, and a little exhilarated to see Taehyung so my words are a bit shaky, “Y-Yeah. I’m fine.”
He steps closer, shaking his head, “Three on one is shitty just for a scrape.”
I shake my head a little absently, “No, they…said they didn’t want to fight.”
Taehyung’s gaze sharpens. His eyes bounce from my naked torso to my rolled up pants to my disheveled hair and I’m sure I must be mistaking the blush that blooms. Maybe he’s just overheated.
“What did they want?” His tone is menacing, “What were you doing?”
“Me? I’m hunting. Why the fuck do you care anyway, all of a sudden??” I’m stung by his weird intensity and suddenly the months of isolation boil over, “You fucking abandoned me, never even told me what I did to make you mad! Why would I tell you anything?” I turn to storm off.
“Wait—Jiminie. Wait.” Taehyung runs forward and into my path, “I’m sorry, okay. I just wanted to make sure they weren’t—“ He fidgets with his hands before shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter, never mind. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”
“Yeah I’m fine Tae, go ahead and fuck off now.”
He seems to wrestle with himself for a minute. “I miss you.”
All the indignation rushes out of me in a whoosh.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good friend. It’s just—I had…anyway I’m sorry.” His face is wiped solemn, he almost looks like he wants to cry. I don’t ask for the details. I don’t even really make him suffer. Months of loneliness and isolation melt away at the pinched sadness and pout on his face. My hand finds his and tugs him into a big hug. For once, his bigger body caves and bends and he seems pretty small, wrapped in my arms like that.
“I missed you too, you big idiot.”
Having Taehyung back is wonderful, but different. He doesn’t hug me or snuggle me much anymore. Grows tense when I loop an arm across his shoulders. But he doesn’t leave me alone either. And the weird encounter with Shim becomes just that—a weird one-off that I don’t put too much thought into. Having Taehyung back means there’s a friend group again. There’s guys and girls and people talking to me. There’s drinking and sneaking out to go swimming and fishing. There’s passing out in the barn and getting yelled at by my dad. That summer goes by in a blur. Fall turns cooler. Passing out in the barn becomes uncomfortable. But the cold never stopped Taehyung so like clockwork we sneak out every evening and end up in the barn in the morning. My snuggling privileges are restored with the change in weather. Taehyung wraps himself around me, “I’ll keep you warm Jiminnie.” I don’t think anything of it.
On my 18th birthday we stay out too long. Taehyung steals a bottle of wine from his dad and gives me a little journal bound in leather. It’s small enough to keep tucked in my pants and I promise him to always have it with me. We get drunk and foolish and count the stars as the moon keeps watch.
We come in too late.
I stir awake in the morning to see my dad backed by the sunrise in the barn door. He’s looking down at Tae and I twined together with this expression of disgust before stalking away and out of the barn.
I abruptly feel like we’re doing something wrong, snuggling together in the hay.
My father’s face…like this was so much worse than being late for chores. I shift just a little in discomfort and Taehyung groans and tugs me closer. His hips roll and I freeze. His cock is hard, and insistent, pressing against my ass with the subtle change in position.
“Mph…—minnie…” he sort of huffs near my ear.
I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and see my father’s face stamped on the inside of my eyelids. I shuffle out from under Taehyung’s arms and scurry back to the house.
Neither Taehyung or my father mention the incident. But there’s yet another change in the air.
On the day they come get me I’m not even late for chores. I finish the morning routine and go hang out with Tae and his friends for lunch. It’s an exceedingly normal day. Later I would wonder if I’d stayed with my friends…if they would’ve done it anyway. Or would they stay nearby and wait for me to be alone? I’ll never know. I wish I would’ve at least said something better to Tae than,
“Fuck you, cocksucker, I gotta get back to work.”
Not exactly the last thing you want your best friend to remember you by.
They came when I wandered away from the other boys to finish doing my chores. Taehyung always manages to waste the productive hours away and still skid into the kitchens two minutes until dinner with everything done. He’s magic. I’m normal. Firewood won’t gather itself and the linens won’t bring themselves in off the lines.
That’s why I didn’t see them at first.
Or maybe I did, but not the kind of seeing that would warn me about what was coming. From behind a still slightly stained slipcover the five figures wound across the field towards me. So when I picked out my father in the center of their number I didn’t think anything of it. In hindsight, it was such a strange occurrence that if I had any intelligence or self preservation I would’ve run for it. I would’ve tossed the neighbors’ sheets in the mud and let the forest become my home.
The men around my father were broad and tall, with weapons that they surely didn’t afford on their own strapped across muscular hips. I didn’t expect to be noticed, let alone engaged with. Looking the way I look has left me rather isolated from men who fight and brawl and seek out their equals to be companions. Not that I can’t fight, as Taehyung and I have proven several times. But still.
It’s like I’m reaching up for a sheet and they’re halfway across the muddy pitch. I fold it in half and they’re right in front of me.
I startle a little and stumble backwards. My eyes find my father’s in the early afternoon sun. He looks sad. He looks unsure. He looks…guilty. His eyes bounce back and forth between mine and his fingers twitch at his side. Now, just now…far too late…I feel a twinge of discomfort.
“Father…” I say slowly, trying out the name on this jittery, forlorn creature standing in for my dad, “Can I help you and your friends with something?”
“This is the one, I imagine.” One of the men with him drawls, looking me up and down.
It’s an appraising glance, but instead of measuring my height against my weight and flicking his eyes away in mocking disinterest—whatever he sees sharpens his gaze. I become aware, uncomfortably aware, of the loosely tied tunic thrown haphazardly over my shoulders and the tattered, too tight breeches I wriggled into this morning while I washed everything else.
Normally I wouldn’t give what I was wearing a second thought but these men and their stares…like it mattered. Like something about my general shape was…inviting the stares.
My father nodded once, a curt little bob inclined towards the man who spoke to indicate agreement.
“Prettier than we’d hoped for, huh boys?” The man chuckled, fingers grazing over the pommel of his sword in a somewhat intimate unconscious gesture. The other men’s voices gathered and pushed towards me in agreement.
“Prettier?” I bark out a laugh—no amusement, I can sense how the air is charged. But I don’t want to acknowledge it yet. Don’t want to give a name to the dread in my belly. Don’t want to draw a line under the math of these words plus this look plus these weapons plus waiting until I was alone…
“I am no maiden lords, though I have not been blessed with height. Father? Who are these—“
“So I agree to the terms, innkeeper. You shall have your full price.” The guard doing all the talking cuts me off and steps forward, “Come with us now, son.”
I look over at my father, he ducks his head to avoid my gaze, “Come with you? Where are we going? Is my family in some kind of trouble?”
The big man cracks a lazy grin, “Not anymore, sweet boy. You’ve just solved all their problems.” He jerks his head towards his companions, “Take him.”
Two absolutely enormous brutes lunge at me. On pure instinct I wheel away and go darting between the hanging laundry. I’m much faster, but I’m so confused and alarmed my frantic pinwheeling takes my feet out from under me and I hit the ground hard. They’re on me in a moment, one pinning my arms and the other keeping a hand in my hair and on my nape. We do an awkward shimmy back over to stand before the man clearly in charge and my father. I can feel strands breaking in my hair, I’m wrenching back against the strong hands holding my elbows—there’s snot and unconscious tears beginning to wet my face as the situation sinks in.
“Feisty, huh?” The leader rubs his thumb across my split bottom lip. I flinch away from the contact, “You’ll probably need it, pretty one, so I won’t punish you too much for running. Especially since you seem the type it would be fun to rough up.”
“Father what’s going on, please—I don’t, I don’t understand this.”
Still he says nothing. The man who made me stares at his feet half buried in the mud and says nothing.
“Your daddy sold you to the pleasure house—stupid slut. Surely you didn’t think a son with your tiny waist and cocksucker lips would be able to support the family and a future?” His smile is twisted at the edges, almost scarred looking in its cruelty.
“No.” The syllables rip out of my throat, “No. No, no, no—father….” The tears aren’t mere suggestions anymore, they gather and spill as the silence between me and him continues to lengthen, “Please don’t—father please I can—I can work harder I can be stronger don’t—“ The leader slaps me full across the face.
“Save the begging. Lots of boy-fuckers like that sort of shit.”
Cheek stinging, insides twisting, I watch my father lift his head like it suddenly weighs hundreds of pounds, “Are we finished, then?” The words are flat and lifeless but I feel no pity. There’s no room for his feelings inside me.
One of the remaining men steps forward and hands him a bag that shifts and clinks as it passes from one hand to another. Absently in my brain I note, oh, clinking—money. They’re paying him for me. He’s getting what he was promised.
Outwardly I cry harder. But I don’t make any more noise. I suppose my wet, wrecked breathing counts, but it doesn’t seem to offend the men restraining me. The one holding my arms flexes his fingers into my forearms where he’s binding them just a little harder as I continue to sob.
Bag in hand, my father turns away. He still won’t look at me. And he walks away. Just walks away. Sets off across the grass and mud like he’s just taking a stroll.
As he walks away the one holding my hair leans down to hiss in my ear, “Must be so happy to be rid of you. Normally they at least cry a little when they see us take them. Maybe he’s been watching all the sons who will be warriors touch you a little too long, linger with their eyes just a little more than is comfortable—a man can only take so much, you know? It’s better that you come with us, Pretty.”
My knees give out a little bit as the words hit. The bite. The sting. Maybe I lose my mind a little. Maybe I’m already delirious but I snap and shout at his retreating back,
“You fuck!!! You fucking FUCK!!! Can’t even tell me like a man??!??” I wriggle and kick and knock my head back into the guy holding my arms. He curses and his grip slips a little but I’m obviously not getting away. They all seem more amused than anything, “When I’m getting raped I’ll think of you!” I bellow, a dark hateful part of me rejoices to see his back flinch like he’s been struck, “I’ll curse you every moment I’m able, old man—you coward!”
Leader knocks me across the face with his elbow and that does shut me up. A little dazed, I hang like my own fucking linens between their arms.
Taehyung, I think. He wouldn’t let this happen. He would help me and we could fight them off. But Taehyung isn’t here and five on one wouldn’t be good odds if they DIDN’T have expensive steel swords and knives.
The one behind me pulls my forearms back and brings me back so I can feel him press up against my ass like I’ve seen happen many, many times to the tavern maids in town. He’s hard.
I’m going to be sick.
“C’mon Boss can I throw him just once? It’s agony being back here and the little bitch got my nose.”
I nearly dislocate my shoulder trying to wrench away.
“Nah, we have to get him to inspection first—you know how he is. But if you get your cock sucked in the carriage during the ride to Lymere, I won’t tell anyone.” The leader chuckles.
“Fuck, his lips.” The man grinds his hips into me, purposeful and hard.
“N-no.” My voice cracks on the syllable. My heart is beating so hard—all my senses are attuned to the feeling of danger from the cock jabbing my thighs to the words they throw in my face, “Just let me go, please. I don’t know how to do—any of those things. I won’t be worth taking to the pleasure house.”
“A virgin? Oh, Seokjin will love that. Might even get us some extra coin. Shouldn’t have told us that, Pretty.”
The leader smiles his twisted smile. “Let’s go. And keep him quiet. Don’t need to alert any of his boyfriends who might be feeling noble.”
“I’ll keep his mouth occupied, don’t worry.”
They start moving us back across the field. I holler, and a hand gets clapped over my mouth. I kick, and writhe, and a third man snags me under the knees so I’m being carried like baggage. I try to sink my teeth into the hand over my mouth and it switches to my throat. The fingers reach more than halfway around and he tightens down enough any noise I can make is reduced to a squeak.
“Fuck, he looks good like that. Seokjin is probably going to get all my wages again next month.”
At the edge of the field there’s a carriage waiting. A few horses are staked next to it. The leader and the only man not restraining me speed up and begin harnessing two of the horses to the little litter. It’s actually a fairly luxurious way to travel, and the one constricting my windpipe must see my confusion. He starts talking unprompted,
“We used to just sling the whores over the back of our horses but our employer was getting irritated at the poor condition his investments were arriving in. So now you get to be warm and dry; be thankful.”
The leader tosses a length of rope to my captors and they busy themselves binding my arms where they’re pinned and hobbling my ankles. Once the last rope has been cinched to bite into my skin, they back off except for the one who’d asked if he could…I suppose try me out?
The one who calls me Pretty.
He keeps a steadying hand on my bound arms and tugs me towards the litter. Fatigue and despair are settling in, making it hard to justify continuing to struggle—but I do anyway. He just grins, like this is a fun little game. When it becomes clear I’m not going to respond to gentle suggestion, he hauls me up and bodily throws me into the litter.
The wind is knocked out of me as I land with all my weight on my chest. The floor is covered in cushions so I don’t knock a tooth out, but the satin is musty, and stuffy, so I wiggle until I’m on my side. The man clambers into the litter after me,
“We’re riding together, Pretty. Figured you could use some company.” He runs a hand down my side and across my hip.
The touch physically sickens me. I know what’s waiting for me at the end of this journey.
“Can’t you just kill me? Please? I don’t want to…do—“
“Nah, Pretty. You’re worth too much now.” He shuts the door of the carriage firmly, blocking out the light save for the small window on the other side. His eyes catch the stilted sunbeams in unsettling ways. “Speaking of which, why don’t we have a look at you, hmm?”
He reaches out for the strings of my tunic and I writhe backwards as much as I’m able, “W-Wait. I thought you’re not supposed to…”
“I’m not going to fuck you, just wanna see.” His fingers work quickly, unlacing my shirt and tugging it back open and off my shoulders. The litter lurches forward as presumably the others are driving or riding alongside. A large hand skims across my chest and down my front, feeling what it must be difficult to see in the low light, “Wow, Pretty. Who were you trying to impress, hmm?” He tweaks one of my nipples harshly and a strangled “Ah!” rips out of me before I can consciously stop it.
“And these noises? Pretty, are you sure no one has fucked you yet?” His thumb rubs along the waist of my breeches, dipping below to prod at the soft skin. When he starts unlacing those I get the shakes something terrible. He fishes around and comes up with the journal from Taehyung. It’s a miracle it even made it in here with us.
“Don’t take that, please.” I whisper, “I promised Tae I would always keep it with me.”
“Is Tae one of your boyfriends?” He sneers, but sets the journal off to the side safely, “Don’t worry, Pretty, I don’t care to take books away from sad boys.”
I’m shifting enough that the chafing of the rope has started to rub the skin away, stinging as I open the wounds. He shoves a hand roughly down the front of my breeches to cup my sex. His eyes flick back up to my face,
“Well now that’s a surprise. The girls would be so upset they ignored you if they could be me right now. Pretty, what on earth were you doing in that dead-end town? I’m shocked your father never tried to whore you out himself.” He starts stroking me, crowding my cock against the material of my breeches in order to have room to move his hand.
“Stop.” I croak, “S-stop please. Please, I don’t like it.” I try to cant my hips away but it’s not like my movement is all that free and he follows me easily.
“Really? Because it kind of seems like you do.” He chuckles as we both feel me start to harden. “Just gotta see, Pretty. If you’re big enough Seokjin might actually cry when we bring you to him. Think of the possibilities.”
I’ve never been touched by anyone but myself, so the fear and disgust is only doing so much to damper my body’s reaction to the precise, experienced hand on me. I turn my face into the cushions to muffle the noises I’m making. It’s beyond embarrassing. I’m mortified at myself for this strange combination of wanting to throw up and wanting to chase the sensation. The man groans and a strong hand turns my face back towards him,
“No hiding, Pretty. You’re going to have to get used to being looked at. And touched.” He teases his fingers along my cock, swirling and pressing the sensitive head into the leather of my pants. I moan.
And immediately burst into tears at my own weakness. Apparently that’s now my default reaction to anything that’s happening to me. I’m like a giant raw nerve, poked and prodded continuously until there’s not a threshold of pain I can handle.
He chuckles, low and amused, “Pretty, this isn’t even the half of it. Your ass…and this cock? No one will be able to keep their hands to themselves in town.” He removes his hand somewhat reluctantly and I breathe a shaky sigh of relief through my tears.
It’s short-lived. He lurches to his feet in the moving litter and steps around to check on my bindings. He tuts when he sees the scrapes and bleeding sores from my struggling.
“Pretty, look what you’ve done to yourself? This kind of fighting won’t do.” He goes over to a small chest in the corner of the carriage and I hear clinking before he returns back to me. He holds up a small bottle and uncorks it. A cloying, sickly sweet smell floats around the carriage. He grips my jaw and pries my teeth apart. I try to jerk back frantically but he’s clearly practiced at this kind of maneuver. He upends the whole bottle down my throat, and rubs it until I’m forced to swallow. When he releases me I try spitting the taste out of my mouth, but it’s far too late. He waits patiently as all the fight drains out of me. Until whatever he gave me robs me of my will and strength to resist. I lay, placid and lax on the cushions.
“That’s better, huh Pretty?”
I make a kind of wounded animal noise, alarmed by my inability to be alarmed. “What…did you give me?” I slur. Fuck, am I drunk?
“Laudanum.. Plus some other stuff Seokjin won’t tell us about. Supposed to keep the new whores from panicking. And…pretty helpful when I’d like to get my cock sucked without too much resistance.”
Drugged then. Panic becomes little bubbles of concern, popping before they can ever make it to my muscles. He fluffs up some cushions and turns me just so before plopping down next to me and going to work on his own pants. He sorts of maneuvers me into his lap when the sharp, masculine tang of his cock invades my nose. But once again, the revulsion dies long before it reaches my arms or legs.
“Open up, Pretty. Time to see if those are just for decoration.”
I shake my head as much as I’m able on his thigh. And not so much clamp my teeth together as press them thoughtfully closed. Everything I do feels like I’m underwater.
“C’mon, don’t make me force it.”
But I’m definitely going to make him force it. Drugged does not mean willing.
And when he braces open my jaw and slips his cock past my lips, I let my eyes fall closed and succumb to the dark.
When I wake up again he’s asleep. My jaw hurts. There’s a horrible taste in my mouth. It doesn’t take a genius to figure my being asleep did nothing to impede him chasing his pleasure. The laudanum syrup is mostly worn off but I still feel lethargic and slow.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling of the carriage. We’re still bumping along but it’s totally black inside as the sun has probably set, draining the usefulness out of having the little window.
Lymere is relatively far.
One of the final little cities before the capital. It exists as a kind of satellite to the royal city—where all the fancy rich courtiers and merchants store the vices they don’t want to acknowledge at home. They say you can find anything there.
The little journal lays where he left it in the center of a fat cushion. I wonder if Taehyung will miss me. I wonder if he’ll try to figure out where I’ve gone—I wonder if my father would tell him. I suspect the old man will attempt to pass this off as me running away or just disappearing. My sisters might not even question it.. No one will know what has become of me.
I’m out of tears. I’m out of fear.
Maybe it’s the drug but a quiet resignation has stolen over my body. Even if I get away from these men I don’t know how to get home—and the realization that my family doesn’t even want me…why would I go back? Feeling small, and stupid, and alone, I curl into myself and let the rocking of the carriage lull me into quiet boredom.
By the time we reach Lymere another two days later, all the men have rotated in to take a turn in the carriage. Three more of the little bottles are empty. I’m not lucky enough to fall asleep every time. My shoulders ache deep down in my bones from being tied up.
I haven’t had anything to eat. And the only drinks of water I’ve had came from the leader with a muttered, “Those fools were going to let him die choking on seed—savages.”
I can barely be roused to concern when the litter finally stops. The door swings open and I flinch away from the sudden influx of light. The one who calls me Pretty hops in the litter and starts gathering me up. He jams my journal back into my breeches and re-laces my shirt, trying to make me more presentable. When he’s satisfied he hauls me out of the carriage and sets me on my wobbly feet.
“Oh, wow.” A beautiful, smooth voice greets me as I try to adjust to the light, “Where did you find him hiding?”
“Some piece of shit hovel— didn’t even know what they had. Father didn’t even ask for that much.”
A tall, well-built man with an unsettlingly symmetrical face swims into focus as my eyes adjust. His expression is warm, even pleased, but as he looks me up and down he frowns a little, “And you and your men behaved yourselves?”
“Mostly.” The leader hums. The other four chuckle, the one who calls me Pretty chucks my chin and I snap my teeth at him.
“He’s a little tiger, Seokjin. Your clients will love him.”
The man, Seokjin, steps forward and pushes my hair back. I cringe. “Don’t worry, no one else is gonna fuck your pretty mouth today. You can relax.”
The leader clears his throat, “He’ll need to be broken—“
“—obviously—“ Seokjin says dismissively,
“—but he’s virgin. So our fee is higher, yeah? No one has touched him.”
Seokjin breaks out in a blindingly beautiful grin, belying the sick nature of their conversation, “Really? Marvelous.” He turns his attention back to me, “You’ve never fucked? Or…been fucked?”
I shake my head, for some reason remembering Tae in the barn and the boys in the woods, “N-no. I’ve—listen I can’t do any of this. Please, sir, just let me go.”
His mouth turns down a little, “Sorry, sweetness. No can do. A business transaction has been made, and now I need to see some return on my investment.” To the men guarding me, “Take him inside and give him to The Lark—he’ll feed him and clean him. I’ll go get your money.”
I’m picked up like a bundle of luggage and carted across a winding yard with buildings in little offshoots every direction. My vision is blocked by an arm and my own shoulder so there’s no way to tell exactly where they’re taking me.
The men dump me unceremoniously on a woolen carpet inside an opulent sitting chamber. The one who calls me Pretty presses his lips against my hair and promises to see me again. I shiver. They all walk out until only the leader remains standing over me.
Another attractive man appears at the base of a narrow staircase and comes to toe at my bound form, “Is he tied up just for fun? Or…?” This must be The Lark.
“Nasty bitch is a fighter. You’ll have your hands full, Hoseok.”
The man sighs, “Ah. Alright. Will you help me carry him to the bathhouse?”
“Of course. Anything for my favorite.”
The man, Hoseok, purses his lips and grabs my bound feet while the other man lifts my shoulders. They walk with me strung between them like a hammock. Both men ignore my sporadic attempts at pleading.
I’m finally freed from the ropes by the side of a steaming bathing pool. From the looks of it, it was a hot spring they built a little shed around. My arms are reluctant to uncurl from behind me, and my knees have a hard time bending and straightening. The leader takes one look at my condition and bids Hoseok farewell before strolling briskly out of the shed. The other man seems to agree, laughing at my ineffectual efforts to bat him away from taking off my clothes,
“Relax. I’m just going to get you clean. Besides,” he points out as he tugs off my filthy shirt, “Where would you go?”
It’s a valid question, but I’m not giving up this easily.
“Doesn’t….m-matter. Anything is better than this.”
Hoseok’s face goes curiously blank, “There’s so many things worse than this.” He firmly grabs my arm and starts rubbing feeling back into the muscles. His fingers are strong, but smooth and uncalloused. He clearly doesn’t use a sword.
“You got a name?”
“Jimin.” I tell him after some consideration over whether it would be worth it to lie.
“Cute. So, Jimin. Welcome to the Aviary.”
“Aviary? Like birds?”
Hoseok rolls his eyes, “Yes. Seokjin does like his little games. One of them being the name of this place and the nicknames we have.”
“I suppose they’re birds?”
“What else? He calls me the Lark. Like a meadowlark. I think it was one of the more masculine-sounding birds he could come up with.”
He digs his thumb into a sore spot.
“Who fucked you over badly enough that you’re here in Lymere?”
“My father.” I say, softly.
He winces, “Ah. That must sting.” He examines the scrapes on my wrists. His eyes travel to my chest and torso, “Awfully good shape for a whore.”
“I’m not a whore.”
“Well. Maybe you weren’t. But I bet there were a few who made you consider it.”
My mind flicks to Taehyung. My tongue feels heavy, “What makes you say that?”
“With your looks? And those small town boys all full of cum and violence? Just experience makes me say that.” His voice is a little hollow as he switches to my other arm.
“Well, you’re wrong. I’ve never even…never had—“
“Oh.” He looks me in the eyes. A blush blooms across my cheeks. “Virgin, then. I’m sorry, cutie.”
“Sorry? Why?”
He turns his attention back to rubbing my arm, “No reason.”
That sounds like there’s most definitely a reason.
He steps back and eyes me warily, “Are you going to freak out when I take off your pants? It’s just for the bath.”
I hold his gaze for a moment. “I guess…not. But I have journal stashed in there…please don’t take it. It’s nothing harmful it’s just…precious to me.”
He grunts, “Good choice. And whatever. I won’t throw it in the pool or anything.” He tugs my filthy breeches off, raises his eyebrows at my naked lower half, and coaxes me into the water. The journal is dumped on the edge unceremoniously.
“If I’m not careful you’re gonna take all my clients, Jimin.”
I hiss as my scrapes come into contact with the lukewarm water, “Believe me, I don’t want your clients.”
“What do you want?”
“To not be here, obviously!” I snap, “To be back home—“
“With the father that doesn’t want you and the “friends” who all want to fuck you?”
I falter, “My friends…didn’t…” but that morning in the barn. And his face in the woods when I said the other boys didn’t want to fight me….
He senses my realization, “At least here you’ll be getting paid for it.” He drawls.
I slump lower in the water. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
Hoseok bites his own lip, “Men like us don’t usually get the things we want, Jimin. We make the most of what other, stronger men allow us to have.”
He hands me a soap chunk and takes another in his hand to start scrubbing my back. Silence extends as his words sit in my brain uncomfortably. I don’t want to talk anymore so we wash and dry in quiet. He hands me a simple cotton robe and towels my hair. I balk when he goes to lead me from the shed.
“I don’t…not yet—“
He rolls his eyes, “Gods above, Jimin, we’re just going to get food. I’m sure you’re hungry. Nothing is going to happen until Seokjin does his inspection and decides how to train you.” He tugs me along and I scoop up Tae’s journal. I half-heartedly look for ways to pull from his grip and run off down the road but the compound they’ve brought me to is big, with high walls. And I’m wearing a thin robe. Where would I go, indeed.
~~~
“Disrobe.”
It’s evening. I’ve been stuffed full of food and good wine and sent up to Seokjin’s rooms, furnished with exotic silks and curtains in every color of the rainbow. I’m a little awestruck as the master of the pleasure house descends from his dressing table, clad entirely in pink shawls. It’s not a look any man would sport in my hometown—and none of the women could’ve afforded it.
“Did you not hear me?” His smooth voice has a bit of an edge. “I said, disrobe.”
I shiver and tug the belt of the cotton robe loose. I can’t decide if Seokjin is the most pleasant or the most terrifying person I’ve met since being taken. My movements are jerky and nervous. The robe hits the floor and Seokjin circles me like a vulture. A pink vulture.
For a long moment he’s quiet. I find I’m getting nervous for more than one reason as the minutes pass and he still says nothing. I squeeze my eyes closed as he finishes his circle and stands before me. My only warning he’s about to touch me comes in the form of a subtle fragrance wafting and a warmth right before his fingers find my cheek. I startle, pulling back slightly but he just steps forward and gently digs his fingers into my cheek,
“It’s okay.” He smiles, “You’re very good looking. Such perfect, smooth skin. Normally I have much more work to do.” His fingers slip down past my jaw and onto my collarbones, “And so strong for one so pretty. Are you sweet? Or aloof?”
“Aloof? I-I don’t understand.”
He chuckles, and his hand splays across my chest. “Are you afraid of me?”
I bite my lip, “A little. I’m more afraid of what will happen to me than I am of any one man or woman.”
“Honesty. Interesting. I think you’re probably both. That can be your angle.” He settles on a plush chair, leaving me to stand naked and ashamed in the middle of the floor, “Do you understand what will happen to you here?”
“I think so.” I murmur, “I…belong to the house now, right?”
“Yes.” Seokjin says without blinking, “And that means you do what I say.” He pours himself a cup of wine from a ridiculously ornate decanter, “If I tell you to eat, you eat. If I tell you to drink, you drink. If I—“
“Tell me to fuck, I fuck…but I won’t.” I cut him off.
His lips twitch. I’m not well-versed enough in his facial expressions to tell whether it’s in amusement or annoyance. “Do you know how many whores have stood where you’re standing and told me the same thing?” He leans forward with an eyebrow quirked, “Dozens. You’re not special, Jimin.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Hoseok.” He says simply. “He once stood here naked and malnourished and betrayed and told me he wouldn’t fuck anyone either.” He sips at his wine and sets it on a low table, “Now he’s one of my highest requested. He makes the house so much money.”
“Why would he do that?” I whisper.
“Because he’s good at it. Because I MADE him good at it. And once you’re good at something—well, you small town boys know the difference between the best fighter and the worst fighter in your town, right?”
I nod.
“This is your chance to be the biggest and strongest. To take control of what you can and determine how your days will play out. If the house makes a lot of money and a good name, we live very well indeed. Money, Jimin, money will make a mockery of your small hands and lack of height.”
I feel like I must’ve gone crazy at some point because his silky words are getting to me. Almost making sense. He has this way of leaning in and narrowing his focus while he talks; makes me feel important and strange.
“…And when you’ve made me a specific amount of money…I will let you leave.”
“What.” I say. I can’t have heard that correctly, let me leave? “How much money?”
“It is a great deal of money, Jimin. I will not lie to you. 100,000 crowns is a kings ransom. It would take even the most gifted whore ten years or more. But when you are finished, and our deal is made, I will give you a third of what you made for me—and let you leave.” Seokjin smiles. “See, we’re partners after all.”
I can hear my heart beating in my ears. “You swear? You promise?” There could be more to this than endless suffering. There was a way out. If these things were going to be happening either way…hope blooms like a sickly weed in my belly.
He stands and holds his hand out, “I promise.”
Can I trust a man such as this? What other option do you have, I remind myself nastily, it’s this or nothing.
I step forward and tentatively shake his hand. “Then I will try. But…I still don’t know how and…” I swallow, “I’m afraid. What the men…they did…while we traveled here—it scared me.”
“Ah.” His nose wrinkles, “Yes, well. I can’t promise you’ll never be scared. The life of a whore is inherently dangerous. And your first time—especially so.” He smirks, “But a good way to put a big dent in the money you need to make is when I auction off your virginity. And for that it’s better if you don’t know anything at all.” He cocks his head, “Hmm, can you cry on command?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well then I imagine there won’t be much acting involved if you resist and it hurts a bit. I have a few old friends who might be interested. You’re not going to be a hard sell.” His eyes flick down my body and back up again and I see a minute change in expression travel across his face. “I suppose it won’t hurt to start lessons before the deed is done. Come here.”
I walk towards him hesitantly. He pats his pink lap and, nervously, I settle on his leg. Seokjin brushes his knuckles back through my hair, “Have you ever been kissed?”
I look down at my fingers twisting against my thigh, “N-no. I haven’t.”
“Lesson one, then.” Seokjin singsongs, and presses his mouth against mine with a firm hand in my hair. His lips are soft, and warm. He shifts and tilts and molds himself against my lips. There’s a niggling desire to push away and stop this, but I did say I would try.
And it doesn’t feel bad.
My cheeks heat up a little. His tongue prods at my mouth, and I part my lips slightly to let him lick inside. My thighs press together almost of their own accord when he pulls back,
“Did you like that?”
I huff, a little embarrassed, “I…maybe?”
“Good.” He murmurs and swoops back in, a little more insistent this time. I start to kiss back. I am competitive, so it’s not long before his nips and licks are returned double by me. The pleasure house master moans into my mouth and I feel a weird thrill at getting that reaction from someone so stoic and pretty.
The next sensation is his hand on my dick.
“W-Wait—“ I start but he covers my mouth with his and resumes kissing me hard.
“Shhh,” he says to my continued protestations, “You’ll thank me for this in a few weeks.”
His fingers do something rather extraordinary and I make a wholly embarrassing noise against his lips.
“Mmm…that’s good, Jimin.” Seokjin sounds a little out of breath as he pulls back to spread kisses along my jaw, “That’s very good, fuck.” His fingers are so much better than the guards’. I feel a terrifyingly large wave of pleasure coiling in my belly.
“Nghh…Ah—“ I moan against his neck and he seems to interpret something important from that because he retracts his hand and all but shoves me out of his lap.
“You may go now.” He gathers his shawls tighter around his body. His lips are swollen and match his pink cheeks that clash marvelously with his garish outfit. “Hoseok and Meekah will show you where to sleep.”
I can only scoop up my robe from the floor, a little dazed from the tonal whiplash, and scurry out the door.
Hoseok meets me on the landing. “You okay?” His eyes bounce up and down me, measuring the state I’m in.
“Yeah. I’m…okay.” Okay doesn’t quite sound right but Hoseok’s tone implies that’s what I should say here, so I do.
Hoseok re-ties the belt of my robe and curls a hand into my sleeve, “Still wanting to run away?”
“Yes.” I confess and his brow furrows, “But I made a deal.”
His forehead smooths out and I see a hint of a smile turn up the corner of his lip, “Much comfort may it bring you.” He tugs me down the hallway, “Bed.”
He leads me into a small, but comfortably furnished room. There’s a wide bed and a little wardrobe. “This is where you will live and entertain clients.” I smooth a hand over the gold bedspread. Hoseok tosses Tae’s journal on the low table next to the bed.
“It seems so innocent…” I whisper. Hoseok pats my arm comfortingly.
“It’ll be okay. We’ll get out of here one day, Jimin.”
“Not standing around wool-gathering like that, you won’t.” An unfamiliar female voice chimes in. We turn around to see a woman leaning against the door frame.
Hoseok sighs, “Can we help you, Meekah?”
She pushes off the door and strolls into the room. She’s wearing a slinky red gown that shows off more breast than it covers and I find myself temporarily transfixed.
“Just wanted to see the new meat.” She lilts, winking at me. She jerks her head at Hoseok, “Besides, you have a client, Hobi.”
“Yes, yes. I’m coming.”
“Hopefully.” She smirks.
He flicks her ear, “Don’t be crass.”
She rolls her eyes, “Yes, Dad.”
“Sleep well, Jimin.” Hoseok says before he sweeps out of the room, followed by Meekah.
I don’t point out that that’s about as likely as the king showing up wearing Seokjin’s pink shawl. Instead, I sink into the bed as the door clicks closed behind them.
Alone at last.
My brain thinks this would be a wonderful time to weep but my body doesn’t agree. I can’t seem to shed a single tear. All I can do is breathe and look at my hands and exist.
It’s been a long week.
I flop back onto the covers. I wonder what is going on at home. Home…
One tear. Just the one, breaks free from swimming eyes and treks down my cheek. I suppose if anywhere is my home now, it’s here. Here in this gold room where…
“It’s no good crying about it.” I pat my cheek firmly to remove the tear. “What’s done is done.”
I wake up early the next morning, having just gotten to sleep maybe an hour or two previously. The first thing I realize about living in a pleasure house is that no one is up early. Once the clients leave, the whores finally take the time to grab some sleep. So it’s a pretty deserted mansion that I emerge from my room to find.
I take a right turn just on a whim and follow the hallway around a winding corner.There’s a wide landing in the middle of the floor that’s stuffed with ugly couches and mismatched furniture. My instincts say this is an area the clients aren’t allowed in. There’s a staircase down off in an alcove. For a wild moment I wonder if it’s deserted enough for me to try to escape. I know I made that deal…but if I can get out…
At the bottom of the stairs two gigantic guards regard me apathetically.
“It’s the new boy.” One of them mutters to the other. That one grunts and gestures to me, “Who summoned you, boy?”
No one has. “Seokjin.” My mouth says.
The guard snickers, “Master Seokjin is in the kitchens before noon. Why don’t you go back upstairs before I have to rearrange your pretty face? Can still do plenty of business with your head in the sheets.”
I beat it back upstairs. So much for the quick escape.
There’s muffins set out on a low table in the center of the room when I get back. I eye them suspiciously for a little while. Even after dinner last night, I cant shake the idea that someone will drug me again.
It’s a quiet little muffin standoff until Hoseok tumbles into the room with a huge yawn. His hair is matted and tangled, he’s in a wooly dressing gown and about the least sophisticated creature on the planet. He could be from my hometown, easily. I try to reconcile this with the perfectly coiffed, silk-clad figure from last night and worry my brain might explode.
“I figured you might be up this early so it’s probably as good a time as any to get the tour and rules out of the way.” He directs at me without ever looking at me.
He only has eyes for the muffins.
He snags one, and so do I. I figure if I get drugged at least Hoseok will be too.
They’re banana and cinnamon. I nearly convulse from food pleasure. “Tour? Rules?”
“Yeah there’s a pretty specific way we do things here, and if you don’t follow the rules Seokjin will punish you.” He holds up a hand to stop my inevitable question, “His punishments are like his brain—random word association and violent impulses. It’s best to avoid them.”
He gestures with his muffin to the common area, “This is our sitting room, I suppose. We spend free time here and get ready to meet clients. There’s makeup tables over there—“ he points to a messy grouping of mirrors and desks absolutely covered with pots and jars, “—And all our wardrobes in the middle over here. Seokjin can be fairly capricious with what we wear so don’t expect the same things to always be available from week to week. Outfits are usually tailored to draw attention to you and make a client pick you when you’re called down to the parlors.”
He points to the same staircase I’d attempted to abscond down earlier.
“You’ll go down that way if you ever need to go to a parlor—no one goes downstairs without a summoning. We all go bathe together before clients get here in the evenings under guard so they won’t buy the “going to have a bath” excuse. I am not exaggerating when I say any runaway plan you can think of has been tried.” He strolls down the hallway flanked on either side by our rooms, to a huge set of double doors.
“Behind these doors is the client staircase. You’ll meet your clients in your room, and show them to here when it’s time to leave. Any residents going up and down these stairs will be assumed to be escaping and dealt with severely.” He taps a thoughtful finger against his lip, “On the other end, though, if you have a client who is hmm…unwilling to leave? Just knock loudly on the door and guards will come handle the situation.”
I eye the doors apprehensively. “Don’t mess with the doors. Got it. How often do those…types of clients occur?”
He scratches his neck and yawns, “Eh, every couple of nights. You get used to it. I don’t think Meekah even looks up from her book until someone gets hit.”
“Do the clients hit us?” I whisper.
He turns toward me with something approaching pity, “Yeah, sometimes. Once in a while I’ll take one of those on purpose.”
I wince, “Gods, Hoseok. Why?”
He shrugs, packing a dense amount of memories and feelings in the shrug, “They pay more.”
He beckons me to follow and shoves the rest of his muffin in his mouth as we cross the common room. From behind me I think I can hear doors opening and people moving around.
Others must be waking up.
On the opposite end there’s a staircase that winds up. Hoseok begins climbing quickly. I follow more slowly, body still not entirely over the three days bound in the carriage. Up here are six or seven giant rooms. They’re furnished much more grandly than the ones we stay in. Hoseok picks his teeth thoughtfully while I look around.
“Who are these rooms for?” I ask while feeling a silk curtain.
“They’re for people who have the money. These are the rooms where clients are allowed to stay the night if they choose. Friends of Seokjin’s, important officials—basically if they have the power to be an influential patron, you’ll attend them here.”
“You want those clients, right?” I voice my thoughts.
Hoseok chuckles and side-eyes me, “Yeah, Jimin. They put a bigger dent in your 100,000. But you’ll have to fight me for them, kid.” He winks so I know he’s not malicious. He looks around the room thoughtfully, “Your first time will probably be in one of these.”
“Why’s that?”
Hoseok smiles grimly, “Seokjin has already started talking you up to his friends. I think he’ll parade you around and show you off for a few days. He’s hoping to get a bidding war going.” He tilts his head and touches a finger to his temple like he’s remembering something,
“Speaking of which, need to wake Meekah’s ass up and get your measurements for clothes.”
“Hoseok.” I stare at the lavishly appointed bed, “What do you think my first time will be like? Why kind of client would bid enough money for Seokjin to accept?”
He’s eerily silent.
“Hoseok?”
“I’m—I’m not sure, Jimin. I doubt he’ll be a…gentle man though.”
I nod thoughtfully without turning, “I was afraid of that.”
The other man is quiet again. Then he moves over to me and rubs my shoulder. “Don’t dwell too much on it now. It’s over so fast…and it’s a big chunk of money. One of the girls got 8,000 crowns for hers last year.”
“How about you?” I ask, “What did you get for yours?”
His mouth twists and he retracts his hand, “I wasn’t a virgin when I came to the Aviary.” And before I can respond, or feel embarrassed for asking, he turns and heads back towards the staircase.
When I reach the common room Hoseok has disappeared. I’m sure I offended him, bringing that up, so I curl up on a sofa to see if he’ll come back. Without Hoseok, I’m not entirely sure what to do to bide my time.
He seemed to think I wouldn’t be working until after this so-called bidding war. I’m lost in thought about the imminent job I’m going to have to do, when Meekah finds me.
She shrieks triumphantly, “Hey new meat! C’mere.”
I don’t know that I want to go anywhere near her but I also don’t have a good enough reason to refuse to do as she says.
I stumble over to where she’s set up at the dressing tables. There’s closets stuffed to the brim behind her, as well as racks and racks of clothes circling the little blocked off area. She grabs a long piece of fabric with tick marks made at consistent intervals and gestures for me to stand in front of her.
We stare each other down for a long moment before she huffs and rolls her eyes,
“You have to take off your clothes.”
“Oh!” I look down at the simple shirt and pants, and blush, “Right here? Out in the open?”
Meekah sighs a long-suffering kind of sigh, “You know you’re a whore, right?”
I don’t actually have an answer to that so I commence stripping in the middle of the hall. As luck would have it, many of the other inhabitants of the pleasure house are up and moving around at this point, so I feel several sets of eyes assess me from behind with some interest.
“—another boy—“
“—Seokjin’s really doubling down—“
“—pretty though, fuck what do we have to do to get some ugly boys? There’s enough competition as it is—“
“—wonder if he’s hung at all, hard to tell from here—“
“—think he even likes men? Bet he’s another runaway—“
Meekah pulls my face back to hers and I try to tune out the muffled conversations.
“Almost done, new meat.” She says gently, “Almost done.”
“My name is Jimin.” I say quietly.
“Yeah, I know.” She smirks at me and turns away to jot some numbers down on parchment. “Alright, you’re done cutie. You’re free to hang around until around dusk—I bet that’s when The Peacock will send for you.”
“The Peacock?”
“Oh, haha everyone just calls him Seokjin but if this is the Aviary, and we’re all birds—“ she gestures to herself, “—The Swan, at your service—Then he figured he needed an appropriate nickname too.” She looks at my confused face and misinterprets it as judgement, “Yeah, it’s lame but that’s, like, Seokjin’s defining personality trait.”
“Why will…The Peacock…send for me?”
She taps a nail against my nose, “You know what for, cutie. I don’t think you’re as stupid as you look.”
Another of his “lessons” it turns out.
Another confusing examination—this time with him swathed in gauzy lilac—another round of kissing. This time he lays me out on the cushions and presses his chest against mine as his tongue prods at my mouth and his hand resumes tugging confusing pleasure out of my cock. Just like last time, I feel like my stomach is about to dive off a high cliff and he pushes back from me.
He rolls away into the cushions and mumbles that I may go.
I hurry back to the common room, past all the other girls and Hoseok in between clients. I try not to look any particular direction as I hustle to my room and barricade myself inside. My skin tingles in a way I can’t decide is pleasant or unpleasant long after Seokjin’s hands are off me.
Shaky hands try to write in the journal like maybe that will help, but my thoughts are scattered. I can’t get a read on how I feel. Confused, mostly, with hints of things brewing around the edges that may or may not make any sense in my situation.
Sleep only comes after a few hours of staring at the ceiling and hearing the muffled noises of a pleasure house doing business all around me.
Another quiet morning.
Another plate of food—this time little biscuits with sweet jam on them. I eat three and nearly make myself sick with how rich they are.
Wasting time is becoming a source of anxiety.
It feels like all around me are hissing hourglasses; endless, prickling my ears with the seconds pouring away until I must earn my keep. I study a nick in the corner of my table until I go a little cross eyed, and then do it again. Hoseok joins me after a fashion, towing Meekah along and they mostly talk over me about how to present me, what my look and appeal should be, and all that. I try to pay attention, but I can admit to being mostly unsuccessful. They decide their conversation can happen somewhere else due to my lack of responsiveness.
In the afternoon Meekah comes to get me. She’s got some kind of bundle under her arm and her smile is wide; a little fake.
“You’re to put this on and report to the parlor. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Seokjin wants you to meet his friends.” She shoves the bundle at me and starts fidgeting with my hair.
“What does that mean?” I ask as I slip into the black silk outfit she brought me. “Is that a good thing?” The neckline of this shirt plunges down to my sternum. She helps me tie the back, which appears to be mostly nonexistent save for the straps crisscrossing down to the hemline.
“It’s a good thing.” She says quietly. She’s behind me so I can’t read her facial expressions.
“You don’t sound like it’s a good thing.” I mutter as I slip on the soft pants that match the shirt. She huffs out a shallow laugh and smooths a hand over my shoulder, making sure the fabric is flat.
“Seokjin’s friends scare me.” She says simply, “They’re very powerful men.” She taps my cheek lightly, “Which is why you shouldn’t keep them waiting. Off you go.”
I tiptoe slowly down the stairs and into the hallway. Knuckles rap shortly on the door to let whoever is out there know that I’m here. I feel as though I’m watching myself from the outside, like I’m not in control of my own body. Mostly because my own body has never had my hair so carefully combed and swept to the side just so. I’ve never worn whatever crazy contraption this silk suit is. I’ve never had balm rubbed into my lips to make them a deeper red.
Seokjin appears on the other side of the door sometime later—there’s no way to know how long I stood in the hallway. He crooks a finger and beckons me follow him down a wide walkway that branches off into various parlors and sitting rooms. There’s a boisterous amount of noise coming from the one at the end of the hallway, and my footsteps feel heavy and leaden the closer we get.
Seokjin turns to me with an abrupt about-face and halts our progress, “Look nice and innocent for them, okay? Maybe even a little scared.”
“I won’t have to fake that.” I whisper.
His full lips pull up into a beautiful smile. “Good boy.” He brushes something invisible off my shoulder and spins back around to walk into the loud parlor. I follow close behind, but pause at the door when Seokjin throws a hand back to stop me.
“Gentlemen,” he interrupts their conversation. “I have someone I would like you to meet.”
“It’s about time.” A deep voice says with a gruff, slightly annoyed edge.
“Ah, so sorry, was the free food and wine bothering you?” Seokjin says silkily and the room erupts in laughter at the expense of whoever spoke first. Seokjin steps further into the room and gestures that I might enter.
My heart feels like it might leap out of my throat but I step into the room as I’m bid.
Five sets of eyes focus on me.
It takes me a few seconds to take it all in.
Five men of differing looks and clothes are spread around the sitting room in various states of relaxation. They all have a glass in hand, and they’re all fixated on my arrival at the door.
“This is my new friend.” Seokjin says, fingers curling to indicate I should walk towards him, “Thought you gentlemen might like to be introduced.”
I take a few more steps into the parlor and someone goes, “Gods, Seokjin. Where the hell did you find this one?”
My head snaps up to see an enormous, leathery man on the late cusp of maturity. Muscles still strong but aged hard in the face. There’s a huge, heavy pendant hanging just below his sternum. A silver sickle winks at me from atop a deep, dark ruby. Must be a family crest. He’s blinking at me like he thinks I’m an illusion.
“Pretty little bird just flew in through the window the other day.” Seokjin says lightly, “Hasn’t been able to figure how to get out.”
That earns another chuckle from the majority of the room but the big man doesn’t join in. He’s gone very quiet now, focus unwavering as I stand on the rug.
“What can you do, little bird?” Another voice to pick out. This one is low and comforting, comes from a thin, tall man with deep dimples and a kind smile. His eyes peek out from overlong bangs with a steady intelligence.
Hoseok and Meekah told me about this. Sometimes potential clients like to know if we have any talents. They’d grilled me for a good half hour this morning, trying to find something that wasn’t “crying about going home” and “excessive deflecting sass.”
“I-I dance a little, m’lord.” I say just like this morning, a little waver in my voice. Seokjin’s smile widens and I know he’s pleased by my meekness. Expressions perk up at the announcement just like Hoseok and Meekah’s had.
The thin man blinks, a little surprised. “Dance?” The smile keeps spreading, making deep crevices out of those dimples, “Would you show us?”
Seokjin answers for me, “What kind of music do you want for him?” He’s not at all fazed. I have to wonder if that’s because nothing much fazes him or because Meekah and Hoseok found some way to tell him.
Dimples leans back all comfortable and languid. “Something slow. Kind of heavy, yeah? Want to see what he can do. How he moves.”
“Kinky, Namjoonie.”
Dimples, Namjoon, just shrugs a bit enigmatically.
The rest of the room has slipped into an attentive kind of silence. I wasn’t necessarily sure that I was going to have to do something like this, but Meekah had mused that they would want me to. It’s not a shock, but the nerves that accompany impromptu dancing for men that stare at me with this specific kind of interest is making me fidgety.
Hands palm at slick pants.
Flick hair out of face.
Eyes over to Seokjin beckoning his musicians in. Bounce around the room, look at the men watching me.
It’s too bright in here. It glitters with Seokjin’s mad designing eye, the light hard and edged and not at all comfortable for any kind of dance of seduction. Not that I’ve really tried it before. Any attempts to sort of dance “sexy” back home were met with Tae’s immediate protestations.
But I have to try. This is important.
Hoseok told me, the more men want me, the more money ends up getting paid as they bid against each other in ever-increasing increments. And I want to knock out as many crowns at once as possible.
The strings start a slow pavane. I close my eyes, just for a second, to get the feel of the music. Someone exhales near me, so full of something raw that I have to suppress a shiver. When I dance I try to be smooth and delicate—like Seokjin wanted from me, try to move like water. Other than the strings and my feet on the floor there isn’t a single sound.
It’s eerie, in a room this full of humanity, but no coughs, no loud breaths, no one speaks. I dance but have no idea how long I dance. Meeting the eyes of those around me makes time kind of not hold normal weight. It could be seconds, it could be hours. The strings find a slow end to a phrase. I settle to the floor in a final pose.
No sound.
It’s like the whole room is holding its breath. All at once I’m too shy to even look up from the ground and just stay with my head bowed, waiting.
It’s an eternity before I get Seokjin’s voice, “You may go, little bird.” His voice is kind of choked off. I don’t know what that means and don’t look at anybody as I scurry to my feet and bow my way back out of the room.
“Well,” I hear Seokjin through the wall, “What do we think, gentlemen?”
I run for it back upstairs before I can hear the replies.
“Well, how did it go?” Hoseok comes to my room and finds me curled up on the bed, still in my ridiculous outfit.
“Horribly, I think.” I whisper, “They were so quiet after I danced…and Seokjin just dismissed me with this voice…”
Hoseok sinks onto the bed next to me and cards a gentle hand through my hair, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Wait until Master Seokjin summons you tonight to start being anxious. He’ll let you know how it went.”
And he does.
“Jimin you are sensational.” The pleasure house master slurs, clearly having joined his guests in imbibing this afternoon, “Nearly had to break up two fights over getting in offers after you left.”
“Wait, they liked it? But everyone was so…”
He pushes me down into the cushions and starts mouthing at my neck, just like the other nights.
“Did they like it? Jimin I think the General might’ve creamed his pants had you gone on any longer. Even Namjoon put in an offer, and he doesn’t like anyone I’ve ever shown him.” His hand slips down to stroke at me again in this ritual that’s becoming somewhat familiar whenever the man brings me to his chambers. Disrobe, get touched, go to bed tingling and half-hard.
“Oh gods” I huff, half from his hands and half from the utter relief, “I thought I’d ruined everything.”
“Are you kidding? All of them wanted to jump you after that. Didn’t know you could dance, that shit’s…” he tongues at my collarbones, “…magnetic.”
I hum at his continued ministrations, but he switches it up on me.
Sits back, taps my hip, “Turn over. Hands and knees.”
I obey easily enough. Propping myself on splayed hands gets cool fingers tracing up the knobs of my spine. Seokjin presses in close behind me, lines up his hips with my own. His hand comes wrapping around to continue stroking me as normal, but now I have his free hand on my nape, holding me close while he rolls his hips against my ass, smooth and unhurried.
“Gonna be so good for me, huh? Make us so rich?”
He sounds very affected by this, whatever this is. I can feel him through his layers and layers of fabric—jewel green tonight. His questions don’t seem like they need an answer but he tugs at my hair until I give him,
“Yes…yes master.”
And then his hand stills and he bites down on my shoulder, hips stuttering behind me. He’s babbling now, “Such a good little thing, huh, pretty and perfect and everyone wants you.”
When he tells me I can go there’s a spot of darker green staining the front of his robe.
Such a good little thing.
A good thing.
A thing.
It’s how I have to start thinking of myself, now, I realize. How I have to find the courage to be touched and do the touching. To let someone take and take and take.
I shiver in my bed, Seokjin’s lips and hands and hips still so present.
Pretty and perfect and everyone wants you.
Sleep is fitful, when it comes.
Breakfast is berries and some kind of thick cream that leaves me staring at the bowl longingly, wondering how much trouble I’d get in if I lick it clean.
Seokjin is fielding offers, Hoseok says, shouldn’t be more than a day now. He beams at me, “See Jimin, you did well! The bidding is like nothing Seokjin has seen. You’ll see, it’ll all be over in a day.”
It takes three. Three more breakfasts (savory little fish, eggs and thick cut ham, exquisite plate-sized tarts). Three more days of interminable boredom and anxiety. Three more nights of disrobe, get touched, back to bed tingling.
Then it’s finished. The day is finally here.
Hoseok comes to get me with his lips pressed into a thin line. I jostle him, wonder where’s his good humor, thought he would be excited for me. He seems kind of vague and off, brushes my hands away and bids me follow him upstairs. Meekah is waiting up there, looking somber as well.
“Is there something wrong?” I hesitate at the door of the suite. The two of them exchange significant glances before turning back to me.
“No, Jimin. Everything’s amazing—you set an insane record of money.”
“How much,” I breathe, finding my footing to walk into the suite with them, “How much…and who?”
Hoseok looks up at the ceiling a long moment before giving me a cheap imitation of his normal blinding smile, “It’s unprecedented, Jimin, The General won this bidding with an offer of 15,580 crowns.”
Heartbeat in the ears. Vaguely I think, the General, that’s not Dimples, what a shame. But who cares? That’s more than 10% of my debt.
“No whore has ever sold for so much.” Meekah adds, also giving me an incredibly unconvincing smile.
Hoseok busies himself straightening the wine and spirits, making sure there’s clean glassware and towels with unneeded dedication. Meekah turns away to fiddle with the bed coverings, laying them this way and that as if deciding what sends the right visual message. I stand in the middle of the floor feeling wrong, so wrong—there’s something that’s bothering them hard, cutting deep under their professional masks.
“What’s going on?” I break after an unendurable few minutes of tidying and avoiding my attention, “There’s something bad…you’re not saying what but I can tell—“ throat feels frozen, “—there’s more.”
Neither of them answer.
It’s driving me mad, itching under my skin. What don’t I know? Why is this tension spreading and engulfing the room?
An ugly pang hits my belly.
“What does he get for so much money?” I rasp.
Hoseok flinches.
“What does he get?”
Meekah freezes, eyes darting between us two men.
“Hoseok—What the fuck does he get?”
Hoseok drops the towel he was folding with a pained little “ugh”,
“We’re not sure, exactly. But…his conditions. About. How you’re to be waiting.” Hoseok licks his lips and shakes his head, a tiny little jerk that doesn’t disturb his hair, “They’re…worrisome.”
I look over to Meekah. “What are they?”
She’s wildly uncomfortable, “Well, uh. That’s why we’re here, you know? Gotta get you ready. So you’ll see.”
Unconsciously I take a step back towards the door. Hoseok holds up his hands, like soothing a spooked animal, “Jimin, it’s okay, yeah? We’re probably worried for nothing. C’mon. Come here.”
Everything in me wants to lunge for the door and take my chances running. But like the trusting, obedient idiot I am; I walk over. Hoseok pushes me down on the bed and procures a big coil of ropes from a small cabinet. Meekah twitches my shirt and pants off without looking me in the eye and folds them in the corner.
“Kneel, yeah? Right here.” Hoseok pats the middle of the bed, “Face the wall.”
I do.
The first kiss of rope is against my left ankle. A knot tied so deftly and just tight enough to feel the fibers rub kinda rough against the skin. It takes me back to the carriage ride here and I try not to panic. Hoseok can hear my breathing go all screwy though, and puts a gentle hand on my back, “It’s alright, Jimin. Breathe, yeah? Breathe. Just this one thing, yeah? And you’re a huge chunk of the way along.”
I hold those words close to my chest as he asks for my wrists and ties them behind my back. My shoulders stretch back to accommodate and shaky breathing becomes little grunts of discomfort. I twist to look over my shoulder at Meekah moving several candles over to group around the bed, including the big fat one that burns continuously and smells of vanilla beans Seokjin tossed into the wax in a fit of pique one day. Must be a full pie size around. Anxiety grips me again as Hoseok attaches the rope cuffed around my ankle to the bed frame in a complicated loop.
“Hoseok—“ my voice is unnaturally high, “—what did he want—how did he say—why the—“ I swallow hard, “Tell me.”
Meekah shakes her head at him but Hoseok bites his lip, “He has a right to know, Meekah. It’s his body. Plus, he’s already tied up now.”
Hoseok goes to the closet and comes back with several canes of different thicknesses and lengths, and lays them on a table that’s near the big bed.
“He…he wanted you tied to the bed. Hands bound. Lots of burning candles.” He closes his eyes, “Some canes. F-for you not to be prepped.” Meekah turns around so she doesn’t have to look at me.
Hoseok steps up and pulls some pieces of fabric out of his pocket, “And.” He steps forward and shoves the thick wadding in my mouth, loops the long strip around my head and knots it expertly while I wriggle and ineffectually try to pull away. “For you to be gagged.”
My eyes spell out nothing but betrayal, I know, as Meekah and Hoseok finish their preparations and pause by the bed. Meekah has my clothes clasped across her chest and Hoseok is looking undeniably grim.
“I’m sorry, Jimin. I’m…” Hoseok rubs his forehead, “You’re gonna be okay, okay? We’ll be outside, yeah. We’ll get you as soon as he’s done. We’ll come get you.” They go quickly, perhaps chased out by the ghost of all the conditions they’re fulfilling.
It’s quiet.
I mean, apart from me choking around spit-soaked fabric and shifting on aching knees.
Every moment that passes alone makes me more apprehensive. I tug at my wrists but Hoseok is good at this and the knots don’t budge. The candles flicker, throwing chasing shadows across my goose-pimpled flesh.
The air is charged; full of prickly little somethings that keep me keyed up and anticipating the door.
When it opens, the energy fizzles away. A vacuum of sinking stomach and nervous sweating takes its place.
“Ah, Fuck.”
Something about that; something about tone and gravity and intention. That scares me more than anything else so far. I twitch; his voice feels like a physical thing, a hand dropping on my shoulder, a thigh between my legs.
Oh wait, no, that’s actually happening. He kicks my legs apart and I fall forward, sheets pushing the gag a little more deep.
A whine, like a child. Muffled. Where did that come from?
Ah. Me.
He’s enormous, dwarfs me completely when the springs creak and he joins me on the bed.
“Peacock found himself a real tasty bird. Gods, gonna eat you all night little one.”
Not all night, no, surely. Surely no.
“So much money for this; gonna make sure you never forget. Gonna keep me with you forever.”
Terror, the bleak kind, spreads from wherever his hands touch me—rough in that way only military men are. Like fingers have lost subtlety and nuance from hacking and slashing away at problems for decades. He prods at me for a while, clearly enjoying the way I give and cave under his hands.
Such a good little thing.
“Where to do it, hmm? Where to start?”
Don’t know what he means. Don’t want to know, frankly. Wonder why Hoseok didn’t give me any of that syrup—might make me not care so much.
Maybe this is the point though. Paying for me to care. Paying for me to be alert and engaged.
Then pain. Pain in a sizzle, spreading from low back to ribs and up over my shoulder. Even through the gag I can scream, twist frantically on the sheets. The smell of vanilla plugs up my nostrils—what the fuck is this??
Some lands on my cheek from my flailing.
Oh. Wax. He’s pouring candle wax in little swirls and patterns all over me. A thick hand strikes me across the back of the head,
“Hold still, pretty cunt. You’re fucking up the artwork.”
It becomes bearable after a while—maybe even somewhat pleasant, the warmth in dizzy little spirals up and down my back, my thighs, my calves. I tremble when he gets up high in my thigh, soft skin so sensitive to the molten wax.
A pause.
This isn’t so bad. I expected…don’t know…
Hear a slick sound. Familiar, after a moment. He’s got the oil, jacking himself in an increasing volume as he comes back across the room. This is it, I suppose. What all the fanfare and fuss is about. Hoseok comes into my mind suddenly, “F-for you not to be prepped.”
Oh, this will be painful. I think, a little absently. He’s just going to do it, no fingers or stretching. No prep. My eyes close on the bedspread and I try to will myself to relax as he comes and rubs himself all along my ass, dipping into the space between my legs. He’s big. It’s okay, it’s okay. I tell myself. The voice in my head sounds like someone else. Just this one thing, yeah? Just this thing and you’re good.
I think I know what’s going to happen.
Stupid, so stupid.
“You’re gonna bleed for me, bitch. Just like a proper cunt, yeah? Need you to give it up for me.”
I try to relax. Try to be loose, no tension to spare myself the worst of that.
He doesn’t like that. He wants pain; paid to get it.
His solution is to dump the entire load of wax on the underside of my balls and shove himself into me at the same time.
It’s visceral, the pain. Comes from deep within, gets hotter, searing, stinging. Primal howls, ripping around the gag and into the bedspread. You see, when he dropped a cupful of hot wax on my balls, I tensed up and clamped down.
He gets his blood, alright.
“Fuck. Yesss…fuck.”
He says more after that, but he’s thrusting heavily and my pain is so personal and clouding; his voice fades into interminable background noise. His bulk holds me immobile; jabbing at my insides with no finesse but plenty of aggression. Thick fingers pull at my hair, head snaps back and forth a little. Some point I snag a tooth on my lip and blood soaks the gag, metallic on my tongue.
We go until he’s spent. Panting, sweaty, sticky, bruisingly spent.
Just this one thing, yeah? Such a good little thing.
The General pulls out and wipes himself, little smears of blood, on my leg.
“Fucking…beautiful. So pretty, dripping rubies and pearls like this.”
Disgustingly poetic, I think. We’re done right? I hurt, I ache, bones creak and shift on the bed. He’s panting out his pleasure draped over my hips. So we’re done?
The General grips my side and flips me onto my back. Rope around my left ankle twists and chafes. It’s the first time I’ve seen his leathery face straight on since this whole thing began. Sweat drips into his eyes, eyes blown wide and black. Sneer turning up the corners of his puffy lips. That huge pendant clunking against his shiny, sweaty chest.
Just this one thing?
He rummages around off the bed and comes up with a cane. Grabs a candle.
We’re not done.
Some point, I pass out. Some point between screams and pleads and trying to run but getting stopped by the rope and choking on the gag and whatever else I choke on. It’s not nearly soon enough.
~~~
I wake up, hazy. It’s a surprise in itself. I begged to die so many times while it was happening I figured some higher power had mercy eventually.
I’m slow to stir; hear Hoseok talking.
There’s fat, multicolored cushions in front of where my face lies. That’s confusing. The suite didn’t have these. My hip burns something awful. I remember something about that; burning.
“…been fucked with the canes, I think….”
Hoseok hazes in and out, but he’s not talking to me.
“…covered with wax…the burns…like he held the flame and drew with it…”
Another familiar voice sort of huffs at that one.
“…need the good reinforcement….ever want him to do it again…flinched every time we touched him…”
“Yeah I know. Goddammit. But the General was pleased.”
Oh that’s Seokjin. Getting much less hazy now. Haze is being replaced by stabbing pain. Must be in Seokjin’s rooms. Explains the gaudy cushions.
“I sure hope he was. You almost lost Jimin to that psychotic fuck.”
“Language, Hoseok.”
“Sorry, Master.” Hoseok says bitingly. “But it’s bad.”
“I know.”
I moan as a wave of nausea hits like a stake right to the belly. Both men become aware of my emergence from oblivion.
“Should probably dose him. He wakes up all the way, he’ll freak the fuck out.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”
Seokjin’s face swims into view, cautious smile plastered on his pretty features. “Open up, Jimmy, c’mon be good for me now.”
I don’t want to be good.
But what kind of ability do I have to fight? None. More of his sticky sweet syrup runs down my throat and I haze back out.
Wake up with the shakes something awful. Vanilla in my nose, turned rancid with burned flesh and blood and cum.
Seokjin’s asleep but lanterns are still lit, the room all golden with swooping shadows. Can’t stop shaking; can’t get a grip. I feel that weight sunk into me. Like he’s still here, looming over my face with his black, black eyes.
Fuck, I hurt. Hollowed out. Sore in every infinitesimal part of my being. My hip is lighting up—burning, burning why do I—?
I shift, paw the blankets out of the way to look down at my hip. There’s a thick bandage wrapped around it, secured nice and tight. I know, it’s eating at me; there’s something bad under there. Fingers claw at bandage; rip the strands apart until it falls away and okay yes okay there it is there it is.
An ugly mess of blistered skin and blackened tissue, shaped like a sickle. The center of the General’s family crest. He took the candle to my hip, burned it right into me.
Branded me.
“Gonna keep me with you forever.”
It starts rushing back, all the things. All the time he spent doing exactly what he pleased; taking the pretty thing and leaving his mark.
The sickle is misshapen, purpled with bruising and scabbing.
I scream.
Seokjin startles up from across the room, flops out of bed and trips over to me.
“Jimin, Jimmy, you gotta calm down, gotta lock it away—“
“NO.” I scream, anguish rising up in my throat like bile, “He—he—what he did—“
“I know I know. Breathe, breathe Jimin you did it you made it through, yeah? Got paid something crazy. So far along already—“
“No, no, NO I WON’T—won’t do it—“
His hands go to my arms, hold me in place. I jerk at his touch, try to yank myself away. It pulls like hell on the brand.
“Make it go away, make it stop—“
“Jimin, baby, you gotta breathe. Gotta—hold on.”
He hops up and goes trotting over to his cabinet. He comes back with another one of his bottles and I welcome it this time, swallow the syrup myself, let the tension bleed out. When I’m lax on the cushions again he finally pats me on the thigh.
“There you go, there it is.”
“I won’t do it, Seokjin.” I gurgle, “Can’t do it anymore.”
“Ah, yes you can. Yes you can Jimin, you’re strong like that.”
“No.” I bleat, “No. That was—was…”
“It won’t always be like that.” He murmurs, “That was bad, I know. It can feel good; it can.”
“Don’t care. Don’t care, I won’t.”
He touches my arm, “I can show you. I can show you it’s alright.”
I draw back, in slow motion though, “No. Don’t. It…hurts.”
“Yeah, yeah I know it does. Not tonight, yeah? We’ll go slow. But we can do it proper, now. Make it so you learn to like it.” He leans over and kisses along my jaw, up over my lips, across my cheeks. I would turn away if it wasn’t so much effort.
These kisses aren’t filled with intent, just lips brushing here and there like this is how he knows how to comfort. Which is pretty fucked up, you know.
“You were so good. So golden.” He sighs, “Should’ve been someone better. Someone gentle, yeah. Wish it could’ve been that for you.”
And that, I thought, was such a mind fuck. Like he wasn’t the one who held open the door for that man and smiled as he tore me apart.
~~~
A week I lay around in Seokjin’s rooms. The house master himself changes my bandages and checks on my scrapes and cuts, rubs ointment on all the slow-healing parts.
I’m better during the day, can limp around and get myself water and force food in my face—it turns out Seokjin himself is behind all the delicious breakfast in the common room each morning; he absconds down to the kitchens and bakes while the rest of the house sleeps. I don’t know how to feel about that, just one more confusing thing to tack onto the Peacock’s character.
But at night I have to have Seokjin’s syrup in order to sleep without wanting to claw my own face off, or his. Tough to tell whether my emotions mean anything, or even particularly point a certain direction. At first I think I’m murderously angry, or maybe heartrendingly sad. But after a few days I realize I don’t feel much of anything at all.
I do, however, obstinately refuse to let anyone touch me.
Hoseok comes to see me in the mornings, makes this face like I’m a crazy person. Like he has to tiptoe. That’s probably true.
After several days of this he finally sighs, “You’re going to have to work, Jimin.”
“You don’t feel bad at all?” I say, venomous, “That you helped him do that?”
Hoseok leaves.
The vicious part of me is sated. Let everyone hurt like me.
Not that any of my protestations matter, in the end. Not that they ever do. Once my body is healed to a high enough standard Seokjin is back at it again every night.
He starts when the syrup kicks in, light touches and kisses again like at the beginning all over. Like he’s following some fucked in the head program and we just had a minor setback.
It escalates every night, first to getting me off with his hands, then mouth, then getting me off while fingering me. A little more every day, a little further every night. Eventually he pushes inside me and makes me cum that way and I realize I don’t really care any more. A few days later and he is sloppily dicking me into the pillows, huffing out garbled praises, and I realize I’m not drugged. He can tell when I do, a smile spreads across his sweaty face. Flicks his hair out of his eyes, “Ah, you’re ready.”
And I guess I am.
He slumps next to me on the cushions, breathing hard and shivering a little with his aftershocks,
“What will we call you, hmm? Already got a Lark and a Swan and a Sparrow and a Dove…” he trails off, eyes studying me in the flickering lantern light. He reaches over and flicks the limo, sweat-soaked strands of my hair, “All dark and shiny. Shall you be a Raven?” He smiles at his own musings, “Clever and vicious and brooding and sexy…I like it.” He clicks his tongue. “Sweet little Jimmy will be my Raven.”
Nickname and all, huh? Guess I really am ready.
Still the burning, always the burning in my dreams, but I wrap a cold shroud around my heart and it gets me through the waking hours.
I’m back in my room the very next day, led there by a Hoseok who never mentions all my harsh words. Or his own obvious guilt at throwing me to the dogs. Just gives me a smile and a clap on the shoulder before leaving me to it. The room is undisturbed. Like nothing has even happened. Like I never went through it.
Tae’s journal sits on the table. I flip past all my half-assed attempts at journaling and find a clean page.
100,000
The General, 15,580
So it begins.
~~~
Hoseok is a good teacher. Could make anyone a half decent whore, if he wanted. Explains so clearly, is patient and methodical. Gets up early with me to talk about last nights’ clients, laugh at the parade of strange humanity we see together. It’s not long before he’s got me working all kinds of tricks. If we were anywhere else, doing anything else, I’d call him my friend.
With my snow-covered heart, I make a good actor. Can distance myself from the nice ones, from the mean ones, and all the ones in between. Even get some women clients and serve them well enough.
Seokjin is positively giddy to see how well I work. There’s no need for it, anymore, but he still calls me upstairs almost every afternoon before clients and we have it off.
Maybe just making sure his little brainwashing program took fully. But Hoseok gets this little crease between his eyebrows when he sees how long it goes on,
“Never seen Seokjin do anybody past the training stage. It’s just weird, Jimin. What do you do?”
I shrug, sifting through the wardrobe for something newer. “We fuck, mostly.”
“He fucks you, or you fuck him?” Hoseok stops dabbing makeup on and turns fully towards me.
“Both,” I say, thinking of holding him up against the wall two days ago while the afternoon sun streamed through his shutters and he whined so high and pretty at me drilling him into the silk curtains. “We do both.”
Hoseok clicks his tongue and goes back to the mirror.
“What does it mean, Hoseokkie?”
“Don’t know, Jimin. Hasn’t been a thing, before.”
If I cared enough to put some thought into it I could probably turn it to my advantage but I don’t. Just fuck all over his rainbow cushions, then go back downstairs and fuck all night long, too.
The list gets longer.
The money starts to stack up. Day after day. Month after month. Breakfast upon breakfast.
It all sort of blurs together after a while. Turns out you do anything long enough, even stuff like this, it becomes routine. It becomes mundane. Even normal to your fucked up brain.
“So he tells me to choke on it…but the damn thing is barely long enough to get past my lips.”
Raucous laughter, from me and Meekah, and a couple other girls. Hoseok tells good stories.
“What did you do, did you fake it?” I ask, having been in a similar position.
We’re lazing around in the late morning, sun high in the sky in the quiet hours between clients leaving and clients arriving.
“Didn’t have to.” Hoseok beams, full of infectious giggly energy, “I kinda forgot myself for a second, and sort of giggled-snorted with his cock in my mouth—all amused like from his totally serious “Choke on it.” And he thinks that me, you know, choking on it—blows immediately. Immediately.” Hoseok sits back, satisfied.
I’m on the floor, practically rolling like a cliché. “Oh fuck,” I gasp, “Oh fuck, Hoseokkie you’re going to kill me.”
On days like this, in those golden hours…it’s strange but the ice thins out, just a little. And I don’t feel like I’m burning up.
This isn’t the worst thing, I think. Hoseok leaning on me, eating breakfasts. Meekah pinching my butt while tailoring my pants. Sweet-awkward clients who get the tremors just from the touch of my hand. Afternoons gathered around the makeup tables. And crowns, adding up, piling up as ink in my journal—I’ve taken to calling it my ledger.
There have been much, much worse things than this.